#chapter 5 is very fun to rewrite

[faresong]

deliver us from evil is a very serious au.

[sunlight-shunlight]

ok i'm slowly psyching myself up to Finish and Post the opening part of my fic. it's in the editing stage now. i WILL get this done and posted at some point. i'm too far into the sunk cost fallacy to stop, and it is becoming plausibly readable instead of 34374 unconnected notes 🙏

[everythingsinred]

rest in pieces to this zombie au fic thats been abandoned in my drafts for almost a decade... we coulda made history together, u and i....

[midnightwind]

the true question for Clipped Wings is do I just slap the summons home from Viago as the next chapter or try to squeeze in some more general exploration of the Crossroad and/or jobs in Minrathous and/or Two Crows Being Dudes before tossing that one into the canon timeline

[justworthlessreblogs]

I can’t speak for everyone but I think you should consider letting some Precure fanseries stuff out of the closet. There’s a fairly large community for that kind of thing if you know where to look (I can send a link) and personally I love love fanseries.

I love people when take Precure concepts and mess with them in a fun way or take concepts that were executed poorly and do them right.

sdfghj thanks anon i appreciate the encouragement. unfortunately the thing about my curesona's seasons are that they originated from a time when 13 year old me was very involved in online fandom (not precure but another fandom) and she. um. took a lot of inspiration from the people she knew in that fandom when crafting them. many of the characters were very inspired by the other mods on a discord server i modded at the time (they knew about it). it's even in the name - moderation precure. even though they're all very divorced from their original inspirations by now, it's a very unconventional origin and that context makes it a bit of an odd duck but the context is kind of needed to understand the quirkier aspects of it

you know what, though? fuck it. it's been 7 years, i might as well talk about it. here's some basics and highlights of moderation precure (2017-2019), for better or for worse:

there's actually many different precure teams in modpre. i mentioned in one of my other posts that i took some inspiration from hacha and this is one of the most major instances. the american ones (who are the main focus of all this) are all under a larger bureaucratic organization called the precure administration (this is because the mod team was very hierarchical at the time with some members ranking higher than others and most of the mods were american)

our main main team is, of course, the titular moderation precure. the leader is my curesona, cure justice (haha get it? like justie?). her theme color is blue and her motif (the motifs were another inspo i got from hacha) is a fleur-de-lys. the other two starting members are cure paradise (theme color yellow, motif stars) and cure lune (theme color purple, motif is a crescent moon).

the basics of justice's and paradise's designs were solidified relatively early on (hair and the major ideas behind the uniforms, though some small details did shift around) but it took me three years before i finally figured out a lune design i was happy with. but it wasn't quite as unified as justice's & paradise's were, so i came up with a lore explanation that she was part of a previous precure team that disbanded prior to the events of the series due to events that are never fully explained (only hinted at) and got put on the nearly-formed moderation team instead by the head of the administration. even though she'd been a cure for far longer than the other two, because of what happened on her previous team it was decided she wasn't going to be the leader. justice was picked instead and this causes conflict between them because lune thinks it should've been her

justice is like. Baby. as in she's just become a cure. and now she's been picked to become the leader of a team of which she's the most junior member (lune isn't eligible because of the reasons stated above, and paradise is the second most junior cure and was passed over because she literally just moved to the city the series is set in). so she's a little ball of anxiety and really, really, wants to do things right. a big aspect of her arc in the first season is becoming a leader in her own right

there was a midseason by the name of cure wayward (theme color gray with bright teal accents), whose backstory was (i think, things are a bit fuzzy) that she was a cure from somewhere else whose team got defeated by the main villain and she took refuge with the administration? as i type this out i'm realizing this sounds very similar to cure princess and now i'm wondering if i was subconsciously inspired by her. i ended up losing interest in her so she only sticks around for season 1 and gets replaced in season 2 and season 3 (by two separate characters. the ModPre Midseason Shuffle became an internal joke on my part)

the major theme of the series was finding the balance between order and chaos. as in... you know... moderation. a subtheme was "with great power comes great responsibility" because anyone can be a cure, you don't have to be pure of heart or whatever. and so some cures end up being more antagonistic than others. this subtheme becomes the major theme of season 2

their transformation devices are smartphone-esque devices called cure connects. each cure has a case in their theme color

each cure had a virtue that they were supposed to represent. justice was hope, paradise was joy, lune was freedom. i don't remember wayward's, and i don't think i ever got around to assigning virtues to the rest of the cures

each cure also has their own individual weapon. justice has a baton (it was originally a ban hammer but that didn't last long before i changed it), paradise has a bow, and lune has a tablet (think something like the magical lovely pad). they're similar to the heartcatch and hacha cures in that they have a huge variety of subattacks

the monsters of the week were called trolls (haha get it? like internet trolls? because this sprung out of a discord mod team?)

in season 2 they got a captain america winter soldier arc and found out the head of the administration was corrupt as hell and they took the entire thing down. i am not making this up.

this is because i and a bunch of the other mods got into beef with the head mod of the discord and of course i had to write this into my little precure fanseries

season 3 dealt with the aftermath of this. modpre ends up becoming one of the few remaining teams, as most of the others chose to quit or retire (this did not happen in real life but i wanted to trim the number of cures down). this season also features the appearance of...

NAGISA FUCKING MISUMI because around this same time i started watching futari wa and developed a massive crush on her. and 14 year old me (i was 14 by this point) was like. omg. i should put her in my precure fanseason. thus the main conflict of this season - aside from the whole "we just collapsed our entire organization and now we have to deal with the consequences" thing - is that a new big bad has shown up and they already destroyed the futari wa world & nagisa and honoka (already cures because this is post-futari wa; i hadn't watched max heart so luminous isn't a part of this) were the only survivors and somehow they got sent to the modpre universe during all this. now the villains are targeting the modpre world. nagisa ends up with modpre while poor honoka got captured by the villains and brainwashed into joining them. nagisa has no idea about this. obviously at some point there's a big reveal and nagisa goes through the emotional wringer. have i ever mentioned i like giving my favorite characters angst. honoka gets saved by the end ofc

yes nagisa is the second character who replaced cure wayward

my curesona x nagisa was the endgame ship originally (poor honoka!) but then i stopped crushing on her and i was like. yeah maybe not. and got nagihono back together. i was going to spare you from this fact originally but then my beta reader told me i had to include it for the full experience

trust me i have tried taking nagihono out of this whole thing but it never works. they're just part of it now. and honestly 14 year old me warped their characterizations to the point where they were mostly just separate characters who happened to share names, hairstyles, and a few personality traits by the end so are they even canon nagisa and honoka at this point? and uh. yeah. that's a very very brief rundown of modpre, aka 13-15 year old me's beautiful little mess that i can't bring myself to abandon. i have normal-er fanseasons though, which i'll talk about below: rundowns of my other fanseasons, as a treat:

shining hearts precure - the first fanseason i made after moderation. themed around unicorns because the starting duo of cures (cure harmony and cure sunburst) were actually originally my little pony ocs i came up with when i was 9 but i love them and they're the type of ocs that travel with me throughout fandoms (though they've stayed as precure ocs for many years now)

mermaid jewel precure - i came up with this season in 2019 long before tropical rouge and i refuse to change it because i was there first toei!!! anyways the main theme of this season is, of course, mermaids and the ocean. the cures are cure splash (green; the leader), cure ocean (blue; is also a mermaid), cure coral (purple/pink. and she has a snazzy hat. toei owes me royalties i think), cure shell (yellow), and cure anemone (red; midseason of the villain-turned-cure variety)

northern lights precure - a season whose visual design draws from the northern lights and a winter aesthetic. cures are cure aurora (pink; the leader), cure shimmer (light green), cure borealis (blue; also cure aurora's younger sister), and cure glow (light purple; midseason of the normal-girl-turned-cure variety). the designs for northern lights actually predate mermaid jewel (2018 vs 2019) and i usually like to organize my fanseasons by the order i came up with them but somehow these two got mixed around and now it's too set in stone to change them

theatrical - a season themed around the theater with a lot of broadway emphasis. cures are cure curtain (red) and cure spotlight (purple). no midseason, they stay a duo

desert sun - a series set in the american southwest. cures are cure ray (yellow; the leader), cure cactus (green), and cure sky (blue; the midseason. i came up with them in 2019 so this is another case of i was there first and refuse to change their name). the most notable detail about this one that i want to share is that ray and cactus become stepsisters by the end of the series (their single dads fall in love #lovewins)

supernatural - a series themed around, well, the supernatural! cures are cure ghost (white; the leader), cure cryptid (black), cure witch (dark purple), and cure moth (dark blue; the midseason. the name comes from mothman)

