What do you mean is The Fic abandoned? Obviously not, it's my baby, I was just holding it. What do you mean is it dead? Look, I got it right here, it's still very much alive. What do you mean am I going to write any more it? I was just writing it! I barely set it down!
I see foolish heart’s guide is getting some notes/traction
Like just saying it is VERY SPOILERY for the unreleased episodes of s2 that come out next week so if ur not familiar!!! With the comic!!!! It is like SPOILERY FROM THE GET GO
So, thanks to @ao3scrapesearch's tool, I was able to check if any of my works had been scraped. Several of my works were, so I can now confirm that using a "No Selecting Text" skin on your work doesn't prevent scraping either. I'm angry like many other authors, and to those who use gen AI to write for them or to spit out 'art', I hope you stop using this shit and realize how fucking awful it is not only to us creatives getting our work stolen to feed these datasets but also environmentally. Each string of prompts wastes 16 oz of water, which is a lot especially considering the scale, and energy usage is yet to be determined with conservative estimates still being high. Our world is already on fire, please don't contribute to making it worse with fuckin gen AI orz
It seems everything of mine from June 2023 to present was scraped while my older works were not. Given the varied topics, ratings, etc. of my stolen works, I can't tell what factors the scraper was using to determine what to scrape or not other than the dates. AO3 is already taking legal action to handle this, and I've heard [unconfirmed] several individuals are as well.
This won't stop me from creating, but I have been and will continue to block anyone I see supporting or using gen AI. Gen AI built on stolen works can get buried in the deepest fucking trenches and I won't argue about this.
Reblogging to highlight that second sentence! Using a work skin that doesn't allow selecting text will not stop automated scrapers. They're typically accessing the works through an area of the site that disables all work skins from what I understand.
If you do this with my fics, or anyone's fics, please know I HATE you. I hate you more than every troll comment, every "your writing sucks kys" comment, every "update soon" comment. I hate you. Other authors hate you. If you want my fic, you either WAIT for it or you pay me for it. And if you won't do one of those things, you don't deserve my fic or anyone else's.
Waking up to not only a DELUGE of Sandman content but a MAELSTROM of fantastic four stuff I am motorboating every one of the timelines I have accounts for
the foolish heart's guide to not repeating history - series masterlist
Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader
Summary:
“And what’s your place in all this?” Death asks.
“I love him. I have loved him for ten billion years. He has loved me for some of that. But this time, it will be different.”
Loving an Endless is a relentless struggle when the universe itself conspires to forget your existence. But when you lose your last chance with Dream, you refuse to surrender. You seek out the un-doomed version of him in the next universe over, vowing that if Dream would not go to change, change would come to him.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/Teen & Up, Time Travel Fix-It AU, major spoilers for TV show & comics series, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning
COMPLETE as of 12/30/2024.
CHAPTER 1: choosing a path
CHAPTER 2: the fourth free house
CHAPTER 3: elsewhere, elsewhen
INTERLUDE: the things we believe in
CHAPTER 4: ever-smaller shatters
CHAPTER 5: folly of man
CHAPTER 6: the reflectory
CHAPTER 7: a valediction forbidding mourning
EPILOGUE: so it goes
All dividers & headers for this series are made by me!
And also know that I Am Super Conflicted Over It (and probably won’t even post it cuz of that) but yesterday I did accidentally lock in for like 9,000 words of a Morpheus/reader Labyrinth AU that I’m looking at today like “you horny bastard”
Also writing a reader insert whose main character attributes are 1) meek/shy 2) outcast introvert of large family 3) sadgirl and 4) Actually Unimaginative To A Fault seems like the hugest subversion of so many of my reader inserts and idk what to think about it
I think OCs get a bad rap. Like I understand where the vitriol came/comes from. That can’t be helped, ppl hate women. Regardless, in fanfiction OC/canon ships are like marginally higher on the ladder, with reader-inserts hanging a few rungs down. But like, consider:
All reader inserts are OCs. They’re OCs with this baked in concept of Anyone Can Be This Person, but if you get too unspecific with it you end up with the idea of a character and not an actual character worthy of a point of view. I’ve more than accepted that all of my reader-inserts are OCs and I love them all dearly. It’s made me a better reader-insert writer imo.
