#fic idea update

[venator-signum]

kamala khan would have the most horrendous ao3 author's notes known to man

"hey guys sorry the update is late i switched places with an avenger (ajdgrhsh literally crying) and a really cool space scientist lady and then got into a fight and some alien dudes wrecked my house and then I met Nick fury and I was literal space it was crazy and I had to help save the universe and saw said scientist lady give up her life to save all of us... anyways hope you like the new fic, branching out with an arranged marriage au for this one!!!"

[silkoodles]

i could do better [prev tfem bradley post]

and i have ideas. like uhhh roller derby jammer in a team called the Bronze Brasiers cause she still likes skating and likes passing the competition and fighting dirty 😭also just living her best life

[tossawary]

General info: as far as I'm concerned, all of my fic ideas posted here are up for grabs.

Most of them, I'm never going to get around to writing, unfortunately, because I don't have the time, and even if I do write some out, I'm not going to object to someone else giving their own take. I very much subscribe to the "HOLY SHIT, TWO CAKES!" philosophy for fandom: more treats in more flavors is good.

Guidelines (as far as I can set conditions when I can't actually stop anyone): 1) If you get around to posting anything for this fic idea, I would appreciate being informed when you do. I may lose the notification because my brain is soup when I'm tired, so you can always message me again asking for a signal boost or something. I won't promise to read any fanfiction, because I may still be working on my own thing, but I still like being told.

2) I would also appreciate a shout-out, like an acknowledgement in the author's notes, for the inspiration, especially for very specific ideas with many details that get used. If you're going as far as to use dialogue that I wrote, then I would prefer a link to the original post / fic as well as a shout-out.

3) If I do decide to write out the fic idea someday, you have to be cool with there being two takes on it. We're not competing. No two people are going to have the same interpretation of a premise, which is great, when different fans are looking for different things. I'll probably be happy to link our works together. And if I am inspired by your work directly, if I do read it, then I will credit you for it, of course.

I am also fine with it if people write fanfiction of my fanfiction. If you write fanfiction of my fanfiction and say, "This fic sucked, I made it better," then it will hurt my feelings and I will probably block you, but I'm still not going to, like, ever try to set my followers on anyone. If you write out my fic ideas and you make any characterization or plot choices that are not to my taste, then I am going to go, "Oh, well, I hope they're having fun," and then get on with my day. If I somehow find out that you wrote my fic idea or fanfic for my fanfic and never told me about it, then I'm probably going to go, "Fair enough, I also generally prefer that authors do not acknowledge my existence," and it will not be a big deal.

So, go for it! Someone might as well try writing it and have fun with it, if I'm not going to, and also even if I do. ❤️

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

Screaming.

Please do not do this but I just screamed for 30 minutes so here’s what you should know.

Can’t do it continuously for very long, have to stop to breathe (amount of time and breaths it takes to recover depends on how long you hold it)

It is EXHAUSTING. Seriously, if your whumpee has been screaming for more than thirty seconds multiple times, they won’t have ANY energy to fight back against the whumper. My head was hanging down for a bit because I was just so tired. The exhaustion also caused dizziness when I stood up. Also it’s been around five minutes and my throat still hurts super bad.

Oddly, I could still talk, maybe a bit of rasp in my voice but still effectively and fairly easily. (Again, about thirty minutes with tiny breaks)

Seriously when the exhaustion hits, it hits H A R D

Mouth kinda hurts too tbh

Heart beats pretty rapidly during and shortly after

My head hurts

Both hurts and helps to cough

Update an hour later: slightly hurts throat to talk

Moral of the story:

Don’t scream so much that you exhaust yourself,

Make your whumpee scream to the whumpers content

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

au where stan actually says no to ford's offer of sailing around the world with ford at the end of weirdmageddon (which literally impossible for stan ik but its an au where he finally gains some self respect lmao) and says he wants to go away on his own like some kind of evil parallel to ford wanting to go his own way when they were teens/in their 30s. and ford is. not taking it well after he finally decides to open his heart without being forced for the very first time again to be rejected by not just his brother, but the person who saved the world. his hero. the person who saved him and he thought he would always have even when ford was angry and unforgiving towards stanely.