[milksnake-tea]

✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : The spar between you and Sunday goes in an unexpected direction - well, at least for Sunday. Life as a Hunter has taught you to almost always expect unexpected directions.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 6.5k

✩ TAGLIST : @felibrary, @vxnuslogy, @https-mika, @greyrain23, @red-ninja15, @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu , @crysangria , @shenwi , @louchive , @mave-in , @mutiachan , @meerpea , @fxngtasy , @emiken-070907 , @tragedy-of-commons , @boothills-usbport , @mikashisus , @lunaegrl , @cakechase , @keirenny , @romyoia , @bunnihunnii , @insomniac-hours ( TAGLIST IS CLOSED )

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : hey bitches. guess who's back. FUN FACT THIS BROKE THE IMG LIMIT FOR POSTS ON TUMBLR BYE I HAVE NO IDEA IF ITS GOING TO HOLD UP ON WATTPAD (probably not. sniffles) BUT OMLLLL I REALLY YAPPED TOO MUCH W THE CHATS.... ALSO !! CHAT MSG ICON FOR SUNDAY CREDIT GOES TO THE LOVELY BUNNYCARROT ON TWT. ALSO KNOWN AS MY REASON FOR LIVING. also howre we feeling abt sunday release. IK I WAS GONE THAT ENTIRE TIME HE WAS DRIP MARKETED AND EVERYTHING BUT IN MY DEFENSE. i had to rewrite the sparring scene like 5 different times and the chat msgs like 3 times. so. erm. yeah ALSO ILL GET TO THE ALT TEXTS TMRW I SWEAR ITS JUST MIDNIGHT RN AND IM SCARED (of my mom) AND TIRED

ADDITIONALLY, I'VE HIRED BETA READERS !!! SAY HELLO TO GWEN AKA @tragedy-of-commons , VICTORIA AKA @theother-victoria , VISARA AKA @rainswept , AND MHIE AKA @iceunhie. GO CHECK THEM OUT THEY WRITE TOO and more consistently too sneezes BUT YEAH THEY'RE GOING TO BE MY VICTIMS I MEAN TEAM TO WHICH I YAP AND HAVE THEM EDIT MY SHIT <333 LOVE YALL

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In and out.

Inhale through the nose.

Hold.

Exhale through the mouth.

Again.

Sunday closes his eyes and breathes. He adjusts his grip on his rapier, making sure that his grip is firm and that its tip points away from him. Alone in the training room, the silence is more than enough for him to think, and force away the voices the best he can.

He reaches, he calls, and he tunes into the very roots that govern the universe. The Imaginary Tree is life and reality itself. It illuminates, it breathes, and it grows. It curls around his fingers, and it gives. Life flows into his veins, strings of pure energy lying right beneath his fingertips, and he pulls.

Imaginary manifests in melodies and staffs, guided by his rapier and weaving into a somber song. He lifts his hand, drawing the sheets and forming the beginnings of a symphony.

His brow furrows.

Even now, with years of practice and honing his technique, there's something pulling at his chest, a strain on his halo that tells him that this is wrong. Even if the Tree accepts his call and responds in turn, he can never fully accept its embrace. It is suffocating, its hold, and it is oppressing.

It swallows him as though it were the Voracity, engulfing him in its jaws and consuming him, draining him of all that he is. It forces itself upon him - it eats away at him, and his breath is almost taken, almost snuffed, save for the small sliver of mercy that keeps him alive. It dominates the once carefully balanced conversation, and it commands him, trust me, accept me, join me, become me.

And Sunday has never been one to like being commanded.

A pleasant conversation morphs into a spiteful argument, a battle for the upper hand, venom dripping from each of their tongues as each tries to take control. As Sunday struggles against the roots, the orchestra becomes strained, the tempo becoming faster and faster, and all of the strings crescendo until it's loud, far too loud.

The strain in his mind transfers to the physical realm, and the staffs so carefully penned by his sword flicker and waver while his halo begins to glow in the effort to keep it all under control. His brow furrows and his movements become frenzied, frantic, until the Tree rebels yet again, and he's had enough.

Frustration flares and he brings down his hand and cuts off his connection with the Tree, tearing through the melody and ending the performance there. But then he realizes what he's done, and shame floods out his annoyance.

A sigh leaves him.

Losing his composure... how unbecoming of him. He forces himself to pay attention to his breath, and the hand that isn't holding the rapier curls into his palms, the familiar prick grounding him.

He should know better than to be so easily moved. He inhales deeply, raising his gaze to the ceiling, and exhales.

There we go.

If the orchestra won't obey, he will command them. They are forged from his very blood and tied to his veins. They are him, in a sense, and he will not stand for a civil war.

He raises his sword once more, and to the orchestra, he speaks - Again.

And this time, he leaves no room for argument.

His rapier is a guide and a scripture as Imaginary drips from it once again. With the orchestra in toe, he begins to move.

Combat to him is not unlike a dance, in which the participants are himself, his opponent, and his sword. He has learned the hard way that brute strength, as much as it would be useful, is not his forte (spending one's life asleep does wonders to their physical state), and so he must rely on precision and observation to gain the upper hand.

He steps, swiftly and with purpose, and the Tree is his partner. Wisps and streaks rise from where his feet had once touched the ground, and with every stab at a fictitious enemy, the Tree strikes with him in the form of diamond stars and sound waves. Sweat beads at the back of his neck and his hand trembles with the strain of keeping the Tree under control, but he stands firm nevertheless.

But then he hears a squeak - an awfully familiar squeak, belonging to a companion he hasn't seen since the fall - a companion that only appears on two conditions: if they are called upon, or if he is in danger.

And he didn't call upon anyone.

There's a tingle on the back of his neck, and he swerves and narrowly avoids a stab towards his eyes. His Echoes rush to his defense, swarming his assailant and driving them back in a storm of gold lights.

He hears his attacker splutter with surprised laughter as the Echoes bat at their face angrily, some even ramming into their sides with their heads or tugging at their clothes with what little strength they have. It takes him a second before he realizes just who his companions are attacking.

"Enough," he commands. The symphony dissolves as his rapier lowers and his other hand raises to placate the swarm. Immediately the Echoes retreat to his side, keeping their nonexistent eyes on the person before him, to which he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Was that really necessary?"

You bat away at one last belligerent Echo that was particularly keen on head-butting your cheek (it does absolutely no damage) before turning to him with that smile of yours.

"Just testing your reflexes, princess."

In your hand is the sword that nearly stole his sight. A thin taper of obsidian steel, it lies loosely in your grip. Veins of neon blood ran through its blade, its color far too bright for Sunday's liking.

But the hue seemed paler than from when you briefly fought with Blade; it isn't as acidic nor as blinding as back then, but it still unnerves him nevertheless.

You throw his Echoes a brief glance with a chuckle. "I've yet to see those before. Are they new?"

