by anything in fanfiction now

I just can’t seem to draw anything but angst right now!

I can’t write fanfiction but for anyone interested the thought behind this pic is Yuri falls during a competition. He manages to make it though his routine and off the ice but Otabek can tell something is wrong. Yuri angrily refuses medical treatment so Otabek picks him up and carries him to a more secluded area. The whole way there Yuri keeps his head up and his eyes straight ahead but Otabek can see that he’s keeping his jaw clenched through the pain. Finally out of public sight Yuri breaks down in Otabeks arms from the pain and frustration.

I really need to go read some fluff now!

Don’t you hate when you’re trying to find fanfiction to quench your thirst for angst but all your ships are rarepairs and there’s five fics, tops, that AO3 tries to give you? Because I do

Ianthony Fic - New Beginnings

Anthony hadn’t been himself lately. To anyone else, he was the same old jolly Anthony but Ian knew better. He noticed the crease between his brows that presented itself a lot more frequently now. He noticed the expression of relief after they were done shooting a video - not the kind that the others had, not out of accomplishment; it was the relief one got after coming out of a strenuous situation. He noticed how his smiles seemed to grow less and less genuine with each passing day.

And then there were other things. Things that didn’t require over a decade of friendship and an eye as keen as Ian’s. Basically, Anthony hadn’t been himself lately and it was obvious to anyone who cared to pay attention.

Ian brought it up one night when they were at his apartment “chilling”. In reality, there was an air of awkwardness and tension around them, as if the night suspected what they were about to discuss and decided to set the mood accordingly. Ian was sure the last time a conversation between them had felt so dreadful was when Anthony had called to announce that he was going to propose in Japan.

Trying (and failing) multiple times to bring up the topic without sounding overly concerned, Ian decided it was best to be direct. Although before he could utter another word, Anthony beat him to The Discussion.

“Ian, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he began in an ominous tone.

And just like that, Ian knew why the night had felt so significant earlier. He had subconsciously picked up on the clues all along and his thoughts had culminated in the realisation mere seconds before Anthony informed him so himself.

“I want to leave Smosh.”

Ian should have prepared himself better, goddammit. Because hearing those words hurt. He grimaced and something like guilt flashed across the other man’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if to lighten the blow.

Ian hummed but didn’t say much more. They had talked about this once. Years ago. Leaving Smosh. Back then, it was them and a couple other people who assisted them occasionally. They didn’t have dedicated makeup artists back then, unless it was to make a fake wound. They also didn’t have a movie or wax statues to boast of.

Ian didn’t want to continue their conversation that night. He felt too exhausted all of a sudden and the idea of sleep was too enticing. But this was important.

“How long have you been mulling over this?”

“Quite a while…”


“Since December.”


Silence set in once more. Each man held his breath, anticipating an ugly argument. The tension in the room grew so thick, it was almost like a physical entity.

Ian took a deep breath. “I am not angry,” he enunciated, because it was essential that his best friend knew that much. “I’m not angry but I can’t understand why…”

Anthony sighed and an expression flicked across his face that Ian wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see again. It was gone before he could analyse what it even meant.

Feeling an oncoming headache, Ian massaged his temple gently and thought about what he could say. It was odd because he never had to think before talking to his friend; it was one of the best features of their relationship.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t miss the old days?” He sounded more bitter than nostalgic and Ian hated it.

“I don’t need to look you in the eyes to tell you that. Of course I miss the old days! Everyone misses their old days, nothing new about that.”

“For fuck’s sake, you know that’s not what I mean. I hate this Ian. I hate it! I hate what we have become, I hate that I have no control, I hate that Smosh has become a…a brand,” he spat with no inconsiderable contempt, “and has so many censors on our ideas. This is not what I ever intended it to be and I don’t want to be part of it any longer!”

His chest was heaving and Ian flinched at the last shouted word. Yeah, fights with Anthony, however rare, were always the worst.

“I just really fucking miss when it was the two of us having fun,” he murmured, avoiding Ian’s gaze.

Ian found his annoyance mitigate on hearing that and felt his heart flutter. He pressed his shoulders fondly and smiled sadly at him. “Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong Ian, I love our friends, I love the crew. I just…I don’t like what we’re doing here. This isn’t us. I wish we could go back to when it was just you and me with our silly skits and lunchtime videos. It’s like we hardly hang out any more outside of Smosh related stuff. When was the last time we had lunch together without talking about any new ideas or business projects? I miss you Ian…” he trailed off.

After a heartwarming speech like this, the only logical option was to engulf him in a bear hug. Which Ian did. And they stayed like that for several moments, breathing in the comfort of familiar arms. Secure. Warm.

“I am such a sentimental ass,” Anthony huffed, his breath tickling Ian’s neck.

“It’s okay. You get to be a sentimental ass once in a while.”


“Look,” Ian pulled away gently, but didn’t place much distance between them. “I won’t lie and tell you I’m okay with you leaving. Because I’ve never done this alone and I don’t know how to. But know one thing, I will always be there to support you, no mater what. I don’t think I want to leave yet. But I trust you and if you’re sure leaving will make you happier, go ahead. And just in case you feel like it isn’t working out-”

“That’d be embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you feel like coming back, I’ll be right here to welcome you.”

They shared fond smiles and breathed synchronised sighs of relief. The argument was handled much more maturely than either of them anticipated.

