the fic isn't mine

A Zimbits iteration of the tried and true “bed sharing + clothes sharing + it’s really cold” triple trope (feat. bonus love confessions). 

Bitty wasn’t afraid of storms generally speaking, but this one was downright nasty. The team had walked past upended trees—big ones with years of life in them—on the way back from the store. Powerlines were downed. The heating in the house the hockey team had rented for what was meant to be a nice weekend getaway is non-existent because there’s no power.

Bitty lies in the single bed in the smallest room in the house in the pitch darkness and tries not to jump every time a tree bangs into the glass of his window. It’s all so loud.

So, no, Bitty isn’t scared of storms in general, but he’s scared of this storm. For good reason, it turns out, because not a minute after Bitty wishes he’d bailed out of the trip to stay on campus instead, a tree crashes through his roof.

Not the window he’d feared it coming through. The actual roof.

Bitty screams bloody murder.

The tree limb comes through almost all the way to the floor, and water starts dripping down it, heading toward the carpet. Thankfully, it didn’t crash land onto Bitty’s bed, where it would have skewered Bitty. Bitty’s body is thrumming with adrenaline; half terror, half relief.

The door to his room crashes open and Lardo and Shitty practically fall through.

“Fuck,” Lardo says, shining one of the torches they’d bought earlier at the tree.

“Goddamn,” Shitty states. “You alright, brah?”

Bitty tries to speak but it doesn’t quite work. He realises it’s because his body is locked up, he can’t even move his fingers apart. That’s going to be a problem.

“What’s going on?” Jack comes in behind Lardo and Shitty. A knight in rumpled sleep clothes. He surveys the scene, adding his own torch light to Lardo’s. He manages to look calm, and it helps Bitty to see it.

“You shouldn’t stay in here,” Jack deduces, looking over to Bitty, who is slowly encouraging his limbs into movement.

“No shit,” Lardo adds.

“You can take the floor in our room,” Shitty offers. “We’ll put some pillows down for you.”

“No.” Everyone turns to looks at Jack, surprised. “Stay with me.”

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if you only knew

“You were a cute kid.”

Bitty turns, startled out of his silent reverie by Jack, hair freshly damp from the shower. “Oh, hey, darlin’. Didn’t realize you were up yet.”

“Just a little while ago.” Jack wraps himself around Bitty from behind and presses a kiss to his temple. Before long, the Georgia heat will make any prolonged contact near-unbearable, so Bitty closes his eyes and enjoys it while he can.

He opens his eyes and looks back at the photo on the wall of the hallway: Eric Bittle, age 12. A school photo, his smile exposing silver braces, freckles dashed across his cheekbones.

“You’re thinking pretty loud, there, bud,” murmurs Jack into Bitty’s hair. “What about?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” sighs Bitty, resting his hands on top of Jack’s where they’ve settled around his waist. “Just…I wish that kid could see me now, you know?”

Jack makes some little noise of agreement, or maybe encouragement, so Bitty continues.

“I mean…I didn’t know back then if it would all work out. If I could ever, well, be happy. If I’d ever get out of Georgia. If I could ever really even be myself, or I’d have to…fake it. For always. And, y'know, I just spent so much time being so darned miserable over it all, and it’s not like it changed the outcome either way, my being miserable or not. And I wish…I wish I could tell myself that, that it would get better, cheesy as it sounds, you know, hon?”

Jack squeezes tighter. “I’m glad you’re not so sad anymore, Bits. I wish you didn’t have to go through all that. But I’m glad you’re here with me now.”

“Thanks, love,” says Bitty softly, turning his head to kiss Jack properly. “Glad you’re here, too.”

we tried hard to stand it. we

were barely human. we were bodies

stacked with pain. we never said sorry,
didn’t wanna. you were always drunk
& sad & too far gone for that. I was
terrible & I didn’t care about being better.
but now you’re standing in my bedroom.
now you’re scared & you say you
wanna get into heaven. you wanna

stand in some form of light that isn’t
filtered through clouds of crude smoke.
good luck, & who knows, maybe god
will forgive us for all of this. the stones
we threw, the ankles we bit, the people
we kissed. showing up at the gates
with our tails between our legs.

starved & mad, two dogs who missed
their last meal, licking our wounds &
itching for a fair fight.

there so much to get mad about.
go ahead pick something. imagine
if it helped. imagine if mattered.
I didn’t cry when you left. I just
circled ‘round the block & waited
for you to come back. because
you always do. because I know
how this goes. we pretend we
aren’t the same & then we realize
we are & we pretend we don’t care.
we need each other & that’s all we do.

it’s crazy the things you do for a friend.

it’s crazy the way you’ll act for love.

