Alternatively: People Ride Horses in Your Fic, and you’re Not Sure What to Do About It
horse rider/owner and baby writer here, throwing you an infodump that will maybe help with the whole ‘There’s a Horse in the Background here but I Don’t Know What to Do With it’ thing I sometimes see in writing!
Inside this infodump: Horse riding, horse care, horse tack (equipment), falling off a horse (and what usually gets injured), horse lingo, and behaviour.
From one of the most prolific authors on the topic of the English
language and linguistics. Incredibly sensible and also
charming and engaging. This book has 40 short chapters of 3-4 pages, with many featuring a separate breakout with a related story or example.
We get brief dalliances into hieroglyphs and cuneiform as well as morse
code and printing presses. There are half a dozen chapters on ways you
can play with English, and each is broken down into mini-sections that
are rarely more than a page or two long.
The definitions of even the most fiendish words are given in language accessible to a child and rarely longer than twenty words. Although I’m not normally one for wanton book destruction, I will say that my overwhelming compulsion to turn the letter pages into a giant wall alphabet speaks to how adorable the illustrations are.
Summary: You and Bucky had a fight and he stormed out, you can’t fall asleep until he’s home.
Authors Notes: just wanted to give a quick thank you for the lovely feedback so far! Truly did not expect people to like my stuff and I’m completely surprised and blown away thank you :)
You rolled over to face the window with a deep, sad sigh. It’s been exactly four hours and 52 minutes since Bucky stormed out of your shared apartment after a fight.
He slammed the door so hard against the frame that the entire wall shook, and you weren’t looking forward to the noise complaints from the neighbors.
You curled your arm under your pillow and tucked your legs up behind your knees as you gazed out of the window.
Stars twinkling brightly in the dark sky. Clouds shifting slowly, creating odd shapes. The light from the moon beaming through the window, casting a shadow around your empty bedroom.
It was 3AM and you knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, not until Bucky was home in bed safe and sound.
You couldn’t even remember what the fight was about. One thing was said, then it escalated to other petty stuff like him not putting the toilet seat down or loading the dishwasher, and then he started listing your flaws one by one and eventually, it came to a head and he left. You’ve cried all the tears you could muster up. You were so tired, so exhausted but you couldn’t fall asleep.
You were so gone in your thoughts that you failed to hear the clicking of the lock from the front door and the creaking of the floorboards as heavy footsteps made their way to your bedroom.
In fact, you didn’t register anyone else was in the apartment until you felt the bed dip next to you and a metal arm wrap itself tightly around your middle.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, burying his face in your shampoo he loves so much.
“I’m sorry too.” You whispered back in the darkness, leaning into his touch. You turned in your spot, your head using his chest as a pillow. Your arm wrapped around his torso as you clinged onto him for dear life.
“Please never leave me again.” With your words breaking Bucky’s heart. He held you tighter, intertwining your legs together.
In light of recent asks I received, I wanted to say something:
If you are experiencing actual, literal anxiety or anxiety attacks over fiction - be it a writing choice, a pairing you do or don’t like, or even fan responses to fiction you like - you need to see a professional.
Experiencing anxiety and/or anxiety attacks over fiction isn’t healthy, it’s obsessive. And you need to talk to a professional about it.
Fiction isn’t meant to cause anxiety and it shouldn’t. Fiction should be an escape from those things.
And if the fandom you’re in is causing you anxiety, then you need to either temporarily or permanently withdraw from it. Fandoms are supposed to be fun, like the fiction the fandoms form around. If they’re making you anxious, they have ceased to be fun and, for your own mental health, you should take a break from it.
Please, don’t risk your own mental health over fiction and fandoms. And if you’re doing that, please get help from a professional.
“Today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups… So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because increasingly we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms. I do not distrust their motives; I distrust their power. They have a lot of it. And it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. I ought to know. I do the same thing.”
These journals cover my life from 1994-2001. They offer a nice personal trip through the angsty ‘90s when I was sure I would be the next Kurt Cobain.
I wrote in these journals almost every day. Sometimes it was just a couple of sentences or a crappy poem or a doodle with a stupid caption. And sure, sometimes it was a traditional journal entry that went on for a few pages. Other times the journal entry was just a paragraph. More than once, I just filled a page with the word “FUCK!”