for the first time ever, ford has to deal with the idea of him losing stan due to events out of their control like their dad kicking stan out or stan sacrificing himself to defeat bill— this is stan actively choosing not to be involved with ford.

so instead of dealing with it normally ford shrinks himself with those size crystals to be very very small and hide himself in stans luggage because hes not normal and wants to follow stan everywhere and he feels so very small and useless and his brother is so much bigger and better than him and hes literally like this->🥺🥺🥺 all the time @ stan its very pathetic

[fyxestroll]

The Unequal Marriage

pairing: sanguinius x reader (fem.)

description: marrying an angel sounded like something straight out of a fairytale but in your reality, it was exchanging one gilded cage for another.

warnings: implications/allusions to acts of self harm by reader, forced marriage (this isn't yandere), overall angst and reader not having a fun time

notes: prequel to this fic. wanted to write abt marrying sanguinius in a fluffy way but this came out instead. this fic was inspired by a painting of the same name by vasily pukire, belated sanguinala everyone!

As a child, you would find your mother staring at her window for hours, peering into the port and the seas beyond. You’ve read of her adventures, of her mapping out the ever-changing isles on this planet. She was a legend, a hero larger than life and at that time you did not understand why she ever stopped. 

And maybe to comfort or encourage—you’ve long forgotten the reason, you would spend your free time reading her her discoveries and experiences. Sometimes, you'd even do reenactments and make her smile sadly.

She neither spoke nor formed a tight bond with you and even as a child you always felt like she should’ve hated you.

But she didn’t. 

And you don’t know why.

And now she's gone.

And now you’re the one staring out that damned window andandandandandandand–

Inhale.

Exhale.

‘You’ve cried enough so don’t. Ground yourself.’

The dress you wear feels too tight and your head hangs heavy with the various accessories pinned on your hair. In an hour you are to be married. That was final.

You’ve cried, screamed, and begged your father to do anything but this but the old man remained steadfast in his decision. This is the best-case scenario, you know that and you, a single sacrificial lamb, traded for what the court deemed an alliance is a far better deal than war with those things.

Humans, they called themselves but you’ve seen them up close, you’ve seen their leader and you know they aren’t. Humans can’t grow as tall, can’t wear hulking masses of armor, can’t fight the way they do and they most definitely did not have wings.

On the rare occasions you’ve managed to interact with these Astartes, you’ve always found yourself unnerved. Their politeness did little to hide how unnerving their visage was like they were something else underneath their skin. That rang true, especially for their leader, the Angel.

He is the one you are to be married to. The thought fills you with dread.

Your hand brushes against the windowsill. From here you could see the ships and clamor of the people as they go about their lives. It looked like a normal day, not a princess’ wedding day. 

‘Can I do this?’ You ask yourself. Can you take the hand of this Angel? Can you find it in yourself to take oaths foreign to you?  Can you leave everything you know behind? 

‘No, I cannot.’

And wasn’t that the truth? 

Adjusting your skirts, you sit on the window sill, waiting and letting your mind wander. You could jump off now, and taste freedom briefly before escaping in death like a maiden in a fairytale. 

But you don’t. 

Resistance in the form of self-harm is useless with the Astartes guarding your door. They’d stop you in no time and you, yourself have grown tired of fighting. One last act of defiance would only make things worse.

Eventually, after an hour the door opens and Soledad—your maidservant, enters. She’s dressed in fine robes and accessories fit for joyous occasions such as a wedding but her eyes held no such mirth.

“It’s time.” She states like an executioner.