Rule no. #1 of starting your own band: don’t date your goddamn drummer.

“Almost two years ago, Donghyuck had been messing around on the keyboard Sookhee got him for his birthday when his phone lit up with Mark’s name, and the text message: wanna start a band? Convincing the others wasn’t a difficult task, and ta da, The Millennials was born: Mark on drums, Jeno and Jaemin, bass and rhythm guitar respectively, Renjun on backing vocals and the keyboard, and Donghyuck taking lead.”

(Band!au, Mark/Donghyuck; 7k words; PG-13)

Written by anonymous for the 2017 kpopolymfics. Read here [and don’t forget to comment if you liked it! (which I swear, you will)].

all i want is for the skam squads to not all end up paired off together like this is some shakespearean comedy

justleavemebreathless  asked:

11. “I can’t believe you actually said that.” :)

Robert’s drunk, scrap that, he’s absolutely hammered. He’d promised to stop after two glasses, but his jacket was thrown over the bar about two hours ago, and Aaron’s fairly sure he’d be on the floor by now, if it wasn’t for the wall he was leaning on, holding on as though the floors about to fall through.

They’d gotten married for real, and it was a perfect day for it. The July sun shining over Emmerdale as they finally sealed the deal, marriage certificate signed and all. It’s hot, Aaron long abandoned his tie and jacket, his cheeks flushed as they go through the speeches. Tears of laughter drying on their cheeks from Paddy’s drunken ramble, the vets’ face bright red as he tearfully recounts Aaron’s dramatic entrance into his life.

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Chloé Noire

@larvesta here’s the Chloé fic I started writing for you forever ago.

Chloé shifted in her suit, adjusting to the feel of the leather covering her body. She spared a moment to look at herself in the mirror. Her reflection was a bit surprising, even if she had been expecting it.

She had always wanted to be Ladybug, but there she was wearing Chat Noir’s- Adrien’s- uniform. She almost laughed.

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anonymous asked:

cs "just stay with me"

Sure, friend! ♥ I didn’t expect to get Captain Swan, but, hey, no complaints! ;)
              (prompt from here)

Somewhere in the distance, a warning bell rings, announcing her absence from one end of the castle to the other in a noise that should startle her into action. But she stays still, a roaring in her ears as the tide rises to her slipper covered feet. Mud cakes the ends of her dress and the bottom of her shoes, but she ignores it, eyes on the wreckage of a ship in the harbor. It floats feebly, its tattered crimson flag flopping uselessly on the deck, and she can see flames licking up the sides, eager to claim it’s next victim. 

She’s never seen a sight before. Pirates, she knew. But pirates had never been so close to Misthaven before and she can’t help digging in the sight; in its prime, the ship would be a beauty, but today it’s little more than a ruin. She lets out a sigh. Pirates sound like an adventure, close to the ones her parents were on, but Emma has little interest in it. She mourns more for the beauty of the ship and the wasted lives than anything. 

Therefore, she nearly misses the dark-haired figure floating in the water, just barely supporting by the piece of wood that supports his torso. For a half second, she stares, mouth agape, before she springs into action, ripping the sides of her dress as she makes her way deeper into the water. To a stranger, the tide could sweep them away, but Emma had swam in this water her entire life and she uses the current to her advantage, reaching the floating figure just as they begin to tip off the wood. 

She grasps them, dragging them back onto their float by the lapels of their jacket, narrowly avoiding the pointed edge of a hook. It grazes her cheek, bringing a sting that she ignores as she begins kicking, bringing them back to shore in a slow and tedious process that leaves her legs aching when they finally reach solid ground. 