I’m telling you this because professional writers often give the advice: “Write every day.” But, they don’t explain what that means and they’re content to let the recipient of that advice assume that means “write on your big project until your fingers cramp up every day,” which is bullshit.
“Write every day” means “let your creative writing brain play every day.” So, one day you might just write anagrams for your own name or jot down notes for a story you know you won’t get to for months. Hell, I even use my blank journal pages as a palette when I paint. (It’s not writing, but it’s creative work and that counts, damn it.)
Rather than force yourself to finish that chapter in your novel that simply must be written, but feels like an emotional slog every time you open the file, allow yourself to write whatever the fuck you feel like writing (or, dare I suggest, even skip a day of that daily writing all together). You’re still doing the work, you’re still exercising and strengthening that part of you that needs to write.
Writing isn’t always fun, so there’s no reason to put additional pressure on yourself to maintain a daily quota of words. If you give yourself the freedom to play with your writing, you’ll find that when you are ready to jump back into that novel or whatever you’ll be more mindful and more prepared. You’ll have built that habit of writing professional writers talk about.
It worked for me. And though I never became the next Kurt Cobain, I did become an author.
Pairing: Harry Styles x Any!Reader (Gender Neutral)
Summary: You and Harry get into a tedious tussle over nail polish colors.
Warnings: Super super super small hint of sexual talk towards the end, but everything is peachy and fluffy for the most part.
Word count: 691; a baby blurb
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
“I like the coral much better.”
You shook your head with a grin on your face as you sifted through your bag of variously colored nail polishes. “I want yellow god damn it! Why is that so much to ask for.”
Though your annoyed reaction was dramatized on your part, Harry couldn’t help but snicker as you loudly rummaged through the glass bottles, the loud clanging of the glass-on-glass combination only being intensified as you dug through them all with an urgency to your movements.
“Here,” Harry stated calmly as he reached into the bag and plucked out the yellow bottle that conveniently lay on the very top of all the other bottles.
You shot daggers his way, making him inhale with a massive grin on his face. as he playfully shoved you with his shoulder. “Hey! Not my fault you’re blind.”
“I could murder you if I truly wanted to. I watch a lot of true crime Harold.”
“Kill me then,” Harry quipped back with his eyebrow raised in a sarcastic fashion.
You let out a counterfeit groan which, ultimately, resulted in you losing your incredibly fake sour attitude as you broke character and slid into a puddle of chuckles instead.
“God I hate you,” you said while snatching the yellow bottle of his hands and setting it upright on the coffee table in front of the both of you.
“Awe”, Harry reached a hand to his chest, his fingertips touching the bare skin that peeked out from the top buttons that were unbuttoned on his loosely fit button down shirt.
You took your eyes off of the intense concentration you were holding to ensure the polish you were applying to your nails was even and precise.
“Did I hurt somebodies feelings?”
“Tremendously-i’m completely shattered. How will I ever be able to recover from this.”
In a faux, snobbish manor, you lifted your freshly painted hand in the air to better get a glimpse at your work until you felt satisfied enough with it. Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help but let a small giggle ripple from between his closed lips which made you turn your head to look in his direction.
“Nope,” Harry said with a dramatic pop to the ending ‘p’ sound.
You began climbing, with extra caution as to not disturb your pretentious artwork set on your finger nails, turning your body around and hitching a leg up and over so you were rested comfortably facing him as you sat in his lap.
Harry’s hands found the natural dip in your hips as he rested his hands there and looked at you with a slightly different shimmer in his eyes-one that was graced with a sheen of playfulness.
“I could think of one thing that’s wrong.”
“Oh really,” you quirked, already quickly catching on to what sort of thing Harry was beginning to hint at, “And what would that be.”
Your face had begun to inch closer to his with every syllable leaving your tongue until the tips of either of your noses were only separated by a sliver of distance.
Harry hummed an ‘mmm’ in contentment before nudging his nose against yours. “Kiss me.”
Inching closer, Harry moved the the forward distance, fully anticipating yours and his mouths to collide until you pulled back just slightly, leaving him high and dry.
“What about your nails. We haven’t painted yours yet.”
