better than fanfiction

  • Just because your fic doesn’t get a lot of notes doesn’t mean it’s not good.
  • Just because your fic doesn’t get a lot of reviews doesn’t mean it’s not good.
  • Just because your fic doesn’t get a lot of favorites doesn’t mean it’s not good.
  • Just because your fic doesn’t get a lot of kudos doesn’t mean it’s not good.
  • Just because your fic doesn’t get a lot of follows doesn’t mean it’s not good.
  • Just because your fic doesn’t get a lot of comments doesn’t mean it’s not good.

Don’t make the mistake of associating popularity with quality.

Original Percival Graves x Credence Barebone aesthetic
kiss me on the mouth (and set me free) - written by tempolarriefics
By Organization for Transformative Works


Harry, being his endlessly patient self, asks with a wry smile, “And who am I going to spontaneously marry for financial aid?”

He clearly intends for it to be a rhetorical question, for it to shoot down Louis’ ridiculous marriage idea. But Louis answers easily, “Me. You’ll marry me.“

aka the not-so fake marriage AU in which Harry and Louis get married to keep Harry from dropping out of uni (and if they discover that they’re in love along the way, well, that’s neither here nor there).

Author - tempolarriefics              Tumblr - @tempolarriefix

One shot  |  47,254 words  |  Fic published November 8, 2016

Fic post here!

Review - 9 out of 10 Larry Thumbs!!!!

I have the biggest smile on my face right now, and all the credit goes to this absolutely, completely delightful gem of a fic!!!

First, hello fake marriage AU - you’re always a fave - but the great thing about this fic is the trope feels fresh and new, reinvented in a way that makes you never want to put the story down. Harry’s puns are t-o-p quality and had me giggling throughout the entire fic. Louis’ so damn endeared with him, too, it makes for a really heartwarming and fluffy as fuck fic (even with that pining angst). 

Read this fic when you’re looking to be charmed by our dearest Louis and Harry, when puns are on the menu, and when you need that fake-marriage-friends-to-lovers perfection. 

Better Than Oranges - Orange Quick-Blurb Sequel

I struggled with the ending of Orange, so I spun this out to kind of get that alternate ending in that I wanted the first time around. You can thank @stylesunchained for suggesting an ending to this that made it worse. ;) Happy reading! x

He likes your cunt better than oranges.

You’re sweeter, and juicier, and any other numbers of vulgar descriptions. You’re addicting, and if he thought he knew satisfaction from the success of filming a movie and signing a contract and keeping a photo shoot under wraps for months on end, he knew nothing before the breathless sounds of your moans mingling with his wet, sloppy sounding licks. But he’s not sloppy – unless you request it – because he knows you don’t like it, and he wants very, very much to give you exactly what you like.

It starts with a proper snog sometimes. He’d dared to kiss you one day when you’d snapped at him for looking at you – just leaned in and taken it – and since then all he has to do is grasp your chin and cover your mouth with his before you’re winding your arms around his neck and falling into the mood he insisted he was creating when you’d asked him, breathlessly, between kisses about what on earth the two of you were doing.

“S’just the mood, innit?” he’d mumbled the first few times you’d posed the question. “Feels good, yeah?” he’d breathed while pulling at your trousers.  “Makes m’job easier f’you’re wet, love.” Invariably, his fingers dip inside of you and you grip his shoulders mid-moan and his lips curl into a smirk while suggesting, “S’get these off yeh,” before pulling your shirt up and jeans down with his lips still locked to yours.

By now, he’s practiced his technique on you more times than he can count on his own two hands, and he’s gotten hard nearly as many times. You’re always breathless, and whimpering, and lying spread open and vulnerable on the bed after, and he ignores weak utterances of his name (“Harry… no… Harry, I…”) as he limps from the room and tells you, “S’fine” before he closes the door and does his damnedest to be quiet while he jerks into a wad of loo paper trying to pretend that he’s not sucking his lips between his teeth to keep the taste of you in his mouth and like he isn’t replaying your moans in his mind when he finally bursts with unbelievably thick spurts.

When he’s washing misfired cum off his hand in your sink with balls that still ache in his pants, he knows he has a problem.

Keep reading

WHO ___?

