All the best songs are about drowning

Florence Welch / Isabella Summers / Florabella dedicated blog with the occasional smattering of Harry Potter related posts (if you're not sure why, check out the link in the navigation that says "Hogwarts AU", that should explain it). There is an internet rumour that I am in fact Florence Welch but I'm generally content with people calling me SAD. Also, iSAD is a thing and you should ship us.

[songsaboutdrowning]

Inbox (1), chapter 6/10

Notes: Ok, if you know me you'll know this isn't the first time this happens. I've been posting these silly little fics for a literal decade and sometimes I drift away from a project and someone leaves me a comment and I go "yeah I should really go back to that". It's been five years. Believe me when I say that this fic was written in full 5 years ago, except for this one chapter where, in the original, the 'matriarch' character explained that she'd had an affair with a famous fascist dictator. With the added difficulty of the character being genderswapped, I needed to find an equivalent terrible person for Tom to date. I remember googling things five years ago like, right-wing metal bands, or descendants of dictators, the kind of stuff that if you were judged by your search history, people will think you're an aspiring mass murderer.

I was preparing for a job interview yesterday, but off I went to do a Google search for "significant female politicians in the 90s not Thatcher" because obviously at that point anything will be more interesting than the task you actually have to complete by Monday morning. I hope if anyone is reading this from Turkey, they can forgive me for picking this figure who doesn't seem to have done much good for their country at all.

Reminder to all that this fic is set in the year 2006 - before Facebook, before everyone had a smartphone, about 10 years after the original film.

I will post the last few chapters weekly (will I be able to remember my Tumblr password in case anyone still frequents those ends? Who knows) I'm sure I can find 5 minutes each weekend to post so we're on track to finish by mid-August. Just gotta hope that people turned on those new chapter notifications 5 years ago I guess!            

               Chapter 6    

 Florence hadn’t even fully opened the door to her store when Rob, already inside and pretending to be reading a newspaper behind the counter, pounced on her. “So, what happened?”

 It was to be expected, really. She’d avoided the topic ever since Rob had brought up the l-word, that first time Florence had mentioned the emails. It had caused her to re-examine her entire life in a way that she didn’t really want to. But when it came to meeting or not meeting halloween152, she’d felt that she desperately needed advice. She couldn’t really turn to Stuart, for obvious reasons, so that left her bizarre little family of co-workers. And boy, did she regret telling them all. It was heartbreaking to have to admit, “She never came.”

 “She stood you up?”

 Rob’s reaction was one of genuine surprise. It didn’t seem malicious or even mocking, but Florence still tried to drown it out by dropping her bags loudly on the floor in the office.

 “I wouldn’t exactly characterise it in that way. I think something happened… something terrible and unexpected, that made it impossible for her to…” She took a deep breath and gave up the act. “What if she showed up, took one look at me and left?”

 “Not a chance,” Rob said. Everyone was a lot more aware of Florence’s good looks than she’d ever been herself.

 Florence crossed her arms, and leaned her head back on the office doorframe. “Maybe the tube was delayed. You know what they’re like.”

 “Absolutely.”

 “A train got trapped underground with her inside, and it’s not like she could phone, or write.”

 “Good morning!” Mairead shouted out, just as eager as Rob to get the gossip about Florence’s mystery date. But just catching the end of Florence’s sentence and looking at her long face was enough to tell Mairead that there was no gossip. “What happened?”

 “She was unable to make it.”

 “She stood you up?”

Rob gave Mairead a reproachful look, as if he hadn’t used the exact same words just five minutes before. Florence went over to one of the CD racks and pretended to be tidying up. Their stares were burning holes in her skin. “Maybe she had a car accident. Those cab drivers are maniacs. Remember that time I fell out of a taxi?”

 Rob decided to indulge her. “Maybe the driver hit something and she slammed into that plastic partition.”

 “Yeah, her elbows could be in splints,” Florence held out her arms in front of her and mimicked being unable to type.

 “I meant more like, she could be unconscious.” He chuckled.

 Florence gasped. “In a coma!”

 “Stuck in intensive care.”