Harry let out a puff of air throw his nostrils while he loosened a chuckle as it rumbled through his chest. “I think we have some other important things to entertain right now.”
“Really? What would those things be Harry?”
By now, your lips were both skimming against the others. No real kissing was happening, right now was purely the tease and chase routine you guys often engaged in before you both fucked each other until your legs were jello and his heart was beating out of his chest from all of the vigorous activity.
“Shall I show you then?”
“Hmm”, you soothed as you let your hips grind down against Harry which would surely create a prominent bulge there within the next coming minutes. “I think you probably should.”
Sometimes when she looked up into the night sky, with all the distant stars and planets and light years of dark, dead air, she thought about how truly strange it was to be alive and standing in a suburban backyard.
Ask: Idk if you do Mob!Timothee or mob! at all but I was hoping that you could write something with Mob!Timothee x pregnant!reader where he doesnt want kids so he pretends that you’re not pregnant until you had to drive yourself to the hospital when your water breaks? I’m sorry this is alot
Its totally fine I love this!!!
You ever have that feeling of being in a room full of people, yet feel completely and utterly alone. That’s exactly how you felt ever since you found out you were pregnant. You had known that timothee didnt want children but you had hoped that he would change his mind, be happy, and supportive about a child. His child, coming into this world.
9:34 AM Augest 8th 2019
He was the complete and total opposite.Timothee was angry and pretended that your belly was protruding from eating a full course meal and not from carrying a four and a half month old baby. You had also hoped that he had some sympathy left to at least help you set up the nursery. But he didnt.
He had walked by numerous of times whether it be on the phone or just passing by for amusement. Yet he still failed to help you when he had seen you were struggling to set up the crib. His best friend coming in to from a meeting down the hall to help after he heard you grunting with pain and annoyance from spending hours in the small but large room.
7:23 PM December 25th 2019
When you went shopping for baby clothes women and men. Gave you looks of pity, obviously thinking you were a single mother, and honestly it felt like you were. You had always had sympathy for women who have had to do this alone and now all you could do was sympathize yourself.
2:48 PM November 6th 2020
You thought of leaving. Hell you had tried leaving but as soon as you stepped foot outside the front gate that protected the house from the outside, with a bag in your hand filled with clothes and money. One of the many guards had brought you back into a place where you couldn’t call home anymore thanks to one man.
4:25 AM February 10th 2020
You and timothee had seen each other obviously but everytime he still had not acknowledged your baby bump, he barely looked at your collarbone if you were lucky. Everytime you had said “Timmy we need to talk,” he’d cut you off with , “Not now I have a meeting.” Or it’s end with a bad argument spitting words at you for “Carrying an ABOMINATION, in you fucking stomach!” And sometimes he’d laugh at you in front of his other mafia friends, something you use to love so much.
6:41 PM October 3rd 2019
That was until you woke up one night to blood soaked night shorts and timothee not answering the phone. You knew he had been clubbing alot more in the past few months, so it wouldn’t surprise you if he was accompanied by another women. That usually made you furious, but right know you were struggling to clean up and put on fresh clothes. While taking the suitcase filled with both yours and your baby’s clothes down and into the car.
2:50 AM March 3rd 2020
Arriving at the hospital was worrisome. Not ready to push something the size of a watermelon out of your vag. The doctors had set you up into a private room, calming you down a bit, not much though. While waiting you had checked your phone to see if you had replied or checked you messages at all. He didn’t, he hadn’t in the past few months. What would be different now?
Can you get home pleaseee
I’m at the hospital
I’m going into labor
Delivered 3:02 AM
You had started to silently sob thinking of all the things he had missed out in this pregnany.
“Oh my god!” You gasped, feeling a strange yet comfortable feeling in your belly. “What?” Timothee asked, slightly on edge as to why you looked so happy yet weirded out. “The baby’s kicking!” You said feeling the small flutters, hoping that this is what brings him around. “Oh, he said looking disappointed "that’s nice.” He said as he walked away. Knowing later tonight you would be crying what was left of your heart out in your once shared bedrrom.
