#BEFORE ANYONE COMES AT ME i do think ff is real writing i just don't consider it to be its own genre

[thepixelelf]

...............not even close

[conundrumoftime]

no ACTUALLY ship and let ship. no, really. including Haladriel including Celeborn including everyone.

Checking on the Tumblr Haladriel tag this morning like the Troy-arriving-with-pizza gif...

Anyway: I left the following comment on someone's blog about this, and while I don't have any particular wish to fight with that person or reblog them in a way that might encourage anyone else to get into that, I do want to copy my comment here because 'ship and let ship' is something I do feel very, very strongly about:

I'm a Haladriel shipper who's been in this fandom since 2022 (you can see my 20+ Haladriel fics here if you want evidence of that: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eye_of_a_cat/works) and in Tolkien fandom on and off for many years before. I’m one of the shippers who was on the receiving end of a massive anti hate campaign over Haladriel during 2023-4, including repeated vicious suicide-baiting anon hate comments. I’m also a multishipper who talks about Celeborn too and writes fic about him as well. Can I please ask that you consider the old fandom adage of ‘ship and let ship’ on this one? I don’t care whether you like this fictional elf [ETA: Celeborn] or not - we all have different tastes - but when you start going after the shippers as people, calling us “probably antis masquerading as shippers”, telling us to “be honest” that we just hate Sauron x Galadriel (seriously, do you think I and fellow multishippers are writing all these Haladriel fics as some kind of elaborate undercover act?), setting yourself up as some judge of who counts as a Haladriel and who doesn’t - this is just unpleasant for everybody and makes the fandom a toxic, bitter space.  People have different tastes. People approach shipping in different ways. Fandom is a big wide world.  What I always ask people who hate Haladriel to do is mute the tag and live and let live when it comes to other people’s preferences, and don’t go after *people* because you don’t like their ship. Can you please consider doing the same for Celeborn?

I don't want endless discourse about this. I hate ship wars. I have a ton of messy unpleasant stuff happening in my real life right now and fandom - writing, fun, creativity - is such a welcome escape valve for me. I don't care who likes which elf or which ship, but ffs can we please leave each other in peace about it?

I am always happy to talk about any of my ships or the characters I like in more detail - at the drop of a hat in fact! - but for obvious reasons, I don't do this in a ship war context where I feel like someone's expecting me to 'prove' myself or justify why I'm allowed to like something. Because the point is that it doesn't matter why someone else likes something or whether or not you get its appeal - what matters is the ability to get along with each other anyway.

Some of my best fandom friends are people who don't like many of the things I like, and vice versa. One of my dearest fandom friends I've known for over 15 years has some ships that make me recoil in ARGH NO horror. And she doesn't like everything I'm into either! And we still get along fine, as people, because we know it's ships. It's fiction. It's not a referendum on us as people.

I don't care if people like Celeborn or not - he is a made-up elf, he is not real. I don't care if people like Haladriel or not - non-book-canon ships and EtL ships aren't for everyone. But the fans who like these things are real people who should be allowed to do our thing in peace.

[eponastory]

I keep being all up in your inbox, but I just gotta ask you another question about Zutara. So, based on everything we know about the show and the characters, how do you think Aang would react to Zutara if it was canon? Maybe at first we would be jealous and mopey about it, but when he pieces together that Zuko is a good partner because of how much he loves, respects, and helps Katara as an equal, Aang realizes that he treated his friendship with Katara too childishly and THAT'S why Katara wasn't so happy about their kisses on the Black Sun and on Ember Island. Aang realizes that Katara doesn't want him because he was too immature and it was unfair. But Aang swallows the hard pill of reality, and uses self-reflection to grow up and be a better person. Also, what do you think about Aang being with Toph? I've read an analysis that Toph would've been a better partner for Aang because Toph is much more likely to put her foot down at Aang's foolerly, and that Toph doesn't glorify Aang with the rose-tinted lens of him being the Avatar.

This could go a few ways.

But seeing as Aang has selfish tendencies and the writers are idiots when it comes to writing romance, I'm gonna go with Aang being jealous.

Let's pretend that Aang is a real kid for this instance. He is 12. He is going through puberty and has a crush on the first girl he has ever seen (you know because the Air Nomads were sexually segregated and there is a reason for that). It's just... eww. He gives me stalker vibes and then expects Katara just to be with him because he says he loves her. Then on top of all that, her choice to have any relationship is limited to Aang because of a fortune teller. Honestly, it's a horrible thing.

Aangs world view is that everything revolves around him, yet he doesn't want to take responsibility for it. He never does either. I honestly think Katara (if she were a real person) is pressured into 'loving' Aang. The problem is, he's doing the pressuring. I've seen this brought up in countless fics I've read, and we all seem to be on the same page. If they were real people, this relationship would absolutely be on the toxic side. So, yeah, I don't think Aang would let it go if Katara left him for Zuko. He wouldn't be happy because it changes all of his 'plans' for reviving the Air Nomad culture. That's a lot to put on Katara, too.

Now since these are fictional characters, I'd put my money on Bryke causing Aang to go into the Avatar state (which has happened before in one of Aangs childish tantrums) which is not good for anyone. I hate that they characterize him this way because it leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. Like calm the fuck down dude, you're supposed to be following Air Nomad culture... oh wait, you know Jack shit about it because you only learned the basics. Like ffs... the writing is all over the place with that.

But no I don't think fiction Aang would be okay with Katara and Zuko. He'd probably grin and bear it, but inside he's just one step away from Avatar state because Katara was supposed to be his forever girl.

If Aang was truly written to be wise and forgiving, (which he isnt) maybe he would let it go, but no. That's not what we got. He's... a very very flawed character.

[mybworlds]

Bittersweet

CHAPTER 1

status: ongoing

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: your life is full of 'must'. You live with your overprotective mother who controls every aspect of your life. You have a dream, to write romance novels, but love - real love - you haven't found yet. Your mother has even decided what you must do in your free time: play music. One day, however, when you go to your music teacher's house, you will have an unexpected encounter and from that day on things change…

rating: 18+ explicit (minors, DNI)

Before to start... Hello people, I know there are other two ff that I already started, but I dreamt this new idea for my new ff. So I decided to write it down it. So here we are. If you want to let me know what you think about it I'd be glad to read you.

No offence pls, if you dislike it go away :)

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

You always dreamed of doing something special, of being the person who would make a difference in the world….

So you hoped.

You hoped to become a great writer of romance novels, and you hoped to instill hope in the hearts of young people not to give up in the face of love and the possible obstacles that may arise.

But not all dreams come true.

In fact, you ended up working in a small bar on the outskirts of your town, surrounded by the many stories of the many diners who populate the place during the daytime or evening hours--depending on the shifts. These stories are the most different, and cannot help but feed your wild imagination.

In the evening, when you are not on shift, you write dozens and dozens of stories on your computer: some are shorts, some are very long and have happy endings, some less. It depends on your mood and how you imagine certain events you've witnessed or heard will end.

"I'm home!"

Your mother has just returned from a nearly seventy-two-hour shift at the hospital, she works in emergency medicine, and - since your father died (or at least she always said) - when she's not at home, you have to do everything, housework and bar work, grocery shopping, paying bills.

"Hi, Mom."

You absentmindedly greet her by putting down your computer glasses and crinkling your eyes in exhaustion.

"Did you buy groceries?"

The usual string of questions starts, to which you always answer with a distracted yes. You are almost 30 years old, but sometimes you feel like you are 40s or even 50s. Sometimes you think you would just like to enjoy youth, to be carefree, light-hearted, you would like to be free even to make mistakes, and instead you feel caged in this life. In a life where the only rule is you must.

"So you're okay with that?" your mother suddenly asks, making you get your feet back on the ground.

"What?" you ask confused.

"You might even listen to me for once!" blurts out Mom.

"I just got distracted for a second!" you exclaim trying to catch up.

Mom snorts, "I asked you if you were free tomorrow for your guitar lesson."

Ah yes, the exhilarating guitar lessons!

Mom, ever since Dad left (but she always said it was as if he was dead), has demanded that you take piano lessons first and guitar lessons later, like your father. You can't understand your mother, sometimes she seems to hate your father, sometimes she doesn't.

About love, you've always wanted it to be forever. Maybe it's just some romantic bullshit you always watched in movies or read in books, but you want to believe that there really exists out there for you, someone who is willing to love you for a lifetime. Too bad you haven't found anyone so far who is willing to love you the same way you love, to want you the way you want!

Going back to your guitar lessons, your teacher is a bit of a peculiar guy, a bit of a loner, a lover of many things and one opposed to the other. He's -- you don't know exactly how to define him. You've never been able to decipher him. He seems gruff, but at the same time he has a good side and probably deep down sweet.

Very deep down.

"Yes, don't worry." Mom, ever since he left, has become overprotective in some ways with you, has demanded to control you even though you are not so young anymore, wants to know what you read, what you see, what you do. It may seem normal, perhaps, for a mom to try to get to know what her child does, but not the way she does. If you are evasive for one reason for another, she becomes a hound, suffocating almost. Once she even demanded to read a chat you created with friends fearing that you might be in touch with a man much older than you, and instead she found herself a chat where you were exchanging sometimes funny and sometimes even private messages with some of your close friends from school, which even embarrassed you, but mom justified herself by saying she was doing it for you. She even banned you from driving for fear that you might have a car accident! You have a driver's license, but your mother won't even let you drive around town. She always has to be the one to drive you. These manias of hers are suffocating!

"Good. Do you have money to pay for it?" she asks you.

"Yes, don't worry," you reply, going to prepare dinner.

"We have to be very punctual or I'll be late for the hospital," she informs you.

"Do you have another night?" you ask her "It will be the fifth time in a month! But didn't there used to be shifts once even in the hospital?" you ask again as you prepare some pasta.

"Yes, but -- you know, there are only a few of us and then there are even more emergencies than usual."

You follow your mother with your eyes as you see her typing on her cell phone. Your mother sometimes looks like the young woman and you look like the mom.

What an unfair life!

The next day your life flows as usual, you get up very early, make coffee bringing it also to your mother, go to shower, get dressed and go to work.

At the café there is the usual hustle and bustle, who wants coffee, who wants a croissant, who wants a slice of pizza, who wants something else. You don't have a moment to yourself. Only when it's almost lunchtime now, you stop and go to the back of the store to eat your sandwich and smoke. Yes, you smoke. The only real transgression in your life. If your mother found out she would probably kill you, but you don't care smoking makes you feel good and maybe it makes you feel good because it's a decision you made, not because it was forced on you.

You rub one temple and look toward the road covered with a hint of snow. You wonder what you would have been doing by now if you had not been there with your mother, if maybe you were busy in college or maybe in pursuing some master's degree, you wonder who you might have been if you had dared to live your life to the fullest.

In the afternoon, your mother - after making sure you are dressed appropriately, that you have sheet music and whatnot - drops you off in front of your teacher's building.

The latter lives on the top of seven floors, it's practically a penthouse, it's beautiful place. Being with him -- a little less so.

When you knock, you are about to greet him, but a completely different man from your teacher appears in front of you. He is tall, much taller than your teacher and you, curly brown hair, dark eyes, a look that is at first grim, then curious, defined jaw line and curved nose. He is perhaps 40 years old.

You stand open-mouthed, thinking you had the wrong house for a moment, then realizing it's the right address.

"I was looking for Mr. Miller," you say.

"In person." he replies.

"Tommy Miller," you say.

"I'm his brother." he says again.

You are about to say something, but he is the one who interrupts you by asking if you are his student and calling your name, you nod in confusion.

"My brother had to leave yesterday morning. He told me you were coming and to wait for you to let you know." he clarifies by placing his hands on his hips.

He is incredibly muscular; you have never seen a man like him. He hits you right away.

"I see. Then -- I'll go." ready to leave.

You make to turn your back to him "Did Mommy tell you not to talk to strangers?" he asks making you turn back to him "I saw you get out of your mother's car." he adds noticing your confused look.

"What did you say?" you ask in annoyance.

You see him smirking and cross his arms "Are you afraid the big bad wolf will eat you?"

You wrinkle your forehead "First, I don't even know who you are." you say moving a couple of steps closer to him "And second…"

"Joel." he introduces himself by extending his hand.

"You're creepy -- Joel," you say looking first at his hand and then at his face.

"You, on the other hand, are shy." he notes looking at you and running his gaze over your figure. No one has ever looked at you like this. Making your skin warmed. "Yes, you are a shy little one." he adds, smiling and making wrinkles appear on the sides of his eyes.

"Your brother is definitely nicer," you say.

Lie. Tommy has always been very much on his own.

He just bends his head to the side, "Funny, people always told me I'm the nice one of the Miller brothers."

Gotcha.

"Well, maybe they never really knew you!"

"And you in less than a minute figured out who am I?" he asks, leaving you speechless.

