Blessed are the readers, for theirs is the archive.
Blessed are the betas: for they help us write the stories we see in our hearts. Blessed are they that kudo, for they reassure us that someone likes what we’ve done. Blessed are the rebloggers and reccers, for they help the readers find our work. Blessed are they which leave comments on a WIP that say something other than “write more please”: for they comfort us when we feel taken for granted. Blessed are the commenters; for their words bring us joy. Blessed are the loyal fans, for they keep the fandom alive. Blessed are the fan artists, for they bring our worlds to life before our eyes. Blessed are they which read an entire long fic and comment each chapter, for the string of comment notifications fills the writer’s heart with delight. Blessed are ye, who rec our fics in public and tag us, for seeing that we made somebody squee is the light in our days. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad; for great is your reward in fandom.
yet another unfriendly reminder that Gil Brodie and Suvi Anwar are both BROWN and GAY. they are homosexuals with brown and not white skin. their sexual and romantic interests lie exclusively in people of their own gender, and their skin is a medium brown color. they are a lesbian and a gay man of ambiguous ethnic heritage but definitely skintone that falls outside of the range of shades one would consider “white”. They are brown and gay. Gay and brown. Both at the same time. Not one or the other but both. Thank.
isn’t it incredible how, once they’re in a relationship, the passion behind klance’s rivalry easily transitions into determination to show their love as much as possible? it’s so great how their desire to one-up the other becomes the way that they constantly inspire each other to fall even further in love. i’m just amazed by how their deep, beautiful relationship makes itself known in only the most ridiculously loving ways possible.
fandom: girl meets world ship: riley matthews x lucas friar word count: 1,652 summary: riley matthews thinks that lucas friar’s lips are their own special kind of magic and she’s completely under their spell // or riley just really loves lucas’ lips notes: this is just a lil drabble that i was inspired to write, 99.9% of the inspiration came from this amazing drabble by my girl @friarlucas who also was the major encouragement for me in writing this. not much happens plot wise, but there are feelings. enjoy!
At the tender age of twelve, Riley Matthews has yet to have her first kiss.
She knows that it isn’t that big of a deal, there are plenty of other girls her age that haven’t locked lips yet, but she’s waiting and the wants the moment to be perfect. Her only problem is that none of the boys in her class have lips that she wants to kiss. Dave’s are too chapped, constantly cracked and look unpleasant to touch. Wyatt’s are too wet, due to his constant lick lipping and smacking. Farkle’s are always moving too fast, she’s never able to get a good look at them as he’s always spewing words from them at a mile a minute, far too fast for her to keep up with it.
It isn’t until she meets Lucas Friar that she knows what perfect lips look like, and she wants nothing more than to kiss them.
“They say the mother was the one that made everyone crazy with her powers. Agent May took them all on.”
Melinda looked down at her hands–still shaking from the fight. She felt a deep sense of relief that she couldn’t explain, knowing that the precious little girl behind her was safe. But there was a weight in her gut, telling her that something was off. Something about this felt…surreal.
“The Cavalry went in after all.”
Melinda drew her eyebrows together at the word “Cavalry.” Her fist tightened unconsciously. What was going on? She felt like she was still fighting, though the battle in the warehouse was behind her now. Something was wrong. Something was missing. Like a puzzle piece that someone was trying to force into a space it didn’t belong.
Melinda picked up her phone and dialed a familiar number, hoping that talking to Andrew would settle her down.
“I did it, Andrew.”Melinda’s voice wobbled as she spoke, the raw emotion bringing a teary smile to her face. She looked back for confirmation. Yes, she was still there. She wasn’t dreaming. She saved her. She saved the girl.
“Thank you,” the girl whispered.
Melinda turned back and repeated the thought out loud. “I saved the girl.”
Saying it out loud brought fresh tears to her eyes. At first, she thought they were tears of joy–she had been so worried about the girl’s safety. But the tears kept coming. And they felt more like tears of loss and heartache than of relief.
Melinda took in a shaky breath and looked around. Her thoughts felt muddled. Something was wrong. Something was missing. Someone was missing.
Can I just say how much… I really, really love writing Rhys and Mor? And maybe just take two seconds to chat about how underrated their relationship is? The more I write Rhys, the more I keep finding myself in these scenes with him coming to her, leaning on her, using her for help and advice whether he knows it or not. I think Rhys loves her so, so much. And I honestly believe that out of everyone in the IC, if Mor were to die it would hit him harder than anyone else (save Feyre, of course). They’ve grown up together, and he’s fought his entire life to give her independence and freedom, and I think Mor returns the favor when he lands on her balcony after the Mountain, and he sort of just… lets her keep being this shepherd in his life, helping him keep from fully unraveling. I think Cassian and Azriel aren’t the only ones who feel her endless warmth and spirit. Say what you will about the Cazigan dynamic in the books and who has to “shield” whom from Mor’s infectious spirit, but if you think about it, Rhys is exempt from that protection. He just gets to enjoy Mor for all she is, how selfless and supportive and encouraging, and she too gets to be there for her cousin who has empowered her and given her status and strength over her family, these things that make her into a queen. They’re friends. Really, really good friends and I think there is so much love between them that we don’t get to see a lot of in ACOMAF, but if SJM were to ever write the book as Rhys or elaborate on it, I think we’d be surprised just how much goes on between the two of them and how much he confides in her. And I think given how much they’ve gone through together… that’s just, I don’t know, really really special and I love it so much. It’s nice to see that even when the entire world and family around them falls apart, there is still this lovely little kernal of them left to lean on and it never goes away.
Microfill prompt! Keith + Shiro, Star Wars AU, reunited after a long time apart
this is not the fic fill i think you were looking for ;)
“You’re still alive.”
“Hello to you too,” Shiro says, dropping his bag down by the door. Keith doesn’t get up to greet him, but that’s no surprise; his ankle’s still heavily bandaged, propped up on the low table by their couch. “No need to sound so surprised. How’s the ankle?”
“Slow,” Keith grumbles. Force-healing isn’t exactly his specialty, a fact Shiro’s sure Keith’s been lamenting for the entire last week. “And I am surprised. Lance didn’t kill you?”
Shiro rolls his eyes fondly, stepping over to check their two little plants. Both are alive and flourishing. They’ve done well under Keith’s care. “He’s not that bad. We actually have another mission assignment in a few days. How were things here?”
Keith’s eyes widen with surprise and - relief? Or is that hope, brightening up his previously sour expression? “A mission assignment? We do?”
“Sorry,” Shiro corrects, sheepishly. “You’re still on medical leave. I’ll do the next one with Lance again.”
Keith drops his data pad. “No.”
Shiro blinks. “He’s fine, Keith. It went well.”
“I’m your missions partner,” Keith says, flatly. The scowl’s back, full force.
Shiro raises one eyebrow, amused despite himself. “You also can’t walk.”
Keith grabs at the crutches leaning against the back of the couch. “I can walk by next week.”
“Keith,” Shiro begins, shifting around the furniture to help. Keith glowers at him; Shiro holds his hands up in empty placation.
“Don’t start,” Keith says, levering himself off the couch with the help of the sticks. If he leans heavily on the crutches, Shiro doesn’t exactly think now is the time to comment on it.
“I was only going to say that this is probably not your best idea,” Shiro says, meekly.
“Watch me,” Keith snaps.
(Loosely takes place after this, in the middle of this, and right before this)