The person is still and save for the rise and fall of their breath, they could be asleep. She pulls him off the wood, dragging him onto the shore with a grunt, her water sodden dress sticking to her legs and her hair falling from its carefully prepped bun. She ignores it; she ignores the slight sting on her cheek, the ache in her legs, the ringing bells in the distance – she focuses on him. His dark hair is wet, sticking to his forehead and there’s a small scar on his cheek, so old she can barely see it above his trimmed beard. 

He’s nothing like what she expects a pirate to be and it’s a little unfair how someone could be so handsome after narrowly escaping with his life. She thinks about this – and then she realizes that there are little to no breathes coming from his lips. 

“No, crap,” she hisses, pressing against his chest, ignoring the fine hair that tickles her fingers, remembering her mothers’ instructions as she counts. When nothing happens, she grunts. "If you’re faking this, I will give you back to the ocean. If you’re not, just stay with me, okay?” She leans down, pressing her lips to his, breathing air into his lungs.

Or at least that’s what she tries.

The moment her lips press his, magic sparks so bright that she can see it through her closed eyes; the strands of fallen hair lift as a sudden, sharp breeze springs from between them. The man lets out a sharp breath, as though there were no water in them to begin with, and blinks rapidly; if she wasn’t frozen in place, she would notice how blue his eyes were. 

“Did you just…?” He asks, fingers grazing his lips as though hardly daring to believe. “Did you just break my curse?”

“Umm…” is her eloquent response. She hears thudding footsteps in the distance.“Yes?”

A joyous laugh escapes him and he’s sitting up, then standing up, grasping her elbows and bringing her to her feet, swinging her around enthusiastically. She’s rather grateful he doesn’t accidentally hit her with the hook and waits for him to calm, her mind numb with the sudden knowledge that this man was her… was her… 

“It’s true love,” he says, dropping her onto her feet and stepping away. “I’ve spent 300 years trying to find you.”

“Yes, well, that’s all– Hang on, what? Wait, who are you?”

“I’m Killian Jones.” 

He smiles. It’s transfixing. 

She stares. His drops at the sudden awareness of people around them. 

Her parent’s guards watch them both. 

“Wait, are you…?” His blue eyes are wide, flickering between her and the guards, taking in the fine silks of her dress and the jewels around her neck and hanging from her ears. There’s little doubt that the sight of her is worthy of a princess, even a water soaked one, but before he can voice them, a small, grumpy looking man speaks. 

“Princess Emma, your parents require your attention. Shall we bring the… pirate with us?”
Less, a Castle fanfic | FanFiction

“For once, she wants less of it all. Less boundaries, less space, less secrets. A lot less waiting.” 

A season 4 one shot. Set post 4x10, ‘Cuffed’.

Rated T

A belated birthday fic for the wonderful @katiebeckett

tea time for @autiacora. prompt: moving on

they lost it all.

they lost it all and in it they found each other. 

not physically, not at first. but in those spaces where concerned quips and sure commands used to be. 

levi follows hange, offers those words the moblit said so many times before. cautions against creatures that crawl from the sea, protects them from overactive titans, pulls the drink from their hands when words become too difficult to pronounce. because if they die… if they die.

hange commands levi, offers guidance to a soul that’s lost itself without his liege. erwin comes out through their voice, gentle demands that aren’t demands, because you can’t be commanded if you trust. you can’t question if you respect. because if he dies… if he dies.

they find clothes to be a heavy thing, discard them on the floor as they rush into levi’s quarters. they’re clean and pristine and levi doesn’t care when they muss up his bed, when they leave the clothes on the floor until the next day. they feel dirty when it’s over. they weren’t thinking of each other, they were thinking of those spaces in between, the fractures in their beings that used to be filled with something. fractures turned to breaks that hurt to put pressure on, where every day misaligned the healing, made them ugly.

so ugly.

they try again, hange’s cheek against levi’s back, swollen scars pressing against their skin as they thrust into levi. the summer heat is hot, they’re sweating, and it’s gross, wrong. but levi comes anyway, cries out into a the sheets of his bed that he hasn’t washed in weeks. hange finishes themself against levi’s spent cock, pushes his hair away from his brow and hesitantly kisses the balmy skin. they sit in silence, asking the other what they’ve done without words. they have no answers.

so wrong.