Ian suddenly became aware of their proximity and stood up abruptly.

“I assume you won’t be joining us for the summer games then?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Oh well. It will be a tough job explaining this to the rest of them. Anyway, I’m tired as hell,” he nodded towards his bedroom. “You might as well stay the night, it’s already past two.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I have it in me to drive after having this talk.” He fiddled with a thread on his ripped jeans. Ian knew he was holding back on something else he needed to ask but wasn’t sure about Ian’s reaction.

Before he could prompt him to continue, Anthony looked up at him with dazzling eyes and an uncertain expression.

“Do you remember the other thing we never tried because of Smosh?” He asked tentatively.

Ian froze. “You mean…”


Silence again. They stared at each other with contemplating eyes for who knows how long. It wasn’t common for Ian to have to look down at his friend, but he was grateful for the height difference that Anthony being seated lended him. He felt like he was in control here, the one who could decide whether or not they were about to discuss something they’d avoided talking about seriously for years now.

“We’re both in relationships, you know that right?” Ian said at last.

“And are you happy with her? Because I know I’m not.”

That was a revelation. He had never talked about being dissatisfied in his relationship before. Ian took a moment to process the new data.

“Anthony,” he began, his voice shaking.

“No Ian, please. Yes or no? Are you happy with her? Your girlfriend who just happens to look a lot like me and have the same interests as me?” His words were made worse by the accompanying cold and mocking tone.

“What the fuck man?!” Ian’s temper was rising steadily. “You’re one to talk. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Dog person. Remind you of someone?”

And to his great annoyance, the bastard smiled. Smiled! “Point proven. We’ve both settled for the next best thing we could find after each other.”

Ian was at a loss for words. He knew that, of course. He had accepted the fact that he and Anthony were never going to be a thing and so had given up waiting long ago. But to hear it out loud from another person made him feel pathetic. And guilty. The girls deserved better than this.

“I’m not leaving just because I’m tired of having no control. It’s been years and I’m still crazy about you Ian. I want you. I want so much more than what we’ve got going on now, and knowing that you feel the same way hurts so much because we could have everything if we just tried.”

Ian didn’t ask how Anthony could be so sure Ian still felt for him the same way he did so many years ago. But then again, he was Anthony. Of course he knew.

“I know you’d never agree to be together as long as we were business partners because somehow you found this reasoning by 20 year old me really sensible. God knows why I even suggested that.”

“We were 23 and at the peak of our career. Of course I found it sensible. It’d have been stupid to risk our careers for what could just have been hormones and a little crush. You’ve never been good at relationships, admit it. I didn’t want everything we had achieved to go down the drain because we couldn’t handle a break up.”

“But it isn’t just a crush though, we know that now…right?”

Ian found it very endearing, the hope and uncertainty lurking behind his seemingly confident guise. Anthony rarely looked vulnerable. Ian couldn’t believe this was happening after years of pining. Despite himself, he started crying.

Maybe he should have felt ridiculous. He was almost 30 for god’s sake! He just couldn’t find it in himself to care when Anthony was looking at him like that and strong hands were guiding him to the couch, enveloping him, grounding him, comforting him.

“I’m sorry but you look adorable when you cry,” Anthony chuckled next to his ear. And wrapped himself more tightly around his smaller frame. “I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he said in a rumbling voice.

“But you can’t. I’m not cheating on her.”

Anthony hummed and they stayed embracing each other. Ian found himself drifting off and was soon dead to the world, content in the warmth of loving arms and dexterous fingers stroking his hair, oh so gently. He didn’t hear the soft “I love you” murmured against his forehead.

The coming days would be testing for them both. But right now, they were in the safe space where anything was possible.

Crack interpretation of the Buddy System footage we have

AKA Buddy System as a ‘What Happens in Vegas’ AU

Rhink get drunk hitched in Vegas. Link just wanted to have a drink and a spin at the casino before he turned in for the night - but he gets annoyed by a giant, loud-mouthed Vegas Jesus at the end of the bar. He called him Vegas Jesus because of his admittedly luscious dirt blonde long hair and his beige pants. Somehow Vegas Jesus proclaiming that ‘the grumpy grandpas should be in bed by now’ and Link’s shot back that ‘discount Jesus is needed over by Elvis’ took a weird turn. That turn being hot hate sex in a room Link wasn’t entirely sure was his, laughing over nothing once they got two mini bars of alcohol in them - and then going back to the bar for more. 

Neither of them are sure when they got to the chapel, but Link is pretty sure it was some time after he tried to table dance on a craps table. (He can’t remember but he thinks the only reason he didn’t is because he fell over when he tried to lift his leg up). By the they time they wake up in bed together with rings on Link still can’t remember the name of the guy next to him beyond ‘Vegas Jesus’. He remembers when he’s shown CCTV footage of their ‘wedding’ as proof afterwards though

They get ordered to live as husbands for a full month before they are allowed to annul the marriage - complete with a court-appointed room-mate to monitor. They put on a show of domestic-ness for the sake of the courts; Link grows out his mustache and Rhett tames his mane of hair in a bun. He refuses to go as far as sporting the suburban dad look Link puts on though - because he likes his valour shirts too much. They also get jobs at a robotics factory ‘cause heck, they needed the money after legal fees and the Vegas bender.

