which way to rome?

Priest AU Solas . 2025

So the priest falls in love with the bride in her forced marriage and steal her away in the wedding day ooopsss.

Bonus bloody priest:

•·················•·················• ⭐Commission me here nananarc.art/Commission ⭐Give me a Ko-fi here ko-fi.com/nananarc

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⭐Credits under the cut.

Fanfic is more popular than ever, which means there are more works "competing" for the readers' attention, who take on a passive approach that treats fanworks not as a means to talk to people with similar interests, but as content, as products. [...] Gift cultures thrive not on monetary exchanges, but on the expectation that the gifts freely given will be returned in an unspecified future through emotional and relational means. This used to set fandom apart, but it's slowly being absorbed into the mainstream way capitalism operates. Where does that leave us?

And it's demotivating to see the responses authors get when expressing their grievances with this state of affairs, or how they feel underappreciated. Being called entitled, told to write for themselves, or to promote their work as if writing and posting isn't enough. I write for myself, I post for the community. There are things I want to say about the source material and characters, and I do through storytelling. And I'm grateful about each of the comments I got, no matter how short. It's just that it doesn't feel like there's a community out there when no one talks back. Writers aren't just expected to write, but to do it for the "right reasons", and to also be as pleasant about it as possible, lest they'll be criticized by more people than the amount that's offering them support.

I've seen posts going around on tumblr that have approached this topic as well--that fanworks (particularly fanfic) should be created from the perspective of a perfect vessel that can pour, pour, pour out and never needs to be poured into. You should do it for the "right reasons" and not complain because "no one owes you interaction". But what is fandom if not interaction?

Writing fanfic is one of the most time-consuming labors of love that makes up a fandom. (That's not to say other fanworks aren't labors, time-consuming, or made with love. We're talking about fanfic). Your 300k+ enemies to lovers slowburn porn-with-plot fic that has reshaped the entire way you approach a specific pairing or media has been made with time, effort, for free, with the intention to be shared with you.

And in the state of current fandom, it has been made with the expectation to receive nothing back. Is that fair? Maybe. Silent readers exist and a kudos on Ao3 is at least an acknowledgment that some people read and enjoyed. But does it hurt to leave a comment? Even a heart emoji or an "I loved this, thank you for sharing!" is enough to at least start a dialogue, a conversation, form a connection.

That's not even to mention the isolation of fandom interactions to private Discords; time after time I've heard from fanfic authors who found out that there have been discord servers or twitter groupchats where their fanfic has been discussed, loved, and lauded at length--but never once was the author told this! Ao3 has comments for a reason. Many authors link their tumblr profiles or emails in their bio for people to reach out to them.

Mature is ‘and then they made love.’ Explicit is 'and here’s how they did it exactly.’

To wit: mature.

He looked at the envelope, spread out before him.

God, he’d never been this hungry.

Could he be gentle enough? Slow enough? He didn’t want to damage it, didn’t want to do anything he’d regret… but no, no, it seemed the envelope wanted this as much as he did. It slipped into his hands, it folded as he asked. When it was time for more, the card was waiting, and he somehow knew exactly what to do. He moved with his correspondence in a dance as old as the mail system, and when it was over, he was smiling and the envelope was completely, thoroughly sealed.

Explicit:

The envelope waved its flap in the air slowly, gently, and he could see the faint shimmer of the adhesive traced along its fold. It was like a taunt, a dare: won’t you? And he would, oh, God, he would, lifting the envelope firmly to his lips, licking slowly at first, then faster, more firmly, tasting the envelope’s essence, the faint bitterness, the sweetness to follow–

Oh, he couldn’t help but smile at how it felt in his hands. It was so perfectly folded. Its paper was rough against his fingers, and its crossed folds shifted slightly as it opened for his eager tongue. Yes, yes…

Now the card, and his hand trembled as he lifted it, as he held the envelope, stretching it wide. Would it fit? Oh… oh, yes, it would fit, it slid in smooth and quick and filled the envelope to bursting, oh, made for each other, and he smiled in delight at how perfect it was.

He was ready. Now, now, now: with one swift movement he folded the flap over and he pressed, yes, he pressed the flap down and it stuck, God, it stuck perfectly, and he closed his eyes in bliss.

All Your Wasteland Flowers aesthetic