Writing, meta, and ramblings blog, because if I keep annoying my friends and family with my nonsense they might stop talking to me. Born 1999. AO3 & Dreamwidth
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bitch moment: obviously this is subjective but a lot of modern queer lit (especially YA) has this specific tone that i find really grating. i want to call it "smug" but that's not exactly it. it's more like, that sense that the author is utterly convinced of the correctness of their own worldview and expects everyone else to agree with them on principle
author is scared of me = terrified of ambiguity, uses excruciatingly precise language to avoid being misinterpreted, treats diversity as a box-ticking exercise, bends over backwards to explain itself when Literally No One Asked, all morally grey actions have to be immediately justified and resolved
author wants me dead = protagonist is unfailingly righteous and good, antagonist is irredeemably evil strawman, narrative refuses to make space for opinions/experiences that don't perfectly match up with the author's perspective, lots of Teachable Moments where an ignorant character is kindly shown the error of their ways by a wiser, more enlightened character
There is a specific reason this is the case, and it's because ~5 years ago the YA writing community had super toxic moral scrupulosity problem and was full of harassment and accusations of an author being problematic, which resulted in things like books getting pulled before they were even released
3, 6, 7 and 9 from Silm fic rec asks if you want :)
[for the Silm Fic Rec Ask Game]
3. The fanfic author you wish you'd read more from.
The answer is: way too many, but I'll stick to the ones that are always at the back of my mind. Warning: as a rule I think I have a problem with fics (and books as well) because whenever I have a strong feeling I'm going to become completely *insane* about one I just postpone reading it. I like to edge myself, I suppose.
So I'd love to read more from user clovis_unleashed/ @tobermoriansass I've read his Maedhros fic for the trsb2025 and the one about Miriel/Feanor and I went completely bonkers over both of them. I've been putting off sisiphyus for as long as I've been active in this fandom (!!). Many fics in my tbr are actually his.
My most recent discovery is user @angamaite-der-ritter/ Angamaite. I saw his published fics, opened several of them (I actually finished one, another is still sitting sadly in an open tab. sigh sigh), and went "okay byeeee" (too good. poor me).
Also, user @i-am-a-lonely-visitor/lonelyvisitor and the Magolfin ship, which I've yet to embark on, but the concept is just chef's kiss.
I don't think that's healthy. I'm missing out on a lot, honestly. And like I'm sure the list is longer than this.
6. A fic you love about a rare character, ship or a legendarium setting.
May I offer you some Amlach in this hot summer? I'm so glad I soft-pressured @endless-natterings into writing the Maedhros x Amlach ("leaping flame in hand") fic I was dyiiiing to read. I later discovered that @sallysavestheday had already contributed to this with Deeper Roots than Reason: this one isn't mainly focused on Amlach (only one chapter is), but trust me, it's so so good.
There's also a fic by user clovis_unleashed set roughly around the time after the awakening of the elves at Cuiviénen but I can't find it anymore sigh sigh*. (=as per rule, I read just one chapter, figured it was enticing my brain too much, closed it.)
*Edit: found it! It's philomela, or, the love of the boot
7. A character, ship or part of the legendarium you wish there were more fics about.
I'm currently trying to figure out how the Noldor-Vanyar relationship would unfold, especially during the whole Unrest, so I'd love to read about that in particular. As a rule, I'd just love to read more about the Vanyar, characters and society.
9. Unfinished Tales! Send some love to a fic on hiatus that you loved.
My heart flies to sparrowhawk by welcoming_disaster. I used to wait for part one updates (seabird) of this series religiously (I still remember they mostly came out every Saturday). I was still lurking back then, and the author is still so dear to me because she was foundational during my first stages of reading russingon fics <333
Grace/Camille + 14 pretty please!!! I still think about the snippet you posted about them all the time!!
hiiii tysm for the ask!!! I also still think about that snippet <3
I got so excited I made a little moodboard too!
Grace didn't remember when her room had turned into their room, but she wouldn't change it for the world. The steady clicking of the keys on Cami's laptop had somehow never bothered her sensitive ears, and Cami didn't seem to let Grace's ceaseless piano playing disturb her—something not even Elijah could say for himself—hence, Grace's piano room, or rather, their room.
A room where neither Klaus nor Elijah dared to go all too often, a room where they weren't involved in any supernatural drama or scheming. A room where even Grace slouched sometimes, as she spent hours agonizing over Tchaikovsky's Pas de Deux—she had been cursing the man for all her immortal life for creating something so beautiful and yet so daunting. It was Cami who had finally convinced Grace to stop dreaming about mastering the piece and just start learning it. And for the past two weeks, Grace has dedicated herself to it, while Cami wrote—whatever it was that Cami was actually writing.
"Ugh!" Grace smashed her fingers down on the keys. "How do I keep getting it wrong? Stupid e minor."