Two weeks later they have a plan. 

Keep reading

Stay Alive

Now with an author’s note! 


She barely sleeps now. 

She has reasons for it, good ones-there are meetings almost every day now, Jon seems to get back later and later from his raids, and the baby has trouble through the night. She likes to stay up and wait until he returns, sometimes scraped and banged up from his fights, sometimes with far fewer men than he’d left with. It gives her some semblance of control. When she’s awake, she can’t lose him. 

In fact she can barely sleep sometimes unless she’s next to him, safe in the circle of his arms, his breath ruffling the hair on the back of her neck. She clings to the nights and shies away from the morning because each day is new, uncertain, and dangerous. 

Brandon Stark seems to think she’s Azor Ahai. She didn’t know much about the old prophecies-she’s never really believed in any kind of destiny she couldn’t prove-but she’s read enough stories about heroes to know that it required sacrifice. She can’t imagine that she’ll walk out of this unscathed. But she’s already lost so much-her soldiers, her allies, Viserion, even Dragonstone which had finally started to feel like a home. She can’t lose anything else. 

She waits for Jon now, looking out the window at the slowly cascading snow, holding their child on her lap. Rhaelle is a good baby most of the time; she sleeps happily cuddled into her mother’s arms. Dany brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes-already a shock of blonde, like her own. A true Targaryen. She sets her gently back in her cradle; the baby stirs once and then settles back into sleep.

The horses materialize out of the gusting snow, one by one. They’re all tired and their riders half fall to the ground as the servants rush to help them off. She runs to meet them in the entrance hall, throwing herself into Jon’s arms without caring who’s looking. He smells of pine leaves and the sharp stink of fire. “What happened? How did it go?”

He pulls her closer, burying his face in the top of her head. His voice is low and defeated; she almost doesn’t hear it. “Moletown is destroyed.” 

Another loss then. These days it seems they’ve had more losses than victories.


Rhaegal is injured on the next raid. She’s not there so she doesn’t see it firsthand, but she feels his pain almost as a physical thing. She’s already there when he comes back, helped along by Drogon. A spear of ice sticks out of his wing, like the one that killed his brother. 

When they take it out, there’s still a massive hole in his wing. She makes him stay at Winterfell and heal, visiting him three times a day to bring him fresh meat. 

That raid is also a defeat. 

Tyrion tears up their old battle plans, decides they need a new strategy. Tormund leads a group of wildlings in a surprise attack; only four of them survive. Bran says the Night King may be a greenseer, the same way he is-that would explain why no matter what they do the enemy always seems to be one step ahead. 

That night she has the first dream, of a castle far to the north. It’s carved entirely out of ice, smooth as glass and cold to the touch, alone in a harsh and unforgiving landscape. She dreams of wandering long quiet hallways, alone except for the rush of wind in her ears. 

She’s still cold when she wakes up, even though a fire burns merrily in the fireplace and they’re sleeping under three separate furs. She doesn’t tell Jon; she doesn’t need to worry him anymore than he already is. 


He barely eats now and when he sleeps it’s hard to rouse him. He still smiles whenever he sees her but his eyes are tired and sad. 

She doesn’t know who will kill him first-the Night King or himself. 

She does what she can to ease his burdens-she makes sure all of the plans are in order, helps the sick, dispatches soldiers, and even leads a few raids of her own from atop Drogon’s back. But there’s only so much she can do. 

The dreams come every night, always of the same castle. 

She wishes sometimes that her husband was selfish and not quite so noble and self sacrificing. She wishes she didn’t have to share him with the rest of the world and he could stop preparing to die at any moment, kissing her like it might be the last time he ever does. But that’s not who he is. He’s not one to sit back while others are in danger and neither does she. 

One night he has a nightmare and wakes up covered in sweat. 

“What is it?” She moves closer to him instinctively, touching the side of his face. Her fingers come away wet. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He tries to compose himself, breathing harshly. “Just a dream.”

She knows that’s not all of it but she kisses him anyway. “Just a dream. You’re safe here.” For now. 

No. She shrugs off the fear. She’ll do whatever it takes to save him and their children. 

No matter what happens, she won’t lose him. 

Eventually he falls asleep again, but she lies awake for the rest of the night afraid that if she goes to sleep she’ll lose him. He gives and gives and gives with no regard for himself, with no thought for how much it would destroy the people he loves should he die. 


The arrow is a surprise. She doesn’t even see it until it embeds itself in her side and there’s a sharp, stabbing pain below her rib cage. 

She must have screamed; how else does she end up in the snow with everyone surrounding her? Drogon makes short work of the rest of the wights and then Jon is picking her up and putting her back on his back, giving the dragon instructions to take her back to Winterfell in broken Valyrian. Someone-Tormund, she thinks-has the suggestion to tie her to the dragon’s back, just in case she falls off.

Jon’s face is the last thing she sees before the darkness overtakes her. It’s shattered. 


The next week or so is a mess of half realized dreams and snippets of reality that she’s barely conscious of. She’s in a clean white bed, people whisper above her bedside-and she’s walking, out of Winterfell’s front doors, across icy fields and dark plains, but she’s only wearing a light cloak and she doesn’t feel the cold. 

Is this what it feels like to die? 