I also believe that the person on page one isn’t the person on page two. Don’t get granular about it, you know what I mean. Some growth is in steps and plateaus, some is a slope, some is a roller coaster. Regardless of that, existing and not being affected by shit that happens to you is fucking impossible for a character. People? Sure. Characters ain’t people. They’re the idea of people. They’re the idea that people change.
And reader-inserts have this weird reputation where they are this super beautiful perfect intelligent capable strong nurse babysitter mechanic bounty huntress, and it rings of “Mary Sue” territory. And thus the canon/non-canon ships continue to be poopooed.
And I don’t think I’ve made my reader inserts without flaw tbh. They’re cowards at times, combative, codependent, nosy, overconfident etc. But like so are people. So that squares.
But that’s not the point of this introspection. It’s the fact that a shy sad outcast unimaginative reader insert is at the crux of this wild new fic idea for me and I just super don’t like her LOL
Yet. The good thing about that is she can change. And central to the theme of Sandman is that you either change or you die. And in her case that’s mildly true, for what are we without our dreams? Are we alive? And would a shy sad unimaginative outcast be able to fight for that ability in the end? Are we alive because we fight for our dreams, or are our dreams alive because we fought for them?
I don’t have those answers yet, but I’m gonna make this loser girl find out
And also know that I Am Super Conflicted Over It (and probably won’t even post it cuz of that) but yesterday I did accidentally lock in for like 9,000 words of a Morpheus/reader Labyrinth AU that I’m looking at today like “you horny bastard”
Also writing a reader insert whose main character attributes are 1) meek/shy 2) outcast introvert of large family 3) sadgirl and 4) Actually Unimaginative To A Fault seems like the hugest subversion of so many of my reader inserts and idk what to think about it
Good. Things. Take. Time. (a Pedro Across the Street fic for Kinktober)
Fandom: Calls (THIS IS AN APPLE TV SERIES. PATS is a character. This is not RPF.)
Pairing: Pedro Across the Street x f!reader
Rating: ***Explicit.*** Marathon smut. Those under 18 please do not enter.
(Taglist folks: I know some of you follow me for the soft, so sorry if wall-to-wall smut is not your thing, this is not my usual M.O. so feel free to skip. I just didn’t want to leave you out if you wanted notification. <3)
Warnings: Intimate massage–lots of touching in all the places–fingering, P&V (unprotected but with the understanding of prior consent and precautions), biting, friction, masturbation, cumshot, oral (f receiving), parallels to sex work. (What?…Who am I?) Oh, and Pedro ATS comes with his own warning.
A/N: Listen. *sigh* I got bit by the Kinktober bug and let my smut monster out of the cage for one splash of freedom. Judge if you want or come sit next to me in my abject filth. All y’all are welcome here.
So this is jumping off from my AU headcanon piece: The Pedro Boys As Stress Relief Therapists. I unapologetically wrote this for me. In another life, I’d never let another soul see it. But you’ve all made me feel safe here, so. It’s super self-indulgent, it’s aaaaallllll blow-by-blow, and absolutely nobody is required to read it and/or like it. But someone might, so here you go. I thought about posting it in chapters but then just wanted to get it all out and run away, so there are section headings in case you wanna take it in chunks.
<3
Summary: “Here’s what’s going to happen.Your session is three hours.” He tips his head and points to the massage table. “The first hour’s your massage there. Then we move back here to the bed. Second hour I fuck you. Third hour you sleep.”
Jk I know it’s been hella long but like thanks for being patient. I literally upended my whole life in the middle of writing it and had used writing it to get over said upheaval as much as possible. It’s difficult to find that thread of inspiration again, the one that seemingly only existed in that liminal place of flux. I really really don’t know how to write this next chapter despite it being super fucking important and the best direction forward may be just handwaving a lot of it to focus on how Osha et al react to it. But that also seems to cheapen what I gotta do. It’s a very tight corner I’ve backed myself into and I curse myself for not giving myself adequate buffer space to parse it.