Who is more likely to hurt the other? Fred would accidentally physically hurt hermione when one of his inventions go wrong, and then apologize excessively and make her waffles  
Who is emotionally stronger? No way I can choose between them
Who is physically stronger? Fred but Hermione can still pack a punch, just ask Malfoy
Who is more likely to break a bone? F R E D 
Who knows best what to say to upset the other? Hermione, most of the time its playful 
Who is most likely to apologize first after an argument? Fred, and again he’s pretty excessive about it 
Who treats who’s wounds more often? Hermione, duh, Fred’s always getting hurt (she also has to treat Georges wounds pretty often too)
Who is in constant need of comfort? Neither, but they both get flashbacks and they hold each other until they’re over
Who gets more jealous? Hermione, because customers flirt with Fred all the time, although she will never admit it
Who’s most likely to walk out on the other? Neither, its the Gryffindor in both of them
Who will propose? Fred
Who has the most difficult parents? Fred’s parents are always around and maybe a bit overly involved but they love Hermione and Fred as a couple, Hermione’s parents took a little while to really trust Fred but they came to love him too
Who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? Fred, he loves flaunting that they’re together
Who hogs the blankets? FRED
Who gets more sad? Hermione
Who is better at cheering the other up? Fred makes Hermione laugh no matter what
Who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes? Hermione
Who is more streetwise? Fred
Who is more wise? Hermione
Who’s the shyest?  Hermione
Who boasts about the other more?  FREDRICK 
Who sits on who’s lap? Hermione in Fred’s lap all the time but he’ll sit in hers once in a while as a joke


Smut ✔ Angst ♥ Violence 💥 Fluff 💜


The Seven Deadly Sins

Description: Seven men helped shape you into who you are. Whether they were friends, enemies, or lovers, they all left a long lasting mark on your life, for better or for worse.

1. Lust  ✔ ♥ - Reader x Namjoon

2. Gluttony  ✔ ♥ - Reader x Seokjin

3. Greed (1) ♥ - Reader x Jimin

4. Greed (2)  ✔ ♥ - Reader x Jimin  

5. Sloth  ✔ ♥ - Reader x Yoongi

6. Wrath  ♥ 💥 - Reader x Jungkook 

(6/7 Completed) 

Imperfect Pair

Description: The government is in charge of matching everyone up with a partner, the person they believe you are the most compatible with. You get assigned Jungkook, who looks perfect on his profile and even more perfect in person. You are later reminded however, that perfection does not exist, and not everything in life goes as planned. 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

01  ♥  / 02  ♥   (2/5 completed)


What You Deserve  ✔ 💜 -Reader x Taehyung

Description: After being ditched by your boyfriend you meet a man who promises to better your night.

Malec Morning Routine
  • Alec wakes up by 5am to get ready since the commute to the institute is at least 1 hour.
  • Magnus wakes up and proceeds to get ready with him even though he doesn’t need to because he’s fucking self-employed.
  • So while Alec takes a shower, Magnus makes breakfast and his favourite kale and banana smoothie. The one with Almond milk and not dairy milk because that’s just wrong.
  • Sometimes Magnus joins him in the shower, but only when Alec doesn’t mind being late for work.
  • The night before Magnus helps irons his clothes. Or rather he picks out a different outfit and then irons his clothes.
  • No way will Magnus allow his beloved go back to the tragedy that was past fashion choices. He takes his role as both boyfriend and personal stylist very important you see.  
  • So maybe Magnus make some modifications here and there to Alec’s lifestyle but what are boyfriends for?
  • Chairman Meow doesn’t join them for breakfast. Magnus tried to wake him up once and was rewarded with a scratch on the face.
  • On days when Alec didn’t sleep so well Magnus teleports him to the Institute himself. No questions asked.
Hannibal Rewatch Conversations w/ Grandma: Savoureux
  • Grandma: Look at how sweaty Will and Hannibal are.
  • Me: Uh huh.
  • Grandma: They need to get together and swap sweat.

Alright so i just finished that merlin book i ordered online the other day and honestly this thing was so merthur like :

ok, so we have the usual banter between the two, nothing really gay but it’s cute anyway

But it escalates quickly.Then we have Arthur getting all protective towards his bae

And there are suggestive paragraphs like this one

Or this one where Arthur is getting emotional thinking about Merlin

Even Morgana is into them

Oh yes he is a lot more than that. And Uther blames himself for being the reason why his son is queer

I often wondered : am i reading a fanfiction or an official book??