Wordlessly, you stand up, a heavy weight on the pit of your stomach. You feel like throwing up but you force yourself to move. Soledad makes her way to your side, standing three steps behind as she has done for years. She makes no move to adjust the bunched-up trail of your wedding dress—a final act of resistance, a show of discontent and solidarity to you.  The Astartes standing guard at your door follow, flanking you on either side.

It feels like you were marching to your death and in a way it was.

The palace gardens were beautiful, as always but you could not admire the greenery with the amount of people in it. 

Members of the court, military and of course the large hulking walls of armor that were the Astartes standing in rapt attention. Their intimidating helmets had been forgone, revealing surprisingly angelic—ancestors above you’re getting tired of that word, faces. At the far end, in front of an altar stood two people a woman in an unfamiliar military uniform and the Angel himself.

From your left, your father comes, takes your hand, and leads you down the aisle with a firm hold as if he feared you would run. You wished his fears could’ve come true.

“Be good.”  Your father whispers before leaving you to stand in front of the Angel. 

The officiant clears her throat, “We are gathered here today to witness the union between Lord Primarch Sanguinius and…” ‘So the Angel does have a name.’ “Heir apparent and Chancellor of Rights.” She turns to the crowd, “If any have reason to object speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The attendees stay silent. Good for them.

You bite the insides of your cheek, the unlikely possibility of someone objecting dying that very moment. It takes all of your willpower not to let out a cry or a scream and so you force yourself to look directly infront of your soon-to-be husband. Except, you don’t see his face let alone meet his eyes. You’d have to look up for that so you only see your reflection on the shined gold of his armor.

The sight of your face made you want to cry more.

“Bride,” the woman’s steely blue gaze bores into you, “Your vows.”

Vows? You were not made aware that marriages in the Imperium needed vows.

“I…do not have any.” Your statement sparks whispers among the crowd and for a moment you feared you’ve angered the delegation but neither the groom nor the officiant make a comment on it. The woman proceeds with the ceremony, “Then please join hands.”

Finally, you see the Angel’s face up close   and like the Astartes he leads he’s beautiful, ethereal. His wavy blonde hair frames a face that was equally chiseled and soft and highlights his unnatural ruby red eyes. A circlet of gold rests on his head and as it shined in the late afternoon sun it reminded you of a halo. It made him appear all the more inhuman.

“Under the light of the Emperor of Mankind, Sanguinius, do you take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Your stomach sinks.

“Do you swear to accompany her, so long as you both shall live?”

Gently, he squeezes your hands and meets your gaze, “I do.” The kindness his eyes hold make you sick.

“And you,” The officiant looks to you, “do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you swear to devote yourself to him so long as you both shall live?”

“I…” The slight change in wording doesn’t escape you. If anything it only assures that your  feeling of dread isn’t unreasonable. The hands holding yours are far larger and you’ve seen what they were capable of. If you tried to run it wouldn’t be a problem for him to yank you back and the kindness in his eyes gave no assurance he wouldn’t.

“I do.” You breathe out. It feels like admitting defeat.

“Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you as Husband and Wife, lawfully wedded!”

There are claps, cheers and clanks of armor but you can tell its superficial on your people’s side. The Astartes are much harder to read, their faces neutral through the whole ordeal. Sang-the Angel lets go of your hands and you turn to face the crowd as newlyweds.

The sounds of celebration becomes muffled to your ears as if someone stuffed cotton in them. A quick glance at your future husband lets you see a look catch a look of concern etched on his brows. You ignore it, putting on a smile and forcing yourself into the image of a blushing bride as a lone tear escapes your eye.

‘What now?’ You can’t help but wonder.

[babychosen]

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

8pm, Friday. Red dress. Booth near the end of the bar, by the dart board.

She forgot how demanding the text felt, but it had only encouraged her to want to show up even more.

[symphonypikachu]

bet you'll fall in love with me by @dipplinduo out of context spoilers (except the last one LOL it was just too good not to include)

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 97

Part 1 Part 96

Perkins and Barb are already there when Eddie wakes up. Perkins hushed laugh grates at his brain, shredding it like cheese until he has no choice but to open his eyes. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie murmurs, rubbing dust bunnies from his eyes.

