bebx · 5 months ago
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"undoing this character's death would take away his sacrifice and character arc" girl I don't give a shit. I'm bringing him back through the power of ao3 fix-it fics and there's nothing you can do to stop me x
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yeehawpim · 1 year ago
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a comic about fix-it fanfics
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ginnyw-potter-archive · 3 months ago
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Feel free to use, or message me for more banners
yes, I'm self-aware thank you
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elexuscal · 7 months ago
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squinting at the 'fix it fic' tag on any given story on Ao3, trying to discern if it's intended in the sense of:
I genuinely think the story had bad writing and I am taking my toolbox and improving it [and i the reader agree]
I genuinely think the story had bad writing and I am taking my toolbox and improving it [and i the reader disagree]
The story's ending was Tragic and I Respect that but also i just want to read about my faves having some kind of joy and fulfilment okay?
The story's ending was Tragic and I do Not Respect That please God Damnit Let Them Be Happy
We Are Literally Fixing The Canon With The Application of Time Travel or Reality Warping or some other Wild Plot Device
I am going to fix one obscure detail or plot element that 95% of the fandom has never thought about in their life
(because these are all extremely different vibes)
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dragonsbluee · 7 months ago
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All of us gathering as ao3 goes down for the second day in a row.
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ao3-crack · 1 year ago
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(x)
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universee-cityy · 1 month ago
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Merlin AU social media - Merlin’s phone
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duckysprouts · 1 year ago
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hamilton quote in 2023 again? yeah
now animated
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calamaricollie · 5 months ago
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Behold, my sappiest (and longest) Lari comic yet, I hope ya'll enjoy some tooth-rottingly sweet fluff UvU
More of me rambling under the cut:
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Honestly I was so worried about posting this one, I wrote it when I was really needing some comfort so it turned out very sweet, less humorous than my other shitten stuff, but hey if you've watched and liked my animatic that's what you're here for anyways >:)
As much as I love feral Nari I just love writing him being all soft and chilled out tbh, this cat has been fully domesticated over years of TLC (Tender Lamb Care), I just hope others like it as much as I do too :p
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fixing-bad-posts · 1 year ago
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ao3 my beloved
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bebx · 2 months ago
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fanfic writers are so fucking awesome in the sense that they can take one single scene, that lasts less than a minute, from the source material and turn that one single scene into a 40k word long fic with depth, feels, character study and development and create a whole storyline out of that one single canonical moment.
fanfic writers are so fucking awesome in the sense that they can take one single scene, that lasts less than a minute, from the source material and write 40 entirely different fics about that one single canonical moment and each one of those fics is a literal masterpiece.
shout out to us fanfic writers ♡♡♡♡♡♡
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runraerun · 3 days ago
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Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: Part Two
-> Part 1
cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.
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Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.
The Brain Injury Recovery Center.
It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.
So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.
Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…
There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.
“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.
Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.
Can’t let Eddie see him like this…
He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.
“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.
For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.
It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.
Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.
As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.
Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.
He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.
Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.
Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…
His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.
But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.
And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.
It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.
Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?
Stupid, stupid, stupid…
He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.
Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…
The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.
It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.
Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.
He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.
Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.
Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.
To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.
Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.
“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.
He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.
“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.
“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.
“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”
The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”
Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”
She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”
“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”
“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”
“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”
He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.
“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.
“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.
She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.
He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…
It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.
Hopper steps out.
Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.
When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.
His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.
Then it clicks.
Oh. Steve’s the emergency.
He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.
“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.
Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.
Munson. Eddie.
The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?
Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.
“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?
“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.
When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”
Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.
Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”
Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.
“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.
“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”
“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.
The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.
In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.
“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.
Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.
But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.
“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”
Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.
Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“
Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.
She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”
Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”
She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.
“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.
“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”
But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.
“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.
Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”
But she doesn’t, not really.
Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—
No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.
Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.
When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.
🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.
