âCopilot can help with writerâs block!â My writers block is between me and several gods I donât believe in, who clearly also donât believe in me. Fuck off
What part of Dovey and Lesso's relationship makes you want to write smut for them?
The short answer is that I thought they had ridiculous chemistry in the movie (apparently this is not a universal opinion, but I watched the movie before I found the fandom, and I went searching for the fandom specifically because I wanted to know if other people found their dynamic as gay as I did).
The first fic I wrote for the fandom was smut with a bit of plot, because the shame vs. intimacy dynamic is really interesting to me, and there's so much to explore with the idea of Lesso coming to Dovey after having already been in what was surely a highly messed-up relationship with Rafal. I don't have very many consistent head-canons for the two of them. I like to explore what their dynamic could be from a bunch of different angles and backstories, which is what's fun about fanfiction for me--all the ways you can riff on the same idea. Smut has been a fun way to explore different power dynamics, levels of intimacy, stages of their relationship, motivations, secret feelings, etc.
I went back and forth between writing smut fics and T-rated plot fics for a while. Teach Me is my first attempt at a full-length smut/erotica-type story. When I'm in the right mood, writing smut is a great dopamine hit, and receiving positive feedback always makes me want to write more. I wanted to challenge myself to participate in Kinktober last year, which is why my AO3 profile now looks like I mostly write smut (also because Teach Me became a runaway train that I am still desperately trying to park at the station). But actually, I like writing plot just as much--I've used fic-writing for this fandom to challenge myself to write in different perspectives, tenses, genres, styles, etc. The fic I was proudest of for a while is also one of my least popular ones, which I get, because I was trying my hand at Major Character Death, and I don't even like that topic when I'm a reader instead of a writer. (Now I feel best about The Way It Burns, which was originally a Kinktober one-shot that got way out of hand.)
The hyperfixation has mostly fizzled out for me and the writing bug went with it, but I don't like having unfinished WIPs, so I'm still working to give Teach Me an ending. It's been great to be in such an active F/F fandom (somewhat less active now, I guess, but still surviving). I'm not at all interested in M/M and am very picky about F/M, and F/F just doesn't get the same love/interest as the other types (that's a rant for another day), so finding this fandom and this community was amazing. I absolutely would have stopped writing months ago if it weren't for all of the comments and support that made me feel like I was writing for a real audience, not just screaming into the void.
(And who knows, I tend to go through cycles with my hobbies and hyperfixations where I'll do/interact with them intensely for a span of time, totally stop and forget all about them, and then return to them after an indeterminate amount of time when my brain decides that they're interesting again. So maybe someday the unfinished drafts in my writing app will see the light of day.)
I think I derailed this question đ But I hope that was at least somewhat an answer.
My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined. So close you look past me when wondering where I am. Itâs Ok. I know that to be human is to be farsighted. But feel me now, walking the chambers of your heart, pressing my palms to the soft walls of your living. Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive? Ask me the altitude of heaven, and I will answer, âHow tall are you?â In my back pocket is a love note with every word you wish youâd said. At night I sit ecstatic at the loom weaving forgiveness into our worldly regrets. All day I listen to the radio of your memories. Yes, I know every secret you thought too dark to tell me, and love you more for everything you feared might make me love you less. When you cry I guide your tears toward the garden of kisses I once planted on your cheek, so you know they are all perennials. Forgive me, for not being able to weep with you. One day you will understand. One day you will know why I read the poetry of your grief to those waiting to be born, and they are all the more excited. There is nothing I want for now that we are so close I open the curtain of your eyelids with my own smile every morning. I wish you could see the beauty your spirit is right now making of your pain, your deep seated fears playing musical chairs, laughing about how real they are not. My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before. Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know itâs hard to believe, but I promise itâs the truth. I promise one day you will say it tooâ I canât believe I ever thought I could lose you.
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