 Mairead turned her head from one to the other as if she was watching a tennis match. A completely absurd, nonsensical tennis match that she couldn’t believe was being played by two adults.

 Florence was fleshing out that mental image with more and more details now. “With the heart monitor beeping and…”

 Mairead coughed and started waving Rob’s newspaper about, looking to interrupt. Granted, it was only the London Lite, but the front page said – and they both appeared to have missed it, “Counterfeit ring busted!! Mastermind was a woman.”

 Florence and Rob leaned in to look at the article, but she didn’t quite get why it was even relevant. “What are you saying?”

 “It could be. She was arrested two roads over from the café.”

 “Is there a picture?” Rob flipped over to the article inside, but the woman was photographed with an arm raised above her head, pulling up her jacket and hiding her face from view. “So, that explains it.”

 “She was arrested.” Mairead concluded.

 “You are so lucky. You could be dead.”

 “I fail to see how manufacturing fake Ugg boots could be deadly. And,” Florence tried to push halloween152’s obsession with The Godfather to the back of her mind, “I just don’t see how she could be a criminal.”

 “Remember when you thought Stuart could be Banksy, though?” Rob asked.

 She frowned. “That was different.”

 “How long did you sit there by yourself?” Occasionally, Rob liked to play the part of the overprotective big brother. It had happened a couple of times before Florence had got together with Stuart, and she hadn’t seen this side of him in a while.

 “Not long. Isa Summers came in.”

 “Isa Summers?” Rob looked horrified.

 “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just get to work. There’s got to be something to do. There’s always something to do!”

 Of course, they were still waiting for one more person, and Tom chose that moment to walk in, just as Florence was swatting away Rob’s newspaper as if it was a wasp.

 “So?” He asked. Florence cringed.

 Mairead supplied the explanation he was looking for. “She was unable to make it.”

 “She stood you up?”

 -=-

 from: queenofpeace    to: halloween152              I’ve been thinking about you. Last night I went to meet you and you weren’t there – I wish I knew why. I felt so foolish. And as I waited, someone else showed up – a woman who has made my professional life a misery – and an amazing thing happened – I was able to say the exact thing I wanted to say at the exact moment I wanted to say it and of course afterwards I felt terrible – just as you said I would. I was cruel and I’m never cruel. No matter what she’d done to me, there is no excuse for my behaviour. Anyway – I so wanted to talk to you. I hope you have a good excuse. All this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings. So thanks.  

 Isa stood from her desk chair and Biggie immediately started scrambling on the floor, taking that as his cue for a walk. But Isabella only paced over to the kitchen, retrieved a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, and came back to her studio, staring at her computer as if it was a strange creature she didn’t recognise.

 She came and went from the kitchen a few more times, never stepping too close to the computer, scared that the strange alien creature would attack her if she let her guard down. Every time she looked, she caught a hint of her reflection in the monitor staring back at her, apparently innocuous. She eventually took Biggie for his walk, thinking that maybe the white noise of the streets could help her think of possible responses.

     I’m abroad for work.  

     I was stuck in a meeting that I couldn’t get out of.  

     The electricity went out on my entire road and my laptop ran out of battery and I couldn’t email you to cancel and when I got to my best friend’s to email you from there, her flat had flooded so we had to deal with that. Amazingly enough.      

 Her mind got clearer just as she was approaching the lake and she whipped out a notebook to jot down what she would eventually send.

     Dear friend, I cannot tell you what happened last night, but I beg you from the bottom of my heart to forgive me for not being there. I feel terrible that you found yourself in a situation that caused you additional pain. But I’m absolutely sure that whatever you said last night was provoked, even deserved. And everyone says things they regret when they’re worried or stressed. You were expecting to see someone you trusted and met the enemy instead. The fault is mine. Someday I’ll explain everything. Meanwhile, I’m still here. Talk to me.  

     -=-  

 “Did she say anything about wanting to meet you again?”

 The Shop Around The Corner were having their annual pre-Christmas get together at Tom’s house. They’d ordered Chinese and Florence was trying her best not to get drunk, as they did need to discuss business, and what she had to say was going to be uncomfortable. But her co-workers, especially Rob, seemed more interested in her love life instead.

