put that in your fic!


Do you want an original piece of fiction starring your RPG Character(s) or other OC(s)?
Does your rpg character have an awesome backstory you would love to see fleshed out?  Joining a new game and want something succinct yet exciting to show your new character off to your party members and DM?  Wish you could see all those scenes with your OCs knocking around your head put down on paper?  Always dreamed of someone writing fic starring your character(s)?  I’m here to fill any of those creative desires with short stories starring your rpg character(s).


If you’re interested in a commission, send me a message (not an ask just in case it gets eaten) on tumblr.

Before I begin to write, I will take the time to sit down with you (metaphorically) and work through the details of your character and your world, to make sure I capture them right in my writing.  You can give me an exact idea of the story you want written, or you can tell me a view details about your character and have me come up with the rest; either way, I promise you a quality piece of fiction starring your character.

My base price is $15 for the first thousand words, and $10 for each thousand words after that, up to 5k.  If you interested in commissioning a piece longer than five thousand words, contact me and we can figure something out.

Once we work out what you want from your commission and its prospective length, I will start writing.  Once I’ve finished, I’ll send you the draft, and a PayPal invoice.  At that time, you can specify any tweaks or changes you want made, and then I will send the completed story to you after I have received payment!

Complete example works can be found here.


I love every fanfiction author on earth !!! Thank you so much for using your own time to provide us with a free(!) story to read that is 10x better than every book I have read put in one!

For long fic writers: Your detailed fics are so amazing and you amaze me every single time with the amount of research and time you have put into your beautiful works! Whether I am looking to kill time or just want something to distract me you have provided me with that, and I am so glad we have writers like you!

For short fic writers: Your fluffy/angsty/smutty/all of the above fics are so nice to read after a long day! When I just need something small because I don’t have the energy for something long, you wrote something for yourself and shared it with us, and I am so glad that we have writers like you!

If you write fluff; Thank you so much! I love reading your self-indulgent fics. They are so sweet and adorable and those characters definitely would do that.

If you write angst; Thank you so much! I love reading your painful fics. I’m always excited to see how it will end and if things will ever get better.

If you write smut; Thank you so much! I love reading your own fantasies(or realities, or just what you chose to write). They make me smile and blush.

If you write romance; Thank you so much! I love reading about my otp falling in love over and over. Even if it is cliché, it’s also unique and I’m still  surprised each time.

If you write about platonic relationships; Thank you so much! I love reading about my favorite best friends and siblings. You bring something not often seen and your courage is amazing.

If you write crack; Thank you so much! I love reading your random fics. They make me laugh time and time again and even if they are weird and ooc, they are amazing too.

If you write anything else; THANK YOU SO MUCH! Whatever it is you write, it is amazing and I love it. 

I know my singular opinion doesn’t mean much when there are millions of people on this earth, but I want it to be heard!


OMG OK LET ME LEARN Y'ALL A THING. My friend told me about this guy named Sufjan Stevens and all I can say is WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT HIM.

Okay so first, he is such a pure lil bean. He’s a Christian but get this– HE’S NOT SEXIST, HOMOPHOBIC, TRANSPHOBIC, RACIST, ISLAMOPHOBIC, OR APHOBIC. I know right??? He just loves Jesus a whole hecking lot and it’s so freaking cute. He’s also this cute shy lil mouse boy and he barely does interviews because he has anxiety. Just a lil flower boy with no time for neurotypical BSery.

SECOND. He writes the most ADORABLE, PURE, SQUEE-WORTHY mlm music. Like seriously, put that shit on your fic-writing playlists and you will be writing some cute-ass fluff in no time. He just loves boys a lot and it makes my heart so big and full.

THIRDO. He is a STEAL. Seriously, I have high standards and I would go frickledy-frack on him in like three seconds flat if I was even in the same room as him. Those blue-green eyes. Those delectable lips. Whew, is it sweaty in here or is that just me?

FOURTHERLY. He and his gay opera friend Nico Muhly are way too cute for words and I am frankly disappointed that the Tumblr fandom crew hasn’t made any ship content whatsoever. If they aren’t dating I am going to be literally shattered. My poor heart can’t take all the cuteness.