The problem is I just don’t feel smart enough to finish this fic to a satisfying end. But I desperately want to. So I’m doing a full reread and consulting my notes, and hopefully, I’ll be able to find the correct angle to take a stab at chapter 23. Even if it’s the wrong stab I’ll not feel too bad for leaving it bleeding out behind me lmao.
I’ve also committed to writing and publishing a novel this year so it kinda feels like this is the last actual fic before that takes my whole focus up. (Of course, untrue—I still have that sandman/AC crossover I’m plodding on with on my other AO3) I don’t want the magic to end but the magic is being fucking stubborn at the moment so there’s that to contend with.
Regardless she’s not forgotten, simply stalled. It only looks abandoned if you aren’t seeing it from my end of things. Thanks for continued patience folks
the foolish heart's guide to not repeating history - epilogue
Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader
series masterlist
epilogue: so it goes
Now that you’ve found a place to be, you’re loath to move from it. London provides no end to exciting things, people, and sights. Hob gives the world’s best historical walking tour of the city by far, and you’ve tried each. Sometimes, Dream joins you. But for the most part, he leaves you be in your waking hours.
For he’s always waiting for you in your dreams.
He’s worked it out so that every time you fall asleep into the Dreaming, your first sight is the reflectory. The butterflies are always so excited to see you, but none so eager as the King of Dreams.
He greets you with a kiss each time, deep and passionate, no matter the occasion. And once you’ve been thoroughly kissed, he pulls away to ask you the same thing each night:
“What shall we dream tonight, darling?”
The Hum is sure to give you all sorts of suggestions.
It’s about three in the afternoon on a random Monday in July when you feel a summons coming through.
My friend, I stand in the Worlds’ End holding you a seat. I have a tale for you.
You leave a note in case Dream comes by the flat when you’re out and zip off to the tavern.
It’s as it always was: raucous, rapt, and ridiculous. A half-dozen or a half-thousand revelers and storytellers dot the vast sea of tables, and you let yourself wonder which world ended for you to come here this time. Destruction is where he said he’d be, an arm slung around an empty chair and a beer in hand. “There you are!”
“Here I am,” you laugh, kissing his cheek and taking the seat promised. These days, you can’t tell the difference between the Destruction who’s known you all your life and the one you’d met at a funeral. You’re sure it doesn’t matter, for you love them both the same. “Clever trick, that.”
“I came up with it all on my own. The universe knows when I’m asking for you, I suppose.” He shrugs as if he’s not declared an absolutely insane cosmic theory. “Did the job.”
“I’ll have to try it myself sometime. Get you over for dinner.”
“I’m sure your cooking’s to be trusted more than mine.”
You’re given a glass of red wine and your customary cheese board, which reminds you of your reason for being here. “You said you had a story for me—”
You’d say you’re amazed by how long it takes for him to find you, but in reality, the delay was all on your part.
“Mind if I join you, darling?”
The voice, made of darkest velvet night and campfire woodsmoke, belongs to your greatest love. His blue eyes twinkle with humor when his brother sputters a little in surprise. He looks at you in exaggerated betrayal.
“I left a note,” you shrug. “How was I to know he’d find it so soon?”
Destruction huffs, put out but in good spirits. “If you must, brother,” he gestures to another suddenly-open seat beside you.
“Don’t do me any favors,” Dream mumbles, just low enough for you to hear. You hide your grin in a kiss.
“I was just setting in to hear a—”
“Of course we’d find you all here,” another familiar voice comes, dripping with eroticism and a little bit of fond disdain. Desire of the Endless turns many heads as they walk closer, sitting at the table across from Dream.
Despair, who had not announced herself, sits across from you and next to Destruction. You see her stop frowning momentarily, which is as good as smiling. Behind Despair comes Delirium, who has sat at a different table for now but will likely join you all soon.
“How many notes did you leave?” Destruction hisses, a little aghast.
“Just the one. I’m not sure what’s happening,” you admit. “Though, I am sure we’ll need more wine for this.”
A hand offers a bottle from over your shoulder, and the person that hand belongs to gives you the kindest smile you’ve ever known. “Hope that’ll do. You like reds, don’t you? Hey, little brother. Long time.”
