#why am I on tumblr when I should be writing

[foreverisntenough]

I’m Back.

I needed to step away—to breathe, to mend, to remember why I started this in the first place. A blog like this, built from passion, imagination, and love, should never be a source of pain. And yet, it became one. Words may not leave bruises, but they can cut deep. They left wounds I wasn’t sure how to heal in a moment. This absence may have felt short to some of you, long to others, but it's what I needed.

Re: last update

But here’s the truth: I love what I do. I love crafting stories, weaving emotions into words, and building worlds for us to escape into. I love the discussions, the wild theories, the laughter over delusions, the shared love for footballers, tropes of romance, and creativity. This space was never just mine—it was ours. And though cruelty tried to take that away from me, I refuse to let it.

You can't imagine (well maybe some of you could) what my inbox looked like and I refuse to share it because I don't want that type of negativity on Forever Isn't Enough. That is not my blog. That is not me. And that is not us who exist here because I am not me without you all. I love the real community - not the anonymity hiding behind aggression, racism, threats, and hate - but the real one that never have to unanimously agree but aways will listen and read with openness.

Hate does not define me. But I am not made of stone. Behind the screen, beyond the pretty words, I am a person—just like you, and I hope that everyone who reads this remembers that. That every tumblr account, anon or with a username, is a human being. I’m returning not as a puppet but as ‘Fie’, a writer, hoping that those who are still here will want to find our way back to what this was meant to be: a place of joy, of connection, of creativity without cruelty.

I love this community and the connection we’ve built - silly pretty boys aside. I want to share, laugh, cry, and discuss with all of you again— to enter these fictional worlds but with respect and empathy.

So, to the ones who have stood by me, to the ones who have sent kindness when I needed it most—thank you. Your love has always meant more than the noise. You remind me why I love doing this, being here. Why I began sharing my deluded fictional tales of romances with footballers. Why I love each of you enough to share my imagination with. 

If my stories are not for you, that’s okay. But please, do not try to take them from me. Simply walk away.

For those who remain—I’m here, I’m writing, and I’m ready to share again. I’m ready to let the light back in through the aperture of my blog and to get lost in the beautiful, messy world of fan fiction again.

FIE xx

[i'm going to open my inbox to post my responses to all the wonderful messages I've received in the past few days. I apologize for the spam but each one was everything I needed.]

[darkandstormyranger]

tawny man trilogy spoilers

i was in the middle of writing an essay on why i found the endgame relationship of the fool's fate a bit annoying and i realized it boils down to two issues:

fitz and molly's relationship never felt to me like it was supposed to be endgame - i think it was a pretty cool failed relationship, which was supposed to serve as a lesson to fitz and a bitter reminder that he cannot always take what he wants regardless of the consequences; furthermore i never felt molly was that important of a character in the later books, compared to nighteyes and the fool. she doesn't appear in the second trilogy at all until the very end come on...

(and i joked about how the fool is getting so much description in fitz's pov BUT SERIOUSLY, all i rememeber about molly is that she's a woman and has hair , while the fool is getting extensive descriptions almost every chapter, and that kind of sends the message on whom the reader should focus on more no??)

fitz has been childishly feeling wronged for sixteen years and the ending seemed to confirm his belief? - i genuinely thought that the punchline of fitz feeling jealous and angry that the two people he cared about fell in love because they were good for each other and they also thought he was dead would be him moving on and accepting the fact that he can take a different role in their life and appreciate it AND NOT "sometimes if you love someone, and wait long enough, and remind yourself that they are meant for you, and are probably waiting for you, regardless of the life and relationships they built for themselves, you will be rewarded by getting them back". everything seems to confirm fitz's conviction that molly was somehow wrongfully stolen from him and they can finally be together? nighteyes dying (when it was said at some point that molly wouldn't accept his bond with fitz and would make him choose), burrich dying and the fool leaving (bc he knew molly wouldn't accept his friendship with fitz) seem to all be obstacles conveniently moved out of the way of fitz getting back with his ex-girlfriend as though that was the reward he's been working for all this time?

i guess what im trying to say is, even though i as a reader don't have to be (and shouldn't be) on board with every decision a character makes, you'd think that his happy ending (mid-ending?) and the endgame (mid-game?) relationship would at least not make me want to write an angry essay on tumblr dot com yet here i am

(look at me, writing a whole ass rant when it was supposed to be just two bullet points)

[spookieloop]

Fighting for my LIFE to not write a fic where Durge and Ascended Astarion approach Enver Gortash to join their world domination polycule.

