#(give me good fics pls)

[drenched-in-sunlight]

saying this as respectfully as possible but. Do not put fandom content creators on a pedestal. We are also just fans contributing to a community just as you are. We have boundary on our own work and that’s it. What I say is not and should not be considered sth the whole fandom should listen to. I’m just a normal ass person ranting about things on my blog. If it does not have a fandom tag for others to engage in, do not make it out to be me trying to start fights or addressing the whole community. Because it’s not.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, my art, my lore talk, is biased. I’ve never tried to hide that I view Marika a certain way and will always develop my theory following that base assumption.

Aside from translation stuffs and pointing out in-game items, everything else I say you can look at it, agree or disagree, and move on to form your own opinions. Just because I draw stuffs doesn’t mean you get to saddle me with responsibilities about managing fandom expectations. What the hell? I’m a fan artist, I’m the last person who you should look at for “leaderism” (?) WHAT?

I can and will be a hater in my own space, like I know sometimes other artists will just post their stuffs and not engage too heavily with fandom, and for a while I did try to do that here (because I’m already a dramatic ass on twitter), that’s just not me though.

You will get art and you will get my opinions as well.

[autiacorart]

connor finds out what is the revolution about

[nuppu-nuppu]

give Megumi his dad back

[piningapple]

being obsessed with bbc sherlock in the big year of 2024 at my grand age is so embarrassing like i have 5 assignments on the economic and political state of the world due at midnight and im on fuckass ao3 reading johnlock old men yaoi shoot me with a handgun

[katakosmos]

i just hope my fic will attract a lot of haters

[maladaptivewriting]

what are we reading this week? i need something new

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 04: here come the tears

a/n: the people have requested a surprise eddie pov and i have decided to pull a eurovision and ignore the public vote, just a little bit. but you get a tiny eddie pov, as a treat 🤍

Steve is crying. It's 1:07 a.m. and Steve is crying. And there is nothing Eddie can do about it as he's lying in bed, his heart breaking further with every passing second that they lie there in silence, quiet sniffles carrying over the phone. 

Steve is crying and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not talking to him and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not okay, and neither is Eddie. They're both breaking. 

And Eddie doesn't know what to do about it, how to fix it. How to make it better. How to tell Steve that he misses him, how to ask him to talk to him, how to keep him. To stop him from slipping through his fingers further and further until all there is is silence. 

"You know," his mind wanders back to years ago, his heart cracking at the memory. "I had the biggest crush on him for the longest time. Forever, really."

He remembers the way Steve's eyebrows shot up, his eyes round with... shock? Surprise? Or maybe something bad? 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah," Eddie had chuckled, fiddling with the straw in his drink to give his hands something to do. "Remember that kiss?" Steve nodded. "Well." Another chuckle, awkward this time, and possibly too revealing. 

Steve grinned at him, a self satisfied smirk that wavers just a little. "So you're saying you did fall madly in love with me, Munson?" 

Eddie's breath had hitched a little because Steve remembered those words so perfectly that had since doomed Eddie completely. But he covered it up with a laugh so easily, he was sure Steve didn't notice. 

"Maybe," he grinned. "But eh, that's in the past." 

It wasn't a lie; not really. But wasn't the truth either. 

The truth was that Eddie had moved on. The truth was that it's the kind of crush that was never really a crush. The kind that is a Forever more than anything else. 

The kind that will always be there, a flame burning inside my chest that carries your name and keeps it alive, keeps me warm. The kind of flame that will always be ready to become a bonfire again. Just say the word, Stevie. It's written in the universe. Say the word and I'll be yours. 

"Good," Steve said after a while, and Eddie remembers frowning, remembers that he wanted to ask what that tone was, what Steve was thinking. If he was worried or disgusted or felt betrayed that Eddie's been so hopelessly and helplessly in love with him. 

But all he said was, "Yeah. Remember Chrissy? We're kinda official now." 

And Eddie had known then just as he does now, that he'll be a happy man with Chrissy. She's his best friend, a sunshine on bleak days. She's no Steve, but she makes him happy. He had to move on from Steve – to try – and allow himself his own kind of happiness. He'd never expected to find it with Chrissy, but he loves her so much. He's grown to love her in the past years – not the movie kind of love, not the all-encompassing Steve kind of love, because that flame inside his chest can still only carry one name. 

