writing anything ever

Not a Child (Daryl Dixon x Blind!Reader)

Prompt:  A blind! Reader x Daryl with Daryl realising they’re actually a really good asset to the team because of their heightened other senses to compensate

Author’s Note: Thank you for this! I enjoyed writing it, and I hope that I wrote what you wanted. If you have any questions or want to request something, shoot me an ask. This one is a bit longer, and I hope to continue keeping these requests that way. Once again, thank you! Also, if I ever write anything that is offensive or wrong, tell me. I want to know for future reference.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Blind!Reader

Words: 1097 words

Warning: Cussing, slight gore (very little), slight ableism


There was a sickly sweetness in the air, hidden beneath the horrendous stench of rotting flesh. You tipped your head back and sniffed, a grin teasing the corners of your lips. Somewhere to your right, you heard a grunt and a thump of an arrow lodging into the brain of a lone Walker. Leaves crunched beneath the boots of your grumpy companion as he reached for your arm, his fingers curling around your bicep.

There were many things you had learned about Daryl Dixon, and the first was that he lacked a gentle grip. He spoke in hushed curses and strange noises, ignoring almost everyone and their suggestions. Out of everyone that talked to him, you were the one he treated like a lost child. To him, your inability to see the world around you made you a liability.

And you were already proving him wrong.

Daryl had done nothing but complain since Rick asked him to bring you along, shoving you around the woods. However, it was beginning to show just how much he relied on his sight, and you couldn’t help but love how quickly you managed to notice any approaching danger.

“Walker. To the left. No, my left, Daryl,” you said.

He scoffed, turning to fire his next arrow, and the Walker went silent. Wearing a smug grin, you waited for a word of gratitude, but he walked past you, muttering something underneath his breath.

“Don’t know why I had to bring you.”

Rolling your eyes, you followed him, keeping your ears open and your nose ready. At any second, the both of you could be cornered and torn apart, returning as a mindless corpse.

You couldn’t remember the last time you saw the world. If you remembered correctly, you lost your eyesight when you were barely seven, and it had devastated your parents. They spent years trying to find a way to fix you, ignoring the fact that you had managed to adapt and learn. You were forced to rediscover every dip and curve in the sidewalk on the way to your school, listening for the rumbling engine of the bus, and you had succeeded in mastering the other four senses you were born with.

A whole new world had formed, and it was beautiful in its own way.

“Keep your eyes ahead,” Daryl grumbled.

Turning your head, you frowned in his direction, sticking your tongue out. However, you were used to the sarcasm he used frequently, and it no longer bothered you like it used to.


It didn’t take a pair of eyes to know that the both of you were terribly lost. Daryl would huff and turn in the opposite direction, cursing at the sky when it took him nowhere new, and you had to swallow the laughter in your throat. You could smell the sweat that dampened his skin, the afternoon sun beating you both down.

“If we turn right, we’ll be on the road back to— “

“Really think I’m gonna take advice from someone who can’t even see their damn hands?”

You stopped in your tracks, your nails biting into your palms, and you furiously chewed on your lip. Since losing your eyesight, you had only dealt with a handful of hateful people, but their words didn’t sting like his did. When they came from someone you considered to be a friend, it made your blood boil, especially since you had been through Hell and back with Daryl.

“You don’t know a damn thing, do you? We all have shit that holds us back, Daryl. However, some barriers are more visible than others. My blindness doesn’t make me any more of a liability than your stubbornness does. Don’t act like you’re better than me because you can see where you shit and what you eat.”

In the next moment, you were storming through the woods, visibly shaking.


“Where’s Y/N?” Rick asked as Daryl sauntered past him, breathing heavily and trembling.

“Ran off like some damn child.”

Cursing underneath his breath, Rick took hold of Daryl’s arm, yanking him back before Daryl could get away.

“This isn’t how we work, Daryl. We don’t just leave each other behind because they make us mad. Go ou—What?”