No, you know very well that you cannot judge anyone in less than a minute. If someone had judged you in less than a minute they probably would have dismissed you as an ordinary young woman, lacking dreams of her own, trivial.

Perhaps the same thing applies to the man in front of you, Joel Miller.

[eyelessfaces]

wine stain

llewyn davis x reader

hi I started writing this in october but never actually finished it and I thought it was kinda good when I reread it but I hated the plot so I changed it. anyways I hope you like it! also please note that this is my first time writing detailed smut in ages and I'm very insecure about it so please be indulgent :(

summary: life isn't fair to llewyn, but the man isn't quick to give up. an audition in chicago might change his life forever, and it does, but not the way he expected it to.

warnings: smut (minors dni!!), unprotected piv, oral sex, language (they swear a lot), alcohol consumption, smoking. mentions of pregnancy and abortion, one tiny joke about it. I am pro-choice and I don't want to offend anyone so if it bothers you just don't read this ffs.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, llewyn is insecure asf and believes he doesn't deserve anything good, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 5.7k (this is the longest thing I've ever written.)

Hot smoke escapes Llewyn’s cup of coffee, subtly mixing with the intoxicating smoke of the cigarette he holds between his fingers. You watch as the smoke goes up in the air, disappearing at the same level of his crumpled shirt collar. You desperately want to get up and fix it. You look away from it and sigh before talking.

“Spill the beans. I know this isn’t a casual cafe meeting. Or what Jean would call our ‘definitely not dates’ or whatever.” you say sinking into your chair, crossing your arms. “What do you want. Need. Same thing” you ask, watching him blow out his smoke as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“There’s no good answer is there?” he chuckles, licking his lips awkwardly when he sees that you’re not reacting to his poor attempt at a joke. “I need money.” he continues, lowering his voice. He leans forward and looks at you sternly. “Listen I hate asking you for this, but if I could do otherwise I wou-”

"Seriously? You’re still not getting anything?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

His face relaxes, and he contorts it to a frown again.

“Believe me I’ve harassed Mel, it’s a miracle he’s not kicking me out. Only real money I get is from the gigs and saying it’s not enough is an understatement.” he huffs out, looking around the barely crowded cafe. “Please. I really need it. I’ll make it up to ya.” he pleads, looking back at you.

You roll your eyes when you think about the extra hours you’ll have to do to be able to pay your rent, but it’s Llewyn, and you care about him, so it’s…

 “...Fine.” 

Llewyn nods, weakly smiling at you.

“Thank you baby. Thank you” he nods fervently, thankful. “I would also need a place to crash at tonight…” he whispers with a sour face, knowing that it may be too much to ask you at once. 

You chuckle and give him a wave of your hand. “Whatever. But you’re taking me out once you have enough money” you say tilting your head forward, pointing at him.

“Sure thing.” he smiles. “Thank you dove.” 

You send him a quick smile before hiding it with your cup of coffee.

A thought occurs and you lick your lips in reflection as you put the cup down on its saucer.

“Abortion?” you ask abruptly, and he looks back at you with a startled face.

“What?”

“Is that why you need money? Again?” you clarify.

His confused face relaxes and he chuckles with a frown.

“It’s nice of you to assume I’m getting laid.” he chuckles, scratching the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrug. “I don’t know. You’re a hot talented musician after all” you say with a smirk, elbow planted on the table and chin resting on your palm. “Makes everyone faint”

He snorts. “Come on. Not when the hot talented musician is homeless and a dick” he pinches his lips in a skeptic smile.

“Yeah well that’s just you. And I don’t see anything wrong here” you smile, and Llewyn clears his throat.

“Well Jean told me it’d be a favor to people if I never fucked anyone ever again so I’m taking advice” he affirms, eyebrows raised as he brings his own cup of coffee to his mouth.

“Jean’s a bitch” you spit, crossing your arms and leaning back into your chair.

He chuckles and smiles.

“That’s no news.” he smiles. “Hum... The reason I need money is because I need to go to Chicago for an audition.”

“Chicago?” you ask, startled that he needs to go so far away.

“Yeah. Chicago.” he affirms, and looks through the window. It’s pouring and the wet road reflects the light of one small ray of sunshine passing through the clouds. 

“You’re fucking kidding me” you scoff. “Don’t tell me it’s an audition with that Bud Grossman guy” you sigh, slowly shaking your head.

Llewyn doesn’t answer and just looks back at you with a small pinched smile. You sigh. “When is it?”

“I’d need to leave tomorrow. It’s a pretty long ride” he affirms sinking in the back of his chair.

“No shit” you chuckle before taking another sip of your coffee. “It’s a whole ass trip.”

He nods and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table. You grab it before he can and he’s on the verge of calling you out for it but you speak before he can.

“You just finished smoking one. You smoke too much. Slow down.” you advise him putting down your cup of coffee, and he instantly rolls his eyes.

“Oh please.” he huffs. “Come on” he pleads, frowning.

You put the pack in your coat pocket and he sighs before laying further against the back of his chair.

His look darts to the window again. Few people are passing by and the rare ones that do are all protected by an umbrella and a raincoat. He’s just glad he’s crashing at your place tonight and not roaming around the whole city to look for a place to stay in this weather. 

“You’re gonna kill this.”

“Mh?” he asks absent-mindedly, still looking outside.

“Your audition. You’re so talented Llewyn. The trip is worth it” your words make him look back at you immediately, a small gap forming between his lips.

He wants to tell you that you don’t need to do that for him. That you don’t need to be so positive because he somehow always ends up fucking everything up. He really does. But at the same time he doesn’t think he’s ever felt his heart beat so fast.

“My first groupie!” he exclaims, unsure of how to respond wholeheartedly, instead using sarcasm as it’s what he does best. “Here it is.”

“Fuck you you asshole” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I'm just messing with you” he scoffs. “Thank you for believing in me. You’re amazing” he nods and smiles. “You’re probably the only one that believes in me anyways.”

You weakly smile back at him. God you just wished this would work out for him. It’s all you ever wanted for him, truly.

“Can I get my cigarettes back now ?” he asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh before throwing the pack of cigarettes at him.

��

You gasp as you feel two arms wrap around your waist. You close your eyes with a sigh once your brain processes everything, and the corners of your mouth turn upwards.

“You scared me you moron. Nice shower?" you ask, still looking at the cooking pot in front of you.

Llewyn smiles as he nuzzles your hair.

“You have no idea. Probably the best shower I’ve had in ages” he affirms, his thumb caressing your clothed stomach. The gesture makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly brush the thought off. You can’t think of him that way. “What you cookin’?” the question tears you out of your thoughts.

“Franks and beans. It’s a good thing you were able to come out of this bathroom, we’re eating soon.” you announce, stirring in the pot with the spatula.

“Awesome” he groans. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. The hell would I do without you” he sighs, and leans to quickly kiss your cheek.

You close your eyes and smile once again.

“Come on, go set the table. It’s ready soon” you affirm as you throw your chin towards the table. 

“‘kay chief” he throws as he opens the cabinet where you keep your plates.

You eat while drinking some wine and end the evening watching The Seventh Seal, your head quickly ending up resting over Llewyn’s shoulder. You can feel yourself drift off to sleep as the end credits appear, and get up from the couch before you actually pass out on it and on Llewyn.

“Imma head to bed” you mumble sleepily, grabbing one of your plaids to hand it to Llewyn. “Goodnight” you tiredly say as he takes the plaid before you turn around to leave for your bedroom.

“Hey. I’ll probably be gone by the morning.” he declares as he gets up from the couch, leaving the plaid hanging on the armrest. “So I’ll just say it now. Thank you for the money and the food.” he says as he walks up to you, hands buried in his slacks pockets. “And the couch, and for everything you’re doing for me in general. I really appreciate it. I love you.” 

You endearingly smile at him, reaching to gently stroke his wrist with your thumb.

“Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you”

—

When you come back home from work later than usual because of traffic three days later, Llewyn is curled up on your couch, asleep. 

Your apartment is bathed in darkness and you watch his sleeping figure as you take off your shoes and coat before walking to him, kneeling next to him by the couch.

You reach to turn on the lamp on the side table next to your couch, looking back at him and finally being able to see his peaceful state. You smile to yourself as soft snores escape his slightly agape mouth and his usual grumpy expression is long gone, and you kinda feel like a creep for watching him sleep but truthfully he looks like an angel and you feel bad for having to wake him up. 

You gently thread your fingers through his raven curls, softly calling his name, and he slowly opens his eyes, hazily sitting up and rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. “Shit I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch. Sorry”

“That’s okay” you reassure him, smoothing your hand along his forearm. “How was Chicago?” you ask him softly, and he suddenly chuckles and shakes his head.

“Shitty.” he declares. “Useless.”

The blank that fills the air in your apartment is overwhelming. You get up from your knees and sit next to him on the couch, propping your elbow onto the back of the couch, your hand holding your head. “I’m sorry” you pinch your lips in an empathetic smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anyways” he smiles tiredly as he looks up at you.

“If you wanna talk about it I’m all ears, and if you don’t that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes again. “It’s just… It was all for nothing.” he huffs out. “All I do to try to make it work is always for nothing at the end.” You swear you hear your heart crack at that moment. “Grossman advised me to get back with Mike when I told him I used to have a partner.” he scoffs.

You chuckle and shake your head in dismay. “Well that’s gonna be complicated” you say as you raise your eyebrows. “What a fucking moron” you mumble as you get up from your couch, going to the kitchen.

“I don’t wanna defend him but he couldn’t know” he declares as he follows you, leaning his side against the wall as you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“I’m not exclusively talking about that. He’s a fucking moron for rejecting you” you say as you turn back to him, handing him the glass. He takes it and shrugs and you sigh as you fill it. “How many copies of your record would I have to buy to make you rich?”

He laughs before taking a sip of the wine, and he raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“You ending up homeless in your turn isn’t the point sweetheart” he says as he watches you pouring yourself some wine before leaving the bottle on the counter.

“I just want you to be okay.” the words weakly escape your mouth as you walk back to your living room, and his eyes light up at your words. God, if only you knew how much it meant to him that you wanted him to be okay, if only you knew how much you meant to him.

“Don’t worry about me angel. I’ll just go back to merchant marines” he sighs as he sits down on your couch.

You look down at him with empathetic eyes and take a sip from your glass before putting it down on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay” you tell him sitting down next to him, mostly trying to convince yourself. Truth is you rely a lot on how he feels.

He hums absent-mindedly, gaze lost in the void of your living room and leans to put his glass down too before shifting to face you and taking your hand in his. 

You look down at his hand, slowly and softly tracing his skin with your thumb.

“Llewyn” you whisper looking back at him, pushing away the curls falling over his face, threading your hand through the unruly dark curls.

He sighs softly as he looks up and down between your eyes and lips before his hands frame your face as his lips press over yours with more force than he had expected, like his eagerness to kiss you took over him. 

He’s not sure of his action and he’s fully convinced he has, once more, fucked another thing up like he always does as he doesn’t feel you moving, until he feels your hands join at his neck to bring him closer, deepening the kiss as you hum against his lips and as your tongues meet. 

It’s all the both of you had always been wishing for; diluting this unspoken tension between you, finally acting upon it. 

You shift to straddle his lap and he groans into your mouth as he pulls you closer by your hips, savoring every second of that kiss as if you’re going to slip through his fingers once you pull away, as if you’re going to regret all of this once it’s over. 

You know there is no reality where you could ever regret this; you had fantasized of doing this for ages and it’s even better than you had imagined this before; the wine somehow tastes better when it’s on his tongue, and you can feel the faint taste of cigarette in his warm breath as his broad hands run up and down your body, his body heat radiating against you.

You unconsciously hump against him as you want to get even closer, and a moan escapes your mouth, the friction against him deliciously relieving the growing ache between your legs.

“Fuck, Llewyn” you gasp against his mouth as you look down at your clothed crotches, evidently feeling his erection twitching under you even through the layers of clothes.

“Sorry baby” he whispers as his mouth chases yours, his gaze on you drunk and wanting. “Can’t really help it” the chuckle he lets out changes into a gasp when your hand shifts to palm him through his pants.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” you ask teasingly, a grin adorning your face as you leave his lap to kneel at his feet. He looks down at you speechless as you fiddle with his belt. “I know a way to make you feel better about all of this” He’s dreaming. This can’t be real.

“Sure but angel you– wh– you don’t have to–” he babbles as you’re working on freeing him of his confined space.

“I want to” you declare as you take his cock out, and fuck he’s hard and he’s huge and the heat pooling at your belly is becoming more and more pronounced. “If it’s okay” you look up at him, raising your eyebrows awaiting approval.

“Of course it is but we can– you don’t have to– oh shit” his pleas die on his tongue as you take him in your mouth, softly sucking his head as your hand strokes him. “Oh fuck” he groans, his head hitting the back of your couch.