You’re reminded of how the truly old and powerful tend to sniff out the strange faster than everybody else. Destruction looks mortified. You attempt to lighten the mood.
“Well, at least we know Destiny will never leave his Garden.”
There’s a tense moment when all six siblings look toward the door, but it does not open.
In the Garden of Forking Ways, Destiny of the Endless reads this and smiles.
Wine and food are served to each sibling, though most of the Endless do not eat. Custom dictates all in the Free Houses. Dream is content to take sips from your wine and steal off your plate, his arm replacing his brother’s on the back of your chair. His long fingers, studded with stars, idly trace your bare shoulder.
“I suppose this tale can be shared with the lot of you,” Destruction says, thoroughly miffed but secretly enjoying the camaraderie of being amongst family again. He’d spent so long visiting each of his siblings clandestinely over the last few hundred years, but a change of pace made the heart beat stronger. “Now, this isn’t quite a once upon a time; it’s more of a once upon another time and place…”
In the Dreaming, a man and his love live on the pond at the End of the Story. Each morning—for what passes as morning in the Dreaming—he wakes and greets his love with a smile and a kind word. He does this every day without fail. His love is a gift he’d been given at a time when he didn’t deserve it, but such is the way of life. We never get our best gifts when we expect them.
Throughout each day, he reads from his abysmally small collection of poetry, and his love tolerates it because it makes him happy to do so. It reminds him of old times, he says.
And as the days end, each to each, he takes his love and walks along the edge of the pond until the stars come out. Neither he nor his love makes any marks in the sand as they go. The whole time, his love walks behind him, and he looks back to check he’s not alone many times throughout the walk. To walk beside a love of your own is something no man should take for granted.
Every day, when the night comes, the man takes his love, holds tight, and thinks of dancing, but never does.
And he lived, happily.
“I thought it had an ever after at the end,” Desire says, ashing their cigarette in a dish on the table.
“What about his love?” Delirium asks from down the table. “Does his love get to be hapapilily-living?”
“We rarely have happy forever,” Despair says, rather an expert on the subject.
Destruction doesn’t explain himself, nor does he answer the questions. He watches you with his hands folded together before his mouth. “How did you come by this tale?” Dream asks, keen.
“Firsthand, I’d bet. You’ve been bloody everywhere,” Death says, enjoying her bottle of orange soda at the end of the table.
Destruction continues to ignore his siblings and waits for you. Around you, the laughter and grumblings of a half-dozen or a half-thousand souls quiet somewhat, like even they know some quiet respect is due.
The trouble with loving a king of dreams is that laying something to rest is never the end of the story. For dreams, laying something to rest is quite commonly the beginning.
In all your time, there are some parts worth experiencing again for the first time—the parts that make lives worth living, friends worth having, and mistakes worth making again. The feeling of growing up, of understanding, of changing for the better—all those things make it worth the pain of remembering why you ever said, this time, things are different.
Still, some experiences are meant to never be repeated. You’d vowed never to return to the third universe, to the man in the house by the pond who reads nothing but poetry, but your mind still wanders to it, and him, from time to time, even if your heart does not.
But you take the closures where you can. “Thank you for your story,” you say. “I hope… it ends the same way every time.”
Destruction nods, wise to the subtle graveritas you let bleed into your words. It’s a blessing across universes that somewhere, a man on a beach where he leaves no footprints is happy for the rest of his days.
Dream feels it, close as he is. Death and Desire feel it, the former giving a happy look and the latter leveling a distasteful look your way. “Really? At the table?”
“Oh, you think you can tell a better story?”
“Of course, I can, I—”
“Management will expect you to pay your fares…”
“Well, management can go—”
You tune out the bickering and look up at Dream, who is observing you for any signs of that old pain that used to lance you upon mention of your old, doomed love affair.
“That was very kind of you, darling,” he murmurs.
“It was, wasn’t it?”
He kisses your forehead for a few long seconds, and you hardly hear what he says over your pulse pounding in your ears. “I’m lucky.”
“You are.”
