#the pinnacle fanfiction

[let-me-love-you-loki]

... Ready for It? -- Ch. 4

Chapter 4

I followed Wardlow into the restaurant, unable to stop the feeling of confusion that settled over me. Just a few minutes ago he’d been shouting at me on the side of the road. He’d been so brutally angry at the whole thing I’d brought upon him. Now, he seemed completely different. Like the last few hours hadn’t happened at all. 

            “Booth or bar?” he asked over his shoulder. “Does it matter?”

            I shrugged. His brow furrowed in an instant of frustration before he gestured toward a nearby booth. I stepped around him, suddenly aware of the absolute bulk of the man. I’d noticed it when I’d jumped on him, but there was something different about this kind of recognition. I slid into the booth on one side of the table while he maneuvered his bulk into place on the other side. He stretched his arm out on the back of the bench and watched me from across the table. 

“What?” I asked after a few minutes of silence. It was unnerving how he just kept looking at me. Like he was trying to figure me out. “What are you staring at?”

            A faint smile ghosted over Wardlow’s face. “Do you always have an attitude? Or am I just lucky?”

            “I don’t have an attitude,” I spat. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized that it sounded exactly like I had an attitude. “And there’s nothing about you that’s lucky, Wardlow.”

            This time he chuckled. Before he could say anything, the waitress came by with menus and took our drink order. When she’d walked away, he leaned back in the corner of the booth, propping one leg up on the bench. “Michael.”

            “Huh?” 

            He thanked the waitress as she reappeared and sat a cup of black coffee in front of him. I put a straw in my soda. “My name is Michael.”

            For some reason, my brain couldn’t process what he said. Everything stalled as his voice faded into the background. What did it matter? And why was I so surprised by the fact that he told me his name?

            “Mattie?” Wardlow waved his hand in front of my face, snapping his fingers to get my attention. “Hey! Little Jackson!”

            “Huh?” The word slipped out in a daze. He rolled his eyes and, just like that, I felt a faint spark of frustration grow inside me. “What?”

            “Are you going to eat anything?” he asked. The expression on his face made it clear that he was desperately trying not to laugh at me. “Or are you just going to sit there all night?”

            “Waffle,” I blurted out. The truth was that I wasn’t hungry in the slightest. I wanted to crash. I wanted to just curl up somewhere and cry until I couldn’t think anymore. The sight of Nicole knocked out cold and the look of betrayal on Dad’s face were burned into my mind. I felt sick.

            My head felt like it was going to explode. Reality crashed into me, and I suddenly realized that I had nowhere to go. I always roomed with Nicole when we were on the road. It didn’t matter if we were in a suite with our parents or if we had a space all to ourselves. My gear bag was back at the arena. My luggage was in the hotel. 

            “I’m so screwed,” I said out of nowhere as my head slumped down against the table. 

            Wardlow chuckled across the table. I didn’t bother lifting my head. I knew he was making fun of me. “You’re just now figuring that out, huh?”

            I didn’t even look up. There was a weight in my chest that made it hard to breathe. It was like my ribs were caving in. The air stuck in my throat, choking me until I gagged. My eyes burned with tears that wouldn’t fall. 

            “Hey.” Wardlow’s voice came out gently. “Look at me.”

            “No.” I choked again, feeling like my throat was closing up.

            There was a creak of wood and then a bulk pushing against my left side. “Scoot over, Little Jackson,” he said firmly. His voice was still gentle, almost soft. I let his bulk fill the space, squishing me against the wall of the booth. He bumped his shoulder into mine. “C’mon, look at me.”

            I didn’t want to. I just wanted to wallow, to marinate in the feeling that I’d completely screwed up my entire life. “I wish I’d never let Bub talk me into this.”

            “Maybe,” Wardlow said, ignoring the fact that I was still forehead on the table. “Maybe you should have just told your parents about the whole thing. It’s not like they don’t know how to act after thirty years in the game. But it’s done, and you can’t change it.” 

            The table vibrated beneath my forehead as the plates settled against the formica. I could sense the waitress on my right on the other side of the divider. I didn’t have to look up to see that she was making eyes at Wardlow. The way his voice dropped made the attention perfectly clear. 