This is a dream, it all happened so fast and there’s no way it’s real, he’s having another one of those dreams with you he’s so ashamed of, you never woke him up from his accidental nap on your couch, he’s still sleeping and this is not actually happening. 

Coming back to reality will be hard because fuck this feels so good and he’ll probably have to lock himself in your bathroom to actually get some relief once he wakes up.

He is confirmed of the realness of the situation when you grip the side of his thigh as if to tell him look at me while you softly lick the underside of him, shifting to trace every vein along his length, pre cum dripping from the head to coat your tongue.

“Is this okay?” you ask pulling away, the tip of your fingers still gently skimming his throbbing cock. He laughs at your question.

“Baby fuck–” he bucks into your hand after you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip. “Yes of course it’s okay” he chuckles as his hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “It’s more than okay” he declares as he looks down at you with lustful, dark half lidded eyes.

“Good” you smile up at him before sinking down and taking him fully at once without warning.

The moan that escapes his mouth is sinful and it makes you clench, and the light tug after his fingers shift to grip your hair goes straight to your cunt. 

You take him as deeply as you can, going up and down, tongue swirling around him from time to time. His head falls back against your couch once again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as his grip on your hair tightens.

“Holy shit dove– I don’t think I’m gonna last long” he manages to breathe out between whimpers, tightening his free hand into a fist to prevent himself from cumming right then and there into your mouth.

Then you pull away and he groans.

“What the fuck?” he asks startled as you get up, leaving him twitching and wanting, the feeling of his approaching orgasm slowly fading away.

“Jeez stop being so impatient” you taunt as you start unbuttoning your trousers, and his expression is priceless once he realizes what you have in mind.

“Oh–” you teasingly smile at him and slide your trousers down your legs. “Baby it’s not that I don’t want to but I don’t have any condoms and I can pull out but you know how cursed I am with all of this and–”

“I’m clean and on birth control it’s okay Llewyn” you cut him off of his tirade as you step out of the trousers at your ankles, throwing them to the side. “If you don’t want to do that it’s okay, I can finish you off by–”

You’re cut off when he grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer to the couch he’s sitting on, and you know he’s in for the ride – quite literally – when his thumbs hook into the hem of your underwear to slide them down your legs. He does the same, fully taking off his slacks and underwear and throwing them over the armchair across your couch.

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess, and even though his dick is aching and begging for release he takes his sweet time gazing at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You softly smile at him, brushing back the raven curls falling over his forehead, and giggles escape from your mouth when he unexpectedly drags you so you can straddle his lap.

He kisses all along your jawline, beard softly tickling your skin as he lavishes your neck next, his hands roaming along your curves, his right hand stopping between your thighs, two of his fingers gathering the slick of your folds.

“Shit– you’re fucking dripping” he breathes out against your neck, making you whimper at his touch. “Did you get that wet just from blowing me?” he teases, and you tug at the curls on the back of his head before reconnecting your lips to his, feeling him smirk against them.

Llewyn groans in your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his cock and slowly pump it, and he knows for sure that the gasp you let out when you slowly but easily sink down on his length will be engraved in his mind.

“Holy shit” you pant, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder once you’re fully seated on his throbbing length.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand anchored at your hip and the other one softly trailing up your bare back underneath your shirt.

“Yeah” you breathe out, frantically nodding against him as your arms wrap around his neck, and you slowly start rocking your hips. The little whimpers he lets out are music to your ears, and the way he softly gasps your name has you clenching around him.

“Fuck angel you’re so fucking tight” Llewyn hisses, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as you thrust down on him, finally finding a steady pace that leaves the both of you sweating and panting, clinging to each other. “Taking me so fucking well” he grunts against the exposed skin of your neck, the roughness of his beard tickling the sensitive area. Tugging on his hair so he can look back at you, his hips jerk up, and you pull him in for a hungry kiss. 

Of course he would like you pulling on his hair.

Happy with the reaction it elicited from him and the information you just got, your hands are gripping on his curls as you roll your hips against him. He practically fucks his tongue into your mouth, and you almost choke into the kiss when his thumb meets and massages your clit in small circles.

You gasp his name, and his hand that was stroking your back earlier is now tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as he drinks in the sight of you using him for your pleasure. 

“Wanna make you cum first” his voice is rough and deep with lust, and the way you bite on your lower lip as you slightly flutter around him because of his words seem to encourage him; his grip against your hips becomes more and more firm and controlling, his pelvis thrusting up into you with a force that you hadn’t expected from him, his movements meeting yours and making you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Fucking hell Llewyn” it comes out as a sigh, but if the walls of your apartment weren’t so thin you would have at least screamed it.

You know he won’t have much work to do as you can already feel yourself nearing your climax; it’s all starting to become too much, but the good kind of too much. 

You gasp in surprise when Llewyn manhandles you with the force you ignored he still had from his merchant marines days and knocks over one of the glasses of wine on the coffee table, the liquid pouring all over the surface and dripping down onto your wooden floor. 

“Shit Llewyn” you gasp, pushing your nails deeper into his arms. 

It’s honestly a miracle you managed not to fall and you back landed on the couch correctly.

The mission isn’t a complete success, but you’re too caught up in the moment to stop because of some stupid wine so you just manage to tell him “Fuck it just keep going” while wrapping your legs around his waist so he keeps going, even more fervently.

You’re now laying on your couch, Llewyn hovering over you and hitting deeper spots inside of you, each movement faster than the previous one; the wet sounds between your legs are lewd and get even filthier each time he pounds into you. 

He’s close. You can see it, you can feel it by the way his thrusts stutter slightly. 

His head tilts down to where you’re connected, watching himself disappear inside of you, bringing his hand to you clit again.

“Fuck are you gonna cum for me baby?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust and desire as he toys and rubs circles over your aching clit.

You whimper and hiss and cry his name as you get lost in the feeling of his fingers and his hips ramming further into you, all the tension in your body morphing into waves of pleasure as you reach your climax, fluttering around him and cumming in silent gasps.

Llewyn is quick to follow you as your orgasm was all he was waiting for to finally let himself go; his movements become sloppier and his hips start to stutter, his eyes finally rolling to the back of his head and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stills, his cock spurting his cum deep inside of you. 

He grunts, and your head falls back into the couch as you feel drained of all your energy. Llewyn curses under his breath as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, panting, before pulling out and collapsing on top of you, his head resting against your chest. 

You both catch your breaths, staying here for a while with your fingers softly running through his hair before you start blissfully laughing, all the tension and seriousness of the situation fading away. 

He rests his head to the side, facing the scenery of the knocked over glasses still swaying over your coffee table. “Fucking hell your floor” he gasps before looking up at you, realizing the mess you have made with the wine.

“I’ll just put a rug over the stain I guess” you sigh. “It was worth it” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “I’m glad you didn’t take advice from Jean after all”

“What?” he asks, still dizzy from his climax.

“Not fucking anyone ever again, remember?” you ask and he laughs, getting up and walking to where he left his clothes to get dressed again.

“Yeah, well you better be consistent on your birth control because apparently my spermatozoids are warriors, and I wouldn’t want Jean to make a point” he chuckles as he slides into his slacks.

“We should be fine” you mutter while sitting up, reaching to pick your underwear from the floor. “I’ll call you if I need an abortion” you joke, standing up to put your underwear back on. “Ugh fuck” you whine picking up your trousers, seeing the wine stain covering it.

“I’ll help you clean and I’ll just… go” he mutters, scratching his forehead.

“Why do you wanna go” you ask absent-mindedly, walking to the kitchen to try to save your trousers from the wine stain.

“I don’t know” he declares following you into the kitchen before standing against your counter, hands gripping the edge of it. You look at him and he looks absent, livid, almost sick, and it is too much just for it to be his post-orgasm haze. 

You frown, and when you realize why he might want to leave your heart breaks a little.

“Did I do or say something wrong?” you ask. Maybe the abortion joke was too much, maybe you got fooled and he was just horny and needed to let it out of his system and regretted it now. “Llewyn do you…” you fully turn towards him, searching for your words. “Do you think this was a mistake?” you ask looking back at him, letting the garment rest in the sink. “Us sleeping together?”

“Me? No” he scoffs. The tension hangs in the air as you’re waiting for him to elaborate. “I figured you would”

You sigh and take a step closer to him.

“Llewyn no… Why would I?” you chuckle, almost offended at the thought.

“I don’t know. Nothing I do is ever good so why would this be any different?” he shrugs, closing his belt.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and shaking your head.

“No. You’re a fucking idiot.” you mutter under your breath.

“I know.” he replies quickly, not wasting one second. He walks back to your living room, gathering his stuff to go, really wanting to avoid having a fight with you, and preparing to leave like he had planned to.

“I don’t mean it like that. You wanna know why you’re a fucking idiot?” you ask rhetorically, following him closely. “You think you’re not good enough for everything you do in life when truth is, you’re just really unlucky.” you declare, “And you act like a jerk because you’re scared of actually succeeding in something.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Well surely you’re right about that too” he scoffs, pulling out his cigarette pack from his pocket.

“Don’t smoke inside of my apartment” you hiss. 

“I told you, I’m leaving.” he almost immediately snaps, putting the cigarette in his shirt pocket, taking his guitar case and his box of things, his coat thrown over it.

You sigh and put a hand over your forehead, and watch as he passes in front of you to go to your entry. 

It is now or never, or else it will never be the same. Tonight you had taken a step forward, but by taking this step forward you had also taken two steps backwards, and if you didn’t try to save this now it would never be saved.

“Llewyn” you call, and something breaks inside him at the sound of your voice. You had never called his name so weakly, so pleadingly.

He turns and finally looks at you, establishing eye contact for more than five seconds for the first time since your sexual encounter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucked this up too, didn’t I” he mutters, and you pinch your lips as it is your turn to shake your head as you step closer to him.

“No. No you didn’t.”

He looks down at the stuff he’s carrying and sighs.

“I don’t really wanna go.” he declares softly.

“Then stay,” you nod. “Please. I don’t want you to go.” you say as you take a step forward, taking the box from his hands. “If you leave I would need to run after you in just my shirt and underwear, and frankly I don’t want to do that” you smile slightly as you put his stuff down on the floor.

He laughs and puts the rest of his belongings on the floor too, and when he looks back at you he notices you’re still looking down on the floor, gaze lost in your thoughts.

“Honey is there–”

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?” you cut him off, looking back at him. 

“No. Of course not. I’d do it again.” he declares. “I mean if–”

“I get it. Don’t worry” you chuckle. 

A small silence fills the room before you get an idea.

“Hey, follow me” you say as you tilt your head. You cross your small apartment, Llewyn following you closely, grabbing your wrist as you push your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart I’d love to but I don’t think I can go again– I mean not right now”

“I’m not bringing you here to have sex again” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips as you see his face relaxing and his hold on your wrist loosening up. You sit on the edge of your bed, and he watches you from a distance, leaning against the doorframe. “Come here” you call, patting the spot right beside you. Llewyn hesitantly sits beside you, and his gaze shifts to your face when you grab his hand.

“This could be your bed, if you wanted it to be.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. “You wouldn’t have to sleep on my couch again. Or any other couch.” you declare, brushing back his unkempt hair, and he looks at the bed behind him as if to contemplate what he could have. 

He looks back at you, and he knows that he knows his answer. He doesn’t hesitate for one second on what he would rather have, because if he could be by your side forever, he would be. But something inside of him is not sure if you want him to be by your side forever.

He nods. He nods and he licks his lips in reflection, and he looks back at the bed before looking back at you again. “I don’t want this to be exclusively sexual” he declares, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Me neither” you smile, a wide smile that makes his heart sink. You grab his face and kiss him, and he savors this kiss like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. But if kissing you was the last thing he’d do, he would be satisfied with that.

You pull away from his lips and lay down on the bed, and his hand rests against your bare thigh while he looks at you. And he looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He lays down next to you with a grunt, facing the ceiling, and you prop yourself against your elbow to face him.

“I’ll just ask you one thing” you declare, firmly looking at him.

“Mh?” he hums, looking at you.

You lick your lips and let your fingers trail along the side of his face. 

“Stop thinking you don’t deserve anything good.” you whisper, and his face shifts so he can kiss the tip of your fingers.

“Eh, I’ll try,” he smirks, shrugging. You shake your head and lean down to kiss him again, but he hovers over you and pins you down before you have the chance to do it.

You laugh and he kisses you, hungrily, and shifts down to leave a trail of kisses to your neck and collarbone as a defeated sigh escapes your mouth.

“Okay so I’ll give you time to work on the imposter syndrome. But now we can only have sex if you promise me you won’t hate yourself after we’re done”

He pulls away from your skin, and looks up at you. 

“I can do that.”

You spend a long night offering Llewyn your bed, the uncleaned stain of wine on your floor long forgotten.