 “No, not really. Listen, it doesn't matter. We’ll just be like George Bernard Shaw and Mrs Patrick Campbell and just write letters our whole lives.”

 Sensing Florence’s discomfort, Tom decided to bring the conversation back to what he knew was coming. “So, darling, what have you decided to do?”

 Florence looked down into her chow mein and said, through gritted teeth, “Close. We’re going to close.“

 It wasn’t the first time that The Shop Around The Corner had made a loss during the year, but they’d always, always pulled it back at Christmas. Until now. They were trying every trick in the book: staying open past Machine on Sundays when the megastore had to close early by law; Rob had come up with some special offers that he thought would get every customer to spend at least £5 more; Mairead was DJing once a week instead of once a month. None of it had worked.

 It had come to a point where Florence would have to let either Rob or Mairead go, and she couldn’t bring herself to make a choice. They were like her children, although they were both older than her. She couldn’t let both go, either, because that would leave just her to run the shop and, occasionally, Tom. It was too much work for a person and a half. She had to close. There was no other way out.

 “Closing the store is the brave thing to do.” Tom reassured her.

 Florence scoffed. “You are such a liar, but thank you.”

 “You’re daring to imagine that you could have a different life! I know it doesn’t feel like that; you feel like a big fat failure now, but you’re not! You are marching into the unknown, armed with… nothing!”

 It was easy for Tom to say that. He did have other ventures outside of The Shop Around The Corner. He played music and, if that ever stopped paying the bills, he could always go help some other business with their books. Mairead had her radio show. Rob had toyed with the idea of going back to studying. Only Florence didn’t know how to do anything else.

 “Not      nothing.     I have a little money saved.”

 “If you need more, ask me!   I was a kept man for a few months in my early 20s. I’ve got savings.  ” All eyes turned to Tom. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned. “Now I suppose you all want me to tell you about the time I fell madly in love.”

 “It’s not like we haven’t asked before, Tom,” Rob commented, “But if you haven’t told in all this time, I just figure you never will.”

 “It wasn’t meant to be.”

 “Why not?” Mairead asked.

 “She was a politician with, how do I put this… not the best track record. And a lot older than me.”

 Mairead raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Christ, is this where we find out you were in a relationship with the fucking milk snatcher?”

 “Not her. But also not that far off. I vanished overnight, and she was too busy to care about having me killed. Haven’t been back to Turkey since. Apple fritter?”

 -=-

 The closure had to come fast and unexpectedly. There was no point staying open throughout January when most people had no money left to shop for luxuries. Sure, there were sale nuts, and Florence took some solace in thinking whatever sale Machine put on, it could not compete with The Shop Around The Corner slashing all their prices in half.

 Then again, Machine were cheap to begin with. A 20% off in their store was probably equivalent to a 50% off in Florence’s. Frustrated, she wanted to kick something, but she was queuing up with Stuart for cinema tickets, and it really wasn’t the right time or place.

 She’d been trying to tell him about Tom’s big revelation since breakfast time, but her brain was still working overtime underneath all the apparent chit-chat. She was trying to work out a timeline for closing the store - when was she going to announce it to customers? And how did one even go about selling shop premises?

 “He was in love with Prime Minister  Çiller?”

 “Stuart, don’t say that as if you didn’t Google that just this morning. You were a child, too, in the mid-90s.”

 “Well, you were in the shower for a full thirty-five minutes, and my knowledge of significant female politicians outside of my own country was severely lacking. There’s nothing wrong with expanding my horizons.”

 “Do you want some popcorn?” Florence really wanted an excuse to step away, but Stuart barraged on so she was forced to stay put.

 “I can’t believe this! I mean it’s not like it was someone      normal    , like a socialist or an anarchist…”

 “It happened in Turkey! People do really stupid things in foreign countries.”  This tended to be what Florence told herself whenever she remembered that, as a teenager on a school trip to Paris, she’d slept with a girl in the year above and never talked about it since.  It was quite the odd experience to re-live in her mind’s eye while Stuart bought them snacks.