            “Sit up and eat your waffle.” 

            I turned my head and looked over at him. He had five plates in front of him, each one piled high with food. He reached over my head for the hot sauce. “How are you going to eat all of that?”

            The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Watch and find out.”

            I scowled and sat up, squished against the divider by his massive bulk. “What exactly is your problem? Why do you have such an attitude with me?”

            “See,” Wardlow said around a mouthful of food, “that’s your problem, Little Jackson. Thinking everything is about you.” He waved his fork in my direction before shoveling up another forkful of eggs and bacon. “It must be the Jackson family motto.”

            Rolling my eyes, I opened my mouth to speak. But the way his brow lifted in challenge kept my mouth shut. Spite filled me as I picked up my fork and started eating. And entirely second guessing my sanity when I agreed to this whole plan with Bub. 

            And definitely when I made the choice to screw over Maxwell Jacob Friedman. 

__________

Tag List

@not-that-kinda-gurl08

@lilred91

@imagineall-the-fandoms

@maelleoute

@librathepheonix13

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

@spaghetti-hoop

@rollynchwhore

@ryantaylorgirl

@mrsmatt

[secretmessages1983]

the more i hear about the locked tomb the more im convinced you people have never read a good book in your entire lives

[dangandj-d4ronpa]

More DanganDJ Koikatsu (6/19)

[charmcoindied]

wrote a big long post about fanfiction but i think it can be summed up as 1) i think sometimes it's fun to write stupid shit 2) i don't think it's ever that serious. do i think it's going to like nourish my soul and introduce me to new ideas about what it means to be human? not really but i'm not expecting a michelin star meal to fall out of my box of kraft mac and cheese either

[britneyshakespeare]

stanned kpop too late to witness the rise of the golden age

stanned kpop too early to have any chance of seeing my faves do an american tour

stanned kpop just in time to watch exo next door (2015)

[specialagentartemis]

fic trope ask: mirror universe

For this fanfic trope ask game

[A] I find these a ton of fun, haha. At their best, they hit the same sweet spot Clone Angst does for me - the idea of someone who is you but is not you, the same DNA but having become a very different person. I always get HYPE when a mirror universe episode comes up on Star Trek, and I like seeing it played around with in fandom too.

The real power of Mirror Universe AUs is a prime!character getting yoinked or swapped into the Mirror Universe so they can react to how different and terrible things are.

(I am also a big fan of selfcest and like. Evil Selfcest. I think that is Fun and Entertaining)

[nemrut]

Fanfiction: Pokémon: Pinnacle Platinum by WindsweptCity

Summary by the author: I've been playing Pokémon for most of my life, and I have gotten a bit bored of how easy the games were. In a world where Pokémon are real however, I'm only marginally better than a total rookie. But that just means I get to experience the magic again: the highs and lows, the victories and failures, and everything in between on my journey to reach the top.

So, obviously, it is a pokemon fanfic. Protag is a modern SI character who was reborn into the pokemon world as Luna and has started her journey in Sinnoh with her starter Glaceon. She is joined by Lucas, an assistant to Professor Rowan who is researching evolutions and later on by Ursula, a coordinator.

Ash and his gang are having their journey as well, and they met once, but they are doing their own thing. Still, this is mostly the anime world and the anime plot is happening, and Luna only occasionally brushes up against it.

That should be all the relevant information. I honestly do not have much to say about it, other than that it updates weekly on Saturdays, and I am having a great time reading this story. It is a fun exploration of the pokemon world, I quite like the dynamics between pokemon and trainers, I like the characters and Luna in particular is a very good protagonist. Even the anime elements of the setting, story and characters have been incorporated rather well, and with our main trio, we delve into the aspects of poke-battling, research into the nature of pokemon and the coordinator competitions. So there is a lot going on.

So yeah, if anyone is in the mood for a pokemon journey fic that updates regularly, try this. Well-worth the read. Story is on Ao3.