He gives a nip at the tip of your nose. “You’re pushing it.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“I really should—”
“Stop that, the two of you! The next one’s starting…”
And that's all nine parts!! I wrote this back in May as a means of dealing with my crushing loneliness, depression, and my wife of seven years cheating on me and then leaving. I've since grown from that pain, thank fuck, but processing ones emotions can get pretty fucking heavy. It's why there's so much poetry in this series; one cannot fully enjoy poetry safely/without going through the ringer. Sometimes you just have to let go of the person you thought you'd be with, and especially after they hurt you and make you feel like you literally don't belong in the same universe as them. What a joyous way to say goodbye to the pain of 2024, and look forward to the next universe.
the foolish heart's guide to not repeating history - epilogue
Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader
series masterlist
epilogue: so it goes
Now that you’ve found a place to be, you’re loath to move from it. London provides no end to exciting things, people, and sights. Hob gives the world’s best historical walking tour of the city by far, and you’ve tried each. Sometimes, Dream joins you. But for the most part, he leaves you be in your waking hours.
For he’s always waiting for you in your dreams.
He’s worked it out so that every time you fall asleep into the Dreaming, your first sight is the reflectory. The butterflies are always so excited to see you, but none so eager as the King of Dreams.
He greets you with a kiss each time, deep and passionate, no matter the occasion. And once you’ve been thoroughly kissed, he pulls away to ask you the same thing each night:
“What shall we dream tonight, darling?”
The Hum is sure to give you all sorts of suggestions.
It’s about three in the afternoon on a random Monday in July when you feel a summons coming through.
My friend, I stand in the Worlds’ End holding you a seat. I have a tale for you.
You leave a note in case Dream comes by the flat when you’re out and zip off to the tavern.
It’s as it always was: raucous, rapt, and ridiculous. A half-dozen or a half-thousand revelers and storytellers dot the vast sea of tables, and you let yourself wonder which world ended for you to come here this time. Destruction is where he said he’d be, an arm slung around an empty chair and a beer in hand. “There you are!”
“Here I am,” you laugh, kissing his cheek and taking the seat promised. These days, you can’t tell the difference between the Destruction who’s known you all your life and the one you’d met at a funeral. You’re sure it doesn’t matter, for you love them both the same. “Clever trick, that.”
“I came up with it all on my own. The universe knows when I’m asking for you, I suppose.” He shrugs as if he’s not declared an absolutely insane cosmic theory. “Did the job.”
“I’ll have to try it myself sometime. Get you over for dinner.”
“I’m sure your cooking’s to be trusted more than mine.”
You’re given a glass of red wine and your customary cheese board, which reminds you of your reason for being here. “You said you had a story for me—”
You’d say you’re amazed by how long it takes for him to find you, but in reality, the delay was all on your part.
“Mind if I join you, darling?”
The voice, made of darkest velvet night and campfire woodsmoke, belongs to your greatest love. His blue eyes twinkle with humor when his brother sputters a little in surprise. He looks at you in exaggerated betrayal.
“I left a note,” you shrug. “How was I to know he’d find it so soon?”
Destruction huffs, put out but in good spirits. “If you must, brother,” he gestures to another suddenly-open seat beside you.
“Don’t do me any favors,” Dream mumbles, just low enough for you to hear. You hide your grin in a kiss.
“I was just setting in to hear a—”
“Of course we’d find you all here,” another familiar voice comes, dripping with eroticism and a little bit of fond disdain. Desire of the Endless turns many heads as they walk closer, sitting at the table across from Dream.
Despair, who had not announced herself, sits across from you and next to Destruction. You see her stop frowning momentarily, which is as good as smiling. Behind Despair comes Delirium, who has sat at a different table for now but will likely join you all soon.
“How many notes did you leave?” Destruction hisses, a little aghast.
“Just the one. I’m not sure what’s happening,” you admit. “Though, I am sure we’ll need more wine for this.”
A hand offers a bottle from over your shoulder, and the person that hand belongs to gives you the kindest smile you’ve ever known. “Hope that’ll do. You like reds, don’t you? Hey, little brother. Long time.”