Daryl turned his head as Rosita called out from the lookout post, your name falling from her lips. A few of the survivors crowded around them as you limped through the open gate, a severed head gripped in your bloody hand. Greasy locks were twisted around your fingertips, and a rusted crowbar shot out from the front of its rotted skull. You were hunched forward as you tossed the head onto the ground, letting it smack against Daryl’s boots. However, it was when you threw him an overfilled bag of supplies that he felt the tension melt away from his shoulders.

“Still think I’m a child?”


It was no surprise that Daryl was waiting for you when you walked outside that night. Having just showered, your hair was soaking wet, the strands plastered to your forehead. You offered him a weak smile before dropping onto the porch swing, feeling it sway underneath you.

“Didn’t have to risk your damn life to prove me wrong,” he said.

The swing dipped beneath his weight, and you savored the warmth that radiated off his body. Shrugging your shoulders, you sagged against the back of the swing and closed your eyes, stretching your legs out. Your bones cracked and groaned, and you yearned for something that would ease your aching body.

“You shouldn’t have said what you did, Daryl. Besides, you gotta admit that I was right. Being able to see doesn’t make you any better than me.”

You almost didn’t realize he had touched you until his hand covered your own. Your stomach flipped, and you turned your head, feeling the heat of his gaze on your face. When his lips finally touched yours, they were chapped and tasted of dust, but it didn’t keep you from scooting closer to him. Your hands found his face, mapping out every bump and scar that marred his skin. His hair tickled your fingers, and you took hold of his damp locks, never wanting to pull away.

One, two, three seconds passed before he leaned back, your fingertips still touching his cheeks. There was silence for the next minute, the sound of your breathing mingling with his own. You knew it was coming before he even opened his mouth, and you wanted to yell at yourself for not stopping it.

“Didn’t see that comin’.”

“I swear to God, Dixon.”


If you want to be tagged, send me a message.

@itsneganslucille

re: this post, It makes sense and I get why maybe we should exercise a bit of caution when using othering language while talking about these animals. But also…. I’ve always referred to my deep sea children as sea monsters because, like, I love sea monsters.

So in casual posts/conversation you may still see me talk about “sea monsters” or “underwater aliens” or something. But if I ever write anything about these critters in a more professional/academic context, I’ll definitely keep the linked article in mind and be careful. 

Matsukawa bursts into the cafe, sweat trickling down his temples as he scours the room for his friends. He lets out a loud sigh of relief as he catches sight of his friends and strides over as quickly as possible.

“I accidentally gave an old man the wrong impression and now he wants my ass and I lied and told him I was dating someone-” Matsukawa wheezes, gripping Hanamaki’s shoulders as he tries to catch his breath. Oikawa snickers in the background and Iwaizumi elbows him in the sternum.

“It is a nice ass,” Hanamaki comments consideringly and then lets out a strangled yelp as Matsukawa plants himself solidly in his lap. Matsukawa’s nice ass is right on Hanamaki’s dick and it’s a struggle between mind and body to either push Matsukawa away or pull him closer-

The situation is taken out of his hands when a mouth breathing old man saunters over, “You left before I could get your number-”

Hanamaki quirks an eyebrow and wraps an arm around Matsukawa’s waist, pulling him further onto his lap, “What can I do for you?”

The man eyes their position, “I’m here for Issei-”

“Oh, you have business with my boyfriend.” Hanamaki bats his eyelashes and looks up at Matsukawa who is red faced and still wheezing, “You have business with the love of my life. My sun and my stars. The fire of my loins-”

“Fuck you.” Matsukawa blurts instinctively, trying to wriggle out of his best friends grip. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, asking Hanamaki for help.

“Not now snookums, we can arrange for that later.” Hanamaki doesn’t miss a beat as he tightens his hold. “Someone has business with you. You should go, but these-” Hanamaki pauses to look at the old man. “How long is this going to take?”

