littleststarfighter:

Flyboys by Gefionne

England, 1941 - Armitage Hux, pilot in the Royal Air Force, has finally gotten command of his own squadron. But instead of a group of well-trained British pilots, he gets twelve inexperienced American volunteers. Among them is Ben Solo, a talented young fighter pilot who would be the best in the squadron if it wasn’t for his temper. As they take to the skies, Hux and Ben find themselves forming an illicit, but powerful bond against the backdrop of a world at war.

I absolutely adore this fic @gefionne worked so hard to get it accurate to the times and the pilots lives, this little WW2 plane nerd is in heaven. So I had to do a small pic for it. This was so hard to get right, but I hope to do more art for it in the future.

notebooksandlaptops:

Does anyone else have that one fanfiction that they’re dying to to write but it’s like, mega long and basically a whole universe, and then you’ve got head-cannons to go with that fanfiction and like fanfiction to go with that fanfiction an back-stories for every character and you get frikin’ feels about that universe and it’d be the most coolest thing if you could just be bothered to frikin’ write it.

writing smut like

thisiswhymomworries:

3tno:

thisiswhymomworries:

how many synonyms for “penis” do I actually know?

and how many of those synonyms am I actually willing to use

tier 1 (most accepted, considered sexy): cock, dick

tier 2 (generally accepted): length, manhood, member, shaft

tier 3 (clinical, too formal, but not cheesy): groin, penis, phallus

tier 4 (cheesy, barely acceptable): [insert name] Jr., dong, junk, knob, prick, rod, tool, wand, wood

tier 5 (ridiculous, unacceptable, pls don’t): anything to do with beer cans, baby-maker, bishop, choad, donger, dragon, fuck wand, fun stick, hog, johnson, jimmy, lap rocket, little [insert name], love muscle/rod/stick, meat stick, one-eyed [anything], piston, private eye, schlong, trouser snake, wiener, winkie

tier 6 (you’re literally a fourth grader): baby arm, baloney pony, beaver basher, beef whistle, custard launcher, dude piston, flesh flute, heat-seeking moisture missile, krull the warrior king, luigi, mayo shooting hotdog gun, meter long king kong dong, pig skin bus, piss weasle, purple-headed yogurt flinger, purple-helmeted warrior of love, schlong dongadoodle, single barreled pump action bollock, spawn hammer, steamin’ semen truck, tan banana, thundersword, wang doodle, whoopie stick, wing wang doodle, yogurt shotgun 

All Fanfiction.net Stories Have Been Stolen

reellifejaneway2:

juleshawke:

wildrhov:

Dear fanfiction writers,

Please be aware that there are fake websites which have mirrored literally ALL FANFICS from Fanfiction.net. As far as I can tell, they are near-perfect mirrors, updating in real-time to FFN’s servers.

All of your stories, your profile, everything has been stolen and copied onto the following websites:

• http://www.thebuystock.org/
• http://www.talkfictions.com/
• http://fictionavenue.org/
• http://thanfiction.org/
  
• http://hmofiction.org/

They are making profit off your stories with advertisements. This is called spamdexing. Please report them. Theft of this hefty magnitude, literally millions of stories, should not go unpunished.

Also, do not attempt to log in to any site that looks like Fanfiction.net but is not. In theory, they could steal your email and password!

HOW TO REPORT

1. Go here: https://www.google.com/webmasters/tools/spamreportform?hl=en
2. Put in the name of the website (one report each)
3. Write in additional details: This is a spamdexing mirror site to https://www.fanfiction.net/ and has stolen my profiles and intellectual property.
4. Click “I am not a robot” and then “Report webspam”
   
5. Report more by clicking the link on: Go back to the webspam report form.
   

Writers and fanfic readers should report these websites that profit off our hard work. Stop plagiarism and art theft!

I found all of mine on every one of these sites - reported them all.  You might want to check.

I also found my fics on these sites. If you’ve published with fanfiction.net, please go check for your work too. This is not okay!

botanycameos:

fuckyeahkhirk:

When Jim Kirk learns that Section 31 has revived Khan and is using him for nefarious purposes, he decides to step in and try to gain the Augment as an ally.

Delicious khirk hurt/comfort is delicious…

I devoured the first 3 chapters and can’t wait for more. *-*

emrysdean:

Okay, I’ve seen a lot of people incorrectly formatting posts on AO3 so I decided to make this to try and explain the best ways to go about tagging things and formatting your post.