“no.” levi says when hange takes him by the belt of his chest. “we can’t.”

hange stares at him with one eye, blinks, then lets go with a nod. “right.”

they dance around each other. find loneliness to be too strong. there’s nine of them now. two of them that have seen over six years of hell. they’re the only ones that understand. they find brief comfort again between tangled legs. levi makes hange wash before they bed together, asks them to wear his cologne. they draw the curtains closed so they don’t have to see; so they can imagine. it’s for their reptile brains. it’s so their mammal brains can function. it’s so they can be human.

“no.” hange says when levi runs his fingers through long hair. “not now.”

levi pulls his hands back, rubs his fingers together and scoffs. “whatever.”

they continue. they rotate. they fluctuate. they have each other because they had too much before. now they’re the only ones that understand. and for a brief moment, they’re whole, they’re healed. but then the sun rises, and they become commander and captain once again, and they splinter and fragment like sunlight casting against the surface of a lake.

i used to write. send me prompts if you want


flower crowns and pastel boots- baz dyes his hair a new color every week and matches his nail polish to his shoes and he can’t get to close to anyone. pastel punk au, sort of- multichaptered- complete

flower crowns and pastel boots- masterlist 


everything’s screaming- drabble. baz is so thirsy.

flammable- prompt: the mage kills baz.

we go together- prompt: simon dies during chapter 61.

cracked- sometimes baz tries to ignore his thirst.

round and round and round again- reincarnation au. baz is forever, but simon only comes around every once and a while.

broken- simon fuses with the humdrum. (he’s not simon anymore.)

sometimes it’s different- it seems so far away, but- sometimes it happens to you.

five years alone- prompt: they’re at the fifth year anniversary at watford, but they broke up after carry on.

check- prompt: write a fic where baz is mentally/physically ill instead of a vampire

shadows and moonlight- baz is trapped in his coffin and all he can think about is simon snow.

second star to the right- baz is dying, and simon reads him to sleep.

you can’t get too close- simon snow is fire and baz going to go up in flames.

nicodemus- prompt: nicodemus learns that his sister is dead.

the always-man- and repeat. and repeat. and repeat and repeat and repeat- he’s older than the stars.

golden god- baz Turns simon. baz wasn’t immortal, but simon is.

forever- simon’s sick. 

they wind like snakes down the pathways in your mind- drabble. baz’s pov.

grey- baz’s world was grey before he met simon snow. 

a picture perfect family- a closer look at the mage.

we always wind up back where we started- it’s been two years. baz can’t let him go.

i said some things i didn’t mean- Prompt: Simon wants Baz to turn him into a vampire but Penelope will not allow it. Huge debate / fight

night terrors- baz accidentally hurts simon, thrashing around in his sleep.

lists- baz makes lists.


rainbow- simon snow is a rainbow. 

strawberry jam- simon and cherry are troublemakers and baz apprently haz to parent two children. 

cherry- simon and baz and little cherry. 

lovely- simon and baz debate baby names.

never again- prompt: simon’s injured and baz is cleaning out his wounds and it’s v fluffy 

wake up- penny and baz friendship. baz is having a nightmare and the only one home is penny. 

pumpkin mocha breve- baz likes to remind himself that his starbucks is the best. 

ten years in love- it’s their ten year reunion at watford.

on proposals- simon proposes to baz. 

such a happy life- a nervous flier/random seat mate au that escalated 

sick- simon’s sick. 

christmas stars- cherry puts the star on top of the tree.

in which simon and baz become a meme

my flower- simon just wants milk.

rainbow- simon snow is a rainbow. 

messy- baz hates a mess.

on honeymoons- baz takes simon on a honeymoon.

petty squabbles and accidental confessions- simon and fiona don’t really get along.

snap shots- snap shots of their daily lives.

the pants incident- in which baz is salty, simon wears the wrong pants, and penny is exasperated.

soup- simon’s sick and baz’s beside manner kind of… sucks.


the affairs of a kingdom- princes and balls and stolen kisses. baz doesn’t want to be perfect. 

a castle made of stars- prequel to the affairs of a kingdom. 

it goes like this- coffee shop au

32 stars- there’s a shining smile hanging outside of baz’s window. 

winter, darling- run away with me.

sunshine soul- he’s the most beautiful thing. 

winter- agatha is frozen.

