ur otp gettin together in chapter 3 of a 51 chapter fic

Do you ever just want to watch a fanfic

fanfiction writers are the best. when your favorite characters get killed off, messed up, or screwed over they just swoop in like

except for the times they swoop in like

Shut up and decorate!

It’s the end of November. Joe and Steph are decorating Gay’s the Word with Christmas ornaments under Jeff’s direction. Gethin’s happy that he can concentrate on selling books rather than deal with that hassle. Experience tells him that Jeff will make his shop sparkle and shine.

Everyone’s busy and Gethin has just put on a Christmas record to get them all in the mood when Mark comes in accompanied by a gust of cold. He looks like he was about to proclaim something, but clearly ask the red abs green and white and golden glitter has him distracted.

“You’re decorating,” he remarks. “Is that necessary?”

Steph raises an eyebrow. “Since Gethin lets us use the shop for meetings and we can stay here when it’s cold, helping him decorate is the least we can do. Don’t you think, comrade?”

“Right,” Jeff nods, holding out a mistletoe and a step ladder to Mark. “So you can either help or get out of our way.”

“No, I mean is it really necessary to decorate the shop in honour of this amalgamation of Christianity and capitalism? I mean Christmas is actually a pagan holiday that was just reinterpreted by Christians to fit their plans. Now everyone has to use it as an excuse to shove their Christian values in your face, when actually by now it’s all about consumerism. I mean really, Christmas is just about the presents, the cards, the decorations, …”

While Mark is droning off on one of his communist rants, Steph wants to strangle him. All of them probably have a rather weird relationship with Christmas since it’s a family holiday celebrating traditions and most of them are deviants living outside of said traditions and often estranged from their families. Still, everyone has a right to deal with that in their own way. And some of them really love the sentimentality and glitter (Jeff) and others need the Christmas trade (Gethin). So who is Mark to judge them for decorating the shop?!

When Steph looks like she’s about to explode into fireworks of snark, Jeff stops her with a gesture of his hand.

“So Mark, does that mean you’re not getting any presents for Mike?” Jeff asks innocently.

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m getting him presents. I already got him a new grandpa jumper. It’s really soft. There’s alpaca wool in it. I’ll also get him a book and those Macarons he loves. You know, the ones they have at Covent Garden. He never admits to liking them because there too expensive for this world.”

The others try really hard, but can barely suppress their laughter at this admission. Mark blinks a few times and then notices what he’s just said and what he hypocrite he was. He looks defiant for a moment.

“See?” Jeff asks, handing him the mistletoe. “Now shut up and decorate.”

Mark grumbles under his breath but takes the stepladder as well.

“And where do you want the fucking mistletoe?”

When you're looking for fanfics and

"Warnings: Major character death—"

"Half of your OTP x OC—"

"Unfinished. Last time updated: 358451 years a—"

"Starts with your OTP—

—but eventually NOTP”

I LAUGHED IN TEARS ON THE FOURTH ONE

This brings back so many fanfiction.net memories… :’)

I added a beginning to it... The Spring Of '85 (Marmike Fic)