Cami smiled at Grace's outburst. "Why don't you take a little break? You've been at it for an hour and while I have to confess that tortured genius thing is kinda hot, I also worry about you."
Kinda hot? Grace blushed when she met Cami's eyes over the edge of the blonde's laptop. Perhaps this was her chance? Smoothly, Grace stood up and crossed the room, flopping down on the sofa next to Cami as dramatically as she could, and pulled a face when she realized Cami had locked her laptop. "So, how is your book coming along?" Grace inquired.
"How did you know it's a book?" Cami asked, surprise evident in her voice. "I never told anyone."
The strap of Grace's top fell from her shoulder when she shrugged, and Grace noticed that Cami tracked the movement with her eyes. She gravitated towards the warmth of Cami's hand when the blonde slid the strap back into position. Grace knew she had Cami almost where she wanted her. "I can tell the keys you hit by sound," Grace confessed. "I can hear you type things and I can hear you delete them. Way too many words for anything other than a book."
"Wow, I forgot how intense you are sometimes." Cami laughed. She looked at Grace for a long moment, allowing her gaze to drop to those perfectly painted red lips. "I suppose I can tell you." Cami slid closer, and with one hand tucked the hair behind Grace's ear. "It's about a vampire. She's struggling with a lot of stuff, like her sexuality, religion, loss, you know? One day, she finally leaves her golden cage to see the world, and she meets a waitress. The waitress is trying her best to help the vampire—and they fall in love. The vampire thinks she must prove herself and remain cold and unfeeling, so she plans to drain the waitress, but when she hears those three words, she can't."
Grace blushed. Could they truly say it? Could they finally acknowledge the spark? "What three words could possibly accomplish such a feat?"
Cami leaned in a little closer—close enough for her lips to brush against Grace's earlobe, leaving pink lipstick on the antique pearls she wore that day. "I love you."
I love you for this one, it gives me the opportunity to explore some fucked up sirebond stuff and I love it (after all, what's closer than some roundabout mental and emotional control? We're eroding boundaries here). Where is this set in the timeline? Lets not worry about it
ily ask game
Klaus/Tyler + 19 (With no space left between us)
Tyler had never liked sitting still for long. But Klaus liked watching him and that made it easier.
Somehow.
“You’re perfect.” Klaus’ hands brushed over his skin, soft and idle. Or maybe they’d pressed down harder than that. Tyler remembered they’d left a bruise he hadn’t know how to explain away afterwards.
It hadn’t hurt back then. But nothing really had, not while the high of no-more-full-moons and no-more-breaking-apart-until-he-was-inside-out had lasted. And well, the other thing too. But he hadn't known about the other thing.
"Of course I am." Tyler had never felt perfect. Not even at the height of his cocksure arrogance. Except Klaus said he was and that made it true. "I'm like you now."
He'd almost wanted to say 'You made me like you" but something had scratched at the back of his throat every time he tried to speak.
Klaus hummed, pleased, and then he drew his fingers into Tyler's hair. "I'm glad." He laughed and bowed his head into the crook of Tyler's neck. "You should know how strong and perfect you are. And how long I've waited to meet you." His breath was warm.
Making Klaus glad had felt like biting into a sour gusher. Sweet, fresh, and tongue numbing. Being around Klaus had numbed a lot of things. Like the twisting knot that had been rotting in his gut since-
Klaus was watching him again. His eyes were more blue than Care's but less than Matt's. He was waiting for something and Tyler did not know what it was.
It unsettled him. There were fire ants under his skin and he couldn't speak.
He would never really know how deep it went. How much the bond had anticipated Klaus' wants and needs. He should've asked Elena.
"I almost fea-" Klaus cut himself off, "There was a concern your friends might convince you otherwise."
"I don't need my friends to tell me what to think." The fire ants were still there and they were spreading. "I can do that just fine by myself." He still didn't know what Klaus wanted.
"You care about them."
The fire ants stopped. Tyler didn't need them anymore. He knew.
Klaus was still watching.
"I care about you more," the couch felt too large all of a sudden, too empty, "I love you."
Tyler pretended not see Klaus' watery eyes and soft smile. And then he pushed it away into until he forgot it had ever happened.
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genuinely nothing is more corrosive to love, respect, or trust than the insecurity of forever being second and last in line. of always being the plus one but never invited; always tolerated on their behalf but never wanted on your own. of knowing that nobody's jealousy or admiration is about you at all, only your place at their side. you tell them that you feel like you only exist when you're with them, and they laugh, charmed, but it isn't a figure of speech. it's not enough that they love you best if everyone else loves them better.
okay some people are misinterpreting this as talking about people who treat you like a pity project and like they're doing you a favour by choosing you. this isn't necessarily about relationships made toxic by people who don't value you enough. this is about knowing that you're socially disposable and being unable to accept the love that you're offered because you resent how much your life depends on it.
like I'm sympathetic, it's hard work, it takes some degree of mental organisation and physical capacity that is not equally accessible to every human being on earth. I know. but regardless of how much you can do and how often, you will get better results across the board if you can frame it as positive effort towards a better situation instead of perpetually self flagellating for having the sin of being a solid thing in physical space that steadily accumulates dirt no matter what just like everything else on earth
I have been remiss in my tags for Snippets or WIPs lately.