IN CONCLUSION! Listen to Sufjan Stevens or the Tumblr gods will smite you.

Originally posted by animemhex

Can we stop the idea that fanfiction is just a niche and has zero effect on its readers whatsoever and that it’s okay to use and promote offensive tropes in fanfiction? I know I’m not the only one who mostly reads fanfiction rather than books, it’s shaped the way I perceive human relations and sexuality more than I care to admit, it’s a fucking huge part of the lives of many young people and especially teenage girls. Fanfiction should be treated like any other media and we shouldn’t drop all standards when it comes to judging fanfiction.


“Kreacher serves the Master, and Kreacher serves the House. If the House seeks aid, Kreacher goes to the Master; if the Master seeks aid, Kreacher goes to the House. If both seek aid, Kreacher must find another Master, or another House, to answer the call.”

What We Pretend We Can’t See by @gyzym

Fanfic author ask meme

My first ask meme, and one that’s been on my mind for a while! Feel free to reblog for your it for yourself, answer them, or ask me for my answers! Read more break after 10/50 to help keep this from clogging any dashboards

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

4. In your opinion and without looking at any numbers, what’s your most popular fic?

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

6. Is there any fic that makes you super embarrassed to reread and remember you wrote that?

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

8. What’s the oldest (longest since last update) fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

Keep reading

Baby: H - H…

Mom: Oh he’s about to say his first word. Yes, baby? What is it?



“Turn up the fakes and lies, just answer me,
You stare me down and take my only guise” - F.T.W.W.W, MCR

(Feel free to put your shipping goggles on or off. Click for higher quality.)

When Phichit called for Yuuri the next morning, the first thing Yuuri saw when he opened his eyes were the flowers Victor had brought for him. Phichit walked around the room, opening the long curtains of the bedroom windows, reciting to Yuuri his latest grievance with the hotel staff. At the frequency with which Yuuri woke up to this, it was really quite remarkable that the Imperial Hotel hadn’t cast them out already for Phichit’s complaining.

‘I’ll lay your kimono for the Grand Duchess’ cotillion this evening once you’re up. But breakfast is ready in the drawing room,’ Phichit said, turning from the nearest window to regard Yuuri with the smile Phichit always seemed present with. Yuuri’s eyes roamed back to Victor’s flowers, admiring the silken white of their petals and sunshine of their centre. Yuuri had never appreciated a gift more, the treasure of them so deeply felt. 

‘Thank you, Phichit-kun,’ Yuuri said, stretching from the many layers of blanket that covered him. The room had a chill as the fire had died in the night, and Yuuri was reluctant to leave his cocoon. But the morning promised something worth any poor temperature Vienna had to offer. 

As Yuuri was engaged in the evening with the duties of his position, his skating lesson had been moved to after breakfast instead of the evening. Victor was so accommodating, even seeming excited at the prospect if Yuuri was to think too indulgently of it. Yuuri liked to think indulgently, especially in the yellow quiet of the morning to himself. He thought of Victor’s eyes as he got out of bed, remembered the exact temper of Victor’s laugh as Phichit handed him britches and a shirt for his lesson. 

Victor had the most engaging laugh, Yuuri felt. Yuuri considered it a personal achievement if he could tempt the thing out from the bowed lips Victor had. Once he was dressed, Yuuri reached out for the brass bottle of perfume on the dresser. He ran his thumb over the turquoise inlay; rubied butterflies and golden vines. Vanilla and chamomile, Yuuri smiled as he traced the French label. Not fashionable, like the citrus notes Friedrich insisted upon when they were together. 

But Friedrich was not here and, (Yuuri glanced over to his chamomile bouquet from Victor, heart swollen with a feeling too treacherous to name), this perfume proved to be far more singular anyway. Or least, it appeared as such to one individual and that was enough for Yuuri to add an extra drop to his cravat. 

Yuuri made quick work of the spread the hotel staff had laid for him in the drawing room, Phichit hovering to make sure he ate enough despite being so eager to get to Victor’s rink over the Wien. Perhaps if he finished quickly, Yuuri could even manage to sneak past his guard, sentinel as they were. 