But at least years later, when you’re engaged to Llewyn and packing to move out somewhere bigger and the time comes when you have to remove the rug, it reminds you of that specific night, and you can’t help the fluttering feeling of the butterflies in your stomach, accompanied right away by a tiny kick. The very first one.

—

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521

[mrhaitch]

how do you deal with insecurities regarding your writing? i feel like i vacillate violently between “oh i’m pretty good actually” and “i am the worst writer on the planet”. this is also specifically with creative writing. like, when it comes to academic writing i’m really confident in myself and my abilities, and i feel like that’s because i find it easier to objectively judge my own academic writing? like i can tell when it’s good and when it kind of sucks a little, but i don’t know how to extend the same objectivity to creative stuff, so i guess the default ends up becoming that it’s horrible.

i used to write a lot just for fun but i don’t really do that anymore because i end up getting too invested in whether it’s “good” or not and then it just stops being fun, which sucks, but i also need it to be good for me to have fun with it, which just ends up being a vicious cycle. the last time i wrote just for fun was maybe a year ago? i tried really hard to let go of the “this has to be a masterpiece” mindset, so i wrote some fanfiction because well it doesn’t get more “for fun” and self indulgent than that. i posted a couple on tumblr, and i wasn’t exactly expecting much traction, so i wasn’t disappointed or anything when i didn’t get a lot out of the fandom, but i did get a couple really nasty asks. (i guess that’s on me for posting on tumblr lol.) as far as i could tell, it was just one person who was really, really invested in making me miserable. it was kind of stupid but there was just so much of it. at first it was just racism about how i’m not white so i should stop using english because i don’t know how to, which i don’t care about because i’m perfectly aware that my English is more than fine (not that this ask is indicative of anything, i promise i know how to capitalise and use proper punctuation and better grammar). but they said this one thing that i keep thinking about literally a whole year later: “i’m an english teacher, and i’ve used your writing as a sample of what not to do while writing”.

…yeah. so that was just a teensy bit insane!! like they’d called my writing trash in a variety of ways before that, but that last thing was just ??? what do you even say to that?? it was just for fun, i wasn’t trying to be a modern Dostoevsky or anything, but holy shit, was it actually that bad??? (i ask, as if you would be able to judge having never read my writing.) but anyway, i haven’t been able to stop thinking about that, and every time i start writing something now, i have a bit of a “would this be used as the bad writing sample in an english class?” moment.

I believe I answered a couple of similar asks recently.

The short answer is: that feeling of insecurity doesn't go away, but you do eventually learn to pick your battles. Wondering about the tastes of a hypothetical audience is an ever shifting target and unhelpful, so instead aim to satisfy your own tastes.

But I think you know that already.

As for the person giving you shit - honestly fuck them off into a bin. The glorious thing about the internet is if someone acts like a prick, you can bin them and move on - very easily. I have noticed a tendency within Fanfiction communities to be cutting, graceless, and viciously unkind even though the stakes are (as we all know) very, very low.

I reckon it stems from their own feelings of insecurity - that FF isn't real writing (it is, don't let anyone tell you different), so they feel the need to enforce some backasswards, arbitrary standard to create an air of respectability. Trust me - I've been in workshops and swapped work with some incredible, successful authors and this level of backbiting and cruelty is completely alien to me.

So, again: have fun, write what you love, and if someone gives you shit for it, kick them in the shins without breaking your stride.

Or, to put it another way:

[thistableforone]

piling up here some tag games I’ve been tagged in ✨ pt. 3

🌼 this picrew chain - tagged by @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare

i'm so late to this but!! very cute

🌸 5 songs you’re loving right now - tagged by @julesnichols

i'm afraid these are mostly in italian rn ahah

too sweet (hozier)

considera (colapesce e dimartino)

so american (olivia rodrigo)

euforia (annalisa)

modì (gio evan)

ragazzi fuori (clara)

rocketship (llunr)

aria (margherita vicario)

picture you (mumford and sons)

ted lasso anthem (marcus mumford). always.

🌻 15 questions, 15 friends - tagged by @julesnichols

are you named after anyone? nope, no one. my dad just liked the name

when was the last time you cried? i don't remember clearly. maybe last week?

do you have kids? no thank you

what sports do you play/have played? i don't play anything currently, but i used to play volleyball when i was a kid (+ swimming for a couple of months)

do you use sarcasm? not much

what is the first thing you notice about people? the general vibe really, and if they smile or not.

what is your eye color? brown

scary movies or happy endings? i don't watch scary movies!! definitely happy endings :)

any talents? mhh... writing? taking nice pictures? but those don't really feels like talents...

where were you born? north of italy!!

do you have any pets? i have two babies (my cats)

how tall are you? 1,67 m more or less

favorite subject in the school? math, but at the end of high school i really loved literature, english, politics and IT, too.

dream job? as someone said, i simply don't dream of working :)

🏵️ 20 questions for fic writers - tagged by @beckstraordinary

How many works do you have on AO3? 20, a very nice round number!!

What's your total AO3 word count? apparently around 198,713

What fandoms do you write for? i currently write for the ted lasso fandom only

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Breaking down (the walls) - hope you'll be safe (in the arms of another) - Touch me (like you do) - we should just kiss (like real people do) - no one's keeping score

Do you respond to comments? yes i do!!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? i think i only wrote one and it was a ff about maura isles

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? it's rather hard to compare happy endings, so i can't choose

Do you get hate on fics? it hasn't happened yet

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes i do, that's how i started basically (i miss it a bit, recently i've not been in the mood much). i'd say that my smut is... unnecessarily long and emotional. i fully believe it's a great way to understand who a character is.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? i wrote two - one was a castle x rizzoli and isles crossover about kate and maura together in college that i dnf-ed at a certain point. the second was this supergirl x rizzoli and isles crossover i'm still very fond of. i had so much fun writing that, and i still think it makes perfect sense :)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of

Have you ever had a fic translated? yes, very recently!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? no, i don't think i could

What’s your all time favorite ship? i don't think i have one above all. i was really into caskett (castle) and supercorp (supergirl), but now i've grown past both, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? i have a supercorp wip that i thought was very cute

What are your writing strengths? i think... construction of the line as a whole, if that makes sense. i try to make the words flow well and sound nice together. also dialogue, showing emotions through little gestures, intimacy, and lately introspection.

What are your writing weaknesses? i can't for the life of me write descriptions. of anything. i hate adjectives. i also get hyperfocused on the dynamic between two characters and refrain from including anyone else. oh also worldbuilding/background stuff... i just don't care.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i don't think i've ever included it. but if i had to, i would do it with my own language.

First fandom you wrote for? only italians will get this one... un medico in famiglia. i still remember the first time inspiration hit.

Favourite fic you’ve written? definitely you said yes as I said please. i'm so proud of it and i was really inspired!!

no pressure tags, for whichever game you want to participate in!! @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare @rancoreedisprezzo @julesnichols @calicomarie11 @fuddlewuddle

[pprodsuga]

omggg a snippet just for meeee i'm so honoured u wanted to share something with lil 'ol me. stop it before i develop a parasocial relationship with you...

on a different note, if u will allow me to rant for one wee second.. this is completely irrelevant to anything but i was looking for some romcom novels to read (bc i need to stop letting fanfiction consume me), and tell me why authors pick the ugliest most generic ytest names. i haven't read a real book in a while and i'm so used to reading ff now where even side characters have korean names that the switch over back to western books is awful. i had to stop my search bc wtf is GARRETT and TUCKER. ik a korean name is just a name, there's nothing objectively special, but it's just more unique in the sense that i don't see it often outside of media. the only way to get around this is fantasy books where the names aren't even real names (thank god the book im currently reading is fantasy). PLEASE can i just get an ethnic name and maybe more ethnic characters or something... sob. i just want a college romcom to cope so i can get away from college au's😭 yeah it's fucked for me. thank u for listening to my unsolicited bitch sesh

-comet

just for you, for always being so thoughtful in your words. more under the cut to spare the dash.

your first messages back in june struck a chord within me for two reasons: talking about my writing was an incredibly kind thing for you to do and it validated the hell out of my work. but also, i was experiencing a lot of friendship turmoil that i had to navigate (re: why i wrote never to keep).

i don’t know if i’ve ever expressed just how grateful i am to have read your messages at that time because for that entire month, i felt like i did not have anyone in my life to back me up when i stood up for myself. knowing that you thought i must be someone with a great deal of empathy and kindness restored a bit of faith in me and who i am as a friend. i reread your message over and over again until i could remind myself that i am who i am for a reason. so thank you.

character names are something i think about a lot, both in fanfics and regular fiction. i’m oftentimes taken out of the story when it feels so incredibly yt (but go figure, i’m not white but have a “white” name so i understand that there is some nuance sprinkled in there). but sometimes we just crave that subtle representation in an ethnic name so i don’t have to wait for the author to explain that they’re not….white. in every sense of the word. but like if you’re gonna pick a white name then at least make them sound HOT?

onto the snippet! i’m excited to post this one. no idea when i’ll finish writing/editing but i’m excited that you’re excited. not providing context bc im a menace and will make you wait. 😎 (thank you for being excited.)

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Sunghoon turns to look at you. “You were always the most unpredictable part of my day.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah. You moved into the apartment next to mine and running into you a few times a week kept me on my toes. I don’t know. I guess I saw you as someone I would have potentially befriended. I could at least pretend I was coming home to talk to someone who cared.” 

“That’s…very sweet. You’re a nice person, Sunghoon.” 

He sighs. “I don’t feel that way. I don’t know when I’m gonna see my family and friends again and explain all of this, but I'm starting to get the feeling that they’ll never hear from me and they’ll never know what happened tonight.” 

“You know,” you begin, “a lot of my life was spent moving from place to place and never having anything or anyone to call home. I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you to leave everything behind. For that, I truly am sorry.”

“It’s really not your fault,” Sunghoon says dryly. “Whoever tried to kill you should get a bullet to his head.” He hears you laugh awkwardly.

“Yeah, well that likely wouldn’t solve our problems.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t think that man acted on his own accord. It’s too professional to assume he’s working alone.” 

“You’re saying he’s working with someone else?” 

“Or, he’s working for someone.” 

Sunghoon gulps. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The price of freedom is high. Remember that.” 

“You know, none of this explains how you know what you’re doing. If you know, for that matter.” 

He doesn’t hear you move for a short while and closes his eyes shut. Once again, he’s found himself slipping up and saying things that don't translate well. Too afraid to speak, Sunghoon considers sleeping and dealing with his actions in the morning. 

“I know what I’m doing because I’ve done it before,” you say through the darkness. “When your whole life revolves around survival, you adapt to the best of your ability and do anything to stay alive. I’ve learned a few things from my time on the run so please know that I know what I’m doing.”

“Who are you?” 

The room is silent. 

“Someone you can trust.” 

[soccerpunching]

2, 4, AND 11 OF THE SAPPHIC ENGOUKIDOU MAGICAL GIRLS AU PLEASEE EVER SINCE I FIRST SAW U MENTION IT I WAS HOOKED IMMEDIATELY LORE PLSSS 🙏🙏🙏

[Image Description: darkmode screenshot of white text that says: Reblog if you are a fanfiction author and would like your readers to put one of your fic titles in your ask + questions about it. End of description.]

Thank you so much for asking about that story!! It's only been for a month and a few weeks in my head but it's already taking over my life. I'm glad you liked it aaaaaaaa I'll make sure to keep writing it afasdsafshdfgsd

To everybody else who has not heard of it before, you can read a brief introduction to it here!!

Sapphic EnGouKidou Magical Girls AU

2: What scene did you first put down?

I didn't mention this but this fic is originally a canon divergent AU where Kidou won consecutively in the FF and Gouenji and Endou didn't meet in middle school; it's engoukidou back then too. So the original dialogues and scenes have that context first before it was ever a Magical Girls AU. It goes roughly like this (this is still Haruna and Kidou's situation here btw):

Haruna: And since when did I say that?! Kidou: !! Haruna: You think this is what I want?! To live in this... stupidly fancy mansion with a full course buffet everyday?!! Is that what you thought when you... when you chose this stupid trophy!! *shoves it on his chest* when you chose winning over contacting me?!! Kidou: *voice breaking* I didn't-- I thought--!! Haruna: Yeah, exactly!! You thought!! Because you didn't think it was worth listening to me!!

I recreated it here and I still think about this... It turned into a Magical Girls AU because I wanted there to be a way for these three to act where they're away from expectations of the people in their lives and prying eyes. This also includes from each other's (because Gouenji and Kidou have a bad history and Endou initially wants to be liked by and befriend Gouenji and vice versa) and it turns out they like being silly and fighting crimes while wearing skirts (only 2 out of 3 of them likes the skirt actually)!!

4: What's your favorite line of dialogue?