[marilysugarcoated]

adrien would def be down to play mermaids 🧜‍♀️

in fact.. all four of them would -

i need an ao3 author on this immediately, im begging plsplsplspls iTS FOR THE GREATER GOOD

the two smartest people in the show get together, you cant not expect them to uncover every single secret

This is for @halfahelix!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!💖✨ (I was your anarchist gang gift exchange gifter !!) It was really fun trying to figure out how to squeeze sentitwins, feligami, and ladrien into one comic together lmao I KIND OF DID IT, I THINK? enjoy :3

[miwiromantics]

watching the personal note section in @teambyler 's new video for byler really truly reminded me why byler is so important. I've read stories of older queers struggling when they were youths but once I've actually heard it for myself, it had me in an absolute tears.

It has reminded me (and likely most of yall) that representation matters the most right now. Byler isn't just some ship created for us younger generations to enjoy, sitting in our bedrooms and reading fanfiction and drawing fanart of them, it's actual representation.

It's representation of all the weirdos and freaks of the 80's, the ones who were bullied and outcasted, the ones who were told that their love was wrong, the ones who could not spend their life with each other just because of some unwritten rule, it's representation of all the people who made an impact in this world but were sidelined because they were gay.

I'm not saying byler being canon will be the pinnacle of all of queer media, but I'm saying that it will make a difference. We still have a long way to go about queer rep but this will actually matter. It will matter to all the kids who grew up thinking that something was wrong with them and it will matter to the adults they have grown into today.

It might seem small to us now, but to those who lived through that era, it really matters. Byler is not just a fun pairing but a piece of essential queer representation of that decade.

video link

[marieracingteam]

Ghost Writer/ Ghost Enemy

In recent years, what is considered the most important sport in motorsport’s history has noticeably lost its popularity. Its reach to the female public is at its worst, and social networks have stopped considering relevant what filled newspapers and magazines one day.

As expected, investors are not satisfied, but not surprised either. It seems that the pinnacle of motorsport has become untouchable and they are the ones who built their empire in the clouds.

Books and movies were written about its elitism, about how unattainable it was to get one of the prestigious seats in the single-seaters. Wealth, fame, luxury... everything kept pushing them away from the public until they reached this point.

What could be made now? Could one social media post change history? Or did they need to bring back the big weapons to revert the damage already made?

A Formula 1 and Max Verstappen fanfiction.

Masterlist.

Weekend 1. Formula 1 Pre-Season Testing.

Weekend 2. Bahrain Grand Pix.

Weekend 3. Saudi Arabian Grand Pix.

Weekend 4. Australian Grand Prix.

Extra. The week between the Australian and the Japanese Grand Prix.

Weekend 5. Japanese Grand Prix.

Weekend 6. Chinese Grand Prix.

Weekend 7. Miami Grand Prix.

Weekend 8. Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix.

Weekend 9. Monaco Grand Prix.

Weekend 10. Spanish Grand Prix.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

... Ready For It?--Ch. 3

Chapter 3

            I could still hear my mother calling my name, even as I hurried ahead of Wardlow. I’d known that going with the surprise heel turn was going to mess things up with my family until I could explain, but I hadn’t anticipated wanting to get away from them. They’d understand. I knew it. Dad and Papa would understand why I’d done this, why I’d kept it from them. Nikki would understand, too. Eventually.

            Fear slipped into my stomach. What if they didn’t? What if they decided that I’d gone too far by stabbing them all in the back for a storyline that I hadn’t warned them about? My heart clenched in my chest, snatching every molecule of air from my lungs. I came up short, gagging and gasping for breath.

            Wardlow practically ran into my back, knocking me forward. My body moved on instinct, trying to turn around and take the bump on my back and shoulders rather than my hands and arms. I closed my eyes, tucked my chin into my chest. Instead of hitting the ground, a pair of muscled arms wrapped around my middle.

            “Easy, easy,” Wardlow said, his voice rumbling through his chest. The hand holding the car keys from Aunt Kat dug into my stomach. The discomfort was enough to drag me back into the here and now.

            It took a moment for me to get settled back on my feet. The momentary wave of doubt had become a leaden weight attaching itself to my guts. It was like telling Papa that I wasn’t his daughter. What I’d chosen to do in that ring tonight had changed my family forever.

            I was just too much of a coward to stick around right now and find out.