Better Than I Know Myself

Author: @klaineanummel

Rating: T

Status: Completed in April 2015

Word Count: 4,866

Summary: He’s never questioned himself before. Not even once throughout his entire life. He’s never had some kind of moment where he realized ‘Oh, I like boys’ or 'Man, girls are where it’s at’. He’s simply assumed he liked girls because, well, all his friends liked girls. Hell, even his girlfriend liked girls. Boys never even felt like an option.

Tropes/Genre: straight!Kurt, alternate meeting, fluff, AU, football player!Kurt

Lynne’s review: Loved it - plausible alternate scenario with a different version of Kurt. Especially loved the ending with Burt.

Read at: AO3

‘This Really Isn’t How I Wanted You To Find Out’

Saphael drabble.

For fearalltheumbrellas based on this post.

It was the second time, Jace thought furiously, that the idiot had gotten himself into trouble with vampires and had to be rescued. This time, at least, there was no Raphael waiting outside to try and trick them in an attempt to lead them to their deaths. Raphael would pay for what he had done though. Jace was relieved that he had not finished his vow not to harm Raphael.

Clary close behind him, they crept silently through the Hotel.

Dagger clutched in one hand, Jace kicked down a door. He caught a brief glimpse of Raphael at the other end of the room, pinning Simon roughly against the wall.

‘Step away from the nerd, bloodsucker!’ Jace commanded. He raised the dagger and charged.

Clary suddenly screamed, seized Jace’s arm, and pulled him back.

‘Clary, what—’ Jace began. Then he realised Raphael had jumped away from Simon, turning his back on him to face Jace and Clary. But he had placed himself protectively in front of Simon, arms outstretched. His fangs had slid free and a low hiss emanated from deep in his throat. His curly hair was slightly mussed.

Jace replayed the last few seconds in his mind; kicking the door down, Raphael jumping away from Simon, Simon’s hand sliding free of Raphael’s hair and going immediately to his own waist to pull his T-shirt down to cover his exposed stomach, cheeks burning crimson.

‘Wait…’ Jace said slowly, staring from Raphael to Simon, Clary still clutching his arm. ‘Were you two… kissing?’

‘This really isn’t how I wanted you to find out,’ Simon said, peering over Raphael’s shoulder, cheeks still flushed. ‘But could you please lower that dagger? You’re making my boyfriend feel threatened.’

The Night Before

A little fic about the night before the wedding - @welcometothisby
The Scorpio Races Fanfic



I always thought our parents would be here. For some reason, even after they died, I always figured somehow they’d come back for my wedding day. It doesn’t feel the same, without them.

“They’re still here” is what Finn says when I tell him this. He’s standing before the stove wearing an old, paper thin sweater and his bony arms poke through ragged holes in the elbow. He still looks like an orphan even with all the food and money I’ve earned at Malvern’s yard and I don’t know if that will ever change. Maybe looking like an orphan is inevitable when you’re an orphan.

“How do you know?” I ask, curious to know both what he’s thinking and what he’s making on the stove. Finns don’t usually go near the stove, unless it’s to prod hopelessly at a pot of broth until I come home from the stables.

That, or to make his salty hot chocolate, which is in a pot on the burner when he moves to the side. I should’ve guessed. Hot chocolate is the beverage he goes to when he’s stressed or trying to be calm, and the wedding preparations haven’t been easy on him.

Finn clanks a spoon around the pot and says in a measured voice, “I know everything.”


“They’re everywhere,” Finn says, turning off the heat. He pours some hot chocolate into two mugs and hands me one silently. “I don’t know how you can miss them. I see them every day.” He pauses and looks at his hands. “They’re everywhere in this house.”

He murmurs something about needing to go to Palsson’s to learn about cinnamon twists and finishes off his hot chocolate in one fluid motion. I get to my feet and pull him close in a hug, and I’m surprised by the muscles I feel through his sweater. Finn’s grown up quite a bit in the months I haven’t been looking. Guilt creeps into my bones and rests there with a sad sort of familiarity as he closes the door.

I carry my mug with me as I wander back to my room. Little things jump out at me on the way, like the bookshelf Mum would cover in flowers during the spring, or Dad’s chess set still in place in the living room. There’s a pulled-up bit of carpet in the corner just inside the hallway and I remember the time Finn tried to bury a toy soldier there, and the subsequent aid he got from Dad. And I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see my mother in my freckles and hair and I believe Finn. This house has so many of their memories we may as well be haunted by their ghosts.

