Eren And Levi As Daisuke And Haru! Cause I Had To Get It Out Of My System Dfkjgdfg

Eren and Levi as Daisuke and Haru! Cause I had to get it out of my system dfkjgdfg

Kuro?? Suit?? Yes.

ok NOW this was me just fuckin around with colors i’m sry

eren would look cute in so many (all) modern clothes, even if it’s just sweatpants and hoodies

I respectfully disagree. If it’s not dumb, like people not reading tags and then going eww this trope or eww this ship, and it’s written respectfully without insulting the writer then I think criticism should always be allowed. I think it’s important to hone a skill to be told where or how you could do better, corrections and suggestions help people to improve. I do not want the people around me to be all little yes men that say only nice things. That’s my humble opinion.

Cool. Then say on your fics that you welcome criticism. But if a person doesn’t say that, then you don’t leave con crit.

Do you know what I do for a living? I’m a college professor and an academic editor. I actually am professionally qualified to help people hone their skills and to improve. For example, there are at least 4 things I would edit in the ask you sent me. Not the least of which is having the guts to own your opinion by not being on anon.

But you know what I do with all the professional skills I have when I read fanfic which is a hobby and a joy for everyone who engages in it? I keep my fucking mouth shut.

Because as I tell my students to be creative and share it with the world is an act of bravery. And when we are being brave, we don’t need to be ‘corrected’ by strangers, we need to be applauded for risking ourselves.

I have never felt better about someone correcting me on a fic on ao3, I’ve never improved from it, I’ve only felt like crap, and any other writer I talk to feels the same. I got better as a writer because I wrote again and again every day. And when I engage a beta, I listen to their advice because I can trust where it is coming from. A rando whose decided they know what they are on about? I don’t trust for shit. 

If you leave UNSOLICITED criticism on fanfic you suck and are a crappy person.

In my humble opinion.

SHUT UP THIS IS SO GOOD SKSJSKSKSJS THE CLIFFHANGER....HELLO???? KAJSKSJSKS

la lune | tsukishima k. (i)

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

warnings: ghost!au; implied(?) death; occasional profanity; angst, fluff, comedy, a whole potluck of feelings

word count: 1.1k

a/n: welcome to the beginning of my ghost!tsukki fic, the first part of my mini series! i must admit, choosing tsukishima as the main character for my next fic was quite a difficult task, a multichapter fic at that. his little tsundere ass was just a lot to handle and get right :’) but we managed to persevere, and here we are! the fic just wouldn’t be the same without him, so without further ado, i hope you enjoy a little piece of my heart ♡

chapters: i. ii. iii.

In death, Tsukishima is silent and watchful.

He was expecting more from the afterlife, to be honest; maybe a grand welcoming from other spirits meant to guide him, or a solemn grim reaper ready to take his soul. Instead, Tsukishima opens his eyes to see himself lying on his bed—his heart still, breath stolen from his lips.

Laughing wryly, he thinks this is just his luck. To die this young after all his efforts to get where he is now, Tsukishima wants to ask if this is a punishment from his past life. Well, he supposes it’s his past past life now. Not that it really matters anymore.

He feels lighter, unbound from the earthly chains that tied him to the world of the living, but Tsukishima is focused on the way his body peacefully rests, like this was just an ordinary morning. As if he would wake in a few minutes and everything would go back to how it was. The thought of this draws out another laugh.

Tsukishima wonders who will find him. Maybe Akiteru in the afternoon, when he drops off some of their mom’s homemade cooking for lunch, or Hinata, when he shows up at his house uninvited to bug him about playing monthly volleyball with the old Karasuno team. He hopes it’s not Yamaguchi. He would probably take it the hardest, worrying for hours and hours after unanswered texts and calls only to find his worst fears coming true.

A sigh leaves him, and Tsukishima stares at his hand, trying to fight the dread pooling in his stomach when he can almost see the pattern of the floorboards through it. The first Truth hits him all at once, knocking the faux apathy he holds so dear to his heart straight out of his system:

He’s dead.

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