[icarusdiesatdawn]

anyone else feeling kinda, i dunno, guilty? just for being alive. With everything going on in the world

[athenaareia]

watching a documentary and had the thought: "you could call a lot of people monsters. you have called some people monsters, and perhaps, according to your beliefs, they may deserve it. but the minute you say, that's a monster, you fell for it. you started believing in an ideology that preaches a fundamental human being less than human, or outright a non-human. and that right there? that's when humanity weeps. that's when your humanity weeps."

[histrynerdss]

(i wish you weren't) not too tired to please; pov lily

* • + • *

lily was more attentive than people thought.

she noticed how alex would gain a competitive grin when someone brought out a chessboard, how bertrand would occasionally swear in french, and sadly how alice would sometimes flinch at certain words, then quickly act as if nothing happened.

she also was also good at reading people’s emotions from their eyes alone.

alex was always filled with motivated fire in his eyes, bertrand often had a tired yet content look with his half-lidded eyes, and alice was always alert.

setra was always tired.

her eyes were always energetic, but there was an underlying tiredness hidden so well lily fell for the happiness nearly every time.

at first, she couldn’t understand why setra was tired. she really seemed like a perfect housewife; up at five, breakfast at six, house clean and shining by noon and lunch a delicious feast.

all of their rooms and anything related to them had meticulous detail, such as the more modern technology in lily’s, alex’s more forest-y wallpaper, so on and so forth.

during breakfast, their preferences were met with great attention, not a single thing out of place. alex had sweeter foods, waffles or pancakes and some hot chocolate with just a tinge of caffeine in it. azine had cup noodles every morning, despite setra’s obvious dislike for ‘that processed slop they call food.’ sethine had his fried egg and rice, even when setra really didn’t know where to get rice- and lily always had her turkish delight.

always, always, always, her mind repeated, always perfect. everything given to her was perfect. as if setra knew everything and anything about her. as if she twisted and turned to do anything for them. oh well, she thought, she might just be nice.

no. no she wasn’t.

one day, when lily had fallen sick, setra busied with her all day – chicken soup at her bedside, meds on the desk, crushed and mixed with water, room sparkling with how cleaned it had been, bed scented like flowers and blankets so soft it was like lily was on a cloud.

comparing it to when the others were sick or injured, they were treated much the same – and setra was the only exception.

despite how much she cared for the others like a mother hen, whenever it was her turn to be sick, no one really did the same. they tried, but setra insisted that she was fine, and on the surface, it really looked like she was.

but one must pay attention to details.

when sick, she was often more.. drunk, somewhat. lily can’t describe it any other way. setra was a little delirious when sick, losing the accent and talking in a southern drawl and sometimes even talking in french- bertrand refused to translate, however, saying some of the things she said were a little.. wrong.

back on track, however, after a little questioning, lily finally got her answer.

from what little she could understand, setra really was always tired. but the reason for her unfailing attention to detail was her determination to please.

apparently, she had an ‘obligation’ to, or else they would ‘go away.’

lily didn’t like what picture that painted.

so the next time setra was unable to do all of her normal tasks, lily decided she’d try and do the same.

she deserved it, anyway. maybe this way, her eyes would show some real happiness.

* • + • *

can you guys tell i don't know how tumblr works yet i don't know how to put italics and bold 😔😔😔

also as someone who wants to be a psychologist i pray my writing of trauma (when i do actually write more traumatic stuff like literal murder and su!c!d3) will be good 😭😭

oh i'm not telling who's unaliving themselves btw but i have a very long description in my head of how

[iridescentis]

i think the reason why i don't read/write my sapphic ships very often is because im just jealous it makes me mad😭

like with guy characters i absolutely adore them and their dynamics but with sapphics its all of that but also like. do yall need a third. im free whenever.