a disappointing absence of ribbons-  baz is studying cosmetology, simon’s shaved his head, and the mysterious disappearing hair ties aren’t so mysterious anymore.


the baguette saga (in full)- baz is a baguette. and simon’s hungry. 

in which baz is angry and it is christmas- it’s all in the title

butter- simon has a butter problem and it’s up to baz to stop it. 

short ask prompts:

prompt: simon still has his magic and he and baz get into a fight and a spark lands on baz.

simon realizes he’s gay in their seventh year and falls in love with another boy.

someone has a 7am class and the person sitting next to them pouring a monster energy drink into his coffee and drinking the whole thing like, on the first day of school thats how they meet

baz actually does steal simon’s voice (possible major character death)

tea time for anon. prompt: mirrored delusion

(reincarnation with diagnosed schizophrenia or dementia is 90% going to be my next long fic after final tour. explored once before in this tea time[x], testing it out with erwin in this one.)

deja vu stops being a sensation when it’s a constant. his coworker henry looks a lot like the long haired woman he always hears shouting and raving in his dreams. sometimes the things he does with his best friend mitch feel eerily familiar when midnight rolls around and they’re three shots deep. and when he meets leland, he struggles to get to sleep that night, feels deju vu on his fingertips, like the soft sensation of combing through an undercut.

he wakes the next morning and dumps his girlfriend. he doesn’t come to the realization of what he had done until later that evening. he sucks in air at the bar, looks around alerted as if he had just woken from a sleep. the drink in his hand has sweated out, his hand damp but the ice has gone. with his other hand, he places his forehead in it and draws out his breath. he feels like death. and confusion and pain and death. mostly death. he feels like death, as if he’s been there before and has smelt the decay, when all eric knew was the comfortable middle class life. suburban living with loving parents and a stable job.

what does he know about death?

leland finds himself in more of their group gatherings–he’s a friend of henry’s that’s moved back into the area. leland reminds eric of death and he’s not sure why. almost asks what his deal is–as if it’s his fault for existing to give him this unwanted anxiety. but he gravitates toward him. feels like there’s something about him, that maybe if he gets close enough, he can find the answers. when he smiles it feels like a gift, like a rarity, even though he does it so often. he’s sharp tongued and a little aggressive, but he’s one of the best friends eric’s ever had.

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anonymous asked:

I love angst so.... 7- How long are we going to pretend everything is OK? Thanks!

Robert’s hovering—has done for weeks. Hovers and waits, waits for things to implode, to come to there inevitable end. Because they have to right? Robert doesn’t get to keep this forever, this little sanctuary that Aaron and him have built for themselves. Something, that resembled a life, one which Robert never though he’d ever truly be able to have. Not when he was that kid, long limbed, and inexperienced, afraid of something that Aaron had made him realise was natural. This was natural—but god had it taken Robert a long time to let himself admit that, too long perhaps.

“How long are we going to pretend everything is okay?” he doesn’t mean for it to slip out. They’re on the couch, watching Graham Norton, Liv having bowed out and gone to sleep a while go. They’re sitting apart, too far apart, even Liv had noticed, and she usually doesn’t hang around long enough to notice anything, unless it’s obvious and starting her right in the face. And it was.

They’re not okay.

“What are you on about?” Aaron asks, doesn’t take his eyes off the telly. But Robert sees, sees him grip the remote just a little too tightly. He knows.

“If you want me to leave Aaron, just say the word and I’ll go—”

“No” Aaron practically shouts, cutting Robert off. He drops the remote onto the couch, and turns so his facing Robert. And Robert feels raw, curled up at the edge of the couch, knee’s pulled up, trying desperately to hold on, hold on to anything.

“I just need time Robert, but I don’t want you to leave, do you hear me? I want you to stay right here with me, okay?”


“It’s gonna take time. Your right, we’re not okay—but we will be. I just..I need time.”

Robert nods and places a hand on Aaron’s thigh. Feels the grey tracksuit materiel, soft under his touch. Aaron doesn’t pull away, like he has been doing lately, he stares back at Robert, the shadow of a smile, taking shape.

He’ll wait, and hope. Hope this nagging feeling, that sits in his stomach is wrong. That time will heal Aaron’s wounds, like broken bones. He hopes they’ll will be okay in the end. Even though, this nagging feeling tells him, Aaron will never get over what his done.