Thank you for the tags @aroacebaggins @thescrapwitch @ladysterndust @ffigwit and anyone else I may have missed.
The only thing I've worked on in the last month that isn't TRSB, is The Thrall's Trauma. (And an OC that is not related to Tolkien at all)
I also did a tiny bit on my Nerdanel and Anairë fic, but that was literally a few lines.
Below is an actual snippet of my WIP The Thrall's Trauma.
His lord had sent for him. High King Fingolfin was going to hold a great celebratory feast during the coming spring. The name brought a flash of a sword in memory, but nothing else.
As Lord Maedhros continued, he spoke of the great feasts of Tirion and how he missed them.
Tirion did invoke a memory. Well not quite a memory. It invoked a feeling. Something about feeling happy and overly full after eating. That was definitely not a memory from Middle-earth. Until Himring he had known only hunger and thirst. At least those also were a memory now.
For a moment he was excited that he may sit at a feast again. That felt familiar, as if another life had been forgotten.
Then Maedhros shattered that with a single command. He was to be a member of the guard. He hid his disappointment. Of course he was a member of the guard! To be invited to the table was above his station. He should know that! He was a guard and nothing more. No matter how his faulty memories lied to him.
He bowed his exit upon dismissal and then went to hide in the armoury for a moment. Why did he think he should be at the table? Whatever that was, it was a life long gone. Even if he could have remembered it, it was no longer his life. He was just a guard, as his lord commanded.
Prompt: A very, very belated entry for @tolkiengenweek day 3: grey spaces
Summary: Here is the one, she thought, who will bring our deliverance.
Hope comes to Minas Tirith. Finduilas still withers.
Rating: T
Word Count: 8.5k
Finduilas stood before the wall of the Citadel, tiling her face to the cold clasp of the morning mist and dreaming she wore the sea on her skin. All was white and cold around her, and she imagined it the foam of the sea flung up about her, frozen in stasis.
On mornings like this, when the mist crept inland, borne upon the shoulders of the Anduin, she could almost envision she was again in Dol Amroth, where the sea mist would coil about the feet of the towers of the palace, and she would step into the cold clutch of morning, roving here and there through the mist, passing like a ghost upon the cold sands of the shore and through the brackish marshes.
If it were not for the deep quiet of the dampening mist, she could even have dreamed herself in the sea, borne upon its shoulders in the cold hours of morning, cut loose from the world, drifting on endless seas.
But the sea was not quiet. It lapped caressingly about her ankles, whispered promises beneath the window of the castle towers, teemed in the seething darkness of sudden summer squalls. It was a lover’s voice always murmuring in the back of her mind, familiar and beloved.
Minas Tirith was not wholly quiet, either. It never was. Distantly, in the circles beneath, she caught the ringing of hammers of smiths at work, the calls of the guardsmen as the fore-dawn watchmen retired to their quarters and the dawn watch assembled, the trundling of handcarts as servants and tradesmen went about their work in the cold hours of morning before the city woke fully.
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I love that thing when people get a little bit tongue-tied and garble what they’re trying to say so they make a little “blegh” 👅 noise and start over. verbal reset button. hitting the top of the tv to unscramble the signal
"my great grandmother who survived 3 wars and raised 10 children by herself while working in a factory watching me go to therapy because my parents yelled at me" ok but your great grandmother was also miserable. maybe your great grandmother would be happy you try your best to not be miserable
It’s become a huge pet peeve for me for people to throw out “progressive” sounding arguments for everything under the sun just because they want something to be true and they assume it’ll shut you up
Imo this is what you get when your only concept of social justice is “I’ve seen people online win arguments by saying things like this, am I doing it right?” No
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i do not want to live in the fucking panopticon fuck the camera that blinks above me at work, the tv watching me at the store, the "smile you're on camera" signs, the ring cameras, the flock cameras, the apps to track your child or partner, the activist friends telling me "just assume everything you do in public is being recorded somewhere", the government building protester databases, the teslas recording every move all around them, the knowledge that everything i type or search or save is being tracked and logged, the ads and search suggestions that mysteriously know what i was just talking about, the way biometrics keep creeping into more places, the way my car spies on me, the way my phone spies on me, the way there is nowhere to go to get away from it!!! no wonder the internet is full of vindictive little stalkers and witchhunts when it's the water and the air of society from the culture to the infrastructure
no i very much mean to include store cctv in this, i do not want to be watched anywhere actually. and for that matter i am pro shoplifting. “she” is not doing her best “she” is a tool of mass surveillance and so are you
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