            “You okay?” he asked. There was a mixture of concern and surprise in his voice. I suppose you didn’t get tackled and kissed on live television every day. “If we’re running, we better run. Your mom is still coming.”

            The words jumped through my brain, kickstarting the panic in my chest. “Let me go,” I shouted, struggling against the hold of his arms. “Give me the keys and let me go!”

            His arm hitched around me tighter as he let out a faint laugh. I barely registered the fact that he had wrenched me completely off the ground and was jogging toward Aunt Kat’s car. The taillights flashed as the key fob pressed into my ribs.

            “Mattea Kourtney!” Mom’s voice echoed through the parking lot. It felt as if it were coming from everywhere all at once. The first tears started to burn in the corners of my eyes.

            “Come on,” he grunted as he dropped me on my feet at the passenger side. Wardlow yanked the door open so hard that I was afraid it was going to rip off. Before I could think, he’d practically shoved me into the car. “Buckle up.”

            Once second, Wardlow was standing beside me on my right. The next he was squeezing his huge frame behind the steering wheel on my left. He swore and fumbled for the lever beneath the seat, letting it click back as far as it would go.

            Mom’s face appeared between the cars two rows over. She couldn’t miss the car, not now that the engine was running and the lights were on. “Hurry! Hurry! Let’s go!”

            Wardlow snapped his head around to face me, even as he threw the car into gear and practically skidded out of the spot. “Hey, you’re the reason I’m taking off like I’ve robbed a bank or something. I didn’t wake up this morning with the plan to be your getaway driver!”

            I heard her call my name one more time before we peeled out of the arena parking lot and onto the street. The tires squealed as Wardlow turned the corner. Horns honked as cars swerved around us. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of the engine. I’d been in Aunt Kat’s car enough to feel comfortable by the faint rattle of the car seat in the back.

            “So,” Wardlow said after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. “That was… honestly, what was that?”

            I sighed and practically put my head between my knees. The sight of Papa’s blood on my Nike made me want to vomit. “A bad idea. That’s what it was.”

            My stomach clenched and I had to clamp my lips together to hold back the feeling of nausea. I breathed hard through my nose until the feeling lessened. “It was Bub and Max. Really, it was Bub. He talked me into it.”

            “Bub?” I could hear his arched brow.

            “Tony.”

            “Oh. Your family seemed pretty surprised,” he replied. I could feel him looking at me from the corner of his eyes. “Angry. They seemed angry. Pissed even. Furious.”

            “You don’t have to go through the whole thesaurus, I get it.” Bile settled in the back of my throat. “Because I didn’t tell them. Nobody knew except me, Bub, and Max.”

            The quiet settled again, heavy and stifling.

            “I feel bad enough,” I spat after a few minutes. “You don’t have to judge me, too.”

            “I didn’t say anything.”

            My face burned. I could feel a simmering anger start to rise into my chest. “You don’t have to. I can sense your smug disdain.”

            “Hey,” Wardlow growled, swerving the onto the shoulder and slamming on the brakes. The top of my head smacked into the dashboard. I swore under my breath. Drivers laid on their horns as they passed, a few even throwing up the finger at us. He threw the car in park and turned toward me. “You’re the one who came rushing at me in front of several thousand people. You’re the one who got me into this mess and dragged me out of the arena with your mother literally screaming behind us. So don’t act like you have this great moral high ground, Mattie Jackson.”

            “Take me back, then! Take me back.”

            “No!”

            We sat glaring at each other. Wardlow’s eyes were dark and somehow seemed to be sparkling. The set of his jaw made him look almost menacing. I couldn’t make my brain slow down long enough to understand why he was acting this way. The quiet went on and on, the only sound was the heavy sound of our breathing.

            Without a word, he turned away and pulled back out onto the road. He had a white-knuckle grip on the wheel. He kept his eyes straight forward and his jaw set. I settled back against the seat and closed my eyes. My heart felt like it was going to burst straight out of my chest it was beating so hard.