“A few minutes.” The man says uncertainly.

“Right.” Hanamaki nods and then turns back to address Matsukawa with a trembling voice and watery eyes, “- These couple minutes are going to be so difficult without you. Being separated from you is painful but while you’re talking with this kind man, I wish you health and prosperity because I love you. Because we’re boyfriends.”

“Fiances.” Oikawa adds helpfully.

“Thank you, Oikawa. I had forgotten I proposed.” Hanamaki says without breaking eye contact with Matsukawa who is shaking in his lap. “Make sure to come back quickly, my beautiful bride. Because-” Hanamaki pauses again, grabs Matsukawa’s hand and presses it to his stomach, “I want to have a child with you.”

Matsukawa is on the verge of losing his shit. Hanamaki’s eyes pool over and drip down his face, expression tense as he fights down the laughter.

“I was thinking of Stacy for the name.” Hanamaki’s voice cracks, “Short for Ecstacy. Because raising a kid with you is going to be a fucking trip.”

Matsukawa buries his face in Hanamaki’s neck to hide the fact that he’s fucking sobbing.

Oikawa is curled up in a ball on the other side of the booth. Iwaizumi pats his back while wiping the single tear from his own cheek, stoic faced, “It’s a beautiful name.” He says seriously.

“Thank you Iwaizumi.” Hanamaki answers, “Anyway, Mattsun. Issei. My love. If you really must go talk to this man, be safe. Come back soon.”

Hanamaki looks up but the man is nowhere to be seen. He pulls Matsukawa closer once again and lets him sob into his shoulder. Oikawa is no longer breathing. Iwaizumi’s cheeks are wet.

I want you.
I want you in every sense of the word.
I want time with you,
I want adventure with you,
Hell, I want naps with you–
Friends on Netflix in the background.
I want your hand in my hand,
Your lips on my lips,
My body curving into your body;
We fit together so well.
I want laughter with you,
I want conversation with you,
Dear god, I even want arguments with you
Because it means we’re together
and we care.

So let’s do it.
Let’s make the jump
Together.
Take my hand
And love me.
Let me love you.
Because you once said
We could’ve lived a beautiful story,
And I know now that’s the only story
I want to read.

I want to write
A beautiful story
With you.

Certain eyes will find yours and you won’t understand until another 2 days but this is where you’ll build your home.

Certain eyes smile, amber shines and they laugh when you ask what colour they’re supposed to be.

Certain eyes have you turning into something else, they have you falling into a kind of music that doesn’t come from the playlist they know you’ll like, (it’s almost identical to yours.)

Certain eyes turn lazy when they’re drunk, and they’ve always been slower with you anyway, honey coloured flames have you choking when they land on you, when they hold you, when they come alive like that, (is this an understanding or is there something else waiting there?)

Certain eyes turn you into a crumbling being, have you silently gasping for more each time they give you something. Their hand in yours used to be your favourite (but their lips have innocently touched you more than once now).

Certain eyes turn soft in the dark, a body becomes tired and it’s dangerous to make someone’s arms your resting place but they press their touch into cold places, keep you against them in a comfort that feels like maybe they’re harbouring secrets too, like maybe their drunken brain can’t hold things back (do not believe it, it’s dangerous to hope too).

Certain eyes are created to make you become, or maybe this is unbecoming, either way you turn a person into a moment, name it love and worship quietly, (you cannot let them see).

Certain eyes breathe and if you’re close enough to feel it your lungs stutter, their laugh dissolves itself into your blood, pounds against your chest when you can smell them lingering on your skin after resting side by side.

Certain eyes show you what love means and they terrify you when you remember that you’re not supposed to know how it feels,
(not like this, not with them.)

Certain eyes are different when they hold yours, you know this, sometimes it feels like they feel the same, sometimes it feels like maybe fear doesn’t exist.
But it’s wrong, not because you love certain eyes but because they’ll never love you.