[seenthisepisode]

~~~

[fragmentedblade]

They did the narrative threading thing again with going from the Artisanship Commission to the Alchemy Commission. They talk about new lives under new names in old flesh in the Artisanship Commission, and she mentions immediately later the Alchemy Commission, where Bailu is. What a nice lapse

[sisterdivinium]

It's interesting to stroll around Fanlore reading discussions that took place in 2007 talking about the fractured nature of fandom on LJ and people interacting without having enough context (as in commenting on a post they did not read by a user they do not know) when you're living in 2023 and people distribute likes without reading anything or commenting; when there's supposedly "drama" of unknown origins happening in more than one website at the same time because there's no real "home base" for fandom activity anymore; and we're all carrying on with our lives reblogging things without even looking at previous notes and reactions to that same post even if out of simple curiosity...

[dullahandyke]

Hi. Short story time. Is it coherent? Maybe ;) psychological(?) horror story abt prophecy trans name shenanigans w vivid descriptions of a corpse plus ambigious Christian visuals. So TW for that.

Adam

Decades before it was in anybody else's head, the name was entangled in mine.

One day the world woke up and everybody knew the story of a hero who would one day save society from collapse, a martyr heralded by the name. The martyr part was new. I found out about that part when I woke up to the sear in my chest fizzing a little brighter than usual. I turned on the news to see people discussing the astounding lack of scholarship for something that, surely, had to have always been this firmly lodged in their minds. Nobody gave the full details - why would they, when they all knew it? I picked it up from context clues.

For a second, I entertained the fantasy of phoning in to the talk show. I wanted to regale them with stories of years spent searching every mondegreen and minced phrase for answers. To tell them about learning the phonetics alphabet to piece together a pronunciation, only to turn around and find that every word I had used for reference no longer existed. I wanted to share the terror that ran through me when I heard even a sound of the name, and the terror that ran through me when I never heard anything approaching it ever again.

I didn't. I don't think they would have understood me anyway. I turned off the TV, unable to look directly at the name without its brilliance stunning me. It had spent eternity jailed within my mind. Not a suitable name for such a sweet young girl. Not like Eve. So Eve dusted off her skirts and she prepared herself for this new world, where the name littered every street corner.

It didn't die down. It never died down. The name was the new John. Boys bearing the name filled nurseries and morgues alike. There were a hundred stories written about the bearer of the name, and I read one and never another. They likened the forename to King Arthur and it stung to hear them get their hopes up. I met a young boy who chose the name to replace xyr old one and the heat in my chest flared through my nerves like fireworks. The sun bounced from this naïve mirror to burn a hole in me.

People began to realise what doom the hero was sure to save them from. The name took all the words around it, in every language that ever lived, until it was the only word like it. Whole paragraphs of books were blacked out where the name had seen the author coming too close. Analysts found that the name was eliminating all those with the same number of syllables, number of letters, syntax, even a single letter of any script in common. Projects and initiatives were abandoned when the notes were no longer legible. Negotiators lost each other mid-conversation. Ancient stories were pared down to the atoms. That was when they caught it.

I had caught it when my first word, months before I mumbled my mother's calling, was the name. It was fully formed and perfectly pronounced, my infant mouth layered with something more than me in aid of its deliverance. Despite its staged perfection, and my dogged insistence on repeating it, my mother and my father and the speech therapist talked over my head about this babbling. I watched from childhood as words were lost before my ears. Classmates looked at me funny as I repeated a phrase they had said, and then they never said it again. By the time the world caught it, I hadn't spoken in years. I was too tired to keep up with what words still existed.

I adjusted and I isolated but the cavern in my chest only ever grew sharper. I mollified it with boyish nicknames and hair cut short and watching the transsexual freaks from afar. The edge was taken off by every dress thrown out the window and every binding of my chest, but it only came back stronger. It reached a fever pitch whenever I introduced myself. I did not call myself by the name. I was Adam. The name broke my bones as it raged within me, so close that I could taste it on the bile. But Adam swallowed it down and set his bones and saw how dangerous it was to be just close enough for the name to reach me. So Adam went back to Eve and the name was kept buried with who Adam knew he was.

Twelve endless years after the name was known to all, a landlord found my body hunched forward in a chair. Eve looked old. Her floral skirts were stiff with dried blood, suspended in earthy crinoline. The bugs had found Adam, burrowing into his frigid remains. My skin was pulled taut until it tore over my bones, seams of muscle unraveling too easily. The landlord pulled the body upright. The chest, the chest of the body which bore the name, was gone. Flesh hung like ribbons from the gaping maw, a curtain masking the emptiness behind it. The landlord shifted aside the strips of meat to peer into the cavity, and the world saw it too.

The lungs had eviscerated themselves, lying limp in the thoracic cavity. They trembled in a horrific jitter, one that should have ceased after so long dead. The heart was gone. There was no evidence of its existence but the footprints leading from the ribs to the ajar window. The wall outside was streaked and stained with gore, tracks petering out as they headed towards the city centre. The landlord saw none of this. The landlord saw the ribs.