 “Absolutely – they buy leather jackets for much more than they’re worth, but they don’t fall in love with fascist dictators!”

 They were now in the screen, tiptoeing to their seats in single file. Florence tried to end the conversation once and for all. “Please don’t talk about Tom like this. I know he’s only like, ten years older than me, but he is practically my surrogate father.”

 Stuart did not get the hint.

“He is out of his mind." He said, sitting down. “I’d never be with anyone who doesn’t take politics as seriously as I do.”

 Florence took a deep breath. She suddenly remembered something that, to someone like Stuart, was basically the equivalent of confessing to murder. And some days, Florence was really, really drawn to jumping in the freezing waters of self-sabotage.

 “I have something to tell you. I didn’t vote. In the last general election, last year? I went to get my hair done, and I forgot. It was the day I decided to be a redhead.”

 “Since when do you go to the hairdresser?” Someone a few rows behind tried to shush them, even though the film hadn’t started yet. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

 Retroactive forgiveness for something she’d done when they didn’t even know each other didn’t sit well with Florence. “YOU forgive ME?”

 She knew it was going to be a nuisance for everyone in the rows behind them, but still, she stood up and blocked the view of the screen while she tried to squeeze her way past other people’s legs. It was going to be doubly annoying that Stuart was going to be following her, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be there. Halloween152 would not have made fun of Tom and his affair. Halloween152 would not have argued what was and wasn’t      in character     for Florence to do. She was so fed up, and everything was changing, so did it matter if her feelings for Stuart changed as well?

 Safely back outside of the cinema, he tried to level with her.  “Flo. This has been a big week… you’ve decided to close the store.”

 “It’s not that, Stuart, really, it’s not.”  Yes, everything was changing, but Stuart was basically suggesting that because of that, Florence was currently too easily offended. The truth was, Stuart had gone too far and had been ultra judgmental of both Florence and Tom in a matter of minutes. And Florence felt more loyalty to Tom, although that probably wasn’t quite right when Stuart was her partner of a year.

 “That was terrible of me.”

 “What?      What    was terrible?” Florence wanted to know exactly which part he meant, because she could think of a few different options.

 “Jumping on you when I’m the one that… I don’t even know how to say this.”

 “What is it?”

 “Come on, Flo, let’s discuss this over dinner.”

 Florence didn’t stop to think about this often, but she relied on Stuart financially more than she would have liked. He paid for dinner every time they went out; even tonight – the film they hadn't watched, the popcorn they hadn't eaten – had all been on him. Florence was lucky to have her own flat – if you could call it lucky that the only reason she had it was that her parents were both dead – and the money she earned tended to go on groceries, or into savings. But she never paid for dates, and to her that felt like a symptom of something bigger. She wanted to be with someone that was worth making an effort for. If halloween152 had been there at the cinema, Florence would have paid for the tickets      and     the snacks. She would have budgeted - she would have made it work. She wanted to be with someone that made her feel generous. That made her want to give and share. Someone that was worth making sacrifices for.

 She asked Stuart to cancel their reservations.

 A quick phone call later, he tried to resume their conversation  , except they were now standing in the middle of a random street around the corner from the cinema, because they no longer had a destination  .

 “Flo, you’re a wonderful person, and I’m so honoured that you would want to be with me. I know that you would never be with anyone who wasn’t truly worthy.”

 She was about to say that she felt exactly the same way, but stopped herself as she realised how untrue that would be. Up until a few days ago, maybe even up until that morning, she would have agreed. Now she just felt numb.

 “You’re making it quite obvious that there’s a big ‘but’ coming.” She said flatly, wishing he’d hurry up.

 “Don’t say that, that makes it worse.”

 “Makes what worse?” Realisation dawned on her before she’d even finished the sentence: this was a breakup speech. She was expecting something else, recriminations maybe, or a list of all her sins, but it seemed that Stuart had been planning to break up with her at dinner and, when dinner had been cancelled, now needed to improvise so he could still fulfil his goal for the day.