They’re sitting huddled together at the side of Steve’s bed, Wayne at their side in his own chair. 

“Mornin’, boy,” he says, sipping at his shitty cup of free hospital coffee as he looks down his nose at Eddie’s prone form. “You done hogging your friend's sick bed?” He puts a weird inflection on the word ‘friend’ that has Eddie’s cheeks blooming.

“Shut up, old man,” he hisses. 

The bed’s a tight enough fit that he can feel Steve’s warmth radiating all up his back and up his ribs where his arm’s partially wrapped around Eddie. He tries to shuffle free, movements slow and furtive so as not to interrupt his sleep. 

It doesn’t work. Steve’s arm tightens, the metal splint on finger painfully into Eddie’s ribs as he mutters, “where you going Eddie?” but he slurs it altogether and trails off so it comes out more like, “wherego, Ed.” 

Eddie smiles, helpless and aching with it as he settles back onto the hospital's shitty cardboard mattress.

“You’ve got visitors, angel.”

Steve’s hand leaving his waist feels like a loss. His elbow digs into Eddie’s back as he props himself up enough to be able to see past Eddie’s wild hair to who’s sitting beside his bed. 

“What the fuck?” 

Wayne huffs. “Mornin, kid, reaching past Eddie to ruffle Steve’s hair. “How ya feelin’?”

“I’m fine,” Steve lies, voice turning distant and small as he asks,  “Carol?”

Unable to stand not seeing Steve’s face for a second longer, Eddie shuffles within tight quarters to lever himself up, back plastered to what passes as the bed’s headboard. Steve’s still propped up on his elbows, arms shaking as he tries to hold himself up.

Eddie reaches over, pulling with all his strength until Steve’s settled upright beside him. Steve doesn’t turn his way, but he reaches over and takes Eddie’s hand like it’s instinct, and that’s even better.

Steve’s eyes are big as he looks over at his best friend. “What–” he starts, word cracking dryly in his throat.  “What are you doing here?”

Eddie reaches over to grab the pitcher of water on Steve’s bedside table, glowering when Barb beats him to it. She pours it into one of the hospital's flimsy paper cups, holding it out to Steve like an offering.

He takes it, gulps it down, doesn’t look away from Perkinsl’ washed-out face. 

She’s not wearing any make-up, and her hair’s gone all greasy and flat. Most damning, she’s wearing one of Steve’s Hawkins swim team hoodies that Eddie knows for a fact was folded up in his own dresser at home. It swallows her, hanging past her hips until she’s shapeless.

She looks worn down and tired. Still, she rolls her eyes as Barb settles back down beside her. “What, you think I was gonna miss the show?” she asks. Her lips are quirked up playfully, eyes glossy.  “It was like King Steve all over again” 

Eddie looks away from her to watch that land on Steve. Steve who has always somehow been more and less than those around him make him out to be. Steve who’s always been more than a simple high school king. He furrows his brows the way he does when he knows there was a joke but the punchline hasn’t landed for him. 

“Wha–”

“You know because you were out of your mind and lost control?”

Eddie whips his head around, ready to strangle and snarl, rend flesh from bone. Barb sighs, dropping her face in her hand. Perkinss just sitting there, biting her lip on a laugh as she keeps her gaze trained on Steve. Like she hadn’t just said the most insensitive fucking thing Eddie’d ever heard come out of her mouth. 

Eddie feels Steve’s whole body tremble where their pressed hip to overlapping hip in the small bed. The rage boils inside Eddie until he’s shaking with it.

Behind him, Steve Harrington laughs. Eddie turns. Steve’s shoulders are shaking as he bites his own lip against his own helpless laughter, eyes shining as he looks over at his morbid, fucking up best friend. 

“Personally, I think this is an upgrade,” Steve says because even in this, these two are fucking freaks about everything.