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bloominglegumes · 5 months ago
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i've been digging around for jazz-and/or-prowl-centred mystery fics and this one was so so excellent to me,, the atmosphere, the details of the environment, prowl's perspective was so nicely done the writing was so juicy i love them being best friends feeling safe together i love the idea of robot ghosts
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timote-shalome · 6 months ago
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Me: *watching Stranger Things S5 Ep 1*
“Like, what do you mean Steve isn’t a bisexual hurt bbygirl with meanie parents and doesn’t have game nights with the kids in his big empty house and doesn’t have sleepovers with Robin and he isn’t in love with Eddie who came back from the dead as part monster with a split personality that’s also in love with Steve?!?!?!?!”
Me: *turns off TV*
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zephyrchama · 7 months ago
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"What did Mammon do now?"
The greedy demon was in his underwear, hanging upside down from a rafter in the hallway. He tried to coerce you into letting him down as you walked by, but you knew better than to do so without consulting Lucifer.
"Gambling. The usual." Lucifer had a hand on his forehead, pushing his hair up while jotting something down at his desk.
"Mammon gambles every day," you pointed out. "What'd he really do?"
By the way Lucifer groaned, you knew it was something juicy. "I caught him pilfering one of my rarest records, a gift from Diavolo, to use as collateral in a bet. It's one-of-a-kind. I doubt he even knows what it is, but Mammon always has a knack for finding things of high value."
"His secret sixth sense," you agreed. "What'd you do with his clothes?"
"They make it harder to tie him up tightly. He has a slightly higher chance of wiggling free with clothes on, so I made him strip." Lucifer gestured, Mammon's clothes had been put on some kind of mannequin, tucked away in the space between two bookshelves.
You'd never seen it before. Your jaw dropped into the widest half-smile half-astonished expression possible. It had Mammon's hair and his goofy smile. Even a flashy golden earring. "What is that?"
You practically ran across the room to inspect it. It was dressed properly in Mammon's shirt and tie. There were a lot of seams, more than seemed necessary, perhaps from being repeatedly repaired over years of use. "Lucifer, this is adorable."
"It's a necessary tool for my sanity." He pushed the chair back, standing up to join you.
"What do you mean?"
"I'll give you a demonstration."
Lucifer comically wound up his closed fist. With ballistic force, he struck the figure right in its chest. It flopped back, then sprung back up wildly to receive a fistful of lighter blows from Lucifer.
"You made a Mammon punching bag? Really?" You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Isn't that a bit much?"
"I didn't make it, Mammon did."
Surprise of the day number two. "Mammon made this? Himself?"
To stop the wobbling, Lucifer grabbed the punching bag's tie, pulling it tight and then smoothing it out. "Cute, right? He thought it might make me go easy on future punishments. It's a very thoughtful gift from my little brother."
"Yeah, I didn't know he could sew. Huh." The two of you stood to admire it before Lucifer returned to his desk. You followed him. "Kind of reminds me of the doll Levi made of me."
Lucifer smiled. "Leviathan made you a doll, did he? How very kind."
"No, he made a doll of me."
Lucifer froze to process this information, frowning.
You continued, "I don't know where he usually keeps it, but I saw it under his desk one time. It's pretty big and detailed. I mentioned it once and offered to lend him a shirt for it, but he got really embarrassed and pushed me out. He's gotta take more pride in his work, it was really impressive."
"I see." Lucifer gritted his teeth. "You know, something I have to do just came up. Let's finish this conversation later." He was quietly seething as he escorted you to the door. Along the way he gave punching-bag Mammon a soft whack to the head.
You realized you forgot to ask if you could untie the real Mammon, but Lucifer had already marched down the hall in the direction of Leviathan's room. Rather than trying to catch up, you decided to go see how the Avatar of Greed was doing.
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lucabyte · 6 months ago
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Not all who wander are lost. Some who wander, however, are extremely, extremely lost.
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