But life is not a movie. And love is not always a fire. But he's still warm, still content, still happy. And so is Chrissy. She knows about his flame, says she understands. Eddie thinks he has one of her own, but he never asked; just held her that night, creating more of that silent happiness.

…Is he happy? Lying in bed, listening to Steve's quiet breaths that are barely audible over the phone, remembering the kiss, the confession, the Forever that he tried to move on from, he wonders what he's doing. Wonders if that contentment is worthwhile if it somehow lead him to losing Steve. 

Did he miss something? Did he fuck up without realising? 

He can't ask; Steve won't talk. 

All he can do is lie there and feel that flame that still carries Steve's name after ten, eleven, twelve years scorching his insides. 

All he can do is wonder if the whispered, "Good night, Stevie. I miss you," is some kind of goodbye. All he can do is lie awake all night and wonder where they started losing each other. 

~*~

Missing Eddie is worse than loving him. Missing Eddie makes it feel like all the heartbreak songs are written for Steve and his pain that will persist.

It’s been three months since the engagement party, and the sharp, biting heartache that cut into his lungs every time Steve tried to take a deep breath has dulled now, turned into a constant ache, an emptiness, the sorrowful traces of where an I love you turned into an I miss you. 

He’s barely talking to Eddie anymore, and with every passing day he just misses him more. 

Steve types the words I miss you over and over and over again, but never hits send. Just stares at them, wondering if Eddie knows. Wondering if he’s doing the right thing. He isn’t. There is no right thing. Nothing is right. Not without Eddie. 

He scrolls up in their chat, past Eddie’s questions if he’s okay, past his very own I miss yous, up and up and up to the strings of hearts, to the inside jokes, to the gentle teasing, to the You’re my favourite persons, to the happiness and joy and good, good times. 

He scrolls and scrolls until his phone vibrates and tells him there’s a new message in the chat. Steve frowns, his hollow heart racing as he scrolls down again to see Eddie’s new message. 

Eddie Munson: — Can I come over? 

Steve frowns. 

— why? are you okay? 

Eddie Munson: — No. — Nothing is okay. You’re gone and you’re not talking to me and I miss you and I’m losing you and I don’t know why — I dont know anything. — I just wanna know, wanna talk, wanna understand — I wanna fix this. I fucked up, I think, and I wanna make it better. — I need to talk to you — Please. Please can I come over 

Steve swallows hard, as he reads the incoming messages over and over again, watching the little bubble that says Eddie’s typing still. Watching as it disappears and reappears, reading until his eyes begin to sting and his vision is blurred with tears for the first time this week. 

Letting them fall as he types, 

— no. please dont 

Eddie doesn’t reply to that, and Steve breathes out long and hard, throwing his phone to the side, not caring where it lands on the couch as he slumps over to the other side, turning up the music even louder. 

Oh, can you tell I haven’s slept very well Since the last time that we spoke. I said, ‘Please understand I’ve been drinking again And all I do is hope.’

It consumes him, this song and the way it was written for him. The way it was written about him. Because he has no right to ask Eddie to stay. He’s the one who’s leaving. He’s the one not telling Eddie what is wrong, why he’s pulling back so suddenly. 

I’m not strong enough for the both of us. What was I supposed to do, You know I love you. Please, stay.

Please stay. Please, please, please stay. It’s about him. It’s about Eddie. About them. 

And Steve listens to it over and over again, not caring that his neighbours will know it by heart by know, will be so tired of him wallowing for weeks and months, and will come knocking soon. He doesn’t care, not when Mayday Parade are singing, All the love’s still there, I just don’t know what to do with it now. 

He types that into Eddie’s chat. Doesn’t hit send. Sends it to Robin instead, and gets a shaking hands emoji in return. It makes him smile as he re-starts the song. 

~*~

That night, he wakes around 2 a.m. to a missed call an hour ago and one new message on his mailbox. He lifts his phone to his ear with shaking hands and bated breath, a pit opening in his stomach when he hears the Judas Priest song that’s been in his Sad Eddie playlist since the beginning. 

His heart cracks open when he hears Eddie’s sniffle, a heavy sigh, and another sniffle, followed by a little, Fuck. 