I have two sets, but it's not written to be posted yet and this story is at the early parts of creation overall so the scenes and dialogues are probably going to change, but it's so funny to me. They're all transformed as magical girls in these scenes. I use the pronouns they currently use for themselves on the narration and since this is right at the start of the story, they mostly use he/him. Kidou also has an army of penguins as his weapon, I will elaborate next time.

Kidou: *takes the small penguin with a similar cape to him, thinking for a while* Call me Hotaru. *extends his hand* Endou: *shakes the beautiful lady's hands vigorously* MAMO--MAM-- MOMOKO!! Kidou: *sweatdrops with a small smile* Did you just come up with that? Endou: N--NO!! Kidou: *scoffs in amusement* of course...

-- Different scene and chapter --

Kidou: I'm Hotaru and that one shouting over there is my partner Momoko Gouenji: *nods* Nice to meet you... *ties the villains even tighter with his fire laso, not really trying to ignore him* Kidou: Kidou: So what's your name? Gouenji: --Huh? Kidou: Your name? Gouenji: *blinks then looks at Kidou then at the villains* Gouenji: I don't want to tell... Kidou: I didn't tell anyone my real name either-- Endou: YOUR NAME'S NOT HOTARU?! Kidou: *hand on hip* You lied to me about yours too. Endou: N-No--How did you find out?!?

It's my favorite lines of dialogues so far since I haven't written much about it unlike my other WIPs. It's my newest one so far as the others already have months in the making. This will change in the future...

11: What do you like best about this fic?

It's so interesting to write or imagine how the break trio (and the other characters) would be if they were given the chance to wear a mask and not care about the people's expectations of them. We all know how both Kidou and Gouenji only bares themselves to very few people and that Endou most often than not wants to be the support that someone needs (in a bit of a people pleasing degree at rare times too).

Even if Kidou is canonically a trauma-dumper, he still put a face (to everyone who isn't Endou) whenever he's interacting bcs he's always aware that all of his actions have consequences for the Kidou Conglomerate. As for Gouenji, he canonically has only told his problems to Endou and have dangerous levels of following people's expectations of him ((his father + his friends expecting a powerful shoot (only what he thinks bcs they just want him to play soccer actually)).

So anyway, I think escapism would bring an interesting layer to their characters and them being an egg in the story is just probably me projecting or that I'm adding another layer to their characters.

Thank you so much for caring about this story and asking about it so much omg 🥺

Sana masarap ulam mo everyday 🥹🥹

Ask about my WIPs here

[think-ill-watch-it-burn]

Hiiii my sweet babies!! 🥰

I don't have anything new to post, but I did want to let any die-hards still out there following me know that I'M STILL ALIVE and doing far, far better than I was the past few times I posted.

The Good News - since things have settled down some more in my life - finally - I'd like to start to get back into writing!

The... Potentially Disappointing News - I'm not sure how much writing I'll be doing for FF, at least for the time being. I'm going to try to ease back into it, but I can't lie - it does remind me a bit of some of the worst times of my life. BUT I've never let that stop me before, and to be completely honest, you guys - my followers and the FF community as a whole - also helped me through those hard times more than you'll ever know. It might sound silly but you guys were the brightest light in some of the deepest darkness I've ever encountered. I'd like to thank each and every one of you for that, from the bottom of my heart!

I'm going to share a little bit about what's going on in my life under the cut if anyone's interested. But for now, sadly, this is both an I MISS YOU and a hiatus post for now for my FF family. I promise I'll try to respond to some of the requests and asks currently in my inbox, and I may post a little bit for my current obsessions (anyone still playing Mass Effect: Andromeda? No? Just me? 😅). And with season 3 just over the horizon - I'll be back. We all know I won't be able to stay away. I just need some more sweet, sweet Konro in my life. 🥰

Anywho, I just wanted to say HIII to everyone and let you all know I'm not just alive but thriving and happy. And that, sooner or later, in one form or another, I'll be back. ❤️

So, going to try to keep it brief. I think I mentioned something about my daughter going into foster care, having left my abusive ex and fighting to get custody of her back. Well, if I didn't update on it since then... I did, ultimately, lose custody of her and she was adopted by her foster family. The GOOD NEWS!! They're amazing people, spoil her and her adoptive brothers rotten, and treat me like a part of the family. So despite things not going the way I hoped, they turned out better than I could have imagined.

Since then I've met a wonderful man who treats me like a princess. We have a son now, four months old (born two months premature but thriving now), and moved from Pennsylvania USA to Florida USA. I always wanted to move south but... I think I may have overshot the mark, LOL. It is HOT! My pasty northern ass WAS NOT prepared. My overconfidence faded fast when I stepped outside, melted, and proceeded to drink the air-soup this past summer. We're coming into the cooler season now and for the first time ever in my entire life I'm actually looking forward to winter!

My daughter and family are coming down just after Thanksgiving and we're meeting up - it'll be the first time I get to see her in person in over a year AND she gets to meet her baby brother! She's soooo excited to meet him - I'm off the radar for her but she's beside herself waiting to meet him! LOL

We also added a furry child to the mix - a kitty named Fox - and my boyfriend's dad (with whom we currently stay) has a sweet little long haired chihuahua with an underbite named Harley. His teefs are the best. And our son is his absolute best friend in the world. He waits outside our bedroom door every morning to come in and say hi! Fox... actively avoids, but he's coming around. I think.

That about sums it up. Not only am I no longer wallowing in misery but life is finally pretty good. I hope all my babies are also doing well in these wild times we're having (especially here in the US). Stay safe and happy my friends. We'll see each other again real soon. ❤️❤️❤️

[milliesfishes]

ty for tagging me <3 taking a break from writing to answer lol

1. Is writing a hobby or a way of life?

I've been writing my entire life, and honestly even though I call it a hobby, I think about it and do it so much that it could be considered a way of life. FF isn't the only thing I write either- I write essays, songs, poetry, short stories- so I'm constantly in my head imagining and constructing <3

2. A journal full of notes, or a clean completed manuscript?

A journal full of notes, purely because of the possibilities that stem from it. With a completed manuscript I'm more anxious about whether or not I chose the right direction, whether I interpreted characters correctly, etc.

3. Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

Literally everything. Everything can be romantic, everything can be poetic. But most consistently, it's the media I consume- books, music, movies, art, etc. There are stories in every piece of art created, and I glean them to write in different words later.

4. Which is worse: Someone you “idolize” reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

It depends, because I've posted first drafts on here before, then gone back and edited slightly. And I was/am a theater kid, and I sing very consistently and like it. So I think they would be equally bad/good.

5. Has writing from someone else’s POV changed your perspective?

Writing from anyone's POV forces the author to humanize them, find good and bad in them both. We often characterize people both real and fake as black and white, when really we're all some shade of grey. I've learned that both from life and writing. Particularly right now, with the characters I write for. Billy and Coryo are two ends of the same stick- they've both done bad things, but one's moral compass is a little more centered then the other. One doesn't have to agree with their choices to understand them.

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

Right now my main squeeze is Tumblr, but I've written for AO3, FFN, and Wattpad as well throughout the years.

7. AO3 word count? And are you satisfied with it?

80,281. It's alright considering I only have one fic there.

8. What movie/book gripped you irrevocably?

It's a long list. I am a neurodivergent person, which means I hyperfixate like c r a z y. There've been sooooo many movies and books in particular that had a serious chokehold on me and affected who I've become.

Including but not limited to: Titanic, TSITP, Daisy Jones and the Six, Alice in Wonderland, the Metamorphosis, Bridgerton, The Giver, La La Land, Mamma Mia, The Wizard of Oz, Gone With the Wind, The Great Gatsby, and Romeo and Juliet.

More recently: TBOSAS (obviously), A Farewell to Arms (will probably be obsessed with the movie once it comes out too since Tom's starring), and Priscilla (where my profile pic comes from)

9. What’s the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

I've been given so many lovely compliments on my writing since starting on here, and it's hard to pick just one. I always love it when people tell me they like my writing style, or say that I know the characters I write for really well, because I put a lot of work into it. But truly, any compliment is the highest compliment, and I go back to my treasure box tag and read what y'all have said about me all the time <3

10. What defines your writing style?

I don't have good self-awareness, but based on what others have told me: poetic and angsty word choice.

tagging other authors: @runningfrom2am @casualhedonists

10 Questions for 10 Writers

Thank you @sassyandclassy94 !!

1. Is writing a hobby or a way of life?

Just a hobby, but one I enjoy IMMENSELY!!

2. A journal full of notes, or a clean completed manuscript?

Clean completed manuscript!

3. Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

Hmm. Good question. I think my inspiration is just “write what you want to read”, because I started writing cause I wanted something very specific that I wasn’t finding in that fandom!

4. Which is worse: Someone you “idolize” reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

Um I think it would depend on the draft we’re talking about. Some, I wouldn’t mind. Others, well… not so much! And I will sing in groups and in front of family, so honestly I really don’t know. I guess I would maybe go with someone I look up to reading my first draft.

5. Has writing from someone else’s POV changed your perspective?

I don’t really think so, at least not that I can recall.

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

AO3 is my jam!

7. AO3 word count? And are you satisfied with it?

71,280. Um… I think so, overall? I’d love to write more though. (I thought it would be higher tbh)

8. What movie/book gripped you irrevocably?

How to Train Your Dragon! My first fanfiction was for Tangled, but then I started writing my Tangled/HTTYD crossover fanfic, and realized how much I LOVE to write Hiccup. So now my biggest fandom on AO3 is HTTYD!

9. What’s the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

I was recently told someone loved my writing style, so that’s a pretty high compliment that I’ll take!! I was SO happy receiving that comment

10. What defines your writing style?

I… do not know. Probably the whump that makes its way into almost each one, if I’m being honest😂

Tags: @milliesfishes @francixoxoxo

If you’re a writer and you see this, you’re tagged! I don’t know a lot of writers on here, so if you see this I tag you!🫶🏻

[thestrangestinthisstrangeland]

As We Lay Dreaming- chapter 11

warnings -talk of and hurt caused by losing a child

summary -Love is so complicated and comes in many forms. The past holds some heavy truths and we may not always be ready for what we learn, but in the end, when it's real, it does tend to find a way of working out eventually.

AN-For anyone who has not read the books, please know all of the gorgeous tension between Dream and Calliope simply does not exist in the books.

Because I wrote this part of the story months before the show came out, the Calliope I'm writing is from the books, in case you're a little confused as to why their dynamics or lack of are so different from the show.

But I think most of us can agree that the show version of Dream and Calliope deserve their own ff because, WOW!

AO3

masterlist

*

When I open my eyes, we say nothing.

I sit up and let him pull me from the bed, leaving my sleeping body behind to lift into the waiting arms of Morpheus, floating like a dream within a dream.

The light stroke of his fingers along my bare arm and the firm pressure of his hand against the small of my back are the perfect expressions of his love and his mood.

My eyes closed, head on his shoulder and hand holding the curve of his neck, I sink into the dark, swept away by the undercurrent of being ushered from the room.

For the first time, I am entirely free of the only person who could have kept us apart. No longer burdened with the waiting time, no longer worried that I might be pulled from my sleep too soon, I am here in the home I chose, with the one I love, all without fear.

In the waking world, I lay spent and happy in a deep sleep, unaware that Dream is leaving but blissfully ignorant in my big bed because I know that everything will be alright; I can feel it with every flutter of my eyelids and twitch of my limbs as I sink into r.e.m. I'll never truly be alone unless I want to be.

Holding his one hand with my two now, I let him take me, not to the bedroom door or even the window. Instead, we go to a door angled in the farthest corner.

Was it always there?

The wood molding is a deeply stained mahogany that shines in the lamplight of my room. I can make out the detailed carvings of faces. Breathing, smiling, frowning —sleeping. They are no one and everyone. They are the dreaming people of the world who rest in his realm, and this is one of many gateways into it.

The realization makes me step back; I have not stood at his gates, or door for that matter, in so long.

It makes me feel very small and very human.

I watch Dream raise his hand, as elegant as a pianist, but how he holds his power, contorted in his long fingers that reach and command, is frightening —he hesitates.

The way stays shut.

"Would you prefer just to sleep?" He asks without looking down at me. I think it's occurred to him that I might not want to come.

Do I? We've been together for a day and a night; that's hardly enough.

I step around him, holding his one hand tight, and find the concern carved deep in the brow of the Endless. I will smooth that line with a kiss later, but for now, I reach over and raise his arm again until he understands. I don't want senseless dreams I'll forget before I open my eyes. I want him.

Dream hides his relief, or so he thinks.

He keeps his head down but looks to the door again, brings his hand up, and with all the effort it takes a man to start a car, he opens the door. Together we step through into a light brighter than any I've ever seen or felt.

The instant freefall feels almost like flying.

It happens so quickly I don't have time to be scared. I blink, draw a breath, and then I'm here, standing in the back garden.