Awareness comes slowly, in bits and pieces. Once she surfaces to see Arya sitting by her bedside, swinging her sword in increasingly complicated patterns and muttering under her breath. Another time Sansa tries to feed her a thick broth that spills down the front of her nightdress. She tries to sit up but the pain sends her spasming back into unconsciousness. 

Sometimes Jon’s voice wends through her consciousness, encouraging her to come back, that they need her. She uses it like an anchor, pulling herself out of the darkness of her mind, pulling her away from the castle. 

When she opens her eyes and sees him for the first time since the accident he hugs her so hard she can’t breathe. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers, and she hears the way his voice trembles. It makes her feel guilty for hurting him. 

“How long was I asleep?”

“Two weeks.”

She struggles to sit up because that’s far too long, surely something terrible must have happened in that time. “Where is the Night King’s army?”

“Dany, don’t tear your stitches-”

“Where are they, Jon?”

He sighs, eyes closing and shoulders slumping. “They’re nearly halfway to Winterfell.”


She starts sleepwalking. 

At first it’s little things; she’ll wake up on the chaise lounge on the other side of the room with no memory of how she got there. And then she finds herself in other rooms, always asleep in front of a window looking out at the moonlit night. 

One night she almost walks right out of the castle, until two guards catch her and wake her up. 

By this point Jon is beside himself with worry because they know that whatever’s happening isn’t supposed to be. So one night she takes him aside and tells him about the dreams, how sometimes her breath fogs in the air when she wakes up even though a fire roars high in the grate. 

“They’re calling to me, Jon. They want me.” Just giving voice to it makes her heart rate speed up because try as she might to be calm and collected she’s not. She’s so frightened because she has no idea how she can fix things, how things will end in anything other than disaster unless she does the unthinkable. 

“They won’t get you.” He holds her tightly, as if by sheer force of will he can keep her beside him. “I won’t let them.” His voice trembles with what’s either fear or love, she can’t tell. Maybe both. “We’ll fight as hard as we can.”

“It won’t be enough.”

“We don’t have another choice.”

She doesn’t even want to bring it up but she knows she has to; it hangs in the air between them like the spectre of death. “But if we could trade-”

“No.” His voice brokers no room for argument. “I won’t do that.”

“It’s not you they want.” 

He holds her tighter as if that can save them. “There’s another way. There has to be.”

They both know that there isn’t.


She would recognize her child’s cry anywhere. 

It jolts her out of another nightmare and she runs to the window, almost tripping over the rug in her hurry. Jon is right behind her-

-and they both watch as the ice dragon flies over Winterfell. No. 

But Viserion-if he can still be called that anymore-is gone, already soaring back over the forest and fading into the distance. She feels a hole open in her stomach, losing him yet again. He still looks so hurt, with holes in his wings and frozen blood still painting his scales. He’s not hers anymore. 

Another failure. 

She doesn’t cry; she just stays there until dawn, staring into space, while Jon stays by her side and does what he can to keep things from falling apart. 


She’s under constant watch from her Guard now. For her own protection. 

She doesn’t know how long they can save her. 

One night she goes to see Bran Stark, and he confirms her worst fears-if she goes with them, fire and ice, then they’ll retreat North of the Wall again. There won’t be a battle. There won’t be a slaughter. Jon and Rhaelle will live in peace. 

They’ll kill Viserion. For real, this time. So he can be at peace. 

Hasn’t she always said she’d do anything for her people? So why is it that now she knows what she has to do she can’t force herself to do it? Why can’t she think of leaving Jon, of betraying him even as she saves his life? 

She doesn’t leave her room because she’s always so cold. She huddles under her covers or in front of the fire. Sometimes someone will sit with her because she hates being alone with the stress and the pressure not to do anything at all.

She always likes it when Arya talks to her. Arya seems to be the only one who’s not too panicked to do anything else. 

“So Jon wasn’t lying, was he?” Arya says the first time that she sees her, looking into the flames, covered into as many skins as she can stomach. “They’re calling you.” 

Dany nods. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold out…” She doesn’t feel like she needs to hide things around Arya, hide how intense the call can sometimes be, hide how selfish she feels every moment she sits inside. 

“Then don’t.”

It feels like a sweet relief, even as it ties her stomach in knots. “But Jon-”

“He’ll be upset…but he’ll come around. He loves you-and he knows that your duty is to your people.”Arya’s voice has softened, as if she knows how hard this is, what an impossible choice it is to make. “You have to do what you think is right. Don’t wait for him. Don’t wait for any of us.”

“I don’t want to lose him-or any of you. If there’s a massacre…if people die, their blood is on my hands.” And she doesn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of any more innocents. 

“I won’t tell you what to do. We’re Northerners. We’re used to fighting.”

“But this is a fight you can’t win.”

“There’s no dishonor in a death for a cause you believe in. If this isn’t important…what is?”  

“But aren’t you afraid of death?”

Arya shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Everything else is up to chance…but death isn’t. It’s final. Whatever you think happens afterwards, death is an ending. A release.” 

“…You’ll look after him, won’t you?”



Jon takes the news as well as she expected him to. Which is to say he doesn’t. 

“You can’t.”

“And why not?” 

“There’s no need to. We’ll fight-”

“How many will die? Thousands. Millions, maybe. And all that death…all that suffering could be avoided. I’m tired of having their blood on my hands, on my heart. What is one life for the sake of many?”