"No." Sunday shakes his head. He pets one with his finger to calm it down, as the majority were still baring their metaphorical teeth towards you. "For as long as I can remember, these little ones have been by my side. They're... rather protective."

"I can tell," you hum a laugh. Taking a step forward, you test your luck with the strange creatures. Many back away defensively as you approach, although one or two linger curiously. "Aw, aren't you the cutest?"

Sunday sighs as you pinch one of the Echoes. The doll unleashes a flurry of squeaks as you toy with it, stretching and squishing it like a stuffed animal while its siblings squeak furiously and swarm you again.

Reaching into the crowd, his arm parts the figurative sea and grabs you by the scruff of your neck. With a tug and a pointed look, he pulls you out of the mob's fury.

"Please refrain from teasing them, doctor," Sunday reprimands softly. "I'm afraid they can only take so much before they become overwhelmed with anger."

"How terrifying," you reply cheekily, shrugging off his grip. "But that's a tough request. Just look at them; can you really blame me?"

To further prove your point, you reach out and scratch a nearby Echo under where its chin should be, your smile widening as it struggles to decide between squeaking in indignation and purring in content. Eventually, however, it gives in and leans into your touch, vibrating happily as you scratch it.

After a few minutes of this, Sunday clears his throat. Last time he checked, you were here to spar, not play with his familiars, even if the sight was admittedly endearing.

You spare him a glance, he returns it with a pointed look and raised brows. Thankfully, you get the message and release the Echo without any objections.

Sunday glances to the Echo as it returns dazedly to his side. Raising his hand, he allows it to hover just above his palm.

A silent conversation unfolds between the two of them, with Sunday raising a brow and the Echo assuring him that it was fine - even if he can sense its content, it never hurts to make sure. His halo glows momentarily, before he lowers his hand and dismisses his familiars.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asks in mild amusement, turning back to you.

"Mhm," you hum with a smile, eyes still lingering on the spot where the Echo used to be. "How about you? Ready?"

Imaginary sparks on his rapier, but Sunday pays it little mind. "As ready as I can be, I suppose. But shouldn't you warm up?"

You shake your head. "It isn't necessary. You'll see when on your first mission: You have to be ready to fight at any time and place. Warming up is a luxury reserved for beginners and athletes."

And then, as if to prove your point, Sunday sees you move before a flash of black cuts through his vision, and only by instinct is Sunday able to dodge. Only this time, you don't stop with just one strike, no, it's one after the other and Sunday curses internally and meets you with his rapier.

If Blade is a raging torrent, then you are a lightning storm. You move with the speed and viciousness of a viper, never staying in one place for too long and focusing the majority of your power into swift, seemingly never-ending stabs. It's methodical and almost surgical, the way you jab and twist and cut away at him with terrifying precision, but it's a dance Sunday can get behind.

Strike, shift, dodge, parry, strike again.

It's a rhythm that Sunday eventually falls into once the initial shock ebbs away into an afterthought. He grits his teeth and pushes through, his feet never setting on the ground for more than a second before he's forced to jump aside once more.

And for a moment, his gaze locks with yours, and a brief smile slips onto his lips as he finally finds his figurative footing. Slowly, the dance turns into his favor, and he begins to push back, daring to strike back and attempt at hitting you - but you are too quick, too experienced, and like Blade, he is unsuccessful.

But he's keeping up, surprisingly, and that is enough for him. For now.

At least, that's what he thought.

Once you see that he's acclimated, you switch up the tempo. What was once a waltz morphs into a violent tango. You duck under his arm and jab and then-

He hears a pop. And for a second, there is nothing.

But then comes fire. It burns and stings and eats away at his flesh, and he feels it travel from his extremities all the way to his abdomen, circling, concentrating, enveloping that specific spot.

Sunday gasps and lurches back, hand already clutching his wound before he registers what has happened. He looks down, expecting the worst - he expects blood warming his hand, he expects flesh and ripped skin, he expects a gruesome scene.

But when he tentatively removes his hand, breath rattling his chest, there is almost nothing. There is blood, yes, but not much - only the slightest bit beading at the miniscule incision you've made in his stomach.

He furrows his brows, his mind running at impossible speeds to comprehend what had just happened. First is shock, then there is bewilderment, and then betrayal and then anger and then bewilderment again.

There is not a single hint of remorse on your face. No, your face is an undisturbed lake, already poised to strike again - and you do. This time you scrape his shoulder - but Sunday doesn't let you hit a third time.

The gold of his eyes gleams, and the next time he swings, Imaginary coats his blade and a slash of sound fires. With the shock from being stabbed still lingering, the attacks aren't as strong as he'd like, but they are enough to fend you off until he's recovered.

At least, that was the plan.

Just when he thinks the fire is over, lightning strikes. His body seizes up and he doubles over, coughing hideously into his already sullied hand. His rapier dematerializes. The glow snaps away from his halo and his eyes and his powers are deemed null. Every nerve is set alight, frenzied and panicked, as the rest of his body locks into stone.

"Wha-" Sunday clamps his mouth shut, appalled by his own voice. It slurs and sounds as if it'd been passed through a filter, nothing like what he is meant to sound like.

If you have an answer, he doesn't hear it. But he sees you, he sees your lips moving, and then it's your shoes scrunching up against the floor, and then it's your sword, and he realizes-

Panic seizes him, and then dark violet floods his vision, tinged by hints of the sun but bespeckled by the stars. He can't see, he won't see, his mind racing too fast to process whatever his eyes are telling him. His heart pounds in his ears, and all he can hear is the sound of his own breath.

It's quiet - too quiet.

Is he dying? It seems so. But he doesn't want to die, he can't die, not without the dream, not without that paradise, not without seeing Robin one last time.

And with that thought, the paralysis breaks. Sunday gasps as strength surges into him and he regains control of his body, and he nearly topples over as his knees almost give in from under him. But he manages to catch himself in time and avoids yet another humiliation.

He clutches at his chest, catching his breath. His body still quivers, and yet, he can stand just fine. The venom's sting begins to subside - although not completely, but enough strength has returned so that he can push it to the back of his mind.

But most importantly, he's alive. His hand, the one that isn't dirtied, trails up from his chest to his throat, feeling at where the edge of your sword should've cut. But there is nothing to be found. His skin is intact, with no sign of blade or cut.

"Wow, you've been holding out on me. I'm almost offended."

Sunday flinches at the sound of your voice and he whirls, only to not find you anywhere. His brows furrow in confusion, before you speak again-

"Up here, princess."

Sunday turns, and immediately his mind blanks. He blinks. Then he rubs his eyes. Then he blinks again.

"What in the world...?" he mutters.

At least you seem to be as confused as he is, although fond pride graces your smile despite it all. But that's not the confusing part - or at least, it isn't the most confusing part.

You hang upside-down from the ceiling, dark, vivid indigo thorns binding your feet together and your arms to your side. Your damned sword is still in your hand, but with the vines wrapping around you, you can't make any use of it.

"You tell me," you quip back, shaking your body slightly so that you can swing around like a punching bag. Sunday leans back to avoid you smacking into him. "I mean, they're yours, aren't they?"

What? Sunday shakes his head. "That can't be right. I've never even seen these before. Are you sure you didn't accidentally self-sabotage?"

Your face falls flat into a deadpan. "If I were that sloppy, I wouldn't be here anymore. These vines are yours."

"No," Sunday insists. "My abilities lie solely in the Imaginary, never Quantum. I've never..."

But he has,Sunday suddenly remembers, trailing off. You raise a brow.

"You do know that people aren't confined to one single element, right?" With a flick of your wrist, your sword slashes through the vines, the shreds of Quantum falling to the ground. You land on your feet and catch the handle of your sword in one fluid motion. "Take me for example. When using my sword, I'm of the Physical element. But any other time, I'm of Quantum."