10:52 AM December 4th 2020
Your mind was brought out of its haze as you heard a door open, begging it to be timothee, but to no avail it was just your OBG/YN, Dr. Robbins. “How are you doing?” The beautiful blonde doctor asked. While checking how far along you were. “M'fine” you replied, no emotion in your voice, in what should be the happiest moment of you life, but was one of the dullest. “No dad?” A question she had asked everytime you went in for an appointment. “Has there ever been?” You replied snarkily. Instead of replying she gives you a look, one you knew all to well, guilt.
3:10 AM March 3rd 2020
You stared down into your beautiful daughters eyes a few hours later, your forehead glistening with sweat, and chest heaving up and down at an ungodly rate. Her eyes didnt have pigment yet, but you were sure would come out a greenish/hazel.
The door burst open, startling her filling the room with cries, but silence from everyone else in the room. Timothee stood in the doorway clothes disheveled and backwards, with freshly painted hickies on his neck. You grimaced, knowing your beliefs were true. He walked in sitting on the bed with you, he leaned in to kiss you but you pulled away from the stench of vodka and perfume. He frowned and looked at you to see your eyes that once shined with love and affection towards him were now dull and sad.
People seem to have enjoyed the Max Stroke stuff which is largely just like, gonzo porn with gimmicks (all MLM), but if you’re into queer romance/romantic erotica/porn with plot, I have you covered there also under the exciting brand name Melissa Snowdon (Previously featured in a @newsmutproject anthology, Between the Shores)
Tamewlw, historical-contemporary (early 21st cent), chick lit/romantic comedy with werewolf, novel-length, proper-ish plot, also available in paperback on lulu.com (you can buy the paperback by amazon but i’d prefer if you get it from lulu if possible because i get more of the royalties from them)
tl;dr SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL TRANS/GAY AUTHOR WHO IS DOING HIS VERY BEST TO MAKE SURE THERE’S A LOT OF VARIED QUEER LIT OUT THERE.
all happy-ever-after/happy-for-now; the guarantee is if there’s “Melissa Snowdon” on the cover I won’t give you a sad ending.
Summary: Spending a rainy, stormy winter’s evening with the love of yourlife.
Authors Note: winter is my favorite season and I created this cozy little moodboard to go with it.
The rain hit heavily against the windows. It was only 3PM but it was already dark outside, thanks to the storm and black clouds that littered the sky.
Horns honking, sirens blaring could be heard in the distance on the streets of Manhattan as you and Bucky snuggled up cozily on the large couch with blankets and your homemade hot chocolates. Scented candles lit safely around the room and the mood lights creating a warm feel.
The Netflix logo popped up on the large television that was mounted to the wall above a long wooden unit. Thunder rumbled across the dark skies and flashes of lightning lit up the New York night.
You snuggled in closer to the warm man next to you. Loving the storms and the sounds of the pattering rain. Bucky flicked through a couple of movies - neither to your fancy. He stumbled across a show; Stranger Things.
“How about this one?” He asked reading the synopsis.
You hummed as you wiggled your toes underneath your fluffy cozy bedsocks. “Sounds perfect.”
And perfect it was as the storm grew heavier and the rain battered the windows harder. You were safe with Bucky in your apartment, warm and cozy as you pressed the side of your face to his chest. Breathing in his musky scent. The two of you just starting to watch the show when you were suddenly shrouded in darkness. The electricity has gone out. The only light is from the flickering candles.
“So uh, plan B?” Bucky chuckled and you giggled along with him.
“Yeah. I guess this is where we ‘chill’ instead of Netflix.”
“Perfect. Hope I can feel my way around.”
You giggled and groaned in delight as his fluffy beard tickled your chin and hid lips met yours in a slow and passionate way, like you’ve both got all the time in the world.
It was 2 AM and the neighbor’s dog had been barking for half an hour. Why was he even outside? They usually let him sleep in the house. Finally, she got out of bed, put on some pants and went outside to see what was going on.
And with a sickening thud her head hit the tiled floor, covering it with crimson plasma and pinkish grey brain matter. Her body collapsed in a quivering mess. The last echoes of her life convulsively displayed for all the horrified party to see.
Okay, so what if I write a book that is basically rural gothic. Would anyone read that? Because I sure as fuck would, and every writer is like, “write what you want to read,” so here I am, back on my bullshit, into two other stories up to my elbows and about to add a third that will be a completely different vibe and genre.