Under the cut because this has a lot of pictures and is long.

Read More

we burn like ice, we fear the sun

vodkertonic:

vodkertonic:

Loki felt a burning numbness crawling through his chest, angry hot fingers seizing his heart. The wind was icy cold and stung his face, but he registered this dimly, with the realization that, no, the cold had never, truly bothered him. It had its place, it surrounded him like a blanket. He took one step forward, felt shards of ice crack under his boot.

When Thor disobeys Odin and journeys into Jotunheim to incite war, Odin realizes his son requires a lesson in obedience and cultural acceptance - and that his other son must kick free the jealousy strangling him.
Incredibly open-ended one-shot Marvel AU for darling timevstheworld and based off of her really rad drawing of Thor as a Jotun. Beta read by queen-kerosene because I’m wicked lazy, apparently.

Read More

kaciart:

requiodile:

kaciart:

Katy had wanted Steve wrapping himself in Bucky’s HC Jacket.

-

minumi: maybe there;s a small part of him that thinks, Bucky’s things were slightly more comforting when they used to drown him. Because as is, it just reinforces the fact that he still wasn’t strong enough to protect him

Steve finds that his shoulders are too broad, that the collar of Bucky’s spare jacket can’t fasten at the top unless he rucks the heavy navy fabric up about his neck like the little cape his show managers had tried to convince him to wear, and that he’d refused.

Bucky wore the jacket over several layers of clothes and padding—Steve can barely squeeze a bare arm down a sleeve without the seams threatening to burst. There’s a hollow ringing in his chest, at this, and it settles into a strange relief that’s quickly dispersed when he manages to close the fasteners from the waist up, only to discover that his chest is too broad for the straps to reach across once he reaches his lower ribcage. His torso is too long, and the ends of the sleeves flutter not quite to his knees, from where the jacket has flopped down and away from his back.

He pulls the jacket up about his neck like a towel, and presses his face to the rough wool and cotton—it’s probably been a week since Bucky wore this last, and his scent lingers; something like pine and gunpowder and wet brick and the hot tang of tar and blood, from that time that Bucky hauled him off of the asphalt with a split lip when they were 14, and pried his bruised jaws apart to pry a chunk of gravel out from between his teeth.

Y’gotta stop eatin’ up the sidewalks, Stevie, you’re leavin’ potholes everywhere for the little old ladies to trip and fall in. I swear, someday I’ll be gone for more than a couple of hours, a day, even, and I’ll come back and see you’ve eaten up the whole street and left none of it for me! What’ll folks do then, huh, dumbass? They’re gonna be sloggin’ around up to their necks in the muck and I’m gonna hafta jump in an’ swim to stop you from drownin’, you bein’ so short and all. Hey, listen t’me, Steve, you better shoot up soon, so your hair’ll be pokin’ out and I’ll pull you out like one of ‘em turnips.

It’s been two days. Steve isn’t drowning, so much as he’s watched the grime and earth roll in and swallow up a man standing on an edge alone, up his ribs, his cheeks, his brow—he’s watched his heart sink into a grave of gravel and cold powder, with sunshine and gold swept under the darkened waves like the rising tides on the beach at Coney Island, after sunset.

Out in the distance, he looks up through the wavering glass at the moon and curves his gaze up and back towards the shore and sees the lights glitter and smear in the encroaching dark—like shadows in reverse, sparks in iron clouds, like Bucky pressing a grubby lemon sweet into his palm, like sneaking up in the back alley of a nickelodeon to watch a funny through a hole bored in the wall, being pressed up flush against each other to see and tasting Bucky’s apple breath on his lips, imagining he could feel the vibrations of the audience’s laughter through the mortar and brick as the hero plummets off of the train and tumbles down, down, down, and—

Down, and—

Down, except—

Except the hero keeps falling, spiraling away into the shocking whiteness with the laughter until the screen pops and fizzes into pockets of dead space and flickering finality.

The whiteness fades; the laughter doesn’t, and Steve jerks when he realizes it’s coming from him—it escapes in ugly, choking cries, like when he’d been sick with another bout of pneumonia and Bucky’d just cracked a desperate joke, the kind that rattled the bones along his spine and brought the rust back up his throat and let slip stinging bitterness down Steve’s dark lashes.

“P-pretty funny, Buck.”

No.