—  bits and pieces of what could be anything
(m.s)
30 Day Writing Challenge Day 5: Rain

The first thing Yuuri registered when he woke up was the soft pitter-patter of rain outside.

He smiled. Rain meant he could stay in bed just a little longer, since Victor liked to drag him out for a morning run. He liked running, but he also liked the feeling of just waking up, when your bed’s still warm and it’s the most comfortable place on Earth.

Yuuri pulled the sheets up to his neck and burrowed into his bed. He felt so nice, so warm and boneless. He could almost fall asleep again…

An ice cold hand traced over his side.

Yuuri shrieked and tried to wiggle away from the intrusion. An arm wrapped around his middle and pulled him back against a hard chest.

Yuuri turned over and saw a slightly blurred Victor. He smiled down at Yuuri and bent forward to kiss his forehead. Yuuri smiled and pushed his face into Victor’s neck. The hickey he left there last night stood out on his pale skin.

Keep reading

SO THE GIRLS ARE ALL DEAD.
SO THE GIRLS ARE ALL MONSTERS.
OK. FINE. IF THE GIRL WHO LIKES KISSING
GIRLS MUST DIE, THEN FINE. I’LL SHOW YOU
A DEAD GIRL: SHE WILL BE DEAD
AND MERCILESS. GO AHEAD. BURY HER.
THIS TIME SHE WILL RISE. SHE WILL CLAW
HER WAY UP. GRAVE-DIRT UNDER
HER FINGERNAILS. DRIPPING AND DARK-HAIRED
FROM THE WATER. YOU WANTED A DEAD GIRL
AND YOU’RE GOING TO GET A DEAD GIRL.
YOU WANTED A MONSTER
AND YOU’RE GOING TO GET A MONSTER. 
IF THERE MUST BE BLOOD
THEN THERE WILL BE BLOODSHED,
DO YOU HEAR ME? 
IF SHE IS A MONSTER FOR LOVING GIRLS
THEN SHE IS A MONSTER, THIS TIME.
SHE WILL HAUNT THIS HOUSE YOU BUILT.
SHE WILL SHAKE THOSE BONES.
DON’T YOU KNOW YOU LEFT HER HUNGRY?
LISTEN TO ME. IF YOU WANT A HORROR SHOW
THEN I WILL GIVE YOU A HORROR SHOW.
DON’T KILL ANYTHING
YOU AREN’T PREPARED
TO MAKE A GHOST OF.
—  s.s., “bury your gays”
archiveofourown.org
Maybe
Guzma wakes from a nightmare. Plumeria looks after him for a while.
By Organization for Transformative Works

Guzma jolts awake in a swath of sweat to find Plumeria squeezing his hand.

It’s dark, but he can still discern the familiar shape of her face swimming amongst the stilled shadows. Her hair has been let down, waterfalling over her shoulders in whorls of pink and yellow to frame high cheekbones. She sits beside him over the blankets, her brow crinkled in pointed concern, and for a moment in the last gasps of the steeping haze that was his nightmare, she looks like someone he’d rather not see.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, mellow, considerate, and nothing at all like Lusamine’s. “You okay?”

holy hell, never ask me to draw ezra or design an outfit. i’m sorry u two.

ANYWAY i was thinking: you see a lot of ezra-corrupted-by-maul stuff (WHICH I LOVE) BUT rarely the other way around? ezra’s a good egg and i want more aus where he drags maul kicking and screaming into the light (or somewhere in-between the dark and light b/c lbr, maul is p. much surviving on pure dark side spite these days).

life is a fist fight
and you’ve given the devil a gun.
—  oh, sinner, you better run | a.m.
Duty Bound

Series: Tales of Zestiria
Pairing: Rose/Alisha Diphda
Word count: 17567
Summary: “I’m sorry, you took the wrong princess.”