“Stevie? I’m… You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just— to just disappear. To slip through my fucking fingers, or float away like a— a dream, when you wake up, and you wanna go back to sleep because it was a good dream, and you— I don’t wan’ you to be a good dream Steve. You’re like… Fuck, man!” 

Eddie’s voice is breaking, and so is Steve’s heart as his hand begins to tremble and he sits up in bed, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut because he doesn’t want to see the world as Eddie’s rambling at him. 

“I miss you. I miss you so much, and I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t… I don’t wanna miss you. How do I get you back, Stevie? Please just… God, please just talk to me. I’d do anything for you, you know that. Just tell me, just say the word. Just… Just say the word, please.” 

There’s silence after that, only Judas Priest’s Here come the tears over and over as the song is ending. Steve is crying as he listens to Eddie’s silence. 

“Just. Just… Please, Stevie.” 

The call ends then, the line cutting to the staticky voice instructing him to save or delete the message. Steve saves it. He doesn’t know why. 

He also doesn’t know why he’s scrolling through his contacts with trembling hands and hits Call when he reaches Eddie. 

The call doesn’t even get to the second ring before it’s picked up already. 

“Stevie?” Eddie sounds breathless, wild, and just a little hoarse. Like he was still crying. 

“Hi,” he says lamely, still shaking, a little breathless himself, and with absolutely no idea what he should say. 

“I’m… Hi.” 

Silence falls, and Steve wipes at his eyes. He’s still in bed, just sitting there with his phone pressed to his ear, and the ball that’s coiled inside him is growing larger and larger with each passing second that he doesn’t say Sorry, that he doesn’t say I miss you, too. That he doesn’t say I love you. 

“Can I come in?” 

He blinks, the question throwing him off his thought spiral. “Huh?” 

“I’m sort of… outside your building right now.” 

Why, he wants to ask. No, he wants to say. You’re gonna see, you’re gonna know, you’re gonna hate me forever. 

“Okay,” he breathes and climbs out of bed, blanket around his shoulders despite the summer heat, because suddenly he’s freezing. He buzzes Eddie in, listens to him on the phone as he walks up the stairs, neither of them thinking of hanging up, and opens his doors with shaking, trembling hands. 

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @imzadidragonfly @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript (sorry if i missed anyone just give me a shout if i did <3)and thanks to everyone who said nice things about this 🤍🌷

come back tomorrow/later for [redacted] | read here

[n30draws]

top Fizz agenda 😔✊

[kindaasrikal]

Help i just watched the ice emperor season and no one will understand how unsatisfied i am. WHERE IS MY ZANE ANGST?? WHERE IS MY ZANE HEAVILY CENTRIC SERIES?? I BARELY GET ANY ANGST, ANY WORTHWHILE REUNIONS, NO ZANE BEING HEARTBROKEN AT EVERYTHING THAT OCCURRED, NO NINJA BEING HEARTBROKEN AT THE PAIN IT CAUSES ZANE, NO BACKLASH AT BEING A NINDROID IN THE NEVER REALM WHERE THERE IS NO ONE LIKE HIM FOR LITERALLY DECADES?? AGAGHAGAHSGGS AND THEN THERES NO GOOD ZANE CENTRIC FANFICS?? IF NO ONES GONNA DO IT, I WILL

[littlespidermonkey]

I think in the universe where the Cullens aren't in Forks, Bella Swan takes a while to come out of her shell, but when she does, she's witty and passionate and smart as a whip, even if she's still quiet and reserved. She sits with Jessica Stanley, who demands the best of everyone, and tells her friends about her boyfriend down on the rez, who is sweet and caring and funny and good with his hands, who works for everything he's ever had.

After class, during a sleepover, Bella whispers to tell Angie and Jess about the night after prom, even though her father, loving and careless, worries about her only a normal amount and loves Jacob Black like his own. When she gets into Dartmouth--all by herself, through study sessions in garages and with Jessica and in Angela's house--she chooses to go to Stanford instead. She misses the heat and light on her skin, even after falling in love with the rain. Jessica comes with her; Angela and Eric go to U of Washington in Seattle instead, for education and journalism respectively.

Bella makes sure to call every week and then one day she drives down to Seattle and her boyfriend, warm like the sun she loves and at least twice as reliable, becomes her fiancé. The ring isn't especially big or ornate or pricey, but the way she smiles could trick anyone into thinking that it was. All of her friends, new and old, are waiting at the small party afterwards, and Bella laughs the entire time. The engagement cake--chocolate, her favourite--is sweet and moist against her tongue.