You bend down and pick up a stray vine from the ground. It flickers and warps in your hold, a new constellation shining in its branches whenever you move.

"Webs's got something similar going on - She's both Lightning and Fire," you say idly as you come up to him. "So I'm not sure what you're worried about."

"That's not the issue," Sunday sighs. He steps back when you offer him that stray vine. "I have always been Imaginary. That other element- No, those powers, I have avoided using them for a reason."

As much as he wants to tear his gaze away from those vines, he can't. They glimmer back at him, inviting but patient.

No.

"So you have seen these before." Twirling the vine around your finger, you raise a brow at him. "They're pretty decent, especially to have caught me off guard. Why don't you use them more?"

Sunday sighs.

"They originate from the Harmony. And, well," he breathes an awkward laugh that doesn't quite meet his eyes, "my relationship with Xipe isn't the greatest as of right now. It wouldn't be wise to call upon THEIR blessing. Not unless I want to provoke the wrath of an Aeon."

It isn't the complete truth, but it is enough to get the message across.

And besides, he thinks, Xipe is... weak. Strong for the many, but weak for the few. If Sunday wants to survive in the kind of environment that the Hunters call their norm, he can't rely on such a Path.

No matter how right it feels.

And yet, despite that thought, there's that little nagging voice in the back of his mind. The memories of his earlier practice resurface briefly in his mind.

"If that's what you want," you hum. You let the vine fall from your wrist and dissipate into flickers of light. "But if you ever need help with controlling those things-"

His clipped tone comes out harsher than he intends. "No. You've helped me enough."

But you hardly react. "Suit yourself."

Sunday blinks. He straightens, expecting something more, but all you do is start playing around with your sword, presumably readying yourself for another round.

"Aren't you going to attempt to persuade me otherwise?" he can't help but question.

You snort, flipping your sword into the air. "You're not a child; I'm not going to make your decisions for you."

Catching the dark handle as it falls, you point your blade at him once more, and Sunday instinctively takes upon a defensive stance, rapier poised to protect.

"But, if you want advice," you say, "there's a saying we often go by: 'When you have the chance to make a choice, make one you know you won't regret.'"

Sunday stills.

A choice?

His mind flashes back to the script Elio had given him.

At 22:38:10 system time, the reigning kingdom of Alfeasa-VIII will fall. [Name] will dispense multiple gas bombs at the banquet. They will give you one gas mask to give to a person of your choosing. Whoever you choose will become the next ruler of Alfeasa-VIII. I trust that you will choose wisely.

Always with the choices, it seems - ironic, considering that he never had much of a choice when it came to joining the Hunters. His options were them and the IPC - it didn't take a genius to see which was the safe option.

But... No, that wasn't fair. Up until Elio had spoken to him, he had been completely willing to lay his head beneath the guillotine, to atone for his sins and to accept his punishment.

He had chosen this path.

And Elio had chosen him.

And soon, he must choose a fate for an entire planet.

That's why he is here, after all.

He doesn't need a weak Path such as Harmony - he won't need it. He refuses to.

And with that, his mind is set.

Seeing how he straightens, tosses aside his dirtied glove for a clean one, and brandishes his rapier towards you once more, you smile approvingly.

"Ready for another round?"

You needn't ask. A step, a lunge, and a swing of his wrist, and the dance begins once again.

—

Unfortunately, you never did stop with the stabbing (something about him just "having to get used to it", which he isn't happy about). His entire body is littered with the smallest of scratches, cuts, and punctures from where you've nicked him, and he's pretty sure that half of what runs in his veins is venom instead of blood.

Movement spurs in the corner of his vision. Kicking off of a nearby exercise machine, you leap into the air and bring your sword down upon him in a one-handed strike, but unlike before, Sunday is ready for it.

He jumps out of the way and summons his Echoes at the same time. With their support, strength returns to him, and the Imaginary tree's whispers fear his ears once more. The orchestra sings, and their tune shoots out in sharp flickering missiles towards your landing figure.

But you are quick on your feet and easily maneuver around the projectiles, slipping and swerving like an otter does through water as they shattered around you. The veins of your sword glow, and so does the outline of your form.

His Echoes squeak in warning and he just barely manages to tilt his head in just the right direction before he hears the wall crack behind him.

With a start, he realizes that you'd thrown your sword. Blood beads at his cheek at where it had grazed him. But that's the least of his problems. You're still running at him, after all.

You jump and aim a kick towards his head. Sunday's wings unfold rapidly and he winces as pain slams his joints, but he manages to propel himself out of the way so that you hit the wall instead. Without so much as missing a beat, you grab and wrench out your sword and kick off the wall towards him.

Obsidian meets silver in a fierce clash. Sunday grunts as you press forward, having to use both of his hands to keep his rapier steady against your attack. Rapiers were never meant for blocking, but you leave him little choice.

The standstill persists for a short while, and Sunday realizes you're waiting - waiting for more of that godforsaken poison to kick in. And just as that thought passes through his mind, lightning attacks again, and he jolts, tasting iron.

And that is enough for you to quickly change the tune of the dance.

Maintaining full eye contact, your blade slips from the clash and throws him off balance. Instead it comes up from under, and its handle scrapes against his palm just enough so that you can once again knock his rapier out of his hands and off clattering against the floor. There is a cold sensation against his chin, and Sunday realizes that it's your sword.

He sighs, raising his hands in yet another defeat. With a hum, you step back, and with you goes your sword.

"That makes five now," you hum, fishing out a vial of concerningly colored liquid and tossing it to him. Sunday sighs as he catches it.

"I can hardly call this fair," he mutters, unscrewing the vial and downing it like a shot of vodka. The antidote burns similarly to the alcohol, but rather than being bitter it is sweet like fruit tea - which he appreciates; alcohol was never his favorite beverage, and will never be. "You know, most would call using poison dishonorable."

"Good thing I'm not most people. Wanted criminal, remember?"

Sunday rolls his eyes as the cuts and aftershocks from the poison ebb away. You will never stop bringing that up, will you?

Before he can retort, both of your phones ping. At first, you elect to ignore it, pushing it to the side in favor of opening your mouth to speak. But then it pings again, and again, and again until you get the point and let out a frustrated groan.

"I swear, if it's Elio telling us to buy ink again," you mutter, fishing out your phone. Your brows raise. "Nope, it's worse."

"Who is it?" Sunday asks, grimacing as he flexes one of his hindwings. He must've opened them too quickly back then and pulled something in the process.

"Webs," you reply, already typing out a response. Your sword dematerializes and you walk off to sit down on a nearby bench against the wall. "Let's take a break - oh, and let me see your wing while we're at it."

Pausing, Sunday blinks at you. Was he being too obvious about it?

His phone vibrates in his pocket as he makes his way over to you. This time, however, the pings are more frequent and somehow, more heated, if that makes sense. You're probably arguing with Kafka, or... whatever the two of you do. You're fine enough on your own, and Kafka is... eerie, at best, but put you two in the same room, and Sunday wants nothing more than to bolt.

And to think he's going on a mission with the both of you in a week or two.

He sits down with the injured wing hanging limply towards you, already dreading his future. Almost instantaneously your hand is upon it. A gentle swipe of your thumb over where he's pulled a muscle or two, mending the fibers there, and the lazy yet methodical sifting through his feathers in search of other injuries, and Sunday instantly relaxes, a dull hum thrumming in his chest as he moves to get his phone.

But then, because apparently this universe wouldn't be happy if Sunday didn't suffer at least once every day, he catches sight of the hand he'd coughed into a while ago, and he freezes.