AU where the Windriders kidnapped Alisha

[AO3]

Notes: takes place before the start of canon but possible spoilers abound for those who’ve only watched the anime

Keep reading

Redecoration.

Summary: You and your boyfriend have just moved in together, calling for an immediate shopping trip to update your apartment. 

A/N: This is an idea I got because I went to Target to get one thing and ended up spending like $200 on pretty stuff. Also, it kind of sucks, but it was a cute idea and I really wanted to write it. 

As usual, shoutout to @hamilbye for reading this when it was halfway done for me and telling me it was an adorable idea. 

Pairing: Lin x Reader 

Warnings: All fluff, all the time (would I ever write anything else?) 

Words: 2,381 (I can’t even try to keep my word count low. Sorry.) 


Maneuvering your car into a tight parking space had taken ten minutes. Finding the parking space had taken half an hour. From where you sat, it almost wasn’t worth it. But then you glanced at the smiling being sitting next to you in the car and grinned. Lin was a toddler, already straining against his seat belt, trying to wrestle himself out of the car and into the store. You reacted immediately when he placed a hand on the door handle, reaching your hand out to grab his wrist, your body leaning over the center console. You laughed before growing stern, the look on his face just barely contained the excitement.

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A Hairy Situation

Anon Request:  This is probably soooo typical.. But can I request a BuckyxReader where they end up having to share a bed (mission with limited sleeping space?) And she gets her hair tangled in the joints of his mechanical arm? *has long hair and wonders about this*

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Explicit Language, and you may die laughing.

Word Count: 1,488

A/N: Just, promise me you guys will tell me how hard you laughed. Because my stomach hurts. Enjoy! - x.T

Your name: submit What is this?


           You, Bucky, and Steve had all been shipped out to a seaside town in Greece. You were supposed to take down a leader of a large terrorist group that happened to be in the area. Well, you usually arrived the day before at the destination, before receiving the full set of orders the next night.

           The three of you guys had been squished into a small two bedroom house, which was fit specifically for missions. You don’t know how HQ managed to get all the tech in the house so early, but you didn’t want to know.

           After a long day of scouting stealth routes to the target, you were ready to shower and go to bed. It was hot in Greece, and being in the sun all day left you sweaty and baking in your uniform. The two soldiers came into the house smelling heavily of body sweat and something else that wasn’t very appealing to a woman’s nose.

           Steve unclipped his shield and sighed, “I’m going to shower.” He then disappeared down the hall, carrying his shield with him.

           You muttered, “Good, you smell like ass.” Bucky was downing a glass of water and managed to hear you, he choked on the water, and slammed the glass down. The water sputtered out of his mouth and into the sink, and he began coughing and laughing.

           “You okay there, Barnes?” You asked, trying not to smile as you raised your brows at him. He was leaning against the granite counter and recovering from the coughing fit he had. Bucky wiped his mouth and nodded, his eyes closed, and a huge grin on his face.

           Bucky’s voice shook, “Y-Yeah, I’m good, Y/N.” He sat up and set the glass in the sink, not trusting himself with drinking water at the moment.

           “Alright, I’m going to go change,” You pointed to the hallway, “Promise you won’t choke on water out here by yourself?”

           “Yeah, Y/N. You can go.” He rolled his eyes, and you shook your head as you made your way down the hall. At the end of the hall, there was only three doors, and one door was for the bathroom.

           You groaned, “I don’t want to share a room…” You opened the door nearest and saw that Bucky had already put his stuff on the bed, and you guessed Steve would’ve put his stuff in the other room. The real decision was who you would rather spoon. You bit your lip and decided on Bucky, because knowing Steve, he would be suffocating you against him.

           “You left your stuff on the couch.” Bucky came walking down the hall behind you with your duffel bag for the mission slung over his shoulder. He brushed past you into the room he claimed, and set the bag next to his. Bucky turned towards you, “We are sharing a room, right?”