I go into my room and the dress hanging on my closet doorknob gives me pause.

This dress. I touch it lightly, as if it were something soft, as if it were a knife. This was my mother’s.

I hurriedly drink the rest of my hot chocolate and set the mug down on my bedside table. Knowing my luck, I’d spill the entire contents down the front of the gown, and then the first five years of our marriage would be spent paying off loans taken out to buy a replacement. And after the work Dory Maud and Elizabeth put in to alter it, I think I’d die then and there from their scolding more than anything else.

I hold it up against myself and look into the full length mirror I’m borrowing from Elizabeth and I wonder when I’ll be able to look at myself and not see my mother.

I think about Sean, about whether he sent his mother the invitation, about whether he tracked her down. About the kind of person who’d leave their son when they didn’t have to, and I think fiercely that I won’t leave him like that.

The dress casts a pale glow into the room and makes my face more shadowed in comparison. It’s completely out of place here surrounded by my childhood things. It seems strange that I’m getting married when it seems like only yesterday that I was scowling at my parents, or that Gabe pulled my braids, or that Finn sold the Morris. I hug myself tightly. It seems strange. The thought of it exerts a strong pressure on my chest with strong hands and suddenly it hurts to breathe.

“Are you okay?”

I turn sharply to face the doorway and nearly fall over. Gabe’s leaning against the doorframe, concern etched between his brows, and for a moment I can believe that this is normal, that he’s back. That he’s staying.

“I’m nervous,” I confess. I hang the dress back on the closet doorknob. “I trust Sean. I love him. But I feel so young, Gabe, and lost, and I wish they were here. I want to know—” that I’ve chosen right. That they approve.

Gabe, to his credit, doesn’t offer me any empty promises of our parents looking down on us from Up There. He simply walks to me and opens his arms and I fall into them, the way I did when I was younger and when it seemed like a greater age difference between us than six years.

“It’ll be okay,” Gabe says. He doesn’t say that he’ll be here; I know he’s taken a week of vacation time to have come over and helped Sean fix up his parents’ house, but he’s going back to the mainland the day after the ceremony. I only have him for two more days.

There was a time when I thought I had him for forever, but I try not to dwell on that.

“You can write to me,” he continues. I hold him tighter. “I’ll do my best to write back quickly. You haven’t lost me as a brother, Kate.”

I nod against his chest. There was a point, when he was leaving the first time and I entered the races, when I would have yelled and screamed at him that of course I was, that he can’t just leave like this, that him leaving changed everything. But now, being in his shoes, about to leave Finn, I understand.

We stay like that for a long, long time.


The house is clean and the windows have been replaced and the door hinges are greased and I’m restless with nothing to do.

I’m thinking about going to check on Corr, but with how agitated and fidgety I am, chances are good that his progress will instead regress and I’ll have another thing to worry about. I ball my hands into fists and rub them against my eyes, sinking to the floor of the kitchen.

It’s late. The sea is already singing to the capaill uisce in the stables at Malvern’s yard, pulling them deeper under its spell. I had been there for so long that just thinking about the whinnies of the tense horses immediately calls forth several memories. I cannot tell if I miss it.

Corr whinnies from his makeshift stable and the sound reminds me that there’s another thing I should do before Puck and Dove move in tomorrow. Right now his stall is very similar to the one he had at Malvern’s, nice and secure, but the rest of the structure is not my proudest piece of work. I sigh. There will be time. After the wedding.

“I’m sorry, Corr,” I whisper into the night air.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” a voice says from the doorway.

I jump so high that I nearly hit my head on the countertop. Heart pounding like Corr’s hooves at a gallop, I get to my feet, searching around for something with weight. This reminds me too much of when Mutt nearly killed Corr. My hand closes around the handle of a long knife.

“You aren’t going to use that on me, I hope,” the voice continues. I pause, thinking. The accent is not one that you’d run into often on Thisby. I let out a deep breath and put the knife down.

“Holly,” I say neutrally, as if he hadn’t just scared me more than anything.

George Holly asks, “May I come in?”

I nod. He comes in, casting a critical eye around the kitchen, and I see the room through his eyes. There’s a wire uncovered by the pantry, a tear in the couch you can see through the archway to the living room, and blue paint spilled from the walls. In this light, the paint looks like blood.

It strikes me that perhaps I’m too familiar with blood.