I don’t have a new story for you, just a heartfelt thank you.
I recently reached over 1k followers, which is huge for me. This blog has been my 3rd and final attempt at a sci-fi original fiction blog and I was beginning to think that maybe it was something I flat out was not good at.
But there are 1,011 of you that have proved me wrong, and for that I thank you.
Because of my current circumstances most of my stuff is written on mobile, which is why most of my stuff might have typos or grammatical errors, but the fact that you all like it means so very much to me.
While I know its been pretty dry in terms of content recently, soon I will be making a compendium of sorts to make it easier to find my older stuff, and I have been thinking up new stories and story arcs.
Bottom line is, I only make content because you wonderful people have kept me going. Thank you very much
Prompts: #4 “You’re doing it wrong.” + #5 “What are you doing?” “What does it look
like I’m doing?”
Pairing: Byun Baekhyun x Reader (ft Kyungsoo & Kai)
It wasn’t every day that you came home to your boyfriend, so
it was a pleasant surprise to see him nestled down on the couch when you walked
into the living room. Eyeing all the junk food and soft drinks littering the
table and couch, you couldn’t help yourself. You had to ask.
“What are you doing?” you asked, placing your school bag on
the table before joining him on the couch.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Baekhyun asked you,
looking away from the television as his gaze washed over you, pouting his lips
for extra effect.
Tom Casiello said in Chris’s interview yesterday, more or less, that the way the Games works isn’t that important and you can imagine it in whatever way you want. It’s the last thing they’re worried about since they’re more focused on trying to tell good stories with the characters.
Thank fuck for this because now I can sleep at night knowing I can make something up and handwave it
It had never really occurred to him, fashion truly being the last thing his mind could focus on. However certain cogs in his brain shifted once he was faced with the dilemma of what to wear on his first date with the famous Hogwarts curse breaker.
It was then when his roommate flipped his lid and produced for him a suit in record time “You can’t possibly expect her to go on a second date if you go out in that.” Andre pointed a finger to his attire, Talbott fumbling with the sleeves of his worn out shirt. So he accepted the help, for her, not for him.
He paid little attention to the clothes on his back, as long as they weren’t torn and would fit his budget, he was alright with just about anything.
The moment something snapped in his mind was after the date, when Andre would berate every choice of clothing covering him. instead of retaliating, he devised a plan. On the summer before his fifth year, Talbott got his hand on the most obnoxious clothes he could find. If Andre did not wish to mind his business, then Talbott would at least give him something to truly fuss over.
On the first night back at the dorms, Andre was arranging his bed, talking about his summer when suddenly all words left him for a moment, face scrunching in horror “What the Hell is that?”
“Oh this?” Talbott pointed absentmindedly to his lime green shirt depicting a small island, the plastic already pealing from the fabric, words in bold red letters spelling Welcome to the bitch instead of beach “just a shirt I bought. Why?”
Andre missed the mischievous glint in his friends’ eye as he threw his hands up in the air “First of the colours, oh Merlin the colours.” He pressed the palm of his hands against his eyes, Talbott stifling a chuckle “And the…” he pointed “can you not read?”
“I don’t care.” Talbott shrug his shoulders “I sleep in it anyway. But” he lowered himself to the trunk at the foot of his bed “I also got other things, come take a look.”
As Andre slowly approached, he let out a screech upon seeing the assortment of colours. Talbott took out a pair of trousers, one leg painfully obvious shorter than the other, the sickly yellow colour making even him squint.
“Mate you need to get your eyes checked.” Pushing Talbott aside, he frantically took out obnoxiously big sweaters, shirts with hideous patterns and in odd colours almost making him scream.
Turning to Talbott, his brow twitched in annoyance especially when he spoke “You do not approve?”
“Approve? APPROVE?!” Andre paced, wrecking his brain “You need to kill it! Kill it with fire.” Grabbing Talbott by the shoulders he shook him “What have you done?” swatting him away, Andre grabbed his chest as if he was ready to have a heart attack, the other hand dramatically fanning his face “This is horrendous, no style, no decency.”
