#placeholder fics

[sak-supernatural]

Wow I’m having so much fun reading for this new ship!! I wonder what I’ll find, oh a collage party game fic those are always fun!

THEN BOOM…

Seriously, a placeholder fic!! 😡🤬 What the fuck!! That’s it, that was the whole “fic”.

Please, I’m asking fellow ao3 users to join me in reporting this and other “fics” like it. I have a particular distaste for this one as I’m sure you can see why. 🙄😫😩

[scavengerssuccotash]

If I see one more god damn placeholder fic on Ao3 I’m going to YEET MYSELF INTO THE SUN!

STOP IT!

[tojisun]

cant stop thinking about toji spitting in your mouth ://

he calls you his pretty baby; says you’re the sweetest ever. he cups your cheek as he fucks you, swiping his thumb just underneath your eye. toji coos when you hiccup a moan, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against yours. he says, “might have to wife y’up at this point and never gon’ let you go, yeah? y’want that?”

he laughs when you nod enthusiastically. “yeah, i thought so too.”

toji trails his hands down your chest and squeezes your tits. then, “open yer mouth?”

he hums in delight when you do, his scarred lips twitching up in a mean grin. “good girl.”

then, he spits in your mouth, his thumb swiping at your plush lips before urging your jaw to shut close. toji drifts his hand down your neck, closes around it with a measured weight, and groans when he feels your throat bob when you swallow.

toji bumps his head to yours, breathing you in. “s’right—yer so perfect f’r me.”

[jisokai]

Shouto’s father doesn’t like you.

It’s a scenario you were prepared for—one you imagined in the private company of your nerves. But Shouto was unconcerned when you told him, and his dismissal lowered your guard; you figured he was confident in you and your ability to win his family over.

It didn’t occur to you that his attitude was because he wouldn’t care what they thought of you.

Dinner is rough, a thick wall of tension splitting you from Enji across the table. His eyes—the blue of twin raging storms—follow your every move, eyebrows lifting when you place your sake to the left. You wilt under his scorching stare, nerves crawling from the self consciousness of your etiquette, every subsequent change in his expression.

“Oyaji,” Shouto warns from beside you, eyes narrowing at his father in an icy glare.

Enji’s expression doesn’t change, meeting Shouto’s challenge. You swallow as the air in the room thickens. It’s silent, unnerving. 

Fuyumi laughs nervously beside you, raving about the sashimi to fill the space. Her chopsticks reach for the center of the table, piling tuna and salmon on your plate. You thank her with a grimace, eyes averting from Enji carefully.

You catch Rei’s face beside her husband, schooled in an elegant and unbothered expression. Natsuo and his fiance eat quietly at the end, only trading glances with one another.

Touya laughs across the table, a sharp sound that rings.

“Touya,” Shouto warns his brother this time.

Your cheeks burn, eyes falling to your bowl of rice. They sting, blurring as saltwater pools in your lashes. You blink rapidly to clear them, lifting the dish to your mouth to shield yourself from the many watchful gazes.

A gentle hand lands on your thigh—Shouto, trying to reassure you.

You inhale sharply, nearly slamming down the bowl as you slide the chair back and stand.

“Excuse me for one moment,” you say quickly with a bow.

It only takes three hurried steps to exit the room.

Behind you, multiple voices start—deep and loud and challenging one another. One is clearly Shouto’s, only angrier than you’ve ever heard. You race down the hall, wanting to be far far away. The sound of the door sliding open strikes panic in your heart.

Shouto calls your name. It’s a desperate noise.

You sprint as fast as you can.

[kilometresrufflefuck]

who else up making some gay lawyer shit

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[sleepy-spacetronaut]

New gravity falls Fic and Au idea - “Rewind the Timeline”

Start note: First of all, I must be stopped. I’ve made too many designs for Bill and story ideas. TOO MANY!!! If I am found to be unoriginal with this one, then I guess the world does work as Plato had thought it to be. This Alternate Universe plot will be a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of pre-existant ideas, put in a blender to produce a sort of terrible yet interesting mix.