(‘Spies with low morals and a high price,’ Phichit had said waspishly of the police guard, which Yuuri was finding himself agreeing more and more with if the knowledge Friedrich’s letters displayed of Yuuri’s time in Vienna were anything to see from). 

Yuuri took his coat from where Phichit had hung it close by the fire, the wool dried from the night before. It was a long, draping thing; more in common with the cloaks women wore for their dresses, as it was designed to similarly cover Yuuri’s collection of billowing hakama and kimono. It wasn’t as sharp or modern as Victor’s topcoats, but it was well tailored and the bell hood lent some level of anonymity. 

Yuuri bid Phichit goodbye, raising his hood gently so as not to disrupt his spectacles as Yuuri left the hotel apartment. Promisingly, the police guard had not arrived as an escort yet and Yuuri walked happily down the corridor, only for his good humour to be quickly extinguished at the sight of a plain clothed policeman coming around the corner. Perhaps some time to himself was too much to hope for. 

The police man bowed deeply to Yuuri, but Yuuri did not acknowledge him, even when the policeman reached out and took Yuuri’s skates in his rough hands. Yuuri could hear Minako-sensei scolding him from memory for such ill manners, but Yuuri didn’t care. Yuuri didn’t even care if this policeman wrote back in his reports to Friedrich about Yuuri’s behaviour. Not that Yuuri cared much for anything to do with Friedrich anyway. 

Yuuri held his arms close to his side, refusing to take escort from his keeper as they headed towards the lift, which they rode down in icy silence. Yuuri gathered up the front of his coat as he approached the Royal Staircase, refusing the arm extended by the policeman that walked alongside him with a cold shake of his chin. He resented his guard so deeply- they reminded him of Friedrich, and not of any of Friedrich’s few good qualities. They certainly lacked Yuuri’s favourite part of Friedrich at present- absence. 

‘Your Grace! Yuuri!’ 

Yuuri looked up from his feet, heart soaring at the familiar voice calling his name. Victor was down at the foot of the staircase, hair clearly damp and ears pink as he had forgone a hat despite the snow. Yuuri forced himself to stay steady on the stairs, happiness too great to contain at seeing Victor so soon and Yuuri found himself smiling, completely ignoring the policeman behind him. Victor beamed up at him, that smile Yuuri found himself thinking of so often broad on Victor’s handsome features. 

‘Mister Nikiforov!’ Yuuri exclaimed happily, hopping onto the reception floor like a child in his excitement. 

‘What are you doing here? This is so far for you to travel.’

‘Not at all, I am quite fond of the snow,’ Victor replied, still smiling. ‘Besides, this way I have at least another hour of your company and that would be worth any blizzard.’ 

Yuuri blushed terribly and hoped his hood would shade most of it. Before he could say anything to Victor’s flattery, the policeman put his brutish body between himself and Victor, skates swinging. The man was no match for Victor’s height, but what he lacked in stature he seemed intent to make up for in rudeness. 

The policeman spoke to Victor in brusque German, too quick for Yuuri to follow. Victor replied in a much more mannerly tone, but Yuuri could see Victor’s smile falter ever so slightly and his azure eyes narrow. Yuuri recognised this particular tick by now; it was one he saw often when Victor was speaking of something he found disdainful. Any mention of Russian politics seemed particularly talented in inspiring it. 

‘That is enough,’ Yuuri said in English, demand strong in his voice in Yuuri’s best imitation of the scolding tone Minako-sensei would take with him when he was a child. ‘This is Victor Nikiforov, my skating tutor. I will not have you represent me so poorly by treating him this way. Mister Nikiforov is extending me a compliment in coming to escort me.’ 

‘But Your Grace, it is my job to keep you safe-’ 

‘I assure you, I am in no danger,’ Yuuri said, unable to keep the warmth from his voice as he met Victor’s eye at that. ‘Mister Nikiforov spends every evening keeping me from harm at my own ungainly skating. I trust him more than- than anyone.’ 

Victor’s eyes went wide then, a remarkably endearing trait Yuuri thought. Feeling a strange boldness, Yuuri offered a gloved hand out. 