A knock at their door provided Talbott the perfect excuse to turn away from Andre and laugh behind his hand to stifle it. Opening the door, he could feel all the colour drain from his face seeing his girlfriend. She lowered her eyes, brows knitting as she looked at his shirt “So am I invited to this bitch.”
Slapping his forehead, Talbott turned as Andre yelled once more.
“See?! Thank you.”
Popping her head in, she grinned at Andre “Oh no, I dig it, so you guys up for sweets and a late night?”
Laughing, Talbott let her in, swearing Andre’s forehead vein would pop.
See another reason the whole ‘fiction doesn’t affect reality’ thing bothers me is because of fandom in general.
Like if you spend money on swag because of a movie, TV show, book series, etc that is fiction affecting your reality. If you dress up for a movie premiere, that’s fiction impacting your reality. If you go to ANY conventions guess what? Fiction affected your reality.
Fiction can impact reality positively or negatively.
Helpful Questions to Ask While Writing a Disabled Character
Followed by my ♿ opinions, of course.
I love it when able-bodied authors include disability in their worlds—unless it’s exploring disability with the author’s abled point of view (there’s nothing like being shown how it should go by someone who’s never lived it)—and as long as it’s accurate in spirit instead of being used as a cheap plot mechanism to provoke feelings.
This involves research and finding out what we have to say, not just our doctors and/or caregivers. And by “we,” I mean people who have the disability you wish to include…since disabled experiences are quite different between conditions.
Before authors get to that point, they make decisions about their characters, and whether their work contributes to disabled stigma and misrepresentation depends on those decisions.
I, personally, love authors who ask themselves the following questions before they write disability:
Why? Why do I want to have a disabled character?
If the answer has anything to do with feelings, needs more work.
When authors sprinkle disability like spice whenever they need audience sympathy, pity, or angst, their writing feels lazy and shallow. It only selects the parts of Disabled Experience™ which suit their able-bodied narrative.
Using disability to prod around feelings directly leads to inspiration porn and other unpleasant forms of objectification.
Similar things happen when writers give a side character a disability to show everyone how pure/wonderful/strong/charitable/benevolent/woke their able-bodied protag is.
Disability suddenly gets dropped/erased when it’s no longer useful to the plot—or to effect even more feelings…especially making the audience feel super great! “Aww, they can be happy now that they’re no longer disabled.” It’s a really gross feeling, ya’ll.
Please be wary while fetishizing disability, especially in hurt/comfort, etc. Tags are appreciated. IRL disableds experience a high rate of abuse, especially at the hands of loved ones and caregivers. As with various other kinks, it’s all too easy to glorify something that should never happen IRL. Cognizant authors are appreciated.
Is disability what makes this character unique?
If the answer is yes, needs more work.
Please use caution when including disability to make a character “interesting,” “inspiring,” or “my own spin on a trope.” If you rely too heavily on disability for your character’s readability factor, your writing runs the risk of, you guessed it, objectifying disability and turning into an accessory or convenience. In these sort of “afterthought” attitudes, disability only comes up when the character needs to get mad, when they have something self-righteous to say, etc. They can pick and choose when to leave their disability at home, in other words, and that incorrect assumption follows real disableds throughout life.
If a character’s disability is the main thing that sets them apart in a trope or setting, please go back to the drawing board and figure out some additional traits to help carry their development. They are incomplete.
Am I willing to search for (and talk to/read from) people who have a similar condition to my character and accept feedback on how real people would function as a character in my world?
If the answer is no, then don’t half-ass a disabled character into your story. Seriously, I’m begging you, just throw it out.
You will do us disservice, and in some cases actual harm, by perpetuating misconception and stigma of disabled people.
Does my character’s personal development in the story have anything to do with disability?
If the answer is yes, tread carefully.
You are approaching the whole “exploring disability from an abled point of view.” Definitely have a sensitivity reader/consult vet it for you. Preferably one who has a similar disability to your character’s.
Do you think we'll get another canon enemies to lovers romance in popular and mainstream media? Most etl ships are non-canon and/or from media that doesn't reach the masses like SW. I honestly can't think of any etl ships that reached the level of Reylo in the past few years while being canon at the same time. I'm also curious how the discourse will change (or not) for any future etl ships.
Pre TROS, I hoped the popularity of Reylo would inspire other franchises to follow the same path for opportunistic reasons. The movie industry goes where the money is.