Technically speaking, he knows that his hand had been protected from the grime, and the only dirty thing is the glove sitting in his inventory. He has already replaced the sullied glove, there is nothing diseased on his person anymore.

But it doesn't stop his irrationality from suddenly pulling the already clean glove tight against his fingers.

It's not tight enough - yes, it is, Sunday, you can see the outline of your hands, you can feel it, it's tight enough, you're fine, nothing touched you- But what if it did? What if he coughed something out and it seeped through the glove and it touched his skin and now he's dirty and he should wash his hands- No, calm down, you are fine- but he doesn't know that, should he check? He should check.

Sunday nearly pulls up the wrist of his glove, until his thoughts assault him again- What are you doing, Sunday? Are you crazy? What if they see? You're dirty, you don't need to-

He pulls the glove back on so harshly it might've torn. But it doesn't - he makes sure of that, adjusting it yet again until the voices begin to quiet down enough for him to think properly.

"You okay over there?" you ask suddenly, glancing up from your phone. Sunday's mind starts running again, but Sunday himself appears to be calm.

"I'm fine," he assures, customer service voice resurfacing unconsciously. You raise a brow.

"If you say so," you say, clearly not convinced. Sunday prepares himself for an interrogation, but you return to your phone and drop your hand from his wing, evidently done with your treatment.

Sunday flaps his wing reflexively, pleased to find that the ache is no longer there. His phone vibrates in his hand, reminding him of why the two of you were sitting down and not sparring in the first place.

The second he opens the group chat, he's immediately assaulted with spam messages that make him regret opening it in the first place, and all thoughts of his gloves meld into the background noise of his mind.

Sunday lets out an exasperated sigh along with a shake of his head.

He can already feel his brain cells shriveling and withering away. Who was it that said that the Stellaron Hunters were a terrifying terrorist group, each capable of destroying entire empires with a mere pull of their finger?

Especially Kafka - she was the Hunter with the highest bounty and the most infamous out of all of them. Sunday had already long lost any expectations he had about you, but at least he still had some respect left for the quite frankly, creepy enigma that was Kafka.

Now, he isn't so sure.

Still, he can't deny the amused smile that was slowly creeping up upon his lips. He sneaks a look behind him, no longer feeling your hands on his wings, and he finds a similar grin on your face, a snort escaping you every so often as you play up this charade with Kafka.

A sharp pain smacks his shin. Sunday hisses and glares at you, to which you only smile at him from the corner of your eye.

"Hey, you're supposed to defend me," you chastised, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Not give the local pyromaniac a reason to attack me."

Sunday rolls his eyes with a smile.

"I'll defend you when you replace this shirt," he says, tugging at the high-necked collar that hugs his form. At least, it did. Now it was littered with cuts and tears in the fabric, all done in by a certain medic. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make much use of it now."

"Hold on, pyromaniac's yelling at me." You quickly type out a few paragraphs in your defense.

Once you've (somewhat) escaped Firefly's wrath, you set the phone down and assess the damage you've done to Sunday's attire. Even if his wounds were now healed and the poison neutralized, fabric wasn't something you could heal.

You raise a brow. "How many of those did I get for you?"

"Five," Sunday answers automatically.

"And the old man has never torn up a single one? I find that hard to believe, considering how rough he can get."

Sunday cringes, his abdomen aching from the mere memory of all the times Blade has drop kicked him there. "To be honest, I'm just as surprised as you are."

You squint at that, before your phone pings again and you check it. Thankfully, it isn't another onslaught of messages from Firefly that you need to defend yourself from, and so you don't pay it much attention.

"I'll ask Webs to stitch it up for you," you say, patting him on the shoulder. "Unless you want me to head back to Euphrosyne and raid them of their entire stock."

Much to his horror, Sunday almost considers it. But then he comes to his senses and shakes his head. "That won't be necessary."

"Are you sure?" You prop your elbow on his shoulder, leaning into him. "It's doable, just give me ten minutes, a couple of bombs, and-"

Sunday pushes your face away with his finger, his ear wing coming up to act as a shield between you and his face. "We are not committing bioterrorism on an innocent planet."

"Who's we? Technically, it's only me, and that planet isn't exactly innocent, if you know what I mean-"

"[Name]."

You raise your hands in surrender as he narrows his eyes. "Alright, point taken. Oh, also, Webs's talking to you. Might want to answer before she starts calling you a homewrecker again."

"We can't have that," Sunday chuckles.

...What did he just get himself into? Sunday slowly turns to gauge your reaction, to which you only shrug, which isn't helpful at all.

"You'll be fine," you say. "Probably. Most likely. 50-50. Depends on the hour. Depends on how much she's had to drink."

He raises a brow. "How comforting," he says dryly.

You pat him deftly on the back before standing up and stretching. "It is what it is. We should go, though. Wouldn't want to keep the good lady waiting."

He moves to follow you, but before he can stand up, his hand comes to touch his throat, and he remembers the shirt, the shirt ruined by your hands.

Panic takes him by storm. He can't be seen like this. You are one thing - you've seen his wings at their worst, mangled and messy, but Kafka is another. Kafka is a higher up. Kafka is a senior. Kafka, in a way, is his boss outside of Elio.

And if she sees him like this, untidy and messy, he'd throw himself out into the cosmos and accept his death there.

But he doesn't have time to go into his room and grab a jacket, does he? Not if you're to head in at the same time, and he refuses to be late or have you wait outside his room while he changes into something more suitable. But what other choice does he have?

He begins to dig at his palms again, but this time, the pain fails to ground him. If anything, it makes his raging thoughts even worse as he thinks, thinks, and thinks of what he can do, what he could do- By THEM, this is why he always made sure everything was in order before he left the room. But you had to ruin-

His fingers dig harder at that thought. Irrational anger is swallowing him, and he tries to drive it down- It's a spar, Sunday.A spar with real swords, no less. He should've expected this. He knew what he was getting into- But for you to stab him? Wait, why is he still sitting down? Stand up, move, already, you idiot- Why did you have to ruin him like this?

He looks up, halo beginning to glow despite his rational telling him to step back and just breathe, only to get smacked in the face by a ball of thick fabric.

"Wha-" He sputters and takes a step back, indignance and pure, utter, bafflement replacing his anger at record speed. Catching the fabric as it falls down, Sunday's eyes widen as he realizes what it is.

"Are you done freaking out?" you ask dryly. Your sword has reappeared in your hand and there's tatters of cloth on the ground by your feet. "Put that on if you're so worried about looking decent."

Sunday turns the hoodie around apprehensively. It isn't the one you bought for him - it's too bright in color for that, and Sunday wasn't one to wear this color if he could help it. Not only that, but the fresh cut where the back is supposed to be is ragged, making it obvious that the hoodie wasn't tailored this way.

You didn't have to... His brows furrow. Why did you do this? For him, of all people- and what you said, before, did you notice yet again?

That won't do. He's never been this bad before. He needs to relearn what made him Sunday, Head of the Oak Family. He needs to relearn the art of performance, needs to remember how to push down weakness and cover it with expensive paint.

"Did you wash this?" he blurts out, tearing his gaze away from the hoodie. You snort.

"Just the fact that you asked me that tells me a lot about how you view me. What the hell. After I just cut it up for you, too?"

"I apologize. It's-" Sunday inhales, wondering how in the world he was going to word this without sounding paranoid. "It's a habit of mine."

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms. "Yes, I washed it. It's straight from the inventory, so don't worry, you won't catch anything."

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know," you chuckle, "no need to get all worked up. Now are you coming or what?"

Sunday hastens to throw the hoodie over his head, patting his hair into shape as he follows you out of the training room. With his body still admittedly warm from the sparring, it's uncomfortable and admittedly disgusting to have such a thick sweater over all of it, but he'd rather melt covered up as opposed to being exposed in such a disheveled manner.