“Beer pong to dropping bodies?” Perkins asks.

Eddie can’t help the way he gasps, clutching at his chest like he’s a suburban Mom that just caught sight of some ruffian in the grocery store. Perkins shifts her eyes over to Eddie, and somehow looking at his beat up face is what gets her crying.

It’s less that she stands up and more than she tries to stand, lunges forward, knees hitting the metal edge of the bed with a thwack as she crawls over the safety railing and falls partially on top of both their mangled bodies. 

Eddie tries to squirm out and away, but she’s got her face buried in Steve’s shoulder, arms wrapped around both of their necks. “I’m sorry I got lover boy's face beat in!” she warbles.

Steve snorts, snotty and wet. “That was you?”

They’re both messy, crying and laughing, refusing to let Eddie off this fucking bed and away from whatever the hell has infected it. He raises his head in desolation to meet Barb’s resigned gaze. 

She shrugs at him, chin cradled in the palm of her hand as she watches the two idiots in the bed lose their shit over something that should’ve never been funny. 

Eddie squints at her. She looks so ready to accept fate, like of course Perkins would be like this, and of course she’ll stay anyway. Somehow, after such a short time, they’re already a package deal.

Well, she could do worse. They both could 

“Carol, you–” Eddie starts before stalling, staring with wide eyes at Barb’s amused face. He clears his throat, starts over even though it’s too late. Names hold power, and now Carol’s gonna have ownership of his soul. Or however it goes. “Perkins, you’re a fucking freak.”

Carol sniffles and snorts, like a pig in a bog before lifting her head from Steve’s neck. Her face is covered in snot and saltwater, eyes puffy and ruined, but she’s smiling when she flings her arms around Eddie, rubbing her face into his own shirts despite his protests.

“Takes one to know one, darling,” she says, hugging him tight. 

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

Part 98

[honeyhotteoks]

i genuinely can't stop thinking about yunho as a fallen angel... like...

yunho’s catholic confirmation name is stefano, which is i believe a reference to saint stephen. saint stephen is the patron saint of several different things, but the one that caught my eye was the patron saint of coffin makers. ive had that knowledge churning around in my brain for a long time, especially after watching the kdrama doom at your service, but after seeing these pictures my mind is absolutely spinning with fallen angel soulmate yunho brain rot……… so come along with me

•

fallen angel yunho. he's been wandering the earth for years, passing through life and people and history and he's never known the reason that he was cast out until he meets her, you. he hears you first, a distant voice in the back of his mind, a prayer to his saintly name, a name he hasn't heard in what feels like a millennia. a whisper to saint stephen, the man he used to be, many years and many bodies ago.

no one prays to him anymore, not really. certainly not a voice like yours, ringing clearly and angrily in his ear, a bitter request for a coffin to be ready in early spring. he thinks about the way it's almost winter now, the air turning crisp, and he wonders what in your life has you so angry and yet so practical about death.

he thinks of you for days, weeks, idlily waiting to hear the voice again. he dreams of it, sometimes wakes from a stone sleep to your bitter tenor, the clear catch of tears in your throat, but it's always a memory. he finds himself wandering the city for you, searching through churches, reverent houses of worship that you might be hiding away in. he doesn't expect to find your voice ringing out clear as day across the crowded room of a museum, full of life and joy and the picture of health.

he finds a way to speak to you, he's practiced in the art of conversation, of seduction even when the end goal isn't sex. he just wants to know you, to hear your pretty prayer in person, to understand your voice just a little and why in the world you were praying to him and not god himself like everyone else. in the midst of many, he makes a space for you both alone, the connection and the pull immediate and essential.

for a while, you make him smile, laugh, relax, he feels more at ease and more like a person than he ever would have expected. he doesn't understand you or your prayer though, not until you cough painfully, fitfully into your sleeve and he sees the bright kiss of blood at the corner of your lips. he never imagined you sick, but he supposes it makes sense. in all the versions of meeting you he imagined, this outcome wasn’t one he ever entertained.