           You nodded slowly and moved over to the bag, getting your mind off the fact that you will be sleeping next to the amazing specimen beside you, by hoping Steve saved some warm water for you. You unzipped the bag and finally replied, “Yeah, just promise me you don’t sleep naked.” You would actually really enjoy it if he was naked, but you had to keep up your façade.

           “I promise, I don’t sleep naked.” He chuckled, before he shot you a wink, “Sometimes.” You gaped at him, before lightly punching his metal arm. Bucky had a shit-eating grin on his face as he bent down and kicked his boots off, he picked them up and set them next to the nightstand. He then began unstrapping his vest and you quickly grabbed your clothes, knowing damn well that Bucky would have no shame, and get changed in front of you.

           You ducked out of the room and saw Steve’s bedroom door was closed, so you were glad he was finished in the bathroom. Locking the bathroom door, you sighed, and kicked your shoes off. You were going to enjoy this shower, before you head off to bed.


           By the time Bucky slid under the covers next to you, you were already passed out cold. He watched your peaceful form, a tender smile garnishing his features, as he took the moment to really admire you. You were vulnerable and Bucky enjoyed seeing you like this; your features slackened, your hair sprawled over the pillow, and soft snores escaping your mouth.

           Bucky leaned over to kiss your temple, before he whispered, “Goodnight, darling.” He then flipped over and let out a deep breath, allowing himself to relax, and yet hoping he would wake up with you in his arms.


           Your eyes fluttered open and you shifted, before you froze. You and Bucky had gravitated towards each other during the night, and you were tucked against his body, with his metal arm draped loosely around you. Bucky was nuzzled into your hair, his warm breath fanning over your neck, and your legs were tangled with his.

           You went to lift your head and your hair was yanked roughly, you yelped, and collapsed against Bucky. He jolted beneath you and he moved his face out of your hair. Bucky shifted his metal arm and you whimpered, “Bucky! Don’t move!” He froze and looked down at you, his face awfully close to yours.

           Bucky furrowed his brow and asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

           “My hair is stuck in your arm…” You sighed resting your head against his bare chest. He bit his lip, trying not to laugh, but his stomach kept convulsing. You knew he was struggling to stop himself from laughing at you. You groaned, “Go ahead, laugh your ass off..”

           Bucky chuckled and shook his head, “No, I can’t. I’m sorry, but how did this happen?”

           “I don’t know?” You shrugged, “I guess we sleep cuddled.”

           “You sure about that, darling?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow, and you glared up at him. He then looked at his left arm, seeing your hair knotted within the metal divots, and he visibly winced. “Let’s try and get you free.”

           Bucky clutched you to his chest, with his arm wrapped around your back, trying to help you get your hair out of the divots in his metal arm. He kept chuckling every time you made a painful yelp, when he accidentally tugged your hair too hard, and you finally slumped against his chest. The body heat between the both of you made it hot, and Bucky’s skin was clammy.

           “Buck, we might have to get Steve..” You whined, your forehead was pressed against his bare shoulder. He smiled and rested his cheek against your hair. 

           Bucky chuckled, “He’s not going to let me live this down, darling.” He rubbed your back, keeping his metal arm as still as possible for you. The metal was locked up tightly and he hadn’t been able to relax the arm.

           “Who cares at this point?” You huffed, “I already ripped half my hair out with it stuck in your damn arm.” Bucky rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

           He then shouted, “STEVE!”

           It was quiet for a few moments.

           The soldier blasted through the door, shirtless, and pant-less with his shield in hand. He looked around the room frantically for any signs of danger, before his gaze fixed onto you and Bucky clinging to each other in the bed. Steve furrowed his brow and asked, “Why did you yell for me?”

           You turned your head, wincing when your hair was being tugged, and said, “Because my hair got stuck in his metal arm and we can’t get it out.”

           Steve set his shield against the wall before a huge grin spread over his face. “Your hair. Got stuck. In his arm.” He then doubled over in laughter, and Bucky snorted.