“Don’t say that.” There’s a note of warning in his voice now, like he’s so angry he’s just barely keeping it together. “Never say that.” 

“I know you would do anything for the sake of our people. So would I. And I have to do this, Jon. I have to make this sacrifice, so at least they have a chance. So their children won’t grow up orphans.” 

“But ours will.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He won’t look at her. “You can’t honestly think that I would let you face them alone, do you?” 

She feels sick now. “Jon, you can’t.” 

“The decision isn’t yours to make, just like it’s not mine to make yours. If I can’t persuade you to stay, then I will follow you to whatever comes next.”

She’s filled with love for him-this reckless, stupid man who she would do anything for and would do anything for her. “Rhaelle needs you.”

“Rhaelle will be surrounded by people who care about her-Sansa, Arya, Gendry, Tyrion…she’ll know what her parents did. She’ll know what they died for. She doesn’t need me. You do.”

“But the throne-”

“Damn the throne.” The intensity in his voice surprises her. “Damn it all. I’ve never wanted it. You know that.” 

Tyrion’s words echo back to her. “But if we both die, who’s left to rule the kingdoms in our stead? How do we protect what we’ve worked so hard to build?” He doesn’t say anything. “I know you never wanted the throne…but you have to take it. There’s no one else who can.” 

She takes a step closer to him, hoping that he knows that she hates this just as much as she does. “You told me that I was your queen. You told me you swore me your alliance, your love, from this day until the end of your days. I need you to do this for me, Jon. I command you to stay. I command you to raise Rhaelle and watch her grow. I command you to be the king that the Seven Kingdoms need.” 

His face is so blank it hurts to look at. “If you do this, I’ll never forgive you.” He walks away like it hurts him to look at her. 

She sags against the wall, the only thing holding her up. It takes all the control she has not to start sobbing. 


For the next few days she avoids him. She knows what she has to do, and she suspects that he knows it too. 

Instead she packs. Arya gives her a knapsack made of a light, supple leather-it melds to her back as if it was made for it and it allows her to move freely. She packs a few extra outfits, a couple of furs, the direwolf pin that Jon gave her on the night they married. And she brings a knife, small and sharp and able to hang in easy reach at her belt. 

What should she pack if she’s going to her death? 

The dreams are more intense now; sometimes she still wakes up freezing and has to lie in front of the fireplace for hours before the cold leaves her bones. It never seems to leave her soul. 

And then, finally, she’s ready. She tells Tyrion what she means to do first; he doesn’t take it well but she thinks that in some way he understands why she has to do it. 

She takes a final walk around the castle that’s started to feel like home-through the crypts, the ramparts and alcoves where she and Jon sometimes kissed passionately when they were alone, the courtyard where he taught her to spar. It’s filled with people now-what meagre forces they’ve managed to muster, who will be destroyed by the wights the second they arrive. 

She’s in the godswood, praying to Jon’s gods for strength, when he finds her. 

He steals to her side, silent as a shadow, and embraces her. He holds her so tightly that she can barely breathe and she hugs him back just as hard, trying to memorize everything about him-how his stubble tickles the top of her head, how his heart beats strong and steady. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” 

They don’t say anything else. There are no other explanations, no apologies. There’s not time for them. They’ve already said everything they need to say, before every battle that felt like the last one. 

Instead they stand in the godswood as a new snow falls around them, like the snow that fell when they were married-but all of the happiness she felt that night is gone, replaced by a cold hollowness that she feels she’ll never fill. 

But she reminds herself that she’s doing it for him, for all of them. 

But mostly for him and Rhaelle. 


She slips out of the castle late that night, long after he’s asleep. Maybe it’s cowardly, not saying goodbye to him one last time. But she thinks that if she did that she wouldn’t leave at all. She’d stay by his side and wait for the dawn-and there will be no more dawns for her. Not now. 

She stops by Rhaelle’s room and kisses her sweet, sweet baby on the forehead, gives her a stuffed dragon hand sewn by Sansa. She said her goodbyes to the Lady of Winterfell earlier. 

Arya shows her out into the night and embraces her briefly, fiercely, before she can go find the dragons. “Thank you for returning him to us,” she whispers. 

“Keep him safe for me. Keep them all safe.” 

Drogon goes unbidden, flying north like an arrow. She wants to look back at Winterfell once before she goes but she doesn’t, even when the tears blur her eyes. If I look back then I am lost. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice taken away by the wind. “I’m so sorry.” 

She’s not afraid of dying. But she’s afraid of what comes next, afraid she’ll never see any of them again. She’s so afraid. 

But this is what queens do. This is her sacrifice. She’s gone too far to turn back now. 


Drogon returns riderless, keening, late the next morning. And something inside Jon’s heart shatters. 


There’s a story the children tell now, about a queen with hair like winter who went to the far north and never returned. She rules over a palace of ice and snow now, and she can’t leave until the last of magic is gone from the world. Her king rules beside her. It’s said that he ruled the iron throne at one point, until his daughter was old enough to rule in his stead and he returned to his true love. Now they rule together, in a castle by a sea of ice, finally together.