“Looks nice,” Holly comments finally. He takes a seat at the small kitchen table. “I especially like the spilled paint. Nice artistic touch.”

I smile slightly at this and join him at the table. He steeples his fingers and observes me over them.

I say, “What brings you by?”

“Dory Maud and Annie, actually,” he replies, leaning back in his chair.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. And good thing, too,” Holly says. “You look very, very pale, Sean Kendrick.”

I don’t reply. Odds are very good that there’s something he wants to say, and I’m willing to wait until he wants to speak. We spend some minutes in silence before he laughs.

“I see, I see.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I give in. I’ll ask. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I answer. My tone is terse, which isn’t what I was intending. Holly raises his eyebrows.

“Fine? Because you look like you’re on a horse that’s barrelling out of control and you can’t turn it uphill to slow down.”

His words are a little too insightful for my liking. “I’m fine,” I say, nicer this time but still unmistakably broaching no questions. “Why are you here, again?”

“I was told it’s Thisby tradition for the best man to stay with the groom the night before the big day,” Holly replies with a grin. “Isn’t that true?”

“I think so,” I say, honestly unsure. “Most of my time after my father died was spent learning Thisby’s traditions about horses, but I believe that’s true.”

Holly nods indulgently. “Then what kind of best man would I be if I had let you spend this night alone?”

I consider this while he examines the grain of the table. “I suppose it depends on who you’re asking,” I say slowly. “If you were to ask the mainlanders, a normal one. If you were to ask me…” I pause. He looks at me with an earnest expression. “If you were to ask me, a poor one. Thank you,” I whisper, “for coming.”

“You’re nervous,” he says, and it’s less of an observation and more of a fact. I nod. “Don’t be.” I glance up at him now, my eyes narrowed in confusion. “Puck Connolly loves you, Sean. Don’t worry about her feelings.”

I whisper, “Myself I am sure of.”

“Then don’t operate on surety. Trust her,” Holly replies. “Trust doesn’t have to be founded on anything rational, though in your case I’m happy to say it certainly is.”

My mouth had gone dry somewhere in the middle of his comments and my words stick in my throat, but I think he knows what I want to say. He walks around the table to clap me gently on the shoulder.

“Is there anything you need tonight?” Holly asks.

“Can you…can you sit with me?” I reply, wincing at the neediness in my voice. “I need someone to sit with me tonight. I don’t know if I’ll fall asleep, but it would be nice to know that you’re here.”

“Of course,” Holly says easily. He launches into a story about America and about a stallion who’s been giving him trouble, about a mare that he’s named Puck because when she gets hungry she rams headfirst into her stable door. I smile at that.

Suddenly a new fear grips my heart. “Holly,” I interrupt frantically. “Puck. What do I call her tomorrow? What am I supposed to say?”

He frowns, thinking. “You mean, during your vows?”

“Yes. I’ve always called her ‘Puck’, but—”

“But it isn’t her real name,” he says thoughtfully. “I see. Have you asked her?”

I shake my head, tracing a circle on my knee in the hopes that I can steady myself. “No. I haven’t seen her in three days,” I say. “Another Thisby tradition.”

“What a strangely wonderful place this is,” Holly says with a smile. “Well. Which is she to you? Puck or Kate?”

Puck is the answer that immediately comes to my tongue. She’s bold, brash, and loving. Her words are alternatingly biting and soothing. She’s a mess of everything, of all the ocean’s moods. She’s Puck to me. Puck is who I proposed to. Puck is who I’ll marry. Yes. This name feels right on my lips.

George Holly smiles like he knows what I’ve decided. “I think you’ve got your answer, then,” he says.

And for tonight, I believe it can be this simple. If only for tonight.

Sour Milk

Pairing: USUK
Rating: K
Tags: Soulmate AU, Coffee shop AU, Convenience store AU
Summary: Of all the ways Arthur could have met his soulmate, he did not expect to meet him breaking into his store to buy six gallons of milk in pajamas.

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The Hollow Knight and the Warrior Princess

I’ve have this rather insane idea kicking around my head for a while about Tom telling an older Agnes a bedtime story that’s a fantastical version of the Keen2 story. Tom would become the Hollow Knight, a warrior from an army of heartless soldiers. Red would become the Scarlet Sorcerer who hired the Hollow Knight to watch over Liz, the Warrior Princess. 

I already have two ongoing stories to work on, but hey why not throw one more on the pile.