So he hopes, because that’s all he can do.

(So Liv’s in this, because I forget she isn’t around so pretend she is?)

200 words-ish prompts.

Karts, Cuddles, And A Whole Lotta Cheating

Fandom - The Mortal Instruments

Characters - Magnus, Alec

Summary - Alec is way better at Mario Kart than Magnus. Magnus may have to resort to drastic measures to win…

Thank you @sir-assless-unicorn for the prompt!

Words - 720

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me!”

Alec let out a short laugh as Mario overtook Princess Peach once again. The two boyfriends sat on Magnus’s bed, side by side, Alec’s head resting on Magnus’s chest, their legs intertwined, and Chairman Meow glaring at them from the windowsill. Nintendo DS’s were in their hands, their fingers pressing down on the buttons like there was no tomorrow.

“Why did you choose Peach anyway?”

“I like her dress,” Magnus said simply. He groaned when the computer’s Bowser threw him off of the edge of the Rainbow Road track and when he regenerated, he was in 7th place. “How are you so good at this?”

“I played a lot with Jace and Izzy when we were younger,” Alec recalled. “We used to sneak out from the Institute and go to mundane stores.”

“You, the picture-perfect Shadowhunter, snuck OUT?” Magnus said, momentarily taking his gaze from the screen that now showed Bowser’s Castle.

“Yes. Jace is not the best of influences.”

“True. Wait wait wait, no! Now I’m 8th!”

“You were 6th anyway, Mags.”


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anonymous asked:

Would Asriel and Chara still exist in this AU with their cool big brother Papyrus

Fuzzy Wuzzy AU

They exist!….ed. But Papyrus was not their big brother! He was, in fact, very small. (but still very cool, of course!)

For as much as things changed, things mostly stayed the same. The Dreemurrs had three children, and they lost three children at once. One died, one dusted, and one vanished, presumed deceased.

It wasn’t until years later, when Toriel noticed a few new grays, that she allowed herself to dream. Asgore never dared. He could explain his wrinkles, and it hurt far more to hope.

lizzington week day 1

Hello everyone! I have yet to master the art of edits and whatnot, so I’ve decided to write small Lizzington fics for Lizzington Week. This is my first fic ever, so any feedback at all is welcome. This is an add on of sorts to my favorite scene, the end of 3.10. Enjoy!

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Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day

I’ve wanted to do one of these posts for a long time so here I finally am with what I hope is the first one of several, and the person I chose for the occasion is none other than one of my all-time favourite writers of any sort of fiction: @fadewithfury 

Fadewithfury’s writing is as flawless as her ideas. She has the ability of making me interested in anything, she could literally publish half of her grocery list and I’ll be at her askbox asking about progress on the next part in mere minutes.
I actually started watching Secret Diary of a Call Girl only so I could take the most out of her brilliant Hardy/Hannah fics (as I expected, the characterization was perfect)

The first work of hers I read was Bring Down The Sky and it didn’t take me long to realize I had to read every other piece of text of hers I could find, so I did (almost. I’m currently halfway through Temporal Obscura and I’m loving every word). Fics that are noticeably better (and not “as good” or “alternatively brilliant”) than the thing they’re based on are rare in my opinion, however I think even the creators of Somewhere in Time would agree that Elsewhere deserves a film of its own more, and Touching Wild Light  is simply one of the best things I have ever read in my entire life. 

Every fic of hers is my favourite and even though I’ve commented on some of them, and left compliments (anonymously and not) in her askbox before, I feel terrible for not showing my love for her work more often.

 She’s not only a brilliant writer, but also an amazing person, blogger and artist (seriously though please do yourself a favour and go see all her art right now!). This could’ve easily been a “Human Appreciation Post”. So believe me when I tell you you haven’t lived until you’ve read Love Letters at night in bed for the billionth time, or accidentally missed your tram stop because you were too immersed on Here For You, forgotten why it’s Chris Chibnall writing Alec Hardy  and not the author of Where Oceans Meet a few chapters in said fic, or experienced the utter joy of seeing a writing update on her blog.

Happy Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day! Thank you so much for all your hard work. Please never stop writing. 

Originally posted by emmazkii