So you’re all like ‘Sophia, where did this come from?’ So there were a couple of prompts that I got-one on Dany being Azor Ahai and reminiscing on sacrificing from an anon and another from @hales2007 on Dany not planning on losing any more children and on the legend of the Night King and Queen from the ASOIAF books. And then it just kind of formed into this idea. 

Sorry it kind of got out of hand. But are we honestly surprised anymore? 

Tips On How To Write Undead/Zombie Creatures (For both fanfic writers and original content writers)

This is for @angels-of-hades, who sent me an ask about this, and I decided that it would be great for another of my iconic Long Posts. (See my post about winged characters here and my post about shape-shifters here)

The undead are an incredibly common trope in modern fiction.

From “The Walking Dead”, to “iZombie”, to “Z-Nation”, to a ton of others, the undead seem to have infatuated television writers.

It’s not just television, though- the zombie craze has now spread to literature, too, if Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Warm Bodies, and World War Z have anything to show for it.

And now it has spread to fanfiction. I can’t even count how many Zombie Apocalypse AUs and Walking Dead fusions I’ve seen popping up in the feed of multiple fandoms,

Therefore, I’ve decided to make a post on writing zombielike creatures, which you should probably read before you begin that apocalypse AU you’ve been obsessing over.

1. Decide how the virus spreads- make a checklist and take everything into account as you analyze all of the facts.

Okay, you don’t have to make an actual checklist. Just something in your head.

Think of all the ways that the virus can spread, the most common way being a mixing of bodily fluids (a bite from an infected person).

This can also mean blood-to-blood contact with a victim also causes the virus to spread, and A LOT of television shows just gloss this over: WHAT ABOUT MOSQUITOES???

Take The Walking Dead as an example:

They’re in the south for a majority of the time; It’s hot.

Mosquitoes must be breeding like crazy.

I understand why a mosquito wouldn’t bite a zombie during the later stages as the corpse decays and becomes more cadaver-like, but during the first few weeks? When the blood was still fresh and the people were still kinda sorta alive???

Mosquitoes would totally be a spreading factor for the virus- sucking the blood from a zombie and then biting a healthy human, thus infecting them- and everyone would be dead.

That’s an example of poor planning- The Walking Dead writers didn’t specify enough and hinted at the virus being spread through blood-to-blood contact, and that leaves a gigantic gap in information.

Here are some limits/rules/whatever that you can set for your virus:

- It can only be spread through a bite (you have to specifically state a bite, because that means that it’s in the saliva)

-It can only be spread through gene alteration

-It’s a parasite and the parasite actually has to be inside of the host for it to infect them

-The virus cannot survive in certain temperatures/climates

These are only a few, so feel free to add more!

2. Make your zombies unique

Like I said above, there are a LOT of zombie stories. Like, a lot.

You need to make a part of your zombies different from the rest, so that your potential readers are compelled to pick up the book because wOW LOOK THERE’S A TWIST.

Whether it be zombie animals or zombies that are incredibly intelligent, you have to make sure that these creatures pop out because otherwise they’ll be lost in the fray of post-apocalyptic, gunslinging nonsense.


Here are some common tropes that are usually associated with zombies that you can change up a bit if you want:

-Slow (walk/shuffle/etc.)

-Can’t communicate (aside from groaning)


-There are a lot of them, usually outnumbering the protagonist and their gang

-Are human corpses

-Result from a viral outbreak

-Do not remember their former selves

-Can only be killed a certain way (shot in the head/head cut off/something with the head/whatever.)

3. Just because you have zombies doesn’t mean you can’t have a plot, too!

^^^^My reaction when I read/watch something and there’s no plot except coME ON LET’S FIGHT TEH ZOMBIES

A lot- and I mean A LOT- of amateur writers think “Ok, so if I have zombies in the story, I need no other conflict except them fighting zombies. I mean, that’s a good enough conflict, right?”

*buzzer noise* WRONG

Yes, I understand that technically (technically) zombies are a conflict. I mean, they’re undead people, right? 

But if your entire story is just hacking and chopping away at a ton of corpses, it ain;t gonna be interesting, at least not to me.

What would The Walking Dead be like without Shane? The Governor? Terminus? Negan and the Saviors?

The reason why The Walking Dead is so popular is because it shows an overarching plotline, with zombies- oh, I’m sorry, “walkers”- just being problems in between. Yes, maybe in the first season it was mostly about escaping the herd, but the rest is about tons of other things, and zombies are just the antagonists that make the protagonists’ lives harder while they’re trying to deal with other things.

You should really follow this example because if the only thing you can say about the main conflict in your story is “there’s zombies“ then you really need to rethink what you’re writing.

Some main goals/conflicts/overarching plotlines that you can choose from:

-Stopping the person who spread/is spreading the virus

-Find the antidote

-Struggle for survival against other humans

-Struggle for resources

-Going to a certain place where there’s supposedly no zombies

-Finding people the protagonist has been separated from

-Plus much more


We met at the library (a Yousana HP AU)- Part 1

Because the canon is not satisfying right now, to say the least, here’s a little yousana fic to brighten your day. It’s my first fic ever so be gentle with me. If you see any typo or language mistake please let me know. Also, big thanks to @thickskinandelasticheart for the idea and the positive support <3. I personnaly headcanon Sana as a Ravenclaw with strong Slytherin traits and Yousef as Hufflepuff. Hope you like the first part! More to come


Yousef has been trying to concentrate to finally start learning for his NEWTS but it just seems like everyone in the Hufflepuf common room has decided to go against his wishes of quiet and calm. Everyone’s chatting and playing games and it’s driving him mad. Hufflepufs are suppose to be hard workers are they not ? If only it wasn’t raining so hard, he could go work outside.