‘Will you escort me to the coach, Mister Nikiforov?’ Yuuri asked gracefully, licking his lips nervously. Victor’s eyes tracked the movement and that bolted through Yuuri like lightning in a child’s story, stunning him to silence. It was dreamlike then, when Victor took Yuuri’s hand in a firm grip, guiding them both through the reception of the hotel. 

The policeman, (perhaps to avoid any more of Yuuri’s ire), did not speak again and opened the coach door from them both. Victor held Yuuri’s hand the entire time, his grip like a brand through the leather of their gloves. Yuuri could not bring himself to look at Victor’s face, soul shaking within his skin from the sheer forwardness of Victor’s touch. The way Victor’s hand moved down Yuuri’s arm, balanced at the elbow as Victor helped Yuuri step into the small space of the coach. 

Yuuri could scarcely breathe with the emotion that swelled inside of him. It was one thing, for Victor to move so freely on the slick of the ice, where proprietary demanded it of him as a tutor. But here, in the street and under the view of the Imperial Hotel, Yuuri felt like Victor were balancing something too frail to hold up its own weight. As the coach door shut behind them, Victor settling into the seat opposite, Yuuri didn’t dare look anywhere but out the mottled glass of the coach door.

‘It is so good to see you, Yuuri,’ Victor said earnestly as the coach started to trundle across the cobbles, tempting Yuuri to cast a small glance from beneath his hood. The way Victor said Yuuri’s name- so familiar, like it were what anyone should say, though of course it wasn’t. If it weren’t for Victor, in fact, Yuuri quite feared he’d forget the sound of his own moniker entirely. ‘I hope I have not imposed upon you.’ 

‘Not at all, Mister Nikiforov,’ Yuuri replied politely, looking down at his hands. Folding them, unfolding them. Such dreadful fidgeting, when there was nothing to be nervous about. After all, he and Victor were alone quite often. But something about the small, cramped space made Yuuri feel more attuned somehow. ‘I am always pleased of your company, as you know.’ 

‘As I know,’ Victor repeated, teasing evident and Yuuri looked at him truly then, perhaps to scold but instead, Yuuri smiled. Victor smiled back, the faint blush of cold still prominent over his planed cheekbones. Victor settled more comfortably, suddenly looking bashful. ‘I was wondering, if you don’t mind my asking of course, whether or not you got my missive yesterday.’ 

‘The chamomile?’ Yuuri said to clarify, watching Victor’s eyes catch light from the square window. ‘Yes, I did. Your talent it seems extends beyond the ice, as you guessed my perfume exactly. Or perhaps you just have better experience in purchasing your students flowers.’

‘I assure you, Your Grace is the only one to have seen my choice of bouquet,’ Victor said lightly, hands adjusting the line of his topcoat. Out of the snow, his fair hair was beginning to dry. It curled like the end of a steel calligraphy pen and Yuuri was overcome with the mad urge to touch it. ‘You say your perfume?’ 

Yuuri nodded, slipping off one of his gloves to hold his bare wrist aloft. ‘Yes. Vanilla and chamomile, from a perfumery in Paris. Though of course, the flowers themselves are far more becoming.’ 

Victor reached out, his eyes fixed on Yuuri’s bare fingers and Yuuri’s words died on his lips, as Victor took Yuuri’s wrist in his long fingers. The leather of Victor’s glove was cool, pimpling Yuuri’s skin so that he quaked, all the way down to his lungs, it felt. Like time had stopped, as Victor guided Yuuri’s hand towards his own face, black leather stark against the paling of Yuuri’s skin from the winter sun. 

Victor’s eyes slipped closed, breathing in along the line of Yuuri’s wrist. Yuuri watched, transfixed and heart constricted with that trembling, frightful emotion Victor always seemed to inspire there. Victor was so close, his breath ghosted along Yuuri’s skin. When Victor smiled then, eyes looking up from the hood of his fringed hair, his teeth looked sharp. Dangerous. 

‘I must disagree,’ Victor said softly, almost too quietly against the rattle of the coach around them. ‘You wear the scent better than any flower could hope to compete with.’ 