           You glared at Steve, and snapped, “Can you just help?”

           “Yeah—Yeah, just…I’ll be right back.” He chuckled, before stumbling out of the room. You sighed and relaxed against Bucky, knowing things will be a bit different now that you had been sidled up to each other for thirty minutes straight. Possibly, all night.

           Bucky asked, “Now that we’ve been like this for a while, can I say something?”

           “Go for it, Barnes.”

           “I’m surprised you haven’t felt my boner yet.”

           “JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES!” You screamed, and scrambled away from him. He threw his head back and began laughing so hard, that he didn’t even realize your hair was freed. You forgot all about what he said, and leaped off the bed, raising your arms in victory. “I’m free!”

           Steve came walking back in with a pair of scissors in his hand and stopped when he saw you standing in the middle of the room, and Bucky about pissing himself in laughter on the bed.

           You pointed at the scissors in his grasp and asked, “You were literally going to cut my hair?”

           “Yeah?”


Re: that whole debate that occasionally resurfaces on tumblr with various degrees of bitterness and spite, personally I understand why people don’t kudo or comment on fics. 

Sometimes we only read the first chapter of a fic, or want to continue later and then forget it exists. Sometimes we download it somewhere, and then it’s annoying to follow the link back to the platform to share our opinion. And sometimes we just feel our opinion is worthless, in any case - that we can’t muster up anything more interesting than Thanks, that was beautiful, and nobody wants to hear something that dull.

(Not true, by the way. Every author wants to know their work is appreciated, and it doesn’t matter how ordinary or badly spelled or incoherent your comment is. If you feel like saying something, go for it. It could really make someone’s day.) 

And sometimes we’re just plain lazy. We live in a consumer society - we’re not used to think about who makes all our stuff. We just accept it’s there, as if by magic, and go on with our lives. 

(Which is not okay, by the way, but that’s a completely different debate.)

So, you know - kudos and comments and fanart and fic recs are incredibly kind ways to show your appreciation for a story you’ve loved, but if you forget to do it, or you feel you can’t for some reason, you’re not evil. Personally, I’m much more annoyed by the other side of the equation - by the control corporations still exercise upon our minds, by the wars they wage against fans, by how they promote only the worst kind of fanfiction because they can somehow turn it into solid gold, and it doesn’t matter if it’s badly written and OOC and basically shit in every way. And also by the fact that fanfiction is, like, the only kind of fan work you cannot sell or profit from and the kind you’re advised to hide, like some shameful secret, if by some miracle you make it as a professional author.

Because these may be your characters, but the stories we write are fully ours, and research proves these stories actually promote your original material without taking anything away from you. More and more shows are basically made successful by fandom involvement, and you - a tiny group of West Coast people - keep getting rich because of our unconditional and unselfish love for your content. Fanfiction, just like metas, fanart, fansubs, fanvids and other ways fans choose to express their love, is first and foremost free marketing and free publicity - not to mention a prime example of creativity, free speech and critical thinking. Isn’t it time we had this conversation instead? 

lax team headcanon...

Where there are actually like seven or eight Chads on the team so they all have to go by their last initial.

There’s actually two Chad Rs, so one of them is called Chad 2.

“Let me introduce you to some of the guys on the team. Here we’ve got Chad B, Chad S, Rick, Chad K, Steve, Reggie, Chad R, Chad W, Chad 2, Bobby, and Chad H.”

“Cool.”

“Aw, dude. You JUST missed Chad C!”

“Too bad. He’s a good bro.”

“A king among Chads.”

IMAGINE- Enjolras telling Marius that he does not know the true despair of loving someone.

    “Who cares about your lonely soul?” Enjorlas asked Marius with such intensity that the building might as well have come crashing down.

     Simultaneously everyone was reminded of the grim event which took place 6 months ago to the day. The death of Enjolras’ beloved which had devastated him.