He finally decides to go to the library after someone’s (probably a first year) paper plane lands on his notes for what seems like the 50th time. He gets up, grabs his books and papers and leaves.

While on his way to the library he relishes in the silence of the empty halls, wishing for  the library to not be crowded with loud people who can’t wait for the rain to stop so they can go outside. He really needs to get a good start working on his Newts and be efficient.

When he arrives at the library, he can’t seem to find a single table with less than 4 people or without piles of books on them (sometime he realizes there is actually someone behind the pile of books, most of the time a fifth or seven year). He sighs, ready to go and work in a corridor when he spots her. Seating alone at a table surrounded by her notes and looking so serious. Sana Bakkoush. A fifth year Ravenclaw.

It seems he’s drawn to her ever since that day he first noticed her in the Great Hall. He remembers the loud noise her friend’s potion bottle made when she let it fall on the ground which made everyone in the room turn around to stare at her, leaving her frozen on the spot. Then a girl from her table started laughing and that’s when Sana stood up to stand next to her friend and cast the deadlier glare at the mocking girl. While levitating a glass of water next to her face. When the girl stopped laughing and turned back, Sana just sat down with her friend like nothing had happened. She smiled at her friend and her whole demeanor changed, he face softened, her dimples appeared and she just looked so so nice. Since that day, Yousef can’t help but notice her whenever he’s near her.

He decides to seat at her table, hoping she won’t mind but she seems so focused on her work that it doesn’t seem like she’ll even notice him.

Sana was indeed very focused on finishing her transfiguration essay. It’s a very important one and her teacher had told them that it was exactly the kind of question they could get for their exams. So Sana has to ace it. She hears someone moving a chair at her table and starting to sit down. She usually doesn’t mind sharing a table in the library but she swears that if it one of those people who only come into the library when the weather is bad because they’re « bored »,she’s going to riot.

She looks up and it’s a seventh year Hufflepuff who looks at her with a quizzing little smile as if to ask her authorization to sit at the table. His hair is falling on both sides of his face and she’s seen him a few times before (okay, quite a lot of times because they always seem to cross paths these days), laughing with his friends in the corridors. Her brother knows him as well and she’s pretty sure that his name is Yousef. Alright, she’s absolutely sure of that, she even knows his last name. But that’s only because there aren’t as many students in Hogwarts as most people imagine or seem to remember. Not because she looked through the prefect files. It’s really nice to see him there ,she thinks. All the irritation she once had is gone and as an answer to his silent question, she just smiles at him. He sits down, seeming relieved, and starts working in silence. They don’t talk, they just work next to each other. If someone at a table near them makes too much noise, they’ll look at each other as if to say « Are we the only one here actually trying to work ? ».

When dinner time arrives, they stand up at the same time, their eyes meeting across the table as they collect their books and notes. He smiles at her and she simply nods before they both go down their separate way to their common rooms.


Hey guys! I know it’s been a literal year but…SAET Chapter 21 is now finally on (Ao3) and ( I hope it is worth the wait. Thank you so much to everyone who has continued to support me and my fic this year, it means the world to me *hug*

Trade Negotiations (7): Enjoyment

“I can’t believe you really spend your whole day out here,” Izaya calls from the edge of the practice field. “Do you really have nothing better to do with your time?”

“Do you?” Shizuo snaps back, letting the weapon in his grip rattle into another blow against the training dummy in front of him without looking back over his shoulder. Izaya’s presence is becoming an unfortunate regularity; by now it’s not even worth turning to look at him, not when Shizuo knows he’ll just be met with that intolerable smirk and that dark gaze that falls somewhere between mocking flirtation and outright threat at the same time. “You travelled all this way for the negotiations–” as he slams another blow against the shape in front of him, as hard as if it were Izaya himself instead of the solid support of a training dummy. “–and now you’re never even in them.”

“I travelled here in the interests of creating friendly relations between my country and yours,” Izaya says with absolute calm. “From that perspective spending time with the Boscan prince is a perfectly effective use of my presence.”

Shizuo scoffs. “We’re not friendly,” he insists, and takes another heavy swing at the dummy in front of him. “I just want you out of my country.”

“How convenient for you that that is an inevitability,” Izaya purrs. “Won’t you be so happy when I’m gone? Perhaps making a present tense pest of myself is the best thing I can do to foster goodwill after we leave.”

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The Chosen Path | Chapter 3

Chapter title: Doubt and Trust
Fandom: D.Gray-Man
Pairings: Lavi/Allen + Neah/Lavi [slow burn]
Rating + warnings: T / no warnings apply
Summary: After months of running and hiding, Allen and Neah find themselves travelling with Lavi, who after narrowly escaping death at the hands of the Noah Family struggles to find purpose. They soon find themselves running from a lot more than fate, and soon they will have to decide whether they will accept the roles they’ve been forced into, or make their own path in a world that’s hellbent on taking it from them. [Canon divergent from chapter 218]


The woods were giving their last attempt to persist in the wake of the approaching winter, leaves of flame and fire falling to fade into the mud beneath. Bare branches adorned with dwindling leaves, wisps of fog and the smell of wet earth; it was peaceful here, surrounded by nature in its dying days. Since his time on the run had begun, Allen had found himself taking moments like this often, as if seeing the world around him for the first time. No, not the first; it was as if it was his last. The bitter chill seeping into his bones, the array of colour amongst the darkened bark of dying trees; it was a stark reminder that he was still here, still living and breathing. It left him feeling sombre, a strange combination of both bitterness and reverence. This world would exist whether he was in it or not, and though that caused him pain, it was also comforting. For now, there was a world to live within, places to observe, things to see and smell and taste.