When Yuuri could still think of nothing to say to that, Victor released him slowly. Like his touch was longing to linger, gloved fingers trailing until the very end. Yuuri’s hand was left suspended, himself lost to watching the movement of Victor’s body as Victor rearranged himself at a respectful distance again. Yuuri quickly replaced his glove, giving a quiet thank you that was probably too late to be truly mannerly. 

‘I had no idea you had such prudent means of entourage,’ Victor said, looking around the cabin of the coach. Yuuri tried not to sigh, relieved for the change in subject. Yuuri regarded the dark, velvet space. The tremouring tassels of the deep blue curtains.

‘I’m followed everywhere,’ Yuuri said, refusing to keep the disappointment from his voice. ‘For my protection, of course.’

‘Naturally,’ Victor conceded, though he sounded sympathetic. Yuuri watched him as the coach bumped along the cobbles, watched Victor’s hair bounce and his bright eyes shine. Victor really was so very handsome. ‘It must be comforting, at least. I know I am consoled by the knowledge that you are never far from safety.’   

‘His Highness regards his possessions with as much esteem as to be expected,’ Yuuri replied coolly, feeling a sudden wave of deep unhappiness. He looked away from Victor, suddenly not able to bear it. ‘You need not misplace your worry, I am not your responsibility.’ 

For what felt like a long few moments, neither of them said anything and Yuuri was anxious he had offended. He did not mean to rebuff Victor’s kindness, but Yuuri also knew that there was only so much indulgence that could be granted. Even between friends. But soon, Yuuri could no longer bear the silence, catching Victor’s eye again. 

‘I hope these lessons don’t take from any rehearsal you may be doing for your show,’ Yuuri said, looking to engage Victor again but also selfishly trying to enquire about Victor’s ice show. Victor had not mentioned a title or even a theme to Yuuri of any oncoming performance, having Yuuri worry that Victor may perceive him disinterested. Which Yuuri most certainly was not. 

‘I promise you, Yuuri, as distractions go, I’d rather nothing above you,’ Victor said, that boldness back again and causing Yuuri to blush instantly. ‘But in regards to the show, I am choreographing. I am even still in discussion with the composer regarding the music.’ 

‘Still?’ Yuuri asked, puzzled. ‘But it is so late into the season now.’

‘I’m hoping to host after Christmas,’ Victor explained jovially, pushing the hair from his face in a way that was most unmannerly and entirely held Yuuri’s heart by the throat, it was so endearing. ‘My inspiration came later than expected, but I’m rather happy with how things are progressing.’ 

‘What is the theme?’ Yuuri asked as the coach turned, wheels squeaking on the slick stones outside. It was so easy again, the air between them. Yuuri had only ever found such similar compliment in his sister and Phichit, but even then, the comparison did no true justice to the racing enjoyment Victor inspired with his very presence.

‘Love,’ Victor answered softly, eyes fixed to Yuuri’s face. ‘In fact, I’ve taken some inspiration from the Wagner operatic that is currently showing here. You’ve likely already seen it.’ 

‘I doubt anything could compare to something of your own design,’ Yuuri said kindly and Victor grinned, top lip bowing in a dip.

‘I wager you’ve seen far grander theatre than my humble shows,’ Victor said, his laughter easily given as it always was and sending Yuuri’s heart adrift. Yuuri blinked, caught by Victor’s handsomeness once again before he looked away with whatever dignity he had left. 

‘You do disservice to your talent and imagine my experience too kindly, for I have actually seen remarkably little.’ 

Victor’s light laughter faltered. ‘But you were a student of ballet, yes?’ 

Yuuri flushed, casting his gaze out the small window of the door. Watching the blizzard snow and the dark shapes of people. ‘Dance is one of the many classes I had to undertake as a consort. But I was never encouraged to go and witness the performances, not until I was out in society. And even at that freedom, you see I find myself in the constant company of men less inclined to sit in a theatre with me.’ 

Yuuri gestured with one hand to the tight confines of their coach, not needing to mention his police guard further; Victor’s small hum of acknowledgement Yuuri knew well enough signaled Victor’s understanding. 

‘So, am I to take it that you have never seen an opera of any kind?’ Victor asked curiously as Yuuri watched the Vienna streets blur with snow and traffic, coach shaking with their increased speed. 