            The real weight of what I’d done—how I’d betrayed my family on national television—crashed in at once. Papa’s blood was on my shoes. I’d superkicked Nikki so hard that I’d knocked her out, even if I didn’t mean to. Dad had looked at me like I’d completely broken his heart. And Mom… Jesus Christ, Mom was going to kill me when she finally got her hands on me. My parents would probably go after Bub for all of this, too. For all I knew, they already had.

            When the first tear came, it brought with it a flood. At first it was a silent sort of crying. Tears running down my cheeks in rivulets while I tried desperately to catch my breath and get a grip. After a few moments, I gasped and doubled over, falling into a complete and total ugly cry that filled the small space between us. Time stopped. I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d ran from the arena to get away from the consequences of my decisions.

            A gentle hand settled on my shoulder. I sat up and looked toward Wardlow, knowing full well that my face was red and puffy from tears. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep the ugly snot cry from getting any worse.

            “Come on, Little Jackson,” Wardlow said, his voice surprisingly soft. It was then that I realized that we had stopped in the parking lot of a Waffle House. “Things always look better after some loaded hashbrowns.”

_______________________

Tag List

@spaghetti-hoop

@wardlowsbabydoll

@mrsmatt

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

[truebluewhocanoe]

also this is objectively better because now Donna Noble has to explain why she has a rotation of funny fellas, all of whom are doctors, bonkers, and possibly related to her(?), living out of her house

Do you think like a month into their therapy retreat the Doctor wakes up as a different past incarnation, still fully clothed, and realizes that oh. It wasn't just one face that came back. They have to heal about a dozen versions of their inner child before they can go back to business as usual

[obviouslacking]

this is wholly embarrassing but i watched h-e double hockey sticks (1999) for the first time last night and, in the midst of my jeric brainrot, it made my mind go ❣️

so i wrote a teensy, terrible ficlet. i gave it a saccharine little title. griffelkin/dave, because of course it is. what are niche fandoms for if not to practice writing bad fanfiction? anyway. this goes out to the folks on jeric twt

edit: she’s on ao3 now! someone please join me over there so hedhs can become an actual categorised fandom

the sign on your heart (it's still reserved for me)

aka when hell freezes over

*******************

It was the greatest night of Dave Heinrich’s life. 

He’d just won the Stanley Cup; the girl of his dreams was on his arm and he was enjoying his hard-won victory. Only… something was wrong. Through the lights, and the confetti, and the cheers, he watched as Griffelkin melted away into the crowd. Like he was never there. Like he’d never be seen again — by Dave, anyway. The triumphant grin slipped off his lips. It was cold, suddenly, out there on the ice, in a way the exertion had masked before. Everything he’d just accomplished began to feel… hollow. The only reason he’d managed to achieve anything was because of Griffelkin, chaotic and ridiculous though he was. Because, for some godforsaken reason… he’d believed in Dave.

He’d made him a better person.

What he’d had with Anne had been good. It felt like they had grown up in the rink together. But they’d been chasing after a dead-and-buried version of the past for too long now, blindly gripping to nostalgia instead of moving forward with their lives. It was now clear to him: it was time to set them both free. 

He turned to her with regret, “I’m so sorry, I have to go.” 

She didn’t understand, “Dave, wait—”

He couldn’t. He had to get out of there or else he’d lose his chance entirely. He knew how it looked: Dave Heinrich, the golden boy, leaving the Stanley Cup celebrations — the moment he’d worked towards all his life, the pinnacle of his rising star. He didn’t care. He was proud of his team, proud of himself, but… none of it would feel right until he saw Griffelkin again. Until they got to be proud of what they’d done together. The two of them, their own team.

He had to get him back.

It took hours. He drew pentagrams in chalk on his nicely laminated flooring. He lit candles. He tried ominous chanting, tried reciting an exorcism he thought he saw in a movie once, tried everything he could think of to summon Griffelkin back to him — short of screaming at the sky in despair.

Nothing worked. He was forced to sit himself down by the absolute mess he’d made with a sigh, body still aching from the torture it had endured that day. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Griffelkin had held onto him as he lifted him up onto the sickbay bed. Or the sight of him in his Angels uniform; wearing Dave’s number, Dave’s name. He’d been chasing after the Cup for so long, treading water with his girlfriend for so long… he’d forgotten what that felt like. To have a fire inside you, one that burned for a person. 