Now, I’m not so sure. Reylo remains pretty much the only feature of the ST that has been almost universally praised, but TROS was so bad that even the Reylo parts suffered from it, and the critical response was (understandably) lackluster compared to the deluge of enthusiastic reviews praising the chemistry and implicit eroticism of their TLJ (and even TFA) scenes.
Instead of setting a new, clear trend by showing everyone how you make an epic enemies to lovers romance for the ages, as I hoped, Disney/Lucasfilm treated Reylo with extreme indecisiveness and ambiguity. Not enough ambiguity to keep people debating and writing essays for decades on what’s the nature of the reylo dynamic (it’s clear it’s romantic), but enough ambiguity to make people wonder what was even the point of it, if all we got were a handful of rushed and showy duel scenes before a third act where, yes, they kiss, but he doesn’t get to speak a single word and she goes on with her merry life after being puzzled for half a second over his dead body vanishing. All this magnificent set up and it ended with a whimper. TROS was the third act of this romance, and when the third act is poor, it inevitably affects the perception of the thing as a whole.
I can see other franchises looking at this mess and deciding it’s not worth the fuss. That an enemies to lovers romance that is central to the plot is just too difficult to write (regardless of the reception and discourse surrounding it). Best case scenario is people—franchises, creators—taking the tangible audience frustration over the way Reylo was mishandled and turning it into a creative drive to create new stories. I certainly have more hope for indie creators going this way than I do for big western franchises. For the latter to truly embrace the enemies to lovers trope, they’d also have to a) embrace the female gaze (as opposed to opportunistic *feminist* narratives that are, ultimately, always a celebration of masculine power fantasies, just slightly tweaked to feature a character who *happens* to be female in place of the usual male hero) and b) DUMP THE AMERICAN MONOMYTH AND CALVINIST MORALITY. Doubtful this is gonna happen anytime soon in mainstream western fiction.
There is a third way, though. It’s watching and giving our money to non-western (and specifically non-american) media. I’m sure that, for the next few years, that’s where we should look if we want to see some solid EtL. Non western fiction, independent (female) authors, possibly smaller yet potentially widely popular projects (Netflix shows, etc).
Hey guys this is my first story on here, or anywhere really. I would really appreciate it if you could give me some pointers, or suggestions before i post part two. Also any tips for improvement would be very welcome. I hope you all enjoy Eric.
Relationship: Male reader X Male siren
Warning: slight injury (twisted ankle)
The cold sea spray was refreshing as you made your way over the boulders that made up the majority of the coastline of Port Barsel. You had fallen in love with the scenic coastal town when you had visited your best friend there last summer. When you got back home you decided to find an apartment there, you were pleasantly surprised to find a cute little studio apartment with a breathtaking view of the ocean, just barely within your price range. So without a second thought you packed up and moved to the town of your dreams. You loved exploring the beaches in your free time, finding tide pools and observing the life inside of them,sometimes you’d pack a lunch and be gone all day. It was on one such excursion that you stumbled across the beautiful little cove. Nestled between two cliffs it was nearly invisible from the beach, with no clear way to get into it. you discovered the little tunnel quite by accident after slipping on some loose stones and diving behind a rather large boulder. When you got up and brushed yourself off you noticed the opening of a small cave and naturally you went inside. The small cave let out into the hidden cove on the other side of the cliff. It was beautiful. The sandy beach leading out into the crystalline turquoise water took your breath away. The next thing that caught your attention was the large boulder jutting out of the lagoon, there seemed to be an easy way to get out to it. You instantly knew you had to have lunch on that boulder in the middle of the hidden cove. So the next weekend you packed a nice lunch and a picnic blanket and went on your way. And that’s how you started your weekly getaways to your own private paradise.
You sighed in relief as the boulder hiding the cave came into view, it had been a particularly stressful week at work. One of your co workers had recently quit, leaving you to pick up their hours, meaning you were working double shifts almost every day. The paychecks were great, it almost made up for how exhausted you were at the end of the day. As you made your way along the edge of the beach towards the central boulder you felt all the stress melt from your body, it was a nice warm day and perfect for a boulder picnic. you laid out the blanket and rummaged through the picnic basket you packed, pulling out a bottle of water and a tuna wrap. You munched happily on your lunch and let all your worries fade away.