 “You don't love me?”  Florence couldn’t help herself, a dry chuckle came out. She never thought she’d be pleased to hear those words, but now that she had, it was a relief.  “Me neither.”

 Stuart looked a little displeased, which he didn’t quite have the right to feel, as the initiator of that particular conversation.  “You don’t love      me    ? But we are so right for each other!”

 “I know!”   He’d been absolutely fantastic when her dad had died and left her alone to run the shop. She had to give him that.  “Is there someone else? Oh… that woman on tv? Emma?”

 “Well… nothing has happened yet, but…”

 “After all that, Stuart?   I think she’s a Tory!!!”  The hypocrisy. The      cheek    of him.

 “I can’t help myself!!” He almost shouted, and Florence thought  briefly that   he looked happier than she’d seen him in a really long time. She knew the feeling; that limbo of falling for someone when nothing had happened quite yet. She was going through the very same. She’d been hurting for weeks.

 “What about you?” He asked. “Is there someone else?”

 She shook her head, sadly. “No… no. But there is the dream of someone else.”

More notes:     

As a 2022 update, how fitting is it with this fic that real-life Isa worked on that Godfather-inspired miniseries this year?

[florencefckinghatesyou]

A very quick repost tonight, partly chosen because of the concept of saying yes to everything, seeing as I watched the film “Yes Day” on Netflix last night. Jennifer Garner is one of those people that you really want with your whole heart to be a good person and never do anything problematic. Ever since Alias, she brings me so much joy.

Originally written in July 2019, I have very few notes about this poem other than the fact that, like many others, I wrote it in the liminal space between going to bed and falling asleep and I wasn’t sure what it meant the next day. But I certainly see a lot of @isamachine and her “write a hit in 10 minutes work ethic” in this.

[ID: We wrote poems in half an hour We set a timer They had to be hits Half an hour between me and sleep In between, an abyss of you We wrote songs that meant yes, and yes to everything the way other people smile their secret smile, but the ocean gets in the way.]

[florencefckinghatesyou]

Repeat after me: I will not commit to posting twice a week. I will not commit to posting twice a week. This is just a coincidence!!

@transwritings posted more prompts the other day for the month of March #tylersprompts321. The reason I like his prompts is that they don’t come with the expectation or commitment to do them all, or to do them in order. He leaves people the freedom to do one, several, or all, in any order. I have a good sense by now of what throws me into panic, doom and gloom, and I know I would not do well with strict prompts, but Tyler’s suit me just fine.

I probably should have put a content warning on the slide for homophobia but thought about it too late, but these are all real things that my parents have said to me* throughout the years. The last sentence intentionally jars with the rest of the list because it feels kinda positive doesn’t it? But at the same time it also has this kind of ominous sense to it, like it’s a curse, the curse of never settling down.

(* One is a thing a partner’s parent said to me once, feel free to guess which, I’m probably not going to go into the real answer though.)

[florencefckinghatesyou]

I wasn’t originally going to (re)post this poem today, but it became relevant when I started experiencing the biggest flare-up I’ve ever had of my as yet undiagnosed chronic condition. In the last day and a half, I’ve been unable to walk and have had to crawl around on my hands and knees. A bathroom break in the night took me 40 minutes, and I promise I live in the tiniest one bed flat, converted from what used to be just two rooms. Getting through the night was horrifying, and it particularly scares me how all disabled people are expected to have a support network, someone who’s ready to come over at a moment’s notice to help you shower, dress and make food.

I wrote this poem in September 2019 when I had only been experiencing symptoms for about 3 months and I wanted to pair it with a picture I took around the same time. I looked through my holiday pictures from Prague, which I visited about a month after writing the poem, and I’d completely forgotten about this building, known as The Dancing House. And let me tell you, the way my back feels right now, really reminds me of that twisty, uncomfortable construction on the left. The way it spasms uncontrollably when I try to do something as simple as sitting up, and cuts the air flow from my lungs.