"Are you sure about this?" he still asks as you step into the hallway. "With all this sweat-"

"I don't care, princess," you sigh. "You don't even have to return the thing. Mercy knows how many hoodies I've got in my wardrobe - letting go of one isn't an issue to me."

Sunday's hand comes to grasp at the neck of the hoodie, feeling the fabric. He looks away from you, his gaze falling to the constant motion of his feet.

"I appreciate it," he murmurs, wings coming up to cover some of his face. You hum.

"Don't mention it. That's what friends are for."

Sunday feels his cheeks warm slightly. His wings shift further up his face. "Friends... That is what we are, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you say as if it were obvious. "What else would we be?"

He shakes his head, his wings unfurling to reveal his soft smile. "No, this is enough. I was simply caught off guard, that's all."

You furrow your brows. "To be called a friend? That's... concerning."

"Don't look too far into it."

"I'll tell Elio to ring you up with a psychiatrist."

"Please don't," he sighs. You snicker.

"No promises."

The conversation fades into a comfortable silence after this, with the only sounds being the gentle pit-pat and tapping of your footsteps. Sunday spots a new graffiti on the wall that separates your door from Silver Wolf's. This one is of a raccoon, one that oddly looks similar to that one grey-haired Trailblazer with the baseball bat. Beside it is an Origami Bird that resembles Silver Wolf. As the two of you pass, a vividly orange flower snaps playfully at him, but unlike the one he's yet to replace, it doesn't seem hungry. It placates under your touch.

"I wasn't lying, by the way," you say suddenly. Sunday glances at you with a tilt of his head. "About what I said in the group chat. You're doing better than any of us expected."

"Thank you?" Sunday isn't sure whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. The corners of your eyes crinkle.

"I'm being serious. I'm surprised you were able to fight through my poison at all, even if it was a mild one. Any other person would've given up the second the paralysis hit. But you managed, somehow. So good on you."

Sunday stiffens. Not knowing what to say, he merely gives you a nod of appreciation. His footsteps slow slightly as you come up to Kafka's mahogany door so that he stands behind you. As you raise your hand to knock, he feels a slight prick at his wrist - and this time, it isn't of his own doing.

As subtle as he can, he risks a glance down at that hand.

The pointed edge of a thorny vine peeks out from under his sleeve, the dark purple taunting as it sways ever-so slightly.

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reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles— Update 15/Nov/2024

Loads of tasks checked off the list this week!

Edits from the editor for chapter 4 went in, so I can send that over the final readers. I finished the rewrites and my edits for chapter 5, so I’ve sent that over to the editor. And I prepped and started writing on chapter 6!

I also did a recheck on the villain romance to work on pacing. It’s really strange going back to a romance that needs to happen within the space of one book, lol! I can’t have it going slow, or it won’t build enough to feel impactful at the end, but then I also can’t have it go too fast, or it won’t feel like it’s built enough to create the connection…it’s a tough balance!

Really working on that ‘love at first sight’ and ‘it’s fated’ feel for it to help with that—plus I just love that in romances, hehe! :D

Very excited for what’s coming in the next chapter! It’s the first time I’ll be writing Rebecca’s POV in the main game, which is going to be seriously interesting, especially considering what’s happening in the scene…

For those wondering about the next demo release, I’m looking at a New Year’s release. Something to give a fun and exciting start to 2025!

Next week, I’ll be pushing on with chapter 6, as well as starting to look at getting the special Winter scenarios for December on Patreon up together now the polls are over! Hoping those come out as I can see them in my head, hehe! :D

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll talk update you all again next week! <3

[a-b-riddle]

Can't Stop Thinking About Update 5/18

A bit of an update on what's happening with CSTA.

This week, unfortunately, there will not be an update on Sunday. I mentioned in a previous post I have a UTI and the nausea meds literally knock me out so I got very little writing done today which means there won't be anything to edit and put out tomorrow.

Chapter 9 will now be rewritten at the end of the series. I do plan to rewrite it, but for now, I want to continue the series as planned and having to go back and work on it has delayed further writing. Until then, the unrevised version will stay up.

In the next few days, ageless blogs will be blocked. I do not engage with minors, nor should minors be reading anything on my blog

Finally, I appreciate the enthusiasm with wanting updates, I really do. But if the only engagement you're going to have with me is replying "next chapter please" or messaging me on anon when I'm going to post the next chapter, please don't bother... I am not getting compensation for this. I am doing this for fun. But receiving several comments and messages either asking for the next update or requesting how the story ends is starting to legit piss me off...

I've said previously that the 141 and reader reconcile. Reader can work things out with them and still have a backbone. Just because someone finds it within themselves to forgive someone else (after they have proven they are sorry and rectify their behavior) does NOT make them spineless. Not every FMC needs to have a "eat shit and die" mentality when it comes to being wronged. Stop asking me for the ending you want. Stop telling me how to write my own story.

Again, thank you for the continued support whether its a like, reblogging, reply or even a message. I have over 50 messages right now and how to get through the bulk of them this weekend.

-Riddle

[pureshadough]

PURESHADOUGH'S CURRENT MILKSHAKE FIC RECOMMENDATIONS (NOT COMPREHENSIVE)

Echo Paradox - thebiscuitlabryinth (angst, character study, bad ending?)

one of my favorite examples of Apollo's Gift of Prophecy in a fanwork, the ENTIRETY of this series was written long before much of the dynamic it touches upon was canonized in beast yeast 7-8. ergo has a large smattering of speculative headcanoning & canon divergence, but i need you to put yourselves in the shoes of an og milkshake fan seeing almost all of the subject matter here actualized in the game a year later. Insane. a fascinating time capsule that i think still completely holds up

In the Eye of the Vanilla Beholder - FaeMytho, legendspeaker (post-canon, hurt/comfort) [ongoing]

mods? turn that thing into a bug. incredibly fun premise of shmilk getting necromancy'd into the body of a faerie and all of the Terrible Consequences that follow. is a nice dose of Shadow Milk "Redemption Arc" Torture Nexus to add to ur diet in a unique framework

What the Bluebird Carries - loser_lenny (fluff, getting together?)

absolutely adorable reclussage oneshot. my favorite nomralpilled sage characterization, he is so fucking funny to me. approaches their dynamic in a REMARKABLY healthy way & without sacrificing their characters. even if you don't like Diverged that much i still recommend giving it a shot

To Smithereens - LouieTheCaterpillar (slow burn, amnesia au, hurt/comfort) [ongoing]

as of writing this one's only at 4 of 25 chapters but i'm SO fucking interested with the direction its taking already. everyone's favorite amnesiac shmilk AU in a novel pre-beast-yeast 7 flavor. I have no idea how this one's gonna turn out yet but what's here so far is very well constructed & its getting fairly regular updates so i'll def be keeping an eye on it at the very least

to err on the side of caution - thegoldenappleofdiscord (character study, relationship study, post-canon?) [ongoing]

an examination of smpv from the perspective of the other ancients with a special focus on shadow milk's nature as a beast, the dubiousness of his "redemption" & how Incredibly Strange of an Exception pure vanilla's beast confrontation/awakening was. only 2 of 5 chapters so far (and is largely speculative on the likes of hollyberry's chapters as of current) but even just the first two in isolation make a fun read

blind man's bluff - thebiscuitlabyrinth (canon rewrite, slow burn?) [ongoing?]

what-if of shmilk escaping the tree EARLY early (pre-crispia 9) and worming his way into the raisin village to try and manipulate healer cookie into embracing deceit long before anyone even knows the beasts fucking Exist. I needn't elaborate further. it's excellent

From the Spire to a Peak - FaeMytho (crossover, slow burn? character study?) [ongoing]

throwing normal milkshake and Diverged milkshake at each other like barbie dolls to some mildly terrifying results. a very faithful interpretation of reclussage (probably my favorite interpretation of both of them that ive read so far), a series of misunderstandings now rapidly barreling towards the worlds funniest love square, & lots of fun deceit duo & common kid trio content inbetween. this got an update in the middle of me writing this. mae when i get you. when i fucking Get You

[festiveferret]

Wipdate!