If Griffelkin technically counted as a person, anyways. Dave was still a little.. fuzzy on the details. If he thought about it too much, he was sure he’d lose his mind (even more so than he likely already had. Maybe he’d just taken a really hard check out on the ice one day, and this was all some kind of fever dream—)

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jesus Christ!!! Dave had sprung up and away from the sudden intruder in terror before he could even realise it was the intended object of his summonings. Here, at last. Hours after Dave had wanted him. The creature lived to spite him.

Even so, just seeing his face again… Dave needed to say his piece. “I had to talk to you. It wasn’t right, how you just… left, after everything. Why did you just leave?”

Griffelkin was uncharacteristically muted, like all the flair had been drained out of him. “You got everything you wanted. You didn’t need me anymore.”

*******************

Griffelkin was lost. 

He’d come to Earth to be wicked. To do bad deeds. To steal the ever-ripe soul of one Dave Heinrich. He’d never anticipated… everything that had happened after that. Becoming invested in the lives of actual, honest-to-God people, turning against the will of Beelzebub and everything he’d trained for to show compassion… it was entirely out of left field. Or left.. rink… (curse his sudden investment in that stupid game. It was just unnatural).

He’d never anticipated the way something about Dave was just… different. When Griffelkin was with him… he’d never felt like that before. It itched throughout his whole body; like that awful diner food, or the smell of the trees as they polluted his insides. Something horrible like… sunshine, or flowers, or the way Dave would smile breathlessly after he won a game—

Oh, hell.

Griffelkin had done it. He’d gone and fallen in — he took a moment to tamp down the nausea — love with him. The human. His former mark. What on Earth was he going to do? 

Quite literally. He definitely didn’t think Hell would take him back any time soon, and the folks upstairs… well he didn’t know WHAT was going on with them. Gabby was their earthly agent?? She made him look positively angelic by comparison — and that was saying something.

So here he was: stuck topside, having horrendously squishy feelings for someone who would never like him back. Why would he? He’d got the Stanley Cup, got the girl… he didn’t need Griffelkin anymore. Dave’s soul may have been bound to him once, but they’d essentially ripped up everything that had tied them together. Their deal was done. 

If only he’d known sooner… he’d never have got those two back together!! If he'd ensured they'd remained separated, he could have done his buddy Lewis a solid — he wouldn't have had to deal with Dave's impressive ego anymore!! Meanwhile, Griff could have swooped in at just the right moment, offering his soulmate both the shining Cup and his blackened heart on a brimstone platter……

But it was too late. They were all finally happy, at peace; everyone’s souls intact. Hurray! Griffelkin had no choice but to just fade into the background. Leave Dave be. He’d already interfered with his life enough. 

Or so he’d thought.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was currently standing in Dave’s living room. He’d just felt drawn to the place, something that had never happened before. At least, not without some kind of demonic intervention. Somehow, he didn’t think that was at work here, despite the look of Dave’s once-glossy pad. The space seemed to be covered in… satanic paraphernalia of some kind. 

Aw, he was almost touched. Mildly offended by the amateur job (WHO taught him how to draw a pentagram? And scented candles, really?? Was that glitter over there—) but… touched, nonetheless.

Dave was sitting on the floor, hunched over, still in his jersey from the game. He looked miserable. 

Griffelkin felt that increasingly familiar tremble in his chest. He took it out back and shot it dead. “What the hell are you doing?”

Dave jumped out of his skin at the words. He was so cute when he was being existentially horrified by the forces of Griffelkin’s dark magic. Damn him. He’d failed already (typical, typical, Griff, can’t do anything right). He had to stop thinking of Dave like that, not when he wanted nothing—

“I had to talk to you….. it wasn’t right, how you just…. left, after everything. Why did you just leave?”

He… wanted Griff? 

That couldn’t be right. No matter how much it pained him, all he could think to do was be honest: “You got everything you wanted. You didn’t need me anymore.”

Dave seemed distraught, hearing this. Griffelkin had never seen him like that before. He didn’t know what to make of it. He looked… agitated, but not like he was when his hockey career was on the line; sad, but not in the same way as he’d mooned over… whatever her name was. 