‘I’ve never seen opera as it is designed,’ Yuuri confessed, too comfortable with Victor again to hide his disappointment. 

Yuuri could feel Victor’s gaze on him. A strange sensation that Yuuri had developed since agreeing to be Victor’s student. Perhaps it was the magnetism of Victor’s person, that keep Yuuri so attuned. Though at times, Yuuri liked to indulge in more fanciful reasonings. Victor shuffled in the corner of Yuuri’s eye. He was never one to sit still when he had something to say, Yuuri had also learned. 

‘Surely your fiancé must bring you,’ Victor said carefully, his tone dark with the ill favour Yuuri knew Victor to carry for Friedrich and the Imperial Court.

‘Betrothed,’ Yuuri corrected sharply, turning from the clouded window of the coach door to face Victor again. ‘We are not fiancés, despite His Highness’ ease with the term. There has been no formal announcement yet.’ 

‘No. Of course not,’ Victor adhered distractedly, this time he being the one to look away. Yuuri found himself feeling ungrounded without Victor’s kind features to focus on. ‘But even so, as his consort, His Highness is bound to try and please you.’ 

‘His Highness does not care for the arts. And that which His Highness does not care for he does not worry himself with,’ Yuuri said darkly, unable to temper his bitterness in time. Victor looked back to him then, blue eyes bright on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri watched back, transfixed with how the frost light turned in the colour.

‘Then you have never seen one?’ Victor asked, still sounding curious more than anything else. If he had noticed Yuuri’s ill temper, then he did not seem intent on mentioning it and Yuuri felt such a strong flood of affection for Victor it turned his cheeks. Embarrassed, Yuuri quickly looked down to his hands. 

‘Not truly, no. I have read one or two from the fragmented sheets I could collect, practiced some of the music,’ Yuuri explained, feeling self-conscious of his lack of practical experience with the arts he so admired. There was an ache Yuuri had felt, even as a child, in being a dancer who was denied the chance to see the stage. ‘But translations are difficult to find and I have never been given the opportunity to see one as it is intended.’ 

‘Then I must bring you!’ Victor said brightly and Yuuri snapped his head up at that. Victor leaned forward, closing the already narrow distance between them. They were so close already, knees practically brushing and now Victor hands were mere inches from Yuuri’s, the space between them minute and yet chasmic at the same time. ‘I would not have you be denied any longer. Where both the Russian and Japanese courts have failed, allow me the chance to rectify!’

‘Mister Nikiforov, I-’ 

Just what, Yuuri never got the chance to say, as the coach suddenly lurched through the air, then collapsed to a firm stop. The horses whinnied in protest, wheels a whine as the driver and policeman swore from the front. Yuuri yelped in shock, the force of the stop disrupting him from his seat. All too quickly, Yuuri found himself in the now familiar embrace of Victor’s arms, Victor’s voice a soft cry of Yuuri’s name. 

While the movement itself seemed so quick, Yuuri now felt like time was slowing down around them as he was practically sitting across Victor’s lap in the most indecent manner, his hands a brace on Victor’s chest. Victor had his hand clasped tight around one of Yuuri’s, the other a warm belt as Victor’s arm was wrapped around Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri’s breath was shaking, blinking in shock with the sudden closeness as Victor stared up at Yuuri with wide eyes. 

They were so close, Yuuri could feel Victor’s breath on his own lips. Yuuri felt like something was erupting inside him, like a fiendish fire or catastrophic storm. Something too dangerous, destructive and beautiful to contain, as Yuuri could almost feel Victor’s nose against his cheek and it felt like dying. Victor’s hands tightened, his fingers bunching in the wool of Yuuri’s coat. 

‘Yuuri,’ Victor whispered, the only thing that mattered despite the cries of German and swearing outside their tiny, velvet world. Yuuri looked over Victor’s face, looking at where dark shadows lined it. Looking at the blush colour of Victor’s lips, where they were parted. ‘Are you alright, lyubimiy?’ 

Yuuri, who was instructed never to be taught Russian, did not know the word but he recognised the timbre of the language. The ease with which it fell from Victor’s lips, the warmth of it so palpable Yuuri felt he could touch it. 