She moves back to Forks once she gets her masters in information sciences and becomes the town's librarian. She gets married a month before the move, barefoot in the surf and her old prom dress, both her parents weeping with joy and Billy Black beaming damn near as bright as his son, Sue Clearwater holding his hand.

She raises her kids --both beautiful children, blessed with Jake's thick, long hair--with Angela and Eric's and takes them down to Los Angeles to visit their auntie Jess and her husband Quil, who lavishes them with gifts from her career as a top surgeon. She jokes about having to support Quil's career as an environmental lawyer and displays each and every one of his wins alongside her diplomas. When William Black II decides he wants to be a doctor too, she writes him a shining letter of recommendation to her alma mater. Sarah, who has always been the spitting image of her father, joins and eventually takes over Jacob's mechanic shop.

On occasion, Bella fights with Jacob, even though he's the love of her life. Despite this, she is never afraid of him, and he never stops her from doing what she wants. Instead, he goes out and works on his cars and comes back in an hour later with slightly greasy hands and a bouquet of flowers from Emily Young's little garden, planted to celebrate her cousin Leah Uley's wedding. Bella makes him muffins, recipe courtesy of Sue and missing bites courtesy of Seth, Colin, Sarah, Will, and Claire, with raspberries, not blueberries, just how Jake likes them. They make up, and they make changes, and they go on.

Eventually, both slower and quicker than she realizes, Bella gets old. She lives in fear of losing herself, of losing her husband and her children, like her grandmother had. But she remembers her grandkids to the very end, even gets to meet her first great-grandchild a week before it happens. Her heart gives out before her brain does, too weak and too slow.

It was too full of love, the letter from Jacob says. Sarah reads it. Her father passed a day after his wife--simply too heartbroken to live without her. Much of the town of Forks and hordes of family attend their funeral, remembering a life well lived.

It is an unremarkable life, in the grand scheme of things. She does not live to be a thousand; she is no great beast, with speed like the wind and strength; she does not discover her powers or lead a great defiance. Bella Black, happy and human and surrounded by love, could never imagine wanting anything else.

[miwiheroes]

dude there is no worse feeling than seeing an amazing fic concept, the tags are like everything you've dreamt of, but the writing is just utter garbage and the characters are so ooc that u want to scream :)

[toomanydramass]

I finished reading "running on air" and idk what to do with myself now. It was so good i want to forget it and read it for the first time again. I need more 😭

[grandpa-boyfriend]

My personal headcanon is that Morty would eventually use the word "grandpa" like "daddy" for Rick.

Like early on in the relationship, he he avoids the word all together just because it feels weird.

But then something slips some day, like Rick does something an old person would do and Morty just offhandedly makes a joke like, "Haha, looks like you're getting old, Grandpa!" And he tries to laugh it off as he elbows Rick but Rick is just, like, staring at him.

And Morty gets nervous because Rick is silent but when he looks over he's surprised to find a blush and a secretly-into-it-but-acting-annoyed scowl on Rick's face and then it clicks.

So Morty starts using the word "Grandpa" against Rick.

Rick gets pissed he messed something up on an adventure?

"I'm sorry, Grandpa."

Rick pisses Morty off and he wants his words to really sting?

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Grandpa."

Morty feels like teasing Rick during dinner with the family (who don't know anything in this scenario)?

"Pass the salt, Grandpa?"

When they're fucking and Morty wants to make Rick lose his mind even more and fuck him into oblivion?

"Harder, Grandpa."

When they're just cuddling in bed and he wants to flashbang Rick with with on onslaught of overwhelming emotions?

"I love you, Grandpa."