I would like to invite you to check out @rorablue’s recent project, which is a series of photographs documenting the kind of inappropriate comments people with disabilities get every day, especially invisible ones. @rorablue’s project not only really resonated with me, it also provides some background for why I haven’t told many people about my chronic illness. Although I talk about it fairly regularly on stories on my personal account, I can only remember one occasion when someone asked me questions so they could understand better. The rest ignore it. My mother, who I mention in this poem, does not know I am chronically ill and does not know that I have put on a lot of weight as a result. I have to admit that this poem does address the weight gain much more so than the chronic pain, and how I feel that it would be easier to disappear and for my body to give in completely rather than have to face judgment from the outside world. My mother does have a number of fantasies about why it is that I haven’t been back to visit in 3 years, but she has no idea that not wanting to be judged for my weight gain and disability is right at the top of that list.

[florencefckinghatesyou]

Whenever I remember it’s Wednesday and I must post something new, I usually look at the past few posts and decide whether it’s going to be a new poem or a repost. I’m not at the point where I can cut and paste different snippets of the same pieces and be confident that it’s not going to annoy people and lose me followers. I will probably never reach that point.

Tonight however, I am doing something even more unusual and posting something I only wrote a couple of hours ago. I was walking back from my grocery shop and I could see so many stars! Very unusual in a brightly lit place where, between houses and lampposts, it is never completely dark. I thought back about someone I met last year who, unfortunately, lives close by. Sometimes even speaking to someone for just one afternoon can have lasting consequences, and I don’t want horrible people polluting my safe haven with their presence.

In other news, what does one say when the person from three poems ago crops back up and asks how you are? What is the language to say, beloved, I don’t feel you’d approve of how I am?

[florencefckinghatesyou]

This week’s offering is an older but previously unpublished poem, from September 2018. I read somewhere that when you look at a poem you’ve written, it needs to be clear (even just to yourself) what the poem is about, and this is what guided my choice this evening. A lot of my poems are murky or seem unfinished but this poem is quite clearly about language and, more specifically, about those inside jokes and distorted words people develop which are unique to their relationship.

Have I written this in a previous post? I’m very obsessed with the fact that if I could redo my degree all over again then I’d write my dissertation on couples developing their own private dialect.

I don’t love writing advice or listicles that simplify the process of writing but I have to admit I liked that small piece of advice and it plays a big part now in what poems I choose to post every week.

[florencefckinghatesyou]

I knew I was due for a repost today, and I knew I was due to post just a square of text to keep the grid consistent, but I couldn’t resist picking this one and posting it on top of the exact same picture I used the first time around. I wrote the poem on the same afternoon I took the picture, in the churchyard of St Paul’s Cathedral. My partner had just applied for a job in the US and I was contemplating what would happen if we ended up on different continents.

This was only the second poem I ever posted on here, and I’m glad I can archive the old post and offer it again, but without watermarks and with a better look.

Unrelated, but as not many people watch my stories I strongly invite you all to pre-order issue 4 of @nervezine on the theme of “Care”, including an essay by yours truly about what lockdown(s) taught me about self-care.

[florencefckinghatesyou]

This is my first post of the new year. I wanted to make sure that at least my first post in January wasn’t an old poem, but I’ve been struggling to finish anything in the past few weeks and I have quite a lot of half-written, unsatisfactory stuff. Also, I really wanted to go back to my old style of posting my words superimposed on my own pictures. Unfortunately I changed phones last year and lost a lot of the pictures of nature I’d taken, especially when I was going to Richmond virtually every weekend and it was nice and sunny.

I would like to thank Sky @smilingatmysandwich for explaining to me that Google Slides was a thing and I could use it to put words on pictures without worrying about apps charging a lot of money or adding watermarks and whatnot. This was so much harder than I thought, so I might keep it for special occasions 😂 Luckily this was just a short sentence that came to me last night as I was falling asleep and which I haven’t developed into a longer poem just yet.

If you are watching my stories at the moment I’m posting how I’m setting up a journal for 2021 - not a bullet journal as I feel like they can make people feel under a lot of pressure to perform, be consistent etc. I’ve removed all my Calls for submissions post-its from my wall and moved them onto paper, and will do the same with my daily activities. And then I will proceed to write a poem about how I’m convinced that if I wasn’t noting everything down into lists I would completely lose my mind.