The sanguine parade had left the ribs untouched. They were a calcium white that stank of bleach. And branded to the very marrow of these bending pillars, in single-spaced text, were the words. The landlord saw millions of words stored on 24 ribs, words the landlord hadn't heard in years. Uncountable hordes of phrase unfurled from the bones as the body decayed, flesh sloughing off of the testiments. Every inch of the skeleton was scarred with overlapping and cramped knowledge of Babel.

Untold thousands attended the funeral. They watched as remains of the name were buried in my dress. All the words the world had ever lost were returned to them, but the name was gone. My headstone was not marked with Adam or Eve or the name. It was marked with the epigram of a cursed saint. The knowledge in my chest froze.

Centuries after it was in anybody else's head, the name is entangled in mine.

[helluvabosshazbinbeadwhore]

Lovely reminders for all my favorite writers out there. Things I need to remember too as I clear out my calendar to do some more writing myself.

Affirmations for fanfic authors

It’s okay to take a break. - We all need time to recharge, and your fans will still be there when you get back!

It’s okay to go from fandom to fandom. - Nobody is going to criticize you for following your muse, and if they do, then you know who not to associate with in the future!

It’s okay to have a niche. - If smut is where it’s at, then write smut. If you’re all about the fluff, then schmoop away. If angst is what does it for you, then invest in tissues. Nobody has the right to tell you that you should be doing something else if that isn’t what interests you!

It’s okay to be critical of your own work. - Just don’t allow yourself to become so self-deprecating that you freeze!

It’s okay to ask for help. - If you’re unsure of a trope, concept, fact or universe, reach out to your circle of friends. Chances are, they’ll be more than happy to help you because they want to see you succeed!

It’s okay to ignore criticism. - Constructive criticism is only constructive if it helps you. If someone says something that doesn’t assist or improve you in any way, then please feel free to ignore whatever nugget they are imparting, because chances are good they don’t have the best of intentions for you!

It’s okay to stop writing all together. - Your fans will miss you (and chances are good you have way more than you realize,) but sometimes, you just gotta do you!

It’s okay to write with whatever method works for you. - Long writing marathons where you bang out 12,000 words in one day? Great! Linear, dry style that means you occassionally get stuck because you can’t figure out this scene, but it’s all worth it in the end? Rad! Piecemeal work that you thread together at the end? Fabulous! As long as it works for you, there is no wrong way to write!

It’s okay to have fun. - I think this goes without saying, no? But it seems that sometimes, authors need permission. So consider this permission to wile the hell out, and enjoy the ride!

[supahstarrr]

today has been the first day in like days i havent gone to sleep in the afternoon then continuously force myself to sleep throughout the night

[lesbianlenas]

this article im reading gives such an interesting perspective on the idea of the fetus as a separate entity from the mother

the idea of fetal personhood inherently hinges on the idea of believing that a fetus is a separate entity from the mother. the reality is that it is a part of a woman's body just as any other part of a woman's body is. photos of the fetus in the womb give an illusion of separateness from the mother as if it is free floating in space rather than a temporary part of a woman's body. if we viewed the fetus solely for what it is i think it would be much easier for many to reconcile a woman's choice to get an abortion or to prioritize the woman when it comes to medical emergencies during pregnancy. there is a part of my body that is harming me (either physically or mentally) and i do not want it there because of that. we don't view internal organs as having personhood and if there are causing distress to the body they are removed or otherwise dealt with to fix the issue. a fetus is inseparable from the mother until birth in the same way any body part is inseparable from the body. technology has VASTLY played a role in creating this disconnect not only from being able to view the fetus as a solo entity but also in that it is pushing the limits of viability more and more. in the cases where the mother wants to view the fetus as a baby and wants it that is a good thing. but that should not be forced onto any woman and it shouldn't be the choice of anyone else to decide that no. you WILL be forced to have this baby bc there is a slight chance we can make it survive outside of you if you were to give birth to it at this point despite the fact that it is meant to be a piece of your body until it becomes ready to separate from you. the personhood of women requires the acknowledgement that a fetus is not a person until it becomes one through detaching from the mother and being born. fr!

[slushi-chan]

Tw: talking about a creepy dream and distress (Spencer Reid was in it for some fucking reason, why’d he have to be in a bad dream)

Had a dream yesterday while napping where I was in the past but I was invisible and watching the past unfold and Spencer Reid was in the dream and going through it (poor bby can’t get a break even in dreams) and he visited some guy and I was there in the past as this guys pet like I was straight up treated like his pet, not in a sex way but like literally like I was just some animal and I remember present me in the past kept saying things just like commenting on what was happening or saying things to Spencer even though he couldn’t hear me and I kept trying to interact but I couldn’t and I remember Spencer was crying at one point and I wanted to hug him but I couldn’t and there’s other stuff that happened that I can’t remember and there’s some stuff I vaguely remember but can’t verbalize it’s just in my head anyway I can’t stop thinking about that dream and it’s really uncomfortable and distressing and I’m about to go back to bed now and I have this pit in my stomach and I just feel really bad right now and I needed to just vent. I wish Spencer was here to just hold me as I fall asleep and make me feel safe it’s so unfair he’s not real