With further ado, about the plot:

Au name: Rewind the timeline

Summary: After sojourning at the Theraprism, Bill is sentenced to reincarnation as a humanoid creature with an enormous lifespan. However, his “a different place, a different time” part of the deal was upheld seriously. Therefore, instead of being sent to Gravity falls in the future, Bill gets yeeted (isekai’d?) into the wilderness of post-colonial America that has barely gained independence 20-ish years prior. Naked, without powers, and under the form of a naive child with unnaturally bright yellow eyes with slanted pupils. He must now survive by his own means, living “on and off” with the human society through decades until he meets the Pines.

key elements:

+ Bill takes up various identities, becoming a professional liar

+ Bill doesn’t age as normal humans do, therefore he stays young-looking for long periods of time. And it obviously freaks people out.

+He’s a “cuckoo baby” -> infiltrates families for the sake of survival. +Since he had his memories intact, he effortlessly excels at studies and would be considered a genius for his time, but doesn’t want to attract attention, so instead he acts like an irritatingly uncooperative student who gets into arguments with his professors.

+Experiences human vices of all sorts (indulges into drugs and alcohol) and commits a shitload of murders throughout centuries.

+Meets Stanford and Fiddleford in college and becomes their 3rd roomie.

+Bill helps to bring Stanley back and make him and Ford reconnect, then becomes Ford’s “College sweetheart”.

+Fiddleford grows to instinctively dislike Bill after finding evidence that he may not be what he claims.

+Fiddleford found old newspapers articles, old photographs and books with Bill’s faces in them while doing a research project in college, he got unseasy and told Ford about his findings, but that caused them to have an argument and they “broke-up” a while after they started working on the portal for Bill.

+Later, Bill still convinces Ford to make the portal, but -> Ford gets sucked in during the testing part when Stan is present.

+Bill feels remorseful but powerless so he goes into hiding, up until Dipper and Mabel arrive in town.

+Weirdmaggedon has very slim chances of happening/will happen much differently than expected

Bill’s human design for the story (a prototype):

End note: Let me know what you guys think! This would be a crazy short fic for me to write once I get the time, but what’s even crazier is that I made the whole plot (plus some designs) all within to two hours. 😳

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Oh dear, there’s been a Wattpad purge of explicit content. Just like with ffnet and livejournal, peoples works have been deleted and there will probably be an influx of wattpad refugees coming onto Ao3.

o7

[sak-supernatural]

A PSA TO ANY NEW AO3 MEMBERS!

I think this needs re-said!!! I've had some recent run-ins with 'placeholder' works on ao3. The account was new to ao3 and this is a recurring thing I'm noticing, new ao3 members treating the site like social media, tagging works like they're trying to get the best engagement from an algorithm (which doesn’t exist). These works often contain a string of nonsense with just enough words to allow for posting or someone using the work as one big authors note. DON'T POST A PLACEHOLDER WORK ON AO3! Its the lowest of the low, and simply clogs the search making people mad. I can't belive this seriously has to be said, respect ao3 for what it is, an archive, and PLEASE I'm beginning you don't post on the site like its social media, its not!!

Not to mention it's a violation of ao3's Terms of Service and will most likely be reported (I know I will be reporting any works like this I see).

AO3 is not social media!

Ao3 is a public library for fanfiction. There is no algorithm that dictates what you see (frankly I would riot if there was) and there are no adds. Fanfiction is not content, it is a gift born out of love and shared to bring joy, nobody can ever profit off ao3 like you can off social media. It is a fan created, fan run, and fan funded website. Comments, kudos, and hits mean nothing in terms of where your fic will appear in the search, even date updated means little when people are using the tag filters. You cannot interact directly with other users, only via comment section of someone's fic where the author retains controle of whats going on. I will never view ao3 as a social media site, its just not!