Surprised, I hold my arms out to find the slip is gone, and my gown is on. Tonight the black hangs from two silver drops of moonlight that rest on my shoulders, the fine fabric dips low down my back and clings to every curve. In the far windows, I catch a glimpse of my reflection and see that my hair has been braided down in six thick rows with bands of silver light woven through each plait. I am radiant.

More gifts from the Shaper. Is this how he sees me or how I see myself? Maybe it's a little of both; either way, he is so good to me…

I turn to thank him, but some of the dream things have already come out to greet us. They are little wisps that look something like cats? But they turn in on themselves in ways that make me shudder. Still, they are funny and harmless. One of the smallest tries to get me to chase it, which I do in vain until finally, the odd little thing leaps up onto my shoulder. The sound of its purring hits somewhere between a growl and the low rudder of an old boat.

I have to admit; I love that I've become so welcome here in this kingdom. It's strange to think there was a time I didn't know about it.

When I look up at Dream, I see that he feels the same.

I swear I can see tears sparkling along his black lash line-- and that is most definitely a smile.

"You're back!"

Talk about welcome. We turn to find Dream's closest friend and servant within the realm coming out to greet us.

"Lucienne!" We say in unison, cringing slighting at our — synchronized enthusiasm.

Lucienne looks over the ever-present glasses balanced perfectly on the tip of her nose. She smirks at our mutual display of admiration and seems as amused by the sweetness as we are embarrassed.

"Yes." he says, sounding more reserved." I am-- we-- are."

"Things went well?" She asks, eyes darting back and forth between our faces as she waits for an answer. "You both look refreshed." She smiles.

Looking down at the little cloud of purring black on my shoulder, Dream gives it a pet before replying, "Nothing went wrong." He answers, looking at me. I know what he means by that. Needing to do what I did to my husband was not exactly "right," but it had to be done. The things that came after were better than expected, but all of it was born of a very dark situation.

Dream quickly turns to her. "Is that satisfactory?"

Humored by his lack of it, she bows her head, holding onto her half smile. "Of course, my lord."

Dream is content enough to continue on and raises his chin, "Tell me of my kingdom. Is everything well?" He asks, shedding the warmth that has wrapped us both so tight these past few days and heads inside.

"All dreams and every nightmare accounted for." She reports back, following him through the large doors and me with the little fluff on my shoulder at the rear. "You were gone and back before anyone but myself knew of your departure."

"I was worried after two occurrences so close together." He confesses.

"I know, my lord, but you were careful, as was I."

Dream pauses his steps and looks over his bare shoulder. The long coat is gone now that we're in the palace, replaced by draped fabric, same as mine, only his hangs like a waterfall of black to the floor while still rising like smoke to casually cover the parts it must. I am somehow even more aware of his body beneath, seeing his arm as he gestures and leg as he walks, than I am when he is naked and on top of me– or beneath.

"I know, Lucienne. Thank you. Your diligence is not in vain."

"Of course, Lord." She answers, and I can hear that she appreciates him acknowledging this in her tone.

As I move towards the hall, thinking we will go to his rooms, Dream instead walks with Lucienne towards the wall of windows, the stained glass casting colorful light over his white skin. I almost call for him, but I see how he stops again, drawing a curious breath before he leans in, "How is she?" I hear him ask very quietly, and for a moment, Dream is not here; in fact, he's a million miles away, perhaps in another world entirely.

"My Lord?"

"My last reason for leaving?" He glances back at me and I know I shouldn't be eavesdropping, but it's harder not to than it is to ignore them.

"Ah. Yes. She is well enough. Free, and I suspect that is all that matters." Lucienne replies at his side. They aren't shutting me out, but I'm not invited in.

Thinking on this, Dream turns, his face gone longer than usual.

After such a perfect night together, he starts for the lonely throne and begins the climb leaving me behind.

How odd. When I started to fall asleep, he'd held me so tight. Not to mention before that, when he'd seemed so happy to please me and me alone, that he'd refused my attempt to return the favor – the sight of his black hair against my thighs still sends a shiver through my belly– but that spark has flickered out. Not the love, just the lightheartedness. Whatever this is, it's clearly much bigger than sex.

"Is everything alright?" I ask the librarian.

"I think so." She leans closer. "You're safe. The children are well, yes?"

"Asleep and having sweet dreams," I smile.

"And the man. Reginald?"

The name is poison. I wish she could have avoided saying it, but I am in the dreaming. He can not hurt me here. He is in his own nightmare for now. "He won't be bothering us anymore."

She looks at me like she's reading the information from my thoughts. "I see. Well. It's not my place to say what Lord Morpheus feels or thinks…

"But?"

She finds me from the corner of her eye, "You know him now too, Glory, just as I do."

"Not like you, Lucienne. Not at all."

"No, but, you know him in ways I never will, nor do I desire to. The Lord Shaper may look one way while experiencing something very different on the inside. You love him as a woman does; you see into his head differently than I do. Go to him." She suggested. "Where he shuts me out, he might let you in. When he closes your door, mine will open. That is how it's done with one like him"

Her face is calm, but I see the wisdom in her eyes and follow her sight-line to watch Dream sink down onto the throne where he broods without missing a beat. "It was about me only a day ago. Funny how quickly it's become about him again. It's about him a lot, isn't it?"

"Yes." She says, looking at me.

With a deep sigh, I rub the fuzzy head of the creature still perched on my shoulder. "Go on," I whisper to my nightmare. "We'll play more later."

It gives a little whimper but vanishes in a poof.

As I gather my skirts, Lucienne turns and leaves in the opposite direction, both of us going down our separate paths.

I like the feel of my heavy gown as it drags up the cold steps behind me. The frayed and tattered edges are elegant in this place as I come to stop at his knees and curl my fingers under his chin, lifting his head so that I may look into the eyes that are not eyes at all but a galaxy of gloom and introspection. With a sigh, I have to chuckle. He is so pretty when he's like this.

"What a turn."I tease softly. "You know that you can tell me, right? I might not always understand, but I'll try."

I see some of that edge drain away, and he sits up enough to take me by the hips, and I stumble forward, letting him draw me onto his lap, which is a comfort; at least I know he wants me close. "You should not say things to stop me from feeling like I do." He complains.

"That's exactly what I should do if there's a chance I can make you feel better."

"I will be fine. Please. Are you hungry?"

"No, Dream, I'm not hungry."

"Perhaps Fiddlers Green? You should not have to sit here with me attempting to lighten my mood."

I laugh and brush his wild hair aside. "But I'm so good at it," I whisper in his ear, and then— I smell her.

The scent of olive groves and what once was.

She is ancient and forgotten but not by him. "Oh…" I draw back, and we lock eyes. I feel my heart stop, tiny cracks form, it threatens to break. "I see." I don't, not really. He wouldn't… I thought I was enough? Am I not enough? "Who is she?" I ask terrified to know.

He turns his face. He can not look at me? "Someone I knew. A very long time ago."

I know that tone. It is regret and heartbreak. It is loss and longing. "You loved her."

"I did"

I stare at his magnificent profile and wonder when it was. I try to understand what their time was like without him telling me and why he might feel the need to make time for her again because I know now that he's seen her.

"Dream, just then with Lucienne, you said you had another reason to leave the dreaming. Was she the reason?"

"Yes"

I think back. Sometimes it's hard to recall dreams while living inside another, but I'm used to it. When I think back, I can see him pulling on the gloves and the horrible mask so incredible I couldn't look away. "That's where you were going. When I asked you to help me."

"It was."

But I'm the one you love now! I cry inside my head almost certain thoughts can be heard here, but I hardly care.

Holding in the ugly emotions that stir, I look for any reason not to doubt him. He does not make me wait long. I've seen the look before. It's the shadow that falls over his face when he talks about the darkness that lives in the hearts of humanity. The vile things we are capable of. I lose that sense of dread and feel a new fear, not for us. For her.

Now I see, and I exhale the breath that nearly suffocated me.

"Is she safe?"

"She is."

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He leans on the armrest, balancing his chin on his fist with a sigh.

I wait.

"Her name is Calliope." Dream tells me.

Wait. I know this name— I think?

"She was being held in the waking world by the same cruelty that kept me bound."

My heart stops. He never talks about it so I never ask. Thinking of him locked away breaks my heart. "Time passes the same for my kind as it does for yours," He told me once. I never pressed him further.

Calliope. I know this name…

"She called out to me in a moment of pure desperation. I was her last resort. That I can say for certain."

My curiosity is piqued.

"I could not leave her there to suffer." He says more to himself than to me, "She says I've changed. Maybe I have. Either way, I know what it is to feel the torment of their captivity, and even then, I was not abused like she was… no woman should be left in the hands of that dark fate." I look over my shoulder at his hand on the other black armrest and how his white hand grips so hard I think he might crush the thing to dust.

As awful as it is because I know what it is he speaks of, I look at him and find a reason to smile.

He saved her. The cracks of my heart mend and I slide my hands over his chest and shoulders closing in to hold him, loving him, admiring him, thankful that time has apparently made him a kinder immortal.

With my forehead to his temple, I listen to him speak in a low voice, "I could not turn my back on her Glory. It would be wrong to treat the mother of my child with such little regard."

A wave of hot surprise washes over me.

I feel like I am touching cold marble. Stone I have never kissed or held never whispered to, never opened to, never had inside of me. I feel like I do not know him at all.

Before I can stop myself, I'm up and standing at the top of the stairs, only second guessing for a second before I start the descent.

Damn him and his dramatics, I can't even see the palace floor from up here, but as a mercy, Dream must wave his hand, and the winding stair becomes no more than three.

On flat ground, I go to the first window and look out towards my swath of land, which is the only part of the dreaming that seems to stay the same. I find comfort in the black trees with leaves that shimmer emerald in the sun and the creatures that live there. Dream made them, but they are mine. I raise my head, thinking that if I were queen, they would know it...

I don't know why I'm standing here thinking of this now; I guess I need something to keep me from falling.

"Are you angry?" He asks from across the room, still sitting on his throne. He sounds like my reaction might have made him upset.

"No." It's not a lie. I'm really not. So what is this feeling? I won't say until I'm sure.

So the silence between us lasts for far too long.

Like I so often can, I feel my time with him fading.

"You'll wake soon." Dream tells me from his throne that now sits on the floor. His voice is flat, cold, distant.

"I know."

"And you would leave this way?" He asks. I think maybe he's appalled by it.

"I would." I tell him honestly, "That scent?" There it is again. Ancient and bright like sun-dappled fields of wheat and beyond it, the salty spray of ocean water. I find Dream over my shoulder. "It wasn't her at all!"

I feel something that's never happened to me for as long as I've been coming here. Closing my eyes, I focus on the feeling and realize it's more than that. It's a song, too distant at first, but then, when I look at Dream again, I can start to make it out enough to know where it's coming from.

The sound is so haunting I'm tempted to cover my ears. I've never heard singing so clear and strong and yet so faint. I still can't quite make it out. It's more like hearing someone else's memory– his memories-- a father's memories– Dream's.

"It was him. Your child." I do not gasp but the shared memories are so strong now I cover my mouth, feeling his grief. "Your son!"

I have never seen him look this way before.

It is the gutted face of sorrow and dare I even think it in his realm? Despair.

He does look at me then. He looks at me like I have betrayed him.

I am at his side in a heartbeat, lowering without hesitating, ready to beg for forgiveness just to never see that pitiful look again.

With tears in my own eyes and his face so cold under my palm, I try, "Please. Morpheus, please. I'm sorry. I didn't know… I didn't mean to… I never meant to bring those memories back. I didn't mean to hurt you." I try, but my voice is just a whisper. I chase the stars with my gaze, but he will not look at me.

"You will wake soon," He says again, staring off towards his grand hall, ignoring me, his woman on her knees and sorry, so sorry. Not for making him remember but for everything he's been through, whatever that may be. He's blocked out the details of it; all I'm privy to is the pain, and that alone is too much. Even worse is how he hides it and keeps it tucked away for reasons known only to him.

It's nearly too much for me. I can only nod, thinking this might be it, the moment Morpheus decides he can't have me here because I've trudged up things he can't bear to feel, but he takes my hand and kisses the heel of my palm, letting my fingertips graze his cheek as he looks down at me, and I am yet again reminded that I play with fire.

The stars burn, and I let them scorch me as the dreaming slips away.

I do not even get to say I love you.

**

The following morning brought drizzly rain and a wall of gray sky that kept the sun veiled behind it, making the pale yellow star look like an old hardboiled egg.

Far from settled in the new house, Glory lay in bed, staring out the window. It was time to get up, but she felt pinned under the weight of a heavy heart for reasons she just could not place. Sorry to say, this was nothing new. Life with her husband had readied her for mornings like this, so she shut her eyes, ignored the sky, and dragged herself from the comfort of the sheets and pillows before the kids could start their long list of demands.

Determined to conquer some early hour chores and piece the night together, she kept going over the best parts of her time with Dream, only to get stuck on the bad. It seemed every few minutes she would stop, half-folded laundry in hand, wondering what happened after walking into the palace.