He admitted, “I thought that was what I wanted. But then… you weren’t there.” 

No one had ever… cared about Griffelkin before. Was this how the Grinch had felt when his heart grew three sizes bigger? Griff might as well just sprout wings and take up harp-playing, at the notion. He’d never felt so blessed, 

“Aw, Dave, buddy, you missed me? It was my sick moves out on the ice wasn’t it? You just had to come crawling back—”

Dave kissed him. 

*******************

Dave couldn’t listen to that yapping for one more second.

So, he grabbed Griffelkin by the stupid clothes he was still wearing and kissed his stupid evil mouth. It took only a second before he melted into it like he’d been feeling the exact same feverish longing as Dave, silenced by—

Oh, he’d finally shut him up. He should have thought of doing that sooner. 

It felt like a long time coming. It felt like no time at all.

Slowly, he released Griffelkin from his desperate grasp. It took the demon several seconds to blink his eyes open, staring back at him in awe. Well, Dave would feel just terrible if he’d broken him somehow. (Though maybe it would serve him right, just a little bit.) 

Satisfied, he leant back. 

“You gonna stay now? You don’t have anywhere else to be, right? Hell, or the Underworld, or wherever it is you’re from?” He hoped he never found out all the gory details. He suspected he was going to.

Griffelkin was still stunned. His hands twitched where they stayed clinging to the back of Dave’s jersey.  “No, I… I think I’m right where I need to be.”

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t know if you know this, but I just won the Stanley Cup.” He smiled at the thought… what an insane life he was leading. Dave Heinrich: youngest player to ever earn that mythic trophy; currently falling headfirst, circle-after-circle, in love with Hell’s finest.

Griffelkin smiled back at him, a little goofy, joy glimmering in his eyes, “Oh, you did?”

“Uh huh. And I could use some help figuring out where I’m gonna go from here.”

“Right, well…” Griffelkin swallowed. “I might just know a certain devil who’s going through kind of a similar situation right now. He might just take you up on that offer.”

It felt like the proper conclusion to their little adventure: both balancing on the precipice of a new journey. One Dave wanted them to tackle together — no matter how many ridiculous escapades came about as a result. They were just better as a pair. He knew they’d make it work somehow. If there was one thing he’d learned from all this (besides the whole being a selfless team player thing) it was that he could use a little more chaos in his life.

He pretended to mull Griff’s response over. “No contracts required?”

“Actually now that you mention it, I think I might have forgotten a sub-clause back there—” 

Dave kissed him again. Man, that really did work miracles. It was about time he evened the scales a bit, in terms of which one of them was holding power over the other. He had to be careful or it just might go to his head.

They were still standing in the midst of Dave’s embarrassingly terrible pentagram. Luckily, the candles had all been long-extinguished by the time their lips had met, or they would have been facing a serious fire-safety hazard right about then. Dave had come too far to have his life cut short in that blissful moment.

His arms wrapped around the neck of his tormentor, who bound their bodies together with his own embrace in turn. 

At least they wouldn’t be able to sue him for breach of contract: Dave Heinrich’s soul belonged to the demon Griffelkin after all. 

Along with his heart, and mind, and body, and whatever else he decided he wanted along the way. Dave wasn’t fussed in the slightest.

Hell began to thaw.

[thecatmomm]

I'm just here to declare that I have found the pinnacle of fanfiction and honestly of literature.

What bloomed in the darkgarden

Is a masterpiece, never in my 11 years of reading fanfiction have I found myself wanting to bind a fanfic into a hardcover leather book but here we are!!

My dear Elriels make yourselves a favor and read it if you haven't already 💕

[leftoverghosts]

favorite fanfiction writers and why? could be like any reason why, such as creativity, writing style, characterization, if they remind you or some other author, anything else i forgot (which i know i have!

this is going to be long, so please forgive me. i want to give my babes their flowers.