The first signs that Mark Ashton was dying was the fact that when he cut himself with his razor blade it would not stop bleeding. The Irishman locked his jaw and pressed a towel to his cheek, the forth in twenty minutes, to try and cease the bleeding. In the living room Mike was entertaining guests - Gethin hadn’t been able to pay the electricity bill for his apartment above Gay’s The Word so Mike had invited the ex-LGSM group over to the tiny flat he shared with Mark. Mark had to make the bleeding stop, he couldn’t stand Mike worrying - or the others for that matter. He reached in the smaller medicine cupboard underneath he sink and pulled out a packet of plasters and stuck a rainbow one to his face before wiping any traces of blood away, he quickly rinsed the sink and cloth and then joined his friends in the living room. “Ah Mark!” Mike was the first to notice him enter the room and Mark couldn’t help but grin at that. “What took you so long? You missed Jonathan’s-” “Oh shut up Mike, it wasn’t that great.” Steph laughed nudging Gethin slightly as she spoke. Jonathan’s smile wavered slightly when he seen the look on Mark’s face and stood up, “Mark, help me brew up will you? I’m trying to cut down on the alcohol for Geth.” Mark nodded slightly and clenched his jaw slightly for a second before smiling back, “Come on then.” When they both got into the kitchen, Jonathan put the kettle on to boil and looked at Mark squarely, “Cut yourself?” He asked, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. Mark nodded once, “Something like that.” “Haven’t you stopped the bleeding?” Mark closed his eyes, “No.. God, you can’t tell Mike- please Jonathan. He.. He’d worry.. Make me go for a screening.” He looked at Jonathan with an enormous amount of vulnerability, one which Jonathan recognised as his own from all those years ago when he first got his diagnosis. “What do you think Gethin does for me?” He said quietly, smiling slightly. ———- Five days later Jonathan called the flat, “Hello?” Mike picked up. “Is Mr Ashton there?” Jonathan asked. “Yeah, he’s asleep - he was sick last night.” “Oh good lord, tell him to call the shop when he wakes up.” “Okay, any reason?” “Geth’s got a new edition of that stupid magazine he likes to read in stock and they’re flying off the shelves, if he wants one he’ll have to come by. Bye Mike!” - “How’re you going to tell him?” Gethin asked Jonathan as he was counting the money in the till. “I’m just going to give him the letter. We don’t know what the results are yet, Geth.” He said quietly, looking up at Gethin. “I should probably go when he gets here, if the news is bad then he’ll probably be like you were..” Gethin pulled on a coat and left. Twenty minutes later Mark arrived, freezing cold from the late January air. His face was white and streaked with sweat and his hands were shaking. “Where’s the letter?” He asked hoarsely, searching Jonathan’s face with his eyes. Jonathan handed it him and swallowed, “Whatever the results are we’ll support you.” Mark stared at the envelope and swallowed hard before nodding, “Thank you.” He whispered before tearing open the seal. Silence filled Gay’s The Word like a vile smell, it’s pungent odour grasped every inch of it and held Jonathan in place in anxious tension. Mark’s grip on the paper tightened as he read the results, a sob escaped his throat and a second later he fell to his knees sobbing. Jonathan closed his eyes and swallowed slightly, dropping beside him and hugging him. “I’m so, so sorry.” He murmured, over and over again. “I-I want to live.” Mark whispered, his body shaking violently as he sobbed. “I can’t die.” He froze and lurched away from Jonathan’s embrace, “This is a sick fucking joke!” Jonathan rose an eyebrow, “What on earth Mark?” The younger man ran out of the shop and into the night. - “Mike, is Mark there?” Mike had picked the phone up on the first ring, it was one in the morning and Mark had been out for hours. “No he’s not.. Isn’t he with you and Gethin? I figured you’d just gone out for a drink.” “He’s dying Mike. He found out he’s positive and ran out.” The phone line went dead. - Three days later Mark returned home stinking of alcohol and his clothes covered in vomit. Mike helped him undress and get into the bath. “You’ve been admitted into hospital.. Guy’s Hospital in Southwark, they’ve had a bed open for you for days.” Mike said quietly. “I don’t want to go Mike.” Mark sobbed. “I want to live.” - Twelve days later everyone was sat in the hospital waiting room, taking it in turns to go and see Mark. His health had deteriorated rapidly, the doctors claimed that it was pneumonia and that he didn’t have much longer to live. Hearing that news, Mike walked into the room and sat with him, holding his hand. “What date is it?” Mark croaked, pulling his oxygen mask away from his face. “February 11th 1987, why?” “It’s so… Beautiful. The sky.” Mark’s hand tightened around Mike’s. “Don’t let me die.” Mike closed his eyes and kissed the back of his boyfriends hand. “I won’t Mark.. I won’t.”

a time for roses (1/1)

A Marmike fic.

A drabble about Mike and Mark in the immediate aftermath of Mark’s hospitalisation. It’s sad, because it’s hard not to be with these two, but I’ve tried to make it kind of hopeful as well, in a weird way?? I don’t even know, just have a read if you’d like and I hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: Although these characters are based on real individuals, all representations of them in this story are based on their fictional depiction in the film ‘Pride.’ Also I don’t own ‘Pride,’ much to my chagrin.

~~~~

‘Were you ever planning on telling me?’

Mark’s lips are chapped when he rubs his fingers against them; an old self-comfort gesture. He’s taken the oxygen mask off for this, and already he can feel his chest tightening, wheeziness crawling up his larynx. He swallows it down, speaks instead.

‘I would’ve. It was difficult.’

He can’t look at Mike’s face; he knows what he’ll find there. Muted hurt and tamped down panic, much the same as that day nearly two years back, when he’d shouted at him in the street. Piss off, all of you! Leave me alone!

Perhaps this is karma catching up with him.

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It was noon when Jonathan Blake called Mark and Mike’s shared apartment. “Hello?” Mike picked up. “Is Mr Ashton there?” Jonathan asked. “Yeah, he’s asleep - he was sick last night.” “Oh good lord, tell him to call the shop when he wakes up.” “Okay, any reason?” “Geth’s got a new edition of...

for me the biggest unsolved mystery of the world is whether or not My Immortal was a trollfic or a legitimate fanfiction that someone sat down and wrote.

do you ever just look at a fic and just go “that is too many tags for this to be worth it”

When a fic clicks in your head, and you have to start working on it immediately, because it’s RIGHT THERE, you can taste it, it’s going to be amazing, YOU CAN SEE WORDS, but you can’t write them down because you’re at work and

When a fic clicks in your head and you go right at it, but then your halfway though and you have other things to do, but know if you leave now, the idea might fade away and you’ll lose interest!

^^

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Alisha Daniels, Rudy Wade Summary: The story of Rudy and Alisha.

if i lay here

if i just lay here

do u think this fanfic will write itself

Direct quote from my boyfriend, turned into a picture.