It made no sense. She'd fallen asleep happy and naked in the arms of her love but woke with a deep feeling of having lost something or someone, both maybe. It tugged and tugged and tugged at her, yanking at her heart until she stumbled along the upstairs hallway, dropping the laundry basket as she clutched her heart and covered her face because all she could do was cry.

Glory raised her head, listening; thankfully, the kids were still asleep.

Why won't you let me see? She wondered, leaning against the wall.

But was it even him? Maybe she'd asked him to block her memories?

Some things from the Dreaming did naturally fade, forgotten like other thoughts or minor details of an ordinary day. But this was very different.

Later, over breakfast, Glory opened the box the poor Dream King had avoided. She put those dishes away, occasionally glancing across the kitchen to watch her children eat their toast and drink their milk, curious about the magically stocked fridge. She sure as hell hadn't been to the store, but she recognized the brands, and some of the bags even said Brown's Grocery on them.

She needed to speak with Josiah tomorrow when she went back to work, she noted with a raised brow and sure, maybe a little smile too, but her thoughts were soon back on the pressing thoughts at hand.

One of the boys shouted for her to look at something silly he could do, and she gave a half-hearted "mmhm" As she wandered out of the kitchen, leaving the box and the noise.

There was a name she knew but couldn't remember. It had been there, right on the tip of her tongue since she opened her eyes. Now it was louder than all the other chaos combined; it was stuck in her head like the end of a tune you can't quite remember.

It took her all day, but finally, after settling in and nearly forgetting about the feeling, she found her way into the last room of the upstairs hallway on the left.

It was actually something Loretta told her that brought her up here. "If you got a song stuck in your head, you gotta listen to it to get it out. If you can't, listen to something better!"

The room was a small study with a desk and a chair, a large window, and a lot of books. It would be her favorite room in the winter, she thought with a wistful smile as she turned a circle to look around.

One day she might ask Dream who lived here before she did, but some part of her didn't want to know.

Finger gliding along the spines of the books on the shelves, she realized she'd been searching for something when she found it and pulled the book down.

Greek Mythology.

The glossary was full of words and names that meant nothing to her. She skimmed over them until, finally, one stuck out.

Calliope.

That was it.

She knew this name…

Youngest of the nine muses, Calliope was the daughter of Zeus.

A warm breeze blew in the room.

Glory felt an ancient sun on her skin and heard the chatter of women. She closed her eyes and harps played. The music of lyres and the aulos floated through the air, filling the room with songs from times that were nothing now but stories or textbooks.

Glory pressed her fingers to her lips. She could taste herbs, fresh bread... she could hear the names of children being called—one in particular.

Calliope was once a muse to Homer and the mother of Orpheus.

Glory opened her eyes, balancing the book in her hand.

Orpheus.

Funny how pages like this can leave out the details. Things can sound so black and white when you read them. Like that last line, you'd never know he had a father. You'd never know his father still drowns in sorrow but keeps it hidden from everyone who loves him.

She looked back down.

It never said 'wife of Morpheus', but then books like this don't know of such things. Probably for the better, although she did find it sad that truth could become nothing more than myth and legend, written down and sold off as stories to entertain with all of the heart bled dry.

Some part of her felt very cold and very lonely, like she'd never been seen or heard and never would be.

There was a change in the air at that moment. The house shifted around her as if it responded to her silent fear.

Glory realized her memories of last night had come back.

Why had she blocked them in the first place? Perhaps because she feared the loss of her own children as any mother might, and to see him like that was too painful. But as she stood in the empty room --that sick feeling creeping into her belly--she realized it was that Dream's pain was not so distant. The darkness that reached out and touched her felt all too familiar.

Her children were alive and well, laughing and playing in the house he'd lovingly given them, and yet, the song of Orpheus had consumed last night like the cold black waters of the open ocean stealing her children from her arms, and she could not imagine why.

She'd fallen to her knees before waking, apologizing for making him remember. But in those last moments, before she'd opened her eyes, she said something. She could hear her own voice now.

She'd looked up at the Dream King and simply said "No," not to him, to the agony that matched his, and he had understood.

Bless him.

Glory snapped the book shut.

Memories can be so cruel-- and these were not her own. Some other person, some poor parent she truly pitied and would never forget, had been asleep in the dreaming and somehow shared a loss with Glory too. That was the only explanation.

Thankfully. Mercifully, she could move on. Maybe, when Glory saw him tonight, she would ask Dream to let them rest without those awful memories to haunt their sleep.

She glanced down one more time and truly hoped he'd done the same for his ex-wife.

The book landed on the desk with a thud.

Any hint of Calliope and Orpheus and the pain of losing him was gone like she'd switched off the tv, and Glory went downstairs to her children.

[mallowstep]

hey! i'm not sure if someone's asked you this before, but how do you come up with the beginnings to your fics? i'm making a po3 au and i'd love to turn it into a fic, but i have no idea how to start it.

huh, i don't think anyone has asked me this particular question before.

honestly, i've been writing for a long time. i don't think about the shape of a story very often anymore. if i'm getting stuck with making something take shape, i break out a few tools.

my favourite is my invention from when i was still in single digits. i say "my invention," but i stole it from a class worksheet and tweaked it a bit. i may or may not have shared this, but it's my basic outline:

somebody: character, establishing context/setting (exposition, basically, but i like to frame it as "what gives the story weight.")

wanted: goal/desire/problem.

but: obstacle(s)

so: what they do to overcome it

then: resolution

five points, better than any plot mountain, because let's be real, "falling action" doesn't exist. it's all dénouement.

i don't really want to share too many of my tools without context, because i always got the best luck by fucking with something i got until it worked for me. so without having a better idea of your problem, i don't have anything else that's move-in ready, so to speak.

that being said.

i have a feeling you're either not asking about plot, or you're not actually stuck on plot. i have a feeling you don't know what to do when you're staring at a blank page.

i tend to write by having a few core scenes, and then i work the story out of that, so i never sit down to a blank page at the beginning of the story. sometimes i have more than a few. it depends.

i always have some vision of the story i want to tell, and then i usually cut the plot as close to that story as possible.

that takes some practice. ffs, even recently, wind!cinder au has a prologue fic because i realized the whole first chapter wasn't necessary to the story.

when it comes down to it, the solution to "how do i start?" doesn't have a neat answer. you have to find what works for you. for me, i always start a fic with at least one scene already written, so to speak. i scribble down that scene, and then i flesh the rest out from there.

as always, my when-in-doubt advice is just write.

sooner or later, you have to put words on the page. do it now. they don't have to be good. they can be bad. you can decide the whole scene is unnecessary or even ridiculous. but you have to start somewhere.

if you have a po3 au, what's up with the au? why do you want to write it? that's the place i would start.

[melaninenthusiasts]

Moment | Jafar

"It all began with a lamp and a fantasy..."

The Arabian palace was humungous. It could take atleast 200 guests to stay in. The architecture was out of this world; one of a kind. The food was magnificent. The chefs worked day and night and could make anything you wanted them to at any time. The soldiers were the best of the best. They could stop anyone who tried to come in and intrude. Except for Aladdin, he was the smartest streetrat ever.

After the hoodlum created himself a fiasco by taking the magic lamp and turning himself into a prince to lure Jasmine, Jafar had to do some things that people wouldn't be proud of. Things like taking the lamp and locking Jasmine and her father away. And hypnosising the entire palace staff to do whatever he says. And make a wish turning him into the most powerful man on earth at large.

Jafar had the extravagant palace all to himself. No queen by his side or anyone to talk to. Here he was thinking about his next move. He was tired of being second best.

"I'm the king of the world and yet I'm still bored," Jafar admits to himself.

Ever since he became the most powerful man on earth it's been lonely at the top. He has no one to speak to but his parrot and the genie. Not even the servants and staff he orders around because they're trapped in the sunken place. Jafar had some pleasure with Jasmine and multiple other women but nothing excited him the way that he wanted.

He had all of the money, sex, and power that he could ever wish for.

Jafar wanted someone who could read his mind inside and out. Someone who could help him take away all of his pain and let out all of his emotions into.

"You can always use another wish to fulfill your fantasies, " the blue mystical giant says.

"What should I do?" Jafar asks knowing the genie's rules.

"I can't tell you want to do. How about you make a wish. You know the words to say."

Genie wouldn't say it out loud with Jafar being his master but he missed Aladdin. He never had a friend like him. Yes, he wanted to become a prince but it was because of his love for Jasmine. He wasn't like the other master's that he had. Jafar was the worst one yet. So typical at that.

The Genie has three rules: he cannot kill anyone, he cannot make people fall in love with each other, and he cannot revive the dead.

The unwritten and unsaid rule was making your wish as specific as possible. You can only have three wishes and you don't want to waste it.

Jafar grabbed the golden lamp putting his palm against it back and forth.

"I want a melanin goddess that can give me an experience of a lifetime wear it'll be a moment but feel like eternity." He continued to rub the lamp as he thought. "Something that no one else has ever experience."

He finally let go of the magical lamp then the magic began to happen.

"Yes, master. Your wish is my command." The God-like blue Genie then folded his shackled arms creating this magical brown storm with beautiful golden specks. The wind damn near blew everything away. It was so strong and powerful.

Jafar got excited to see what would happen next. He held on the the edge of his throne as he watched his wish manifest slowly.

There were colors and different hues of browns and reds swishing around in a tornado along with sparkles. Then it ceased out of nowhere. The Genie was back in the lonely lamp where he belonged. The sidekick parrot of his flew off somewhere.

"My name is Victoria and I am here for fulfill all of your fantasies," the goddess says before him.

"She's perfect, " Jafar says in awe of her. "Gorgeous brown skin, amazing body, and that sweet sultry tone." He smirks as he gets up from his throne.

He admires her in the brown lingerie accessoried with gold jewels.

"I got a feeling that you brought me to you.." she smirked at him as she walks up the stairs to the throne. They were now inches apart from eachother.

Jafar licked his lips as he gazed into her deep brown eyes that started to turn gold. She then kissed his lips caressing his beard as he felt on her body. The world they were now in began to change into this abstract gold and red one.

His fantasy was now coming to life. The goddess was very much real. He could touch her, feel her, and he felt even more powerful.

"I wanna get inside of you," Jafar says in a lustful tone as his hands wander her body.

"You do?" The goddess says in a low sweet voice teasing him.

"I do," Jafar whispers tugging her body to his shirtless body. The goddess felt on his built physique admiring his toned muscles.

"This is your moment," she whispers back to him.

Before he knew it he was in this beautiful bedroom with brown silk sheets and golden decor.

Jafar was laid down in the bed in awe of the melanin goddess with his brown skin glistening. His abs flexed as he breathed in nervousness. There were just enough chest hairs on his body.

She then crawled her way onto the bed teasingly slow. He watched her in excitement biting his bottom lip.

"Tell me how bad you want me," Victoria says as she sits on his lap with her hands trailing his physique. He liked how her nails we done in brown and gold. Everything about her was sexy.

"I want you so bad," Jafar breathes out trailing his hand up and down her body once again.

He looked into her deep brown eyes once again watching them turn golden before she kissed him.

The room was turning into red sand. The walls were dropping right before them. There was nothing left instead of the bed.

Jafar kissed on the Victoria's neck inhaling her shea butter sent as he unveiled her robe. He hugged her body closed to his worship her like the goddess she was. He was feigning for her badly. He didn't want this to end.

His lips trailed down her cleavage as he unclipped her bra. Jafar felt a satisfaction in hearing her moan from his teasing pecks. He continued to worship her body by massaging the fall of her back.

Jafar was desperately in love with her. If he didn't want to save his last wish for something else, he would make Victoria his wife. But that's the price that he has to pay.

It's like Victoria's body was calling his name. It was saying 'I want you inside me' the more and more they went further.

The goddess stuck her tongue down his throat pinning Jafar's arms against the bed.

Usually in bed, Jafar would be the alpha but this was different. Victoria then rose up ready to ride his magic carpet. With her hands trailing down his upper body, she rose up with a smirk. Jafar so was in love that he didn't notice that she was in cuffs.

"Victoria..." Jafar moaned out softly.

The goddess thrusted her body onto his satisfying him. Jafar let out a grunt in amusement. He let himself become mesmerized by her. He let the golden specks on her eyes and the soft cries on her voice take all control of her.

Jafar loved how she let out moans as she took him in.

"Pussy so good..." he moaned out.

The goddess let out her last moan yelling his name to the fullest. She fucked his so good that he could cry Jafar hit his climax letting out his last husky grunt.

"I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum..." he breathed as he nutted in her.

Victoria then gave him one last kiss grabbing his soft beard with her hand then letting go. She smirked sliding out of him and put the rest of her lingerie on.

She then walked away leaving Jafar in the cuffs as the bed disappeared.