Well. It's been like three years since I've done one of these, hahaha, but I've been missing fandom life so I thought it'd be fun to share an update of where I'm sitting. Toddlers manage to take like 140% of your time and energy, even though they sleep a lot, so I've mostly just been parenting, but I've been getting the writing bug lately, so there's very slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

Basically, I have a list of fics I want to make sure I finish. They're the ones it would break my heart to look back on twenty years from now and realize I put all that time and those words into something that never got shared. I haven't been having new ideas very much, so I'm putting all my creative energy into things I've either promised to other people or to myself.

I'm not going to list everything I've posted since my last wipdate, since that was a looong time ago and you can always sort my works page chronologically! But here's the latest ones...

Posted:

Do Not Reply  - Tony replies to a Do Not Reply email address thinking he's shouting into the void. Spoiler alert: he's not. Runaway Train - Preserum Steve and Prince Tony meet cute. Entwined - The aftermath of Ults Stony being magically soulbound and then separated. Lost and Found - Winteriron - Bucky finds a lost dog. Vacation Days - SHIELD needs Steve to take his PTO Sanguinary Revelations - Tony and Steve go on a date with a twist Kindly Calm Me Down - Ults Steve knows how to calm his Tony down after a mission First Christmas - Stony's first xmas as parents Even of My Secret Soul - Secret soulmates

Updating:

Second Chance Summer - Stony with a 20yr age gap. Pre-written and posting on Saturdays. Up to chapter eight. A Good Thing - Comic collab with Askafroa - Alpha!Tony and Omega!Therapist!Steve - almost done! Yet I Will Try the Last - Truck Stop Hooker AU with hooker!Steve and flashy billionaire, Tony Stark. Up to chapter four! (I swear I haven't given up on this) Held Remix - A rewrite of Held with Tony as the sub and Steve as the Dom. Up to chapter twenty-nine. Ashy and I are making a point of getting our chaptered version of Held edited and posted, and then we're cracking on with Remix. We may or may not do both seasons, but we're at least going to finish out S1.

Beta Queue:

Bro Code -  This is one of my 2023 MTH fics Rented Family - I started this one in like 2019 and finally finished it. It's a no-powers Ults AU where Tony is dying of his (canon!) brain cancer and Steve is a security specialist/bodyguard who Tony hires to be around while he dies. Yay for finishing old wips!

Wips:

This wiplist is basically just going to be my list of "I'll be sad if I never finish them" fics I mentioned above. I have no plans to stop writing fic entirely, but I'm definitely slowing down, and I want to focus on the stuff that will feel really good to have done so I don't ever leave myself or you guys hanging!

1) Held edit (the chaptered repost) and Held Remix (at least S1). @ashes0909 and I are picking away at it, but between three kids, two jobs, and two timezones, it's slow af. But we'll get there.

2) My other 2023 MTH fic, older professor Tony and young flirty student Steve for @sabrecmc pod bid. It's maybe a third done.

3) My contribution to the Stony Dating Sim game from MTH 2024 (I'm doing Ults Tony as a love interest. If you want to know more, check out @stevetonydatingsim).

4) My Stony Twilight AU. I posted a snippet of it here a long time ago and I've been picking at it ever since. It's at 33k and probably about halfway done.

5) Fangbait 3. My Fangbait series was always intended to have three parts. Two are up already. The third was on hiatus for a long time, but I just abruptly wrote 80% of it last night, so once I get the sex scenes (and a title oh no) done, she'll be good to go!

6) Yet I Will Try the Last has been waiting for waaay too long for an update and I feel really bad about it. It was the one time I experimented with posting an unfinished WIP (mostly because it started as a oneshot and then I started adding to it) and I regretti spaghetti every day that I did that lol. I. Have. Not. Given. Up. I have the outline for the rest, I know what I want to do, I just need to do it.

7) Brooklyn is a canon divergence from right after Avengers 2012 where Stony travels on a modified quinjet together, cleaning up the chitauri weapon's market. It's maybe a third to a half done? Another one I started a loooong time ago and never got my steam back with, but I would really like to. I really like that one.

8) A Venom/Eddie fic from right after the first movie. It's not too long and it's probably also about halfway done, so I believe in myself. It's called Parasite.

9) A collab started a few years ago that I'm not going to out here in case my collab partner doesn't want to do it anymore, but we did a fair bit of it so I'd love to get it done.

Writing comes in little spurts, but I have to pick and choose between my hobbies now, so I just have less time and energy to spend on one thing. I've been trying to read more to fuel the words! I also have OG stuff I'm working on, but that's just as slow as the other stuff lol. I miss you guys! Hope y'all are doing well. (Happy Easter if you celebrate!)

Thanks as always for reading! <3

[stardust948]

Top 5 favourite scenes/fics (you can choose or do both) you've written, regardless of populatity

Hi Queencantaloupe!

Zutara vs Ozai in The Dawn is Still Dark. It took me a while to get the scene right with several rewrites and I'm really pleased with how it turned out.

Zuko forgives Ozai in Rivers in the desert. It was very emotional. I actually made myself cry while writing this.

Katara talking to the wolf spirit and Tui/La in the Spirit World scenes in Head Above Water. It was fun writing the lore and spirits' otherworldly characteristics. I definitely want to do the same with Agni in the upcoming chapters.

All the Zutara scenes at the playground in Dead Hearts. The moment when they became friends, the first love confession, and Katara acceptance after Zuko confesses to helping Ozai with the murders. They were all very raw and tender moments.

Sokkla date at the festival in The Dragon Princess and the Wolf Warrior which was heavily inspired by the festival scene in Tangled. It was my favorite scene in the fic so far.

Bonus:

6. Ursa escaping Ozai with baby Zuko and Azula in tow in Into the Night. I really wanted a modern au where Ursa saved both kids. The oneshot turned into a full fic thanks to this scene.

[tomahachi12]

I was thinking about your Virus AU and I had an interesting thought: 1. You showed us all the Solver-infected drones in their wild form, but what if we go further? From the category of "What if?" other characters who are not infected in canon would be infected and become wild? For example: Khan, Nikolai, Lizzy, Thad and maybe Beau? 2. We know that wild Alice is a deer, then who will Cynthia be? A bat or a deer? And then perhaps this concerns Noah, because in the first post there is a hint of his infection. 3. And lastly: I still can't fully understand what Manor is in Virus AU? There are 2 universes where in one Manor Drones have always been beasts and the second where they became them after the end of the series? And what about the other drones from the Manor? Are they also wild? And what about that Cyntessa from the very first AU art? P.S.: Sorry if this is too much for one question.

oh goodness! uuuh, lemme see

1: "From the category of "What if?" other characters who are not infected in canon would be infected and become wild? For example: Khan, Nikolai, Lizzy, Thad and maybe Beau?"

That's a lot to think about! And honestly, I haven't put too much thought into it. Lets get some ideas going anyway!

Khan: a beaver. Beavers build dams, Khan builds doors. Same thing, right?

Nikolai: Eurasian Brown Bear. Big, but cuddly and protective of his family (even though I canon him as a bit of a nervous wreck)

Lizzy: probably something sassy, like a cat or maybe an otter just because.

Thad: either a dog or a cheetah

Beau: if he was still in his little bby body, he'd be an armadillo, but if he had an acual body, a coyote.