Until the day the world ended, or he ceased to exist, there was a place for him under these endless skies.

[Read on or AO3]

ficlet: rainbow hues

She wonders if color would be so important, if they hadn’t all become friends this way. She wonders if she’d see them in such vivid hues, if they hadn’t become Rangers. She can’t imagine it any other way.

Color just makes so much sense.

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anonymous asked:

Can I request a 14 with Joshua and fluff please 💕💕💕 ~Jisoup Anon

14 “Can I kiss you?”

   He was your best friend. Your partner in crime, and 'bro’. So why was it that now, out of all the frequent time you’d spent with him, were you falling for Joshua?

   No doubt, the other kids at school had constantly joked you were dating, but the more they said it, the more you began to realize you actually wanted it to be true. And whether you were crazy or not, it almost felt like Joshua wanted it, too. Either way, you were scared of the possible damage that could affect your friendship, so you hadn’t made a move.

   But Prom was coming along, and as it’d turned out, Jisoo was keeping up the promise he’d made freshman year to take you, and go together as friends. But it was just that - the term of going as ‘friends’ that made your heart slow and fall down to the pit of your stomach.

   For the most part, you’d tried not to give the idea any thought, but in the moment you and Joshua were finally at the dance together, it kept creeping into your thoughts like the memory of an embarrassing childhood story.

   “Do you want something to drink?” Joshua asked worriedly from where he sat next to you at a table. You snapped out of your thoughts to fully pay attention to him. “I can ask Seungcheol to spike it.” You laughed, trying desperately to push the word friends out of your mind. Of course, it didn’t work.

   “I’ll take it virgin.” He smiled, and was gone to fetch your drink. You took this chance to try and collect yourself before Joshua came back and made your heart race all over again.

   And it had actually worked for a while. You’d managed to have a good time with Joshua without feeling like a middle school girl in love (of course, with the help of Hansol’s and Soonyoung’s joking). 

   But then a slow song came on, and Soonyoung was pushing you and Joshua onto the dance floor with a devilish grin. You’d bumped into Jisoo after a shove from Hansol, and you grimaced as you felt the beating of your heart race once again.

   “I’m sorry,” Joshua began bashfully, a small smile on his face. “I’m so awkward, and I’m supposed to be your date.” You bit your lower lip for a second, and then moved forward to place your hands on his shoulders. Slowly, with a confused expression, Jisoo put his hands around your waist.

   “It’s okay,” You murmured back. “Besides, it’s just dancing.” With that, you both began to slowly move to the music, an occasional laugh or apology slipping when a foot was stepped on. It was long before Joshua spoke again, after the song had ended, and a more upbeat one was beginning.

   “I need to say this before I miss my chance and never forgive myself,” He gently began, his hands still on your waist. “I like you. I have liked you for a long time. And I just… I really need to ask… I’m sorry if this comes off too forward but can I kiss you?” You felt your chest tighten, and there was nothing you could say as the familiar beat of an 2010 song played louder. All you could do was nod your head with an excitement you could feel bubbling at the bottom of your chest.

   And then all you could feel was lips on yours with quiet confessions slipping in between.

//admin miely//

Prompt requests are closed.

fic - glee - or are you happy to see me?

tiny snippet for nov. 8th. what a good day, happy seblaine day, etc.

follows directly after this ficlet (you probably should read it for context, don’t worry it’s very short) [x]

207 words, PG, warnings for ducks (always ducks) and puns.

(I originally wrote this in Pann’s sketchbook while helping them table at their yaoicon artist alley table and they very kindly took a picture of it for me so i could type it up for fandom. they also, very kindly, provided a sketch of quackers.)

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Story list!

Main story!

chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18

One shots!


Ship a rarepair with barely any content? Got an idea for a fic but don’t know how to write it? Have ocs and a story but no writing skills? Want a fun little poem to describe your ocs? Hate proofreading? 

I’ve got your remedy! 

Hi, I’m Thorne / Lucio and I’m 16 with no work experience. I need money for the school year so I’m starting commissions! I ranked 4th in my countries’ English Literacy Exams and have been writing for 6 years now! I’ll do anything from fanfiction to proofreading your essay! Check below for prices and details!

Message me privately if you’re interested!!

Prices (starting at…)

Drabbles (under 100 words) ==> 25-50 ¢

One Shot ==> $1.00 

Two Shot ==> $2.00 

Series ==> $1.50/per chapter 

Proofreading ==> 75 ¢ /per page (ask about discounts if english isn’t your first language!) 

Beta ==> 10 ¢

Poems ==> 10 ¢

**Prices may change depending on requests! 

Check under the cut for any questions you may have!

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