"Hey, where are you going?" He asked her. Victoria turned back around and smirked at him charmingly. "And why am I in cuffs?" He added.

Victoria laughed silently to herself. "Moments over." She said before strutting away in the red sand as Jafar sank deeply in it.

"Wait..." he cried out. "We can't be done yet." He fell deeper and deeper into the dark whole.

Before Jafar knew it, he was back in his lonely Palace. He already began to miss the melanin goddess.

The Genie laughed to himself in his tiny living space. 

"He didn't day what kind of goddess. Gotta be more specific than that!" He cracked up.

Victoria was a jaguar melanin goddess. One that kept many men sinking into the floor after she was done with them leaving them wanting more. It was her specialty.

—

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[ladyvaderpixetc]

I was not actually tagged but saw this and thought OMG I WANNA PLAY so while I will tag a few friends (@dls-ao3, @theskyandsea, @emorgan5061, @gracerene09, @ktspree13, @starkissed1) please feel free to not play as you wish or have at it if you do!

How many works do you have on AO3?

59, with several misplaced en route from LJ and many WIP's yet to be published.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

705890

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Oy. *thinks hard enough steam comes out of ears* 1) Mulder/Scully - The X-Files 2) I thiiiiink I had a brief jaunt writing Rogue/Gambit but I don't know if that was just notes - X-Men Comics. 3) Legolas/Aragorn & Orlando/Viggo - LotR (& LotR RPF) 4) Harry/Draco, & one instance of Harry/Viktor - Harry Potter 5) Mohinder/Sylar - Heroes 6) Arthur/Eames, Dom/Ariadne & JGL/Tom Hardy - Inception & Inception RPF 7) Arthur/Merlin - Merlin (BBC)8) Sherlock/John - Sherlock (BBC) & 9) Thor/Loki - MCU

What are your Top 5 fics by kudos?

Pet (Arthur/Eames) Intended (Drarry), Consolation Prize (Harry/Viktor) Scattered Pieces (Arthur/Eames) L’Inconnu (Drarry)

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Whilst strictly a HEA merchant overall, I did make myself miserable writing Friend Like Me, sobbed all the way through it knowing I couldn't fix the ending without stomping all over the heart of the fic itself. Will always be grateful to @dysonrules for her excellent sequel that achieved what I could not *throws myself sobbing at her feet*

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Tragically yes, not even on my oldest, more gloriously clichéd and tropified cheese either ;P but simply because the reader objected so strongly to the pairing that they felt obliged to hate on every other aspect of the fic as well. This new generation of fans choosing hate over 'don't like, don't read' never ceases to astound and sadden me.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do indeed lol every kind from shameless ridiculous cheese to (hopefully) smutastically hot. I have a real tendency *coughproblemcough* with feeling like I have to write everything I'm seeing in my head, so my stuff tends towards being overly wordy, but hopefully conveys the filth that my brain likes to play me on loop at times ;)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Several times actually, less in recent years but back before the original purge and AO3 I tended to have my Drarry smut ripped off quite regularly, the same fic in particular, Delicious (an actually RIDICULOUS smutfic) got stolen something like 4 or 5 times but fortunately someone always tipped me off, as people continue to do when my stuff ends up on Wattpad now also. Should it come up, and anyone sees any of my stuff about - unless it's a translation - I categorically have not given permission for my stuff to be posted elsewhere, if you know my stuff and see it anywhere but my ff/net acc or AO3 please let me know <3

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several lovely people have translated my stories and I'm always delighted beyond words to be asked <3

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, back in the day @dreambastion and I co-wrote a few Drarry fics, though I'm not sure many of them ever saw the light of day ;) as we mostly came up with ideas from a Drarry RP journal we had during that time.

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Gah. Whilst I frequently throw the term OTP around, I don't think I'll ever only have one OTP. I believe in the supremacy of some ships, and they have carved places in my heart that can never be erased whether I've stopped writing or even reading them: Drarry ftw, sorry Ginny but I'll never believe that epilogue, whether the fic is canon-compliant or not, I’ll always believe Harry/Draco is the endgame. ArthurEames is likely the closest I have to a true OTP, I’m sorry but that shit is canon and if Chris Nolan ever tries to convince me otherwise I will sit him down and point out all the ways he is WRONG. AE is the pairing that sparked my non-functional (nonfictional for that matter) brain back into being after a glitch with my hormones and a run-in with a bully masquerading as a beta scared me off of writing for a few years and I’ll always be grateful to it for that. I’ve dabbled in reading several MCU based pairings (Stony, Stucky, Clint/Coulson) but Thorki kicked the door down in late 2018 and refuses to be unseated as my current burning obsession with a ship, and for all the abuse I see the pairing take (seriously what is WRONG with the new-gen of fandom? Y’all would not have survived LJ) it’s where my brain goes to for comfort during these past few difficult years, and I adore it for that alone, if not for the bunnies currently chewing my brain to bits.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

*horror shudder of guilt and shame* Humbled & Struck. I have these wonderful intentions to do right by Struck every once in a while and then I open the notes and see just how very much of the fic there was still left to write and know I don’t have the wherewithal to re-enter a pairing I no longer have any verve whatsoever to write for. Someday I’ll post a neatened up synopsis so those who liked it can read what should have happened and have an ending, but Humbled is a casualty of both my original computer going BOOM and having to be wiped but also coincided with my brain blip, when my hormones basically shoved everything that made me creative into a box and nailed it shut and left me with a crappy knock off of the baby blues for not quite a year. I lost the verve to write but I also lost all the mental notes I had along with the physical one and genuinely can’t remember what was supposed to happen at the end of Humbled beyond them getting together. These fics are the reason I never post anything WIP now, if I’m posting it, it means it’s complete.

What are your writing strengths?

Gah, talk about a question designed to make everyone squirm. Honestly? Not sure lol. I remember a professor at Uni telling me I had a way of taking the narrative in a chokehold and never letting go, and I remember laughing with him, but as much as I recall him saying it as a positive, looking back I wish I’d asked him more about what he meant, cos it sounds like a negative too, sort of lol.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Well, I miss the days of mouseover on LJ for a start, without it I tend towards avoiding personally, but I think if you can do it, and do it well, then why not?

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

I’m not sure Xfiles counts because I only ever shared it in yahoo group chats lol so my first posted fics were LotR.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Pet. Hands down my favourite, it’s like I had nothing to do with writing it, I vaguely remember being caught up in feel during it, and plotting out what would happen each month, and torturing myself with diff songs from my playlist to get my Arthur POV feels screwed to the sticking place lol but with enough time in between I can actually read/listen to it myself and still be surprised by some places in the story, I still squee when Arthur runs into drunk!Eames in the supermarket, and I NEVER squee over my own stuff otherwise lol I’m truly proud of it if only because it makes me so happy. I know Scattered is vastly behind on updates, and Thorki is hugely to blame for that, but I will NEVER abandon that ‘verse. I’ll be 60 and still thinking of new ways for my boys to be happy, and being happy in turn at just the thought of them <3

[catherineflowers29]

Hi! I'm the anon from before! Oh, thank God. I was worried I upset you because JB shippers get so defensive when someone is critical of their ship or Jaime (btw I'm a Brienne stan before a JB shipper.)

I think your story is so great and feminist... the fact that Brienne was allowed to be angry at Jaime and make the choice to fuck Addam and still be the doting mother and a warrior who inspires women (also thank you for no boring Sansa/Brienne friendship). I loved how she said "fuck that" to any of Jaime's weakass explanations and whenever that bitch was like, "are we good? have you forgiven me? can we fuck?" and she just went like "wtf no you're the worst." like YES. It fucking bothered me the way those S8 apologists defended Jaime's "addiction" and liked the offensive disgusting white book scene. FFS LET WOMEN BE ANGRY. LET WOMEN HAVE A STORYLINE THAT ISN'T TIED TO SOME GARBAGE MAN. LET WOMEN SLEEP WITH MEN INSTEAD OF THEIR ASSIGNED LOVE INTERESTS AND LET THEM ENJOY IT TOO. LET WOMEN BE BITTER AND UNFORGIVING AND COMPASSIONATE AND MOTHERLY AND BRAVE AND AWESOME AT THE SAME TIME. ALL THESE THINGS CAN EXIST IN ONE WOMAN. IT'S ALLOWED. AND BRIENNE IS NO BETTER OR WORSE IF SHE CHOOSES TO BE UNFORGIVING. I HATE DUDEBROS.

I don't think you should be unhappy with your story! Your story has amazing dialogue and internal thoughts, well-rounded characters, and Brienne of Tarth being awesome. If anything, you were too nice to Jaime by having him be happy and giving him a purpose. You should subvert my expectations, lovely author! Don't have Brienne forgive Jaime and get into a relationship with him! Make her kick him to the curb! Break his heart! Piss on his corpse! Probably JB shippers will be mad at you but I've got your back. The REAL Brienne fans know that Jaime did Brienne so dirty, and no bs addiction or duty can justify that!

Ok that's enough... and WTF why would people think your fic is controversial. IMO we should bully the writers who had Brienne easily forgive Jaime and take him back just like that. Fuck them all. I only respect YOU. You got me into shipping Addam/Bri and also validated my anger. Also I was busy, didn't know you updated your fic. Gonna read it now. Not gonna lie, I'll be a little upset if she chooses Jaime because I thought the glass throwing scene was written to show the tragic end of their relationship and how there's no coming back, but I did want to know your thoughts.

Bless you, kind reader. 

I’ve had a lot of thoughts about why my fic is considered controversial. The subject matter in it really isn’t that “dark” in the traditional fic sense. There’s no rape or major character death, it’s not torture porn or anything. And yet, there was rage about it on Reddit, it was banned from being discussed on Discord, and a BNF decided (very hurtfully, I might add) to call me out on Twitter because she had formed a judgement based solely on my tags. I have also been blocked by numerous people in the fandom that I have never so much as had an interaction with. I’ve also had a LOT of shitty comments and anons here and there from people who seem really angry that I had the temerity to write this fic.

That genuinely surprised me. I knew it wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea - what fic is? But there have been times when I have felt like a total pariah and not wanted to interact with other members of the fandom in case they feel the same way. Whatever way you slice it, that’s shitty behaviour.

Largely, when we ship something, particularly when it’s an OTP, we think of that relationship as an ideal. It’s escapism, it’s perfect in ways that our real relationships never can be. I think that’s why, for so many of us, 8.04 was really devastating. Jaime and Brienne are also a ship about acceptance and understanding, of a deep connection that transcends surface impressions - they both see each other for who they really are. That means a LOT to us, I think. I think we all long for that kind of relationship and exploring it in our fandom gives all of us so much happiness. We are in love with their love.

In their portrayal of the JB relationship, D&D ABSOLUTELY got that wrong. I absolutely do not dispute that. I think a LOT of people were angry with me because they confused what I was writing as being supportive of D&D’s take in some way, because I treated it as canon. Some writers were able to paper over the end of the show, dismiss it as bad writing and move on, or write fic where Jaime changes his mind, Brienne forgives him, and then they carry on with what we wanted.

I just couldn’t do that. God knows I tried. But if I had been in Brienne’s position, I absolutely would have been as pissed as fuck about what Jaime did. I don’t accept that he went back for Cersei as a brother, or that Brienne wasn’t crying for herself but only for him and his lost honour. Being dumped HURTS, particularly when you loved someone and thought you had a future, and then he walks out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. Brienne had SO MUCH backstory about being hurt and humiliated by men, having the first man who loved her, the man she gave her virginity to, treat her that way would fuck her up.

I’m not saying that anyone who disagrees with me is wrong, and I never have. I don’t have the definitive knowledge of these characters, none of us do. I only have my take, my experience, my style.

I just couldn’t write about their relationship as being idyllic and perfect any more. Is it a reflection of who I am as a person and as a writer? That’s certainly been the accusation several dozen times. Maybe. It’s certainly a reflection of how I feel women put up with too much shit from men and are expected to be kind and forgiving in return. I HATE that with a passion. 

Angry women are really controversial. They make people of all genders feel very uncomfortable. Sexually confident women do, too, and I think my story was the perfect storm of those two elements, really. People who want escapism from realistic relationships where people don’t live happily-ever-after really took exception to its very existence.

I don’t hold it against anyone for it not being their cup of tea, or if they disagree with my take. God knows there are kajillions of fics out there that aren’t my bag too. Things I’ve rolled my eyes at, things I’ve fundamentally disagreed with, things I’ve been horrified to read. But not once have I ever felt the need to be a public douchebag about it. I’ve never felt the need to make a writer stop writing.

So thank you so much for taking the time to send me this. It does make a really nice change to get an anon be so positive and affirming to me as a writer!

I really hope that you enjoy the end of the story. And that you will enjoy the reboot in a few weeks where we stick with Brienne’s POV and I turn the volume down on some of the elements that I don’t like about the story myself. Not the rage though, or the Addam banging. That’s staying!