he's never watched someone he's loved die before, at least not since his first life, and shamefully he barely remembers the names of his family from then. but somehow he knows he'll remember yours, the way he aches is altogether new and even though he knows it would be better to watch over you from afar, he just can't. and it doesn't help that you keeps finding your way to him around every corner of the city, coincidence after coincidence. so easy to joke about how it must be fate when it is in fact fate, pulling you tightly together and tying the knot tight.

he allows himself to love you then, and you allow yourself one last, good thing. he never lies about who and what he is, and you never really believe him, for all you know he's just a figment of your imagination. a hallucination from one of your tumors like the doctor warned you about. you think if cancer can give you one gift before dying, at least it's him.

for a little while yunho thinks his purpose in falling from grace was to love you, after all you prayed to him, no matter how bitterly. but he understands the truth the moment he meets your daughter, the moment he realizes his purpose for you is much more than momentary, final happiness.

and so he carries you forward through those final months, easing your pain and your giving you one last chance at real, lasting love. and he helps ease you into the other side, his promises whispered tearfully into your hair, that he'll see you again but only after he stays by her side. your child's own guardian angel, happy to watch over her and guide her until it's her time to come home too.

and of course, that means he has to wait. you both do, but he's already waited, even when he didn't know what he was waiting for.

[rh1a]

just saying jason todd probably wrote batman fanfic as both a form of therapy and karma

my evidence:

- he's a lit nerd. every lit nerd has written fanfiction at somepoint. if you're a lit nerd and you haven't, you're a liar or you will be writing fanfiction soon. be ready.

- you're a liar if you think the batfam didn't have a giant fandom in gotham city (and other cities that had batman shipped with their hero (metropolis im looking at you))

- he'd get to tear the shit out of batman with well thought out arguments against stuff without actually having to try and make bruce listen

- the authors notes.

- 'sorry i haven't updated in two years, i got blown up resurrected and turned into an assassin by my step-mum. here's some fluff as an apology'

- i feel like i could go on for a while but I'll leave it there

[firbolgfriend]

Im just yapping but there is this fic on fimficton called Discord of Tomorrow that’s about s2 evil discord traveling forward in time right before he can be turned to stone to switch places with the version of himself (reformed discord) that exists when the elements of harmony are gone, so reformed discord gets stuck in the past and has had to snap away and hide the elements of harmony from the mane 6 so he can focus on trying to get back to the future without getting turned to stone, all while dealing with the moral dilemma of him realizing how easy it was to take the elements and how easy it would be to seriously just take Equestria over again vs being worried about what evil discord is currently doing to his friends in present time. It’s only like three chapters but I think the plot is so funny and the author didn’t even get to the part where evil discord is in the future and the mane 6 is trying to figure out wtf his problem is, thinking he has amnesia or something. I want to make a comic expanding on it so bad I’m like seriously obsessed with it I can’t stop thinking about it

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Holy shit, the absolute massacre I am about to encounter.

[whiteiris0016]

BRB while I scream into the void

[sugarpasteltmnt]

hm.

TNV.... is almost over.... but I have other AUs rattling in my brain... i'm torn between talking about them a little, or keeping everything secret but like. i think i need a little break from writing after TNV. but i wanna. share my ideas now...

[witchofthesouls]

Hey, guys, I know I've been quiet lately, but I'm working on fics, but apparently it spawned into a new source of inspiration, so here's a short list of questions that are driving the premises the plots of new ideas hounding my mind:

Bayverse: What Judy Witwicky (née Taylor) grew up in a monster house and it wants her (and her family) back?

Bayverse: What if Mikaela Banes woke up one day in a Gamer Universe?

Aligned/TFP: What if Prima gets attached to the human descendants of Megatronus?

Aligned/TFP: What if the human adults (i.e., Agent Fowler, June Darby, Leland Bishop) with the most contact with the Cybertronians were from a different Earth?