‘Mister Nikiforov,’ Yuuri replied, afraid to say anything else. Then, the fragile moment between them broke. Like glass. Yuuri pushed against his own hands, levering himself off Victor’s body. ‘I am so sorry, that was so- I apologise!’ 

‘Yuuri, Yuuri,’ Victor cooed softly, not unlike how he did during lessons when Yuuri would grow anxiously frustrated. Yuuri sat back in his own seat again, but Victor followed, leaning across the narrow space. He reached out, hand slipping beneath Yuuri’s hood to cup Yuuri’s cheek. ‘Please tell me you are not hurt.’ 

‘No,’ Yuuri answered, hyper aware of the leather touch on his face. ‘No, I’m quite well. I just lost my balance.’ 

Victor didn’t reply, thumb sweeping ever so slightly across Yuuri’s cheekbone. Yuuri stared at Victor, heart a thunder in his chest laying wreck to any sense that remained there. Yuuri wanted to lean forward, lose himself to Victor’s touch. But instead, they were interrupted by the coach door abruptly opening. Victor drew his hand back quickly, Yuuri jumping like he had been burned. 

The policeman looked only to Yuuri, and showed no sign that he had any idea of the compromising position Yuuri was in just moments before. He explained that someone had run out of the road, causing a vendor to upend and it was that which caused the crash. He assured Yuuri that there was no danger, but Yuuri barely heard it over the thrum of blood in his ears. 

‘Do you still wish to continue to Mister Nikiforov’s rink, Your Grace?’ the policeman asked, not looking once at Victor. Like Victor were not even there, which of course was impossible, as Yuuri had never felt more aware of another person in his life. Yuuri looked to Victor, who’s fine features were thrown into sharp relief from the light of the open coach door. From it, Yuuri could see that pink blush again. 

‘Yes,’ Yuuri said, never looking from Victor’s face. ‘Absolutely.’ 

Previous - Next

anon requested ladrien with 20

“You need to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.”

Adrien, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and breathing even against her thigh, didn’t respond.


No response.


Ladybug wondered if his breathing slowing and shallowing was just her panicked imagination.

“Chat please…

Her heart was so tight she nearly cried when his eyelids twitched. “Chat?”

Her partner pried his pretty green eyes open and blinked fuzzily up at her, mumbling, “L'dybug?”

And then gave a quiet oof when she folded herself down on top of him, and cast around his waist and tears stinging her eyes.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she hiccuped to his stomach, fingers tightening in his cotton clothing.

One cautious, clumsy hand stroked the back of her head. “Okay.”


liberté, egalité, demi-plié

He has sworn never to go back to the ballet world. He has no intention of dancing again. But somewhere the Fates are having a real party laughing down at him, because one minute Grantaire’s living his life in peace and the next he’s - choreographing a new ballet of the Iliad?

“And I loved ballet too, and so it just -” Ran away with you, Grantaire fills in. Consumed your whole life, before you even knew it.
“And I love it,” Enjolras repeats. “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”
The Arcadia looms up in front of them.
“Why?” Grantaire asks, falsely casual and desperate to know. “What makes you love it?”
“I love that… it’s a language. It speaks. It expresses things in a way words can’t, not in French, not in English… and still, it’s universal; communication, passion. It provokes, it moves, it inspires.” Enjolras looks at him helplessly. “And, I don’t know - it feels like being free.”



I saw a post with the idea and hey, why not

Me on my death bed...

Me: Tell my family that I love them

Grandkid: Yes, grandma.

Me: And tell telanu that Truth and Measure is the best novel I’ve ever read.

Grandkid: I think you mean fanfiction, grandma.

Me: Did I fucking stutter?


A Day in the Life

Pepperland. A place where everything and anything can and could be possible. The lives of four dedicated musicians intertwine and go about as if it were any other day. Except it isn’t, and never quite is. 

When the infamous Kite Theatre is threatened to be shut down, Sgt. Pepper and his band combine talents to help save it while navigating their feelings and relationships in the meantime. 

So sit back, take a drag of some efferflourescent powder, and enjoy the show. 