[songsaboutdrowning]

Yes hello I am posting poetry and flash fiction once a week over on instagram now and I’m also in the process of writing an essay about the implications of writing RPF as a queer person which I’m going to submit to literary magazines and I’m announcing this on here to hold myself accountable okay

Hope everyone’s well and not too rattled by the events of the past year 

love Sadling 

[isawitch]

W E L C H  &  S U M M E R S 

[readingtoghosts]

Look at this giant dork and her charm bracelet with the “f” charm. In almost every picture out of LA this year she was wearing it and it doesn’t seem to resemble the charm from the 1883 interview, which was smaller and featured a capitalized “F.” So is it a new charm or a whole new bracelet? Did she make a whole new bracelet?😂

[songsaboutdrowning]

coming out of the woodwork to say i may or may not be writing a novel length carmilla fanfic and although this is a fatm blog i’m sure there is some intersection there that would be interested. pls follow my personal because i wouldn’t know where else to post it and it seems weird to open another url just for one piece of work. personal is florencefckinghatesyou (no u) if you didn’t know. sorry to be this person ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

[julieofrandomfandoms]

Fanfic writer reactions

I’ve done one of these before, but felt like doing another today. :) Thanks to everyone who made the gifs. 

When you post a fic and wait for a response

When your mutuals and buddies give it love

When it didn’t get the response you expected

When it gets more love than you expected

When another writer you fangirl over likes or comments on your fic

When a brand new person you have never interacted with likes or comments on your fic

When you get a negative comment

When someone tells you your story emotionally compromised them

When your friends post their own new fic updates

When someone leaves a negative comment on a work written by one of your friends

When you finish reading one of your friends’ updates

When someone leaves a long and detailed comment on one of your fics

When someone includes your fic on a rec list

[hedaoftheworld]

Ok so it’s the classic story of a young maiden wants a thing and a witch is like “promise me your first born child” and the maidens like “k” and that should be enough but no the witch keeps coming around like “yo where’s my first born child pls” and the maiden is like “bitch I don’t even have a boyfriend” and the witch keeps coming back and being like “how’s the bf search?” And just being generally annoying. then she just keeps coming round and hanging out and they fall in love and the first born child is already the witches and everyone lives happily ever after

[karampuku]

Lovely FLORENCE!! @florence @florenceandisabellamachine @florenceandthemachinejp-blog

[songsaboutdrowning]

YO, LISTEN UP.

Bella Books are having a contest where a fanfic writer can get a publishing deal. I found out last night and I am absolutely going to enter it, but I’m looking for opinions about what my overall best piece of writing is. I’ve narrowed it down to what I think is my 3 best shots but if you disagree, you can suggest that I submit something else. The poll is here and honestly it would mean a huge deal to me if you could express your opinion, anonymously or not. It’s been up for about a day and it will run for 2 more and I apologise in advance if I maybe post a reminder every half-day just to get as many votes as I can because there’s already been a lead change once or twice so every opinion counts! thank you if you choose to spend 2 minutes to help me out for old times’ sake :) 

[songsaboutdrowning]

YO, LISTEN UP.

Bella Books are having a contest where a fanfic writer can get a publishing deal. I found out last night and I am absolutely going to enter it, but I’m looking for opinions about what my overall best piece of writing is. I’ve narrowed it down to what I think is my 3 best shots but if you disagree, you can suggest that I submit something else. The poll is here and honestly it would mean a huge deal to me if you could express your opinion, anonymously or not. It’s been up for about a day and it will run for 2 more and I apologise in advance if I maybe post a reminder every half-day just to get as many votes as I can because there’s already been a lead change once or twice so every opinion counts! thank you if you choose to spend 2 minutes to help me out for old times’ sake :) 

[vaporfunk-archive-blog]

no matter how many followers you have the same 10 people will reblog posts from you

[satanfictive-old]

#I LOVE THOSE TEN PEOPLE AND I WILL DEFEND THEM TO THE GRAVE