This is not how it’s supposed to work. I’m supposed to give you feels and cackle from my corner of the internet - you’re not supposed to turn it back on me.

Wehhh

My heart hurts reading this - I read it right when I woke and I was like D:/ nope….back to sleep. Gonna look at puppies and kittens next time I wake and THATS HOW MY DAY WILL START.

“Cursed Ambition” - PirateLock Short Fic

“A breath stirred in the Captain’s nose as he propped up his elbows on the cluttered desk and steepled his hands before his tightened lips. Coins clattered, instruments ground against the heavy oak top, and old parchment rustled as he nudged them out of the way with his elbows and assumed a thoughtful position. His nest of curly, raven-colored hair was swallowed by the darkness of the panorama of windows that stretched out behind him. The edges of the dark ringlets were kissed by the moon’s aura as the heavenly body tucked away into the corner of one of the window panels; subdued by the frosted glass as it rolled like a chalky marble in its bed of murky clouds.”

Keep reading

papermachette:

Been working on this for some time now and I am so glad I was able to finish it. I actually had to redraw the whole thing, mainly the first page. because I really disliked how the first draft was turning out. I apologize for shitty dialogue. I’m not really good at those, if someone has a better way to word it, I’m all ears.

This takes place in Laketown and it’s a few days before they leave to the mountain. Thorin seeing how he is really close in taking back his home asks Bilbo a question. 
In the end both of them can’t keep their promises.

bigger image here

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

thecompanionsdoctor:

jaaaaaaaaaackfrost:

it’s a normal school day and you’re vacantly staring ahead when you hear the door open and the teacher say

“we have a new student”

you look up out of a vague sense of curiosity

and standing at the front of the class is your favorite character

I smell a fanfiction

thisurlisunavailable:

thisurlisunavailable:

i wonder what the weirdest fanfiction is 

found it

mssrtragicandconsumptive:

It was War…

The rain rushed from the sky, hitting the cracked pavement, soaking everything in sight, rushing off the eaves of buildings. The veil of night cloaked the world, and the only sound was the rush on the walkways as water drove itself into the gutters and the slap of a single pair of…

#marauders #wolfstar #otp: 40 lines later #Remus Lupin #Moony #Padfoot #Writing

thorilyhammered:

Requested by Catsie. Set after Mockingjay but before the epilogue.

————————

She is safe.

No more bombs, no more warfare, no more bloodshed.

No more kills to add to her list, a list that is far too long for someone who has lived on this earth for such a short while. Though she has…

AU: After the 74th Hunger Games, Peeta agrees to become a Capitol slave in exchange for Katniss’s life.

I twist and turn in my bed as visions flash before my eyes and slither deep into my mind, breathing poison from the deepest corners of my imagination. It’s one of those nights, where nightmares refuse to leave me alone, where one simple thought, of home, of her, too deeply rooted in my heart to ever be shaken, keeps me away from sleep. That’s how I know I’ll never let go.

It’s been a year, now. A year since I sold my soul to the devil to save her.

The Capitol is my home, and District 12 nothing more than a distant memory – at least that’s what they keep telling me. But the truth is, the more time I spend here the more disgusted I am, and I find myself wanting to smash the cultivated ignorance and the elaborately designed cruelty that animate their eyes. Every day, I’m ordered to smile and to please, to repeat all the pretty little words they taught me to recite. I’m forbidden to paint, but it’s probably for the best. At one point, the world’s horror becomes enough; you don’t need to paint it, you don’t even need to remember it. It is enough.

I haven’t talked to Katniss in over a year. I know she sent me letters, but I never got to read them. Some nights, I lay awake, trying to remember everything I can about her, her smell, the color of her eyes, the way she felt in my arms. And when I fail to recollect the memories, I simply imagine what her life might be like back home. And sometimes, I find myself wondering if she ever thinks of me. If she ever catches glimpses of me on TV. If she ever searches for them. I’d like to tell her, I’d like her very much to know, that I may walk among them, but I’m not one of them. They can keep me here, they can dress me the way they want and dye my hair the color they desire, they can sell my body to the highest bidder, but I’ll never be a piece in their games.

‘We have a deal you and I, remember?’ President Snow’s voice echoes in my head, and in the fragile moonlight, I make a solemn promise. Oh, not aloud. There is no wind to hear, carry and bear words so heavy with hate. But in my silent own lone way, I swear. I will kill you.