Attention Fanfic Writers!

Okay, so I was randomly having a conversation with a friend who’s had her fics reposted on weird sites before, and she told me she’s made a habit of googling sections of her fics to check for any more instances of that. So I thought, hey, why not, let’s google my fic. 

Apparently there’s this really weird Russian Fanfiction site called fanfics.me that is doing automatic uploads of fics from popular sites including FFN and AO3

From what I can see they’re either posting these fics in their entirety in their original language or they’re creating epubs of these fics translated into Russian. Here’s an example of my fic:

They link directly back to my fic and cite me as the author, but I didn’t give any permission to anyone to upload my fics to this site. 

I’m currently in the process of figuring out how to report fics on this website to ask that they all be taken down, so if you have any information about this site or have had experiences dealing with it in the past let me know. I’m personally very not okay with these fics being up. 

That I know of @thelastpilot @bullysquadess @siderealsandman @skaylanphear @geek-fashionista and @baneismydragon also have either their full fics uploaded or translated epubs available for download on this site. I wanted to let you all know just in case you all aren’t okay with your fics being put on this site in this manner. 

I’m currently doing a search of other writers in my fandom that I know of and will let them know if I find anything, but I suggest anyone with an AO3 or FFN account do a site search for their usernames and see if you have any material on here. 

Again, if anyone is familiar with this site/knows how to report fics on this website please let me know. I’d very much like to get my fics off this site if at all possible. 

anonymous asked:

smOL are you holding put on us??? More tododeku fic recs pls? Similar to your demolition lovers and the countless fics of pitviperofdoom where the stories are so good and soft, full of feeling and simultaneously destroys my soul or Ny fic recs pls my crops are dying

good and soft, full of feeling and simultaneously destroys the soul 

my dude. i gotCHU.

  • you called it home is a v recent tddk fic with pining shouto, and, in the author’s words, 2k words of todoroki waxing poetry about izuku as a person. there are SLIGHT spoilers for the upcoming arc in bnha season 2, so tread carefully
  • moving through cedarsmoke is pretty close to canon plot-wise, with a few exceptions; it has trans izuku and dis-associative shouto
  • Sunshine, Trapped in Our Hearts is actually the sequel of Guiding Light, which i recommended last time
  • Forehead Kisses is actually one of the first tddk fics posted on ao3. it’s soft and cute.
  • Crispiness of a Fucking Nerd is a classic lmao. it’s got established tddk and dumb boys tryna figure out how to kiss. the same author made Starting Line, which has cONFESSIONS need i say more.
  • Untitled Mornings is a tiny ficlet of izuku waking up next to his cutie of a bf
  • it could be worse should be something you’ve already read before what r u. it’s got presents and confessions and all that good shit. the same author made pax, a v long future fic which has murderrrrr
  • Burning Water do you like sad shouto who becomes a happy shouto?? i do too. 
  • Glimpses is about shouto hoping for a future with izuku
  • all this love is where shouto has an existential crisis because he’s caught Da Feels
  • i always expect for everyone to have read Hitsuzen but. if you haven’t. you better. inko plays a pretty big(?) part in it
  • all the choirs in my head; the fic where shouto likes to get choked (lmao this is the first explicit fic i’ve rec’d)
  • two sided feeling takes place after the sports festival, so i highly recommend this for new tddk shippers!! it’s got pining and so much kissing oml
  • sunburn is where shouto has conversations with his mother and she basically convinces him to confess to izuku; HOWEVER, there are spoilers for future events in the manga so do not read if you haven’t caught up to ch88.

i think that’s enough for now. I HOPE YOU ENJOY READING!!

PDX to JFK chapter 2

this one’s twice as long!! still full of cliches! i still can’t figure out why you all like it so much but hey! as long as you want it, i’ll post it!! thanks for reading <3 enjoy

Feyre Archeron is pretty sure there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed when it comes to conduct with the authors whose books she edits. But when you take what should have been a normal flight to Paris and add a tuna sandwich, a red pen, and a smirking stranger, lines can get a little blurry.


the one where feyre accidentally trash talks a novel to its author and then they kinda fall in love

read it on ao3

 chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

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