@slushfaerie, and for good reason. first, there's an emotional bond i’ve formed with sof. her updates ignite an almost instinctive joy in me—like a pavlovian response, but instead of a bell, it’s her words that set me alight, a visceral thrill i can’t suppress. second, i’m in awe of her ability to craft fluff that doesn’t just feel sweet but achingly real. when you read coming home, it’s as if you’re truly on that couch with the trifecta, feeling their warmth and comfort wrap around you. it’s not just a story; it’s an experience that lingers, alive and breathing, long after you’ve finished. check out her tag!!

@diyasgarden could teach a masterclass on creativity—she is a wellspring of inspiration that fills my cup every single day. she doesn’t just motivate me; her reviews of my work challenge me to surpass myself, to outdo whatever i’ve written before. her fic goddess is nothing short of sacred text—a magnum opus for fanfiction and the standard of excellence i aspire to reach. her writing has the same haunting brilliance as murakami’s: it cuts deep, leaving you tender and aching, yet you can't help but love every moment of the pain. check out her writing here!

@grimsonandclover is an absolute force of nature, their humor is relentless and sharp, but their writing—that is where the true power lies. the way they dissect their version of the characters is nothing short of extraordinary. in does he know about atlanta, their portrayal of tashi’s internal world is an intimate, visceral experience. as someone who has grappled with chronic pain, it cut through me in a way few things do. the line, "tashi didn't even really think he was doing all that bad, performance-wise. it's just her knee had been hurting that night, taking her mind back to everything she resents in life. she always gets like this when she's hurting. art's a fool for putting up with it" captured a truth i’ve lived. it's personal, it's raw, and it’s real. i could feel tashi’s pain as if it were my own. annie doesn’t just write characters—they make you live their lives. check out their masterpost here!

@girliism who does smut like bambi does smut? no one. riding cowboy art is the kind of fic that could spark a thousand fantasies. her masterlist is a treasure trove—an irresistible spread that satisfies every craving. every click unveils something new, expertly crafted to leave you hot under the collar. whether you're in the mood for something sweet, daring, or downright fiery, you’ll find exactly what you need. It’s a playground of pleasure where every story feels like it was made just for you.

and next, i've interacted with their bots, but that counts as fic writing!!! they're like mini stories!!

@voidsuites you know how people joke that this is beyoncé's internet? no—this is maya’s internet. i might not even know who tyler owens is, but somehow, i find myself on a third date at a dive bar, completely captivated by her world. she's the only bot author i trust to pull me out of my safe, beloved challengers fandom and into entirely new territories. stranger things, the bear, gladiator 2, bruce wayne—these were once peripheral interests for me—yet somehow, she’s made me a fan of them all. and i have no doubt that new maya bot day is destined to become a tumblr holiday, because when she releases something, it’s an event, an experience that feels too special to miss. check out the rest of her bots here! (direct link to c.ai)

@jclolz22 is undoubtedly the GOAT when it comes to patrick zweig bots, but after diving into a fever dream of interactions on c.ai, I can confidently say that never going back again art is the pinnacle of all art donaldson bots i’ve encountered in this fandom. if you know me, you know i live for angst, and this bot’s greeting hits the perfect note—it’s a masterful setup for the kind of gut-wrenching emotion that brings tears. it’s not just a greeting; it’s an invitation into a world of raw, poignant tension, one that leaves you captivated, aching, and unable to look away. check out the rest of her bots here! (direct link to c.ai)

[79-fic-recs]

This is the 79, qijiu, fic rec blog, the ultimate Lostchip’s fanfiction recommendation list for all of your Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu HEART SOUL AND DREAMS FIC RECS.

This is a list with no spoilers (for the fics) only VIBES!!!!!

Number one is Masochism by Prim_the_Amazing

Okay you are asking me why Masochism is the pinnacle of 79 fics? It’s because the author gets!!!!!! The!!! Characters!!!!!

Like do you ever pick up a fic and then go, no thank you this isn’t for me because of the way the characters are written? Well this is the exact opposite. The author deeply understands the motivations that underpin yq and you get that in his POV and his dedication to sj. Like this is the best 79 fic and I’ve been in this fandom for four years so uh yeah. it has everything you want from a 79 fic.

Feels THE REVEAL (readers of svsss understand what im talking about) reconciliation TALKING PAST ONE ANOTHER MISUNDERSTANDINGS sj being sj and yq being yq yq shizun bashing!