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Priest getou and nun reader or villager reader....(anything other than the word both isnt acceptable...😡😡😡 /j) -🪄

🪄 ANON I SEE YOU AND YOU RAISE A VALID POINT but please consider…… priest!geto and non-believer!reader.

imagine just waltzing into a church one day. almost as if on a whim. you don’t believe in god, you aren’t interested in praying, but you’re exploring this quiant little town, and the church looks pretty from afar, and you figure it could be a nice way to burn time.

you enter the building to find that a sermon is taking place. a priest is speaking to the few rows of people listening. the church is fairly small, but paintings and sculptures and the mellow glow of beautiful cathedral glass give it a sense of mystique that you’re drawn to. you take a seat and listen along, halfheartedly, not praying like the rest, not singing along to the hymns… you stick out like a sore thumb, but hey, it’s not as if anyone is paying attention.

except someone is, and it happens to be the priest that was holding the sermon just a second ago. the same one you spent most of your time oogling once the paintings started to bore you, because he’s so pretty for a priest. beautiful long black hair, amber eyes, sharp facial features, pretty hands and fingers — and the smoothest, silkiest voice you’ve heard in your life. like a sun-soaked bundle of lillies.

… also, his cassock is just a little too tight of a fit to tear your eyes away from.

you stick around a little longer once almost everyone has left, just scrolling on your phone and basking in the quiet, and that’s when he approaches you. he jokingly tells you that it’s always obvious when a non-believer enters a place of worship, but he’s not mad; he’s amused. you end up chatting a bit about your beliefs, he’s a lot more chill than you expected, and…. well. he’s just really, really charming.

so maybe you end up coming back the week after. maybe his smile is a bit like a spider’s web. maybe it becomes a kind of routine to speak to him after his sermons; you still don’t sing along to the hymns or spend any time on prayers, and he still finds it funny. maybe once in a while you end up liking a paragraph from the scripture he’s reciting, and he’s always more than happy to discuss it with you. but mostly you’re there for him. for your chats, for standing outside and badgering him about his beliefs while he smokes and listens with an amused grin.

rain hits the ground with a steady rhythm, earthy tobacco floods your veins, spiders by the ceiling weave a web of dew, and his presence is just a little more intoxicating than you’d deem appropriate.

suguru just… isn’t a very orthodox priest. he doesn’t care for the bible as more than a literary piece, he has his own view of god, his own thoughts on worship. he smokes. he may or may not occasionally manipulate church-goers into donating money so he can invest in another overpriced painting. you ask him if there are any bodies in the basement you should know about, and he answers that any self-respecting priest wouldn’t conduct their blood rituals in the basement of their own church. he knows how to pick locks. he tells you once, very quietly, that he doesn’t believe man was created in god’s image. there’s a look in his eyes that you don’t comment on.

he’s funny. charming. pleasantly suspicious. your conversations are enjoyable for the both of you, and eventually the edges of his cedar eyes begin to crinkle the slightest bit whenever you walk into his field of vision. sometimes he eyes your lips for a little too long, and a honeyed irony seeps into his grin when you call him out on it. he asks you if you’re tempting him on purpose, and you shrug. whatever exists between the two of you remains unspoken.

one day, he tells you that he believes it was god who sent you to him. you furrow your brows with a protest, a mutter reminding him of your beliefs, how you believe in free will — how you waltzed into his church out of your own volition. no one else’s.

he only smiles, and flicks the butt of his cigarette. you think he remains unconvinced.

[slytherheign]

let’s talk about the umbrella academy’s final season. HERE’S MY UNBIASED RATING AND NO SPOILER REVIEW FOR SEASON 4:

0/5.

i am serious about this. they ruined the characters we used to love. what i hoped would be the show’s redemption after a disappointing 3rd season turned out to be its ruin. kinda sad that the finale ended up like this. the last moments should’ve made me tear up or at least made me nostalgic, but no, i simply did not feel anything and was void of any emotions because of how they butchered the show. eps 1-4 were fun to watch but even then i can’t give it at least a 0.5 because of how they ended everything and made our favorite characters do things that they would never do. honestly, the last few episodes seemed like it was written by a 6th grader. i’d even go as far as saying that fanfic writers can do a better job at writing for this show. NOT WORTH WATCHING AT ALL. if you don’t want to hate this show, i suggest don’t even watch this season at all. just imagine what happens next in your head, trust me, it’s way better than what they have done. what hurt me the most was that they made me HATE the character that i LOVED so much for years. that was the final straw for me. i am not just disappointed, i am absolutely appalled.

they ruined everything. the story they built for 5 years resulted in an absolute garbage.

what an absolute shitshow.

i will pretend that the umbrella academy only had two seasons. only in that way could i even salvage even just a little love i had for these characters.