--

2. "We know that wild Alice is a deer, then who will Cynthia be? A bat or a deer? And then perhaps this concerns Noah, because in the first post there is a hint of his infection."

"And then perhaps this concerns Noah, because in the first post there is a hint of his infection." <- There was? did I write something I wasn't suppose to? Wouldn't be the first time, honestly.

Alice is a deer, yes, but for Cynthia, she could have both! Bat stuff coming from her solver and the deer stuff from her mom. Now I imagine as her solver becomes more active, she gets antlers like her mom does.

Y'ALL MAKING ME THINK AND NOW I GOTTA REWRITE CHAPTER 5.

--

3. "And lastly: I still can't fully understand what Manor is in Virus AU? There are 2 universes where in one Manor Drones have always been beasts and the second where they became them after the end of the series? And what about the other drones from the Manor? Are they also wild? And what about that Cyntessa from the very first AU art?"

The Manor stuff is purely for fun. It isn't canon in any way to the Virus AU, I think I just tag it the same to keep it all together.

The other drones in the manor are completly normal. J, N , V and Cyn are just special lol

Infected Cynessa also isn't canon either, just fun exploration.

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you)

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x hairdresser!fem Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Link on AO3

Chapter 5

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning: no, in my clean era once again.

I'm really sorry for the wait, but this past week I ended up losing all the writing files I created for this story on my computer (ideas for future chapters and also dialogues that I really wanted to incorporate into this story). So I spent the last two weeks trying to remember everything and rewrite what I could to save it and make future updates easier.

But anyway: here it is and once again, thank you all very much for embracing my work with such affection.

Enjoy!

The next few months are peaceful for Y/N and Melissa.

Very peaceful.

The hairdresser always finds a way to make the conversations they shares while she dyes Melissa's hair revolve around the teacher's routine at Abbott Elementary, where she works. It's a good topic, which the Brazilian woman takes advantage of because it's particularly simple to stay on the redhead's good side thanks to how fun children are regardless of their ages.

If Melissa told her that she preferred a quiet appointment, Y/N would honestly be fine with accommodating her request. But the fact that the redhead had never verbalized or even hinted at this was what she wanted, along with the way Melissa felt guilty when she was late for her hair coloring months ago, hammered at the hairdresser's mind in a way that made her feel safe to chat animatedly with the teacher whenever she had to see her at the salon.

In the midst of these conversations, Y/N makes a point of telling stories about some of her child clients back to the redhead, just enough so that Melissa knows she is not talking to herself, but always letting the redhead do most of the talking, in addition to laughing and telling the teacher things she has heard from them while keeping Melissa's haircut perfect, renovating it every three months.

In Melissa's seventh month as a Y/N's client and after many cheerful conversations about children, Janice, a regular client of Angelina, has decided that in addition to her nails, she wants to wash and dry her hair once a week.

The first thing Y/N notices about Janice is that her hair is thin and completely white, worthy of the elderly lady that she is. Since Janice is not at all demanding about the result, she is just tired of washing it at home due to her age and thinks it would be convenient to take care of her nails and hair in the same place, the suggestion of adding her to the Brazilian hairdresser's list of regular clients starts to sound more and more attractive to Y/N.

After an honest conversation with the sweet older lady, the Brazilian woman offers her a $10 discount on her hairdressing service in an attempt to get her as a client as soon as possible. It makes sense for Y/N to base her decision on how her frequency as a client would make up for the lower weekly fee, and when she accepts, they both share a tight, joyful hug.

And even though that's great for the hairdresser, Melissa isn't sure if she shares her enthusiasm.

The trouble starts the following week, when Janice has her first appointment as a Y/N's client. Melissa had already noticed, ever since she was late for her appointment with Y/N ​​almost half a year ago, that the time slot she was scheduled to see the hairdresser on Saturdays was significantly empty for the Brazilian woman, with no clients either before or after her appointment.

It was good. The teacher couldn't deny it even if she tried. The lie would be seen from miles away.

Sometimes she would show up early for her appointment, and find Y/N smilingly looking at her cell phone, watching videos of animals doing particularly adorable things (videos that Melissa told herself were the reason her heart beat faster, not Y/N's proximity when she offered to show them to the redhead). Other times, when the teacher took longer to pay due to the lack of connection on her cell phone, Melissa would notice how Y/N's chair remained empty for at least half an hour.

The first time Melissa arrived early on a Saturday, which should have been like any other and saw that she had to wait to be seen, according to the time that was marked under her name with the receptionist, she found it peculiar.

It was, to say the least, eccentric to watch from a certain distance and among unknown women, who were also waiting for their turn with their respective hairdressers, an unknown face sitting in the chair that only remained empty, as if it were always waiting for her.

But that wasn't exactly the problem.

After all, the teacher knew that Y/N was a wonderful hairdresser and definitely wanted all the clients she could get her hands on. The problem was what Melissa noticed when Janice's presence as her hairdresser's client extended from a single week to every single week that Y/N saw the teacher.

Melissa noticed, since her first appointment, how the Brazilian woman always had a very private conversation with Melissa, prioritizing keeping her voice low so that no other hairdresser or client in the salon would hear what they both talked about so much. And the teacher liked it, found it personal and respectful that Y/N didn't let her matters be heard or commented on by strangers, even though they never talked about anything really private.

But now, seeing how Y/N was with her other clients, she didn't like it as much as before.

After all, the women of the Schimmenti family have always had many adjectives to describe them, but inattentive was never one of them, and that was the key to discovering that Y/N always shamelessly compliments all the women and men in the salon for everyone to hear.

But not her.

Sometimes, they are absurd and caricatured compliments, not exactly sensual, even though Melissa saw Y/N wink at one or two clients before bursting out laughing. Compliments come naturally from her lips, always encouraging others around her to agree with her words. The Brazilian's compliments are also never disrespectful or sexual, just indescribably genuine words that are almost always responded to by her clients with the same enthusiasm.

And she only finally believes what she is seeing after the fourth month of watching Y/N compliment Janice's nails. Over and over again.

But the conversation between Melissa and the hairdresser remains the same. Children. Over and over and over again.

It's not the redhead's intention, but she can't help but get irritated, month after month. And she hates even more the fact that Y/N notices her bad mood like a sailor notices an oil slick in the sea, in a clear and worrying way.

The Brazilian woman is even nicer to her, making even more superficial conversations and offering her tea or coffee while showing her little drawings she received from her clients just to make Melissa smile. Y/N’s favorite is one with a car full of blow dryers and brushes, made by a little shy boy who apparently adores the Brazilian woman, and Melissa can’t help but smile between her lips when Y/N looks so proud.

The teacher feels unstable and absolutely ridiculous. Sitting in the hairdresser’s chair with a frown on her face, month after month, then smiling softly at Y/N’s worried look until someone in the salon compliments some other person around her, reminding Melissa why she’s feeling this way.

Is it stupid to want something like... a friendship? Something bigger than the superficial shell of what Y/N is offering her month after month?

Until she finally understands, when a client in the chair next to her asks Melissa which of the two shades of red would look best on her own hair and sees how the Brazilian woman interrupts the question, albeit politely, saving Melissa from interacting with the other client in the salon.

The realization shines in the teacher's mind as if she were a cartoon character.

Y/N believes that maybe this is how their relationship should be. Professional. Distant.

The Brazilian woman must believe that this is how Melissa wants her to be, and that's why she maintains this pattern of behavior month after month.

The problem, bigger than all others, is that Melissa is not good at asking for things.

She is good at bartering. Being born into such a large family and having so many siblings was a great help.

Her mother always loved to sew, and her father worshiped baseball. So, after her teenage self sneaked out the window on Saturday night to meet up with whoever she was interested in at the time, Melissa would sew with her mother every Sunday after they got back from church until