This post is born out of my frustration with people in the ao3 news post insisting that the archive is a social media site and therefore an appropriate place to spew political garbage in the comments. An algorithm is the worst possible thing that could happen to ao3. I don't want to be fed works similar to what I searched for one week when by the next I want to read something completely different. I don't want my ao3 history being processed to recommend new fics to me. That is a private affair and not even I need to know what monster it generates.

[sweaterrat]

Getting some writing done 😋😋😋

[rexila-rites]

This Belongs In A Museum! (Volume 2) Update!!

Chapter 3 - Emotional Lubricants (Part 2)

He froze as his mouth shaped an L sound.

“I - I,” he stuttered, he flexed his hands, his heart raced, and he made a noise with no articulation.

I mean. They're not the 'platonically indifferent'-bugs

[steelycunt]

i would DIE for a snippet xx

hii okay i had a little search to try and find some snippetable bits from chapter one n. tucked them under the cut mwah : ^ )

i.

ii.

[ghost-proofbaby]

oh like a streamer!Eddie getting a mod on his streams and be begins talking to them outside and falls in love with their sparky personality without ever having seen them. Mod sends like memes and busts his balls but also sends things that "made me think of you"

And he's ranting to Gareth about how beautiful Mod is and Gareth is like 🤨 they could be ugly as fuck and Eddie is like you take that back this instance i havent seen them but I KNOW they're beautiful

Something of that sort?

you get the vision, nonnie.

like, theoretically, if i had started writing it, it would be that eddie has a mod nicknamed "pumpkin" due to their screen name being "pumpkineater". and, again theoretically, he definitely showed favoritism towards this "pumpkin" as he's hopelessly in love with their wit, the way they give him shit, their sense of humor, their taste in general media, etc.

and, you know, stuff happens. mods having game nights with eddie in his community, movie nights that he only joins to hear pumpkin's voice, so on and so forth. and said moderator recently moved across the country, conveniently staying anonymous in their location besides timezones, never realizing they'd moved right into eddie's hometown.

until, you know, theoretically, eddie is popular enough to be invited to guest at a con. and how could he attend a gaming convention without his favorite moderators in tow? specifically pumpkin?

but. this is all theoretical of course. i definitely don't already have a google doc named "pumpkin eater" with 1.8k+ words already. totally not.

i definitely do and this is definitely my shitty little crackfic i've been living in fantasyland with frequently as of late when i want to play around in less serious settings/tones/angst

[batsbratsandbarbedwire]

[optiwashere]

I have a lot of (mostly negative) thoughts about Wattpad, but everything that's happening over there w/r/t another fandom purge is why AO3 exists in the first place. It's sad to watch another cycle of queer and sexual art get removed because of Corporate Values, regardless of my personal opinions.

Everyone unfamiliar should do their Fanlore homework on Purges, starting with the infamous FFN purges.

[spooky-spextre-arts]

Antonio's Birthday HC #2:

One of Antonio's most beloved presents: the tiger pillow.

This little guy was once again made by Mirabel, who had then been gifted to her little cousin on the night before he turned 4.

A kind townsperson Antonio befriended gifted him a few twine-bound pages of a late family member's studies on tigers (conducted long before the Encanto), knowing how much Antonio loved and cared for animals. The booklet's promise of another big animal (like jaguars) quickly sparked Antonio's fixation on the unfamiliar striped cat.

Because of his sheer love for the animal, Mirabel made quick work on a tiger-themed present for her cousin's birthday, ready to present it to him on the day he turned four.

Unfortunately, on the night before then, Mirabel found little Antonio in the middle of the night, crying and shaking, having been deeply shook by a terrifying nightmare... one about a tiger.

Since he was unable to easily go back to sleep, Mirabel gave Antonio the special pillow early, promising him this tiger was friendly and would chase away his nightmares. Antonio snuggled with Mirabel that night in the same bed, hugging his new gift close to his chest.

When he fell back asleep, he knew that Mirabel had kept her word - and that his real tiger friend would always keep him safe from nightmares.

(yeah this one got a bit sad ;-; don't worry the next next one will be a little happier)