As you came to you realised it was almost dark, you must’ve passed out on the warm rock listening to the waves roll into the shore. “I must have been more exhausted than I thought.” you mused aloud, sighing as you realised you would have to make your way back home in the dark. As you started to pack up you took a moment to soak in the picturesque surroundings. The rose colored sky reflected and distorted by the water made the already beautiful cove even more enchanting, like a setting in a fairytale. A loud splash from behind you abruptly pulled you from your daydream. you turned quickly, twisting your ankle in the process and landing on your ass with a rather painful yelp. As you looked up from your now useless ankle, you spotted the source of the splash. A man was hanging on to the side of the boulder staring at you with a shocked expression. “ Are you ok? i’m sorry i didn’t know anyone was here.” The man said, his voice full of concern, instantly squashed the anger building up inside. “ I’m fine, I think i just twisted my ankle, you scared me”. “ There’s never anyone here, so I didn’t think to announce myself, I’m really sorry.” An expression of concern washed across his face. As you stood up hesitantly you got a better look at the man before you, long dark hair hung in wet curls around his face, framing a strong jawline. His olive skin complimented the pale green eyes still staring at you with concern. He looked more like a lumberjack or a bodybuilder than a swimmer, there was something else off about him but you couldn’t quite name it.“ like i said im fine its just going to be a pain in the ass getting back home with my ankle”. you hobble over to the man to pick up your picnic basket which was resting just off to the side of him. “ I think we got off on the wrong foot” you say as you bend over to grab the basket. “ it’s nice to meet you, my name is…”. You stop suddenly as a flash of deep bluish black scales catches your eye. At first you think its the body of some gigantic fish, but then to your shock and horror you realize it connects to the waist of the man still clinging to the boulder next to you. A shriek escapes your throat as you stumble away from the creature in front of you towards the opposite end of the boulder. “ What the fuck are you” you practically scream at it as fear and adrenaline coarse through your veins like fire. The thing backs away from the boulder floating a few feet away with its hands raised. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The words do little to slow your heart beat. “ I said what are you?” With a deep breath, as if bracing himself for your reaction, he says, “ a siren”. You feel your blood freeze. out of all the things to be stuck in a lagoon with it had to be a siren. “But I’m not going to hurt you” he said as he slowly began swimming back towards the edge of your rock. “If you want me to, I’ll stay right here while you make your way to shore, I swear”. You don’t know if it was the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes that convinced you, but it was your only chance to get away. “Ok” you say hesitantly while slowly shuffling over to the opposite edge of the boulder. “ But i want you to keep talking so i know if you slip under the minute my back is turned.” He nods smiling “Of course, I really am sorry” As you drop into the waist deep water, You hear him begin to discuss the weather as if talking with a friend. You take that as your que and trudge as quickly as you can to the beach. True to his word he kept on talking even as you reached the other side of the tunnel.
It wasn’t until you reached the door to your apartment that you realized you had forgotten your basket, which unfortunately had your keys and phone inside of it. You cursed at yourself as you reached for the spare key hidden behind the statue of a mushroom that sweet miss adler gave you when you moved in. As you flopped into bed you let out a defeated sigh as the adrenaline wore off and your ankle began to throb. You knew you’d have to go back and get your stuff the next day. You rolled over burrowing deep into your blankets, the image of those eyes full of concern is the last thing you think of before sleep overtakes you.
You take a deep breath bracing yourself for whatever may be on the other side of the tunnel. As you walk into the cove you realize with a start that there’s someone there, standing on the beach holding a familiar picnic basket. “Oh thank goodness you found my basket. I accidentally left it here last night.” you say walking quickly towards the other person, you were only a few feet away by the time they turned around and a pair of familiar eyes greeted you. “ I was wondering when you’d be back for this.” He laughed, holding out your basket. “We need to talk about last night” You stood there confused rooting you to the spot. “What..how…” you sputter out gesturing at his legs. “ i thought you’d be less frightened of me like this, like i said we need to talk.” He closed the gap between you and handing you your basket. “ If it makes you feel better we can move away from the water.” You grab your basket and nod