Jesus Christ, every Billy Joel song is a banger, and I always forget that.

what about Quilly Joel

Dear Fandom readers - an etiquette fail

AO3 is not goodreads. It is not the NYT bestseller list.

You paid no money to read these stories. They are, in fact, a labor of love, done on the off time in the off hours of people who are writing for the joy of writing and the joy of the story.

Your ratings are not appreciated. Not by other readers, who don't know you from adam. Not by fandom-savvy passerby.

And not, in fact, by the author. Who again: Wrote this for fun. In their spare time - around work, around family and friend commitments. Around the rest of their lives. Fandom clout almost never "pays off" in any monetary gains, in any form of physical or financial security.

So please stop "rating" us on something we do for joy.

Today, a fellow fanauthor shared this with me. It was not on any story of my own, but they understandably needed a moment to go "wtf" and process it all. With their permission, I now share this with you.

You won't find this comment on AO3 anymore, by the by.

I have... a lot of issues with this. First of all being something that would be a C-grade in any US school system is not a "Good Rating" for most folks, but many of my issues would be the same even in this commenter had rated this a 10/10.

It boils down to this:

Why are you grading us on something we all are here to do solely for fun and personal enjoyment? Why does it have to be good?

Why can't it just be a labor of love and of joy to be good enough for you, dear commenter?

Do I, as a fanauthor, want to write well? Sure! I do want to write good stories. But I didn't ask random readers to grade me on them. Not in bookmarks that I can easily check, and certainly not in my comments section. And I never will want them to. Every author I've talked to agrees. Is there someone out there who might want this? Sure. Most likely, even! The human experience and desires are broad and varied. But in my experience, if they do exist in Fandom, they're the vast minority. So please:

Don't.

This is a very often a no-payment gift economy! If you make yourself condescending down to the people writing free works for you, you may find that there's suddenly no more writing for you to read! 👀

I know the culture of fandom has changed to the point that I am not up on what The Youth are doing and haven't been for awhile. That said. I am just a person who likes the same TV show as you. Talk to me like a person, not like a service provider.

Outlaw

An Eddie Munson x Dog!Reader fic - yes most of this is written from the POV of a dog.

Edit by the one and only @somnambulic-thing, and used with their permission for this fic- Peruse all their edits here.

*This story was originally on Chestylarouxx, and it came about in the form of a special request from my sweet Gia, @onegirlmanytales. This reupload is at the request of @jo-harrington.

WC - 2K Warnings - Dog bites. Mentions of blood. Angst. Mistreatment of our sweet reader pup. She deserves the world.

---

It’s hard to trust a man after you’ve been burned in the past. Skittish, that’s how you’ve been described. Distrusting. Nervous. It’s true, you’ve learned hard lessons over the years, you have the physical and mental scars to prove it. You’re made for love and softness, you’re made for snuggles and kisses. Being too scared to let yourself feel safe enough for those things only makes you harder, it only makes you push away at anyone that might try to show you the tenderness you deserve. It’s not your fault. 

“I’m just a girl” first of all you’re a grown ass woman second of all free yourself

What’s your guys’ favourite example of the trope ‘came back wrong?’

Feel free to reblog :)

Catelyn Stark / Lady Stoneheart

This is a shitpost (literally) based on a very traumatic/j event that actually happened to me. I’m being vulnerable here.

Caught short

The milky sunlight poured through the windows of the Munson trailer, swirling in the haze of cigarette smoke blanketing the room.

It had been a long, arduous day- and it was Eddie’s own fault.

Though he’d argue that you were complicit. You watched him eat that extra cheesy burrito and you did nothing, like a coward.

He’s slumped on the sofa, wailing over dramatically like he’s been stabbed, all to attract your attention and sympathy. Even if it was his own fault, you couldn’t help but give in to those watery eyes. Like an injured fawn, if the fawn was an idiot in his thirties who’s been lactose intolerant for the last five years.

“Babyyyy,” He whines, scrunching up his nose. “My tummy hurts.”

“I know, sweet boy,” you croon, seating yourself next to him and rubbing his arm. “want me to fight your stomach for you?”

“Please- fetch my sword and end me where I stand.” He laments.

“You’re sitting down.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Would a kiss help?”

That perks him up. Slightly.

You inch closer until your thighs touch his, your knee laying slightly over his lap, careful not to put pressure on his stomach.

“Poor baby needs a magic kiss, huh?”

Eddie groans, looking helpless.

“Mmmnnnn.”

You lean in, pressing a light kiss to his pouted lips. He hums contentedly and deepens it- but the satisfied noise rumbling in his chest soon turns to a stilted whine and a roiling of his stomach. He tenses, mid kiss.

“Did you just-”

“Shit myself, yeah.”

He’s utterly red in the face. Mortified and hobbling, he rushes to the bathroom. He looks like he’s going to cry.

You chase after him and find the door slammed in your face. Oh god, you’re trying so hard not to laugh, but you can’t help it. His timing was impeccable. A cruel joke played on him by the tummy gods.

Mid laugh, you try your best to reassure him.

“Eddie, baby- it’s natural! It’s okay!” You assert with confidence.

His speech is muffled and deflated through the door.

“You don’t think I’m gross?”

“Never could. I love you with all my heart.” You answer sincerely, but you can’t help but follow up. “Even if you’re a little poopy butt.”

“Ok. Get out of my house.” He jokes, feeling more at ease when you tease him. It’s the natural state of your relationship.

You leave him for a while, before making him a glass of ice water and passing it through the door.

Nothing he could do would ever change how you felt about him. Even shitting himself mid makeout. He’s yours. Always.

This happened to me with my ex girlfriend, though she wasn’t as nice about it. Bodies are gross and that’s okay.

Tagliatelle list: @abitchyouhate @sidereustales @writhingg @justsheerfilth1

@deathbecomesthem @jo-harrington @tomtomslongdong @latenightsimping

I once had a doctor tell me, "it's not normal to shit yourself."

A lesson to live by.