You’re reminded of how the truly old and powerful tend to sniff out the strange faster than everybody else. Destruction looks mortified. You attempt to lighten the mood.
“Well, at least we know Destiny will never leave his Garden.”
There’s a tense moment when all six siblings look toward the door, but it does not open.
In the Garden of Forking Ways, Destiny of the Endless reads this and smiles.
Wine and food are served to each sibling, though most of the Endless do not eat. Custom dictates all in the Free Houses. Dream is content to take sips from your wine and steal off your plate, his arm replacing his brother’s on the back of your chair. His long fingers, studded with stars, idly trace your bare shoulder.
“I suppose this tale can be shared with the lot of you,” Destruction says, thoroughly miffed but secretly enjoying the camaraderie of being amongst family again. He’d spent so long visiting each of his siblings clandestinely over the last few hundred years, but a change of pace made the heart beat stronger. “Now, this isn’t quite a once upon a time; it’s more of a once upon another time and place…”
In the Dreaming, a man and his love live on the pond at the End of the Story. Each morning—for what passes as morning in the Dreaming—he wakes and greets his love with a smile and a kind word. He does this every day without fail. His love is a gift he’d been given at a time when he didn’t deserve it, but such is the way of life. We never get our best gifts when we expect them.
Throughout each day, he reads from his abysmally small collection of poetry, and his love tolerates it because it makes him happy to do so. It reminds him of old times, he says.
And as the days end, each to each, he takes his love and walks along the edge of the pond until the stars come out. Neither he nor his love makes any marks in the sand as they go. The whole time, his love walks behind him, and he looks back to check he’s not alone many times throughout the walk. To walk beside a love of your own is something no man should take for granted.
Every day, when the night comes, the man takes his love, holds tight, and thinks of dancing, but never does.
And he lived, happily.
“I thought it had an ever after at the end,” Desire says, ashing their cigarette in a dish on the table.
“What about his love?” Delirium asks from down the table. “Does his love get to be hapapilily-living?”
“We rarely have happy forever,” Despair says, rather an expert on the subject.
Destruction doesn’t explain himself, nor does he answer the questions. He watches you with his hands folded together before his mouth. “How did you come by this tale?” Dream asks, keen.
“Firsthand, I’d bet. You’ve been bloody everywhere,” Death says, enjoying her bottle of orange soda at the end of the table.
Destruction continues to ignore his siblings and waits for you. Around you, the laughter and grumblings of a half-dozen or a half-thousand souls quiet somewhat, like even they know some quiet respect is due.
The trouble with loving a king of dreams is that laying something to rest is never the end of the story. For dreams, laying something to rest is quite commonly the beginning.
In all your time, there are some parts worth experiencing again for the first time—the parts that make lives worth living, friends worth having, and mistakes worth making again. The feeling of growing up, of understanding, of changing for the better—all those things make it worth the pain of remembering why you ever said, this time, things are different.
Still, some experiences are meant to never be repeated. You’d vowed never to return to the third universe, to the man in the house by the pond who reads nothing but poetry, but your mind still wanders to it, and him, from time to time, even if your heart does not.
But you take the closures where you can. “Thank you for your story,” you say. “I hope… it ends the same way every time.”
Destruction nods, wise to the subtle graveritas you let bleed into your words. It’s a blessing across universes that somewhere, a man on a beach where he leaves no footprints is happy for the rest of his days.
Dream feels it, close as he is. Death and Desire feel it, the former giving a happy look and the latter leveling a distasteful look your way. “Really? At the table?”
“Oh, you think you can tell a better story?”
“Of course, I can, I—”
“Management will expect you to pay your fares…”
“Well, management can go—”
You tune out the bickering and look up at Dream, who is observing you for any signs of that old pain that used to lance you upon mention of your old, doomed love affair.
“That was very kind of you, darling,” he murmurs.
“It was, wasn’t it?”
He kisses your forehead for a few long seconds, and you hardly hear what he says over your pulse pounding in your ears. “I’m lucky.”
“You are.”
He gives a nip at the tip of your nose. “You’re pushing it.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“I really should—”
“Stop that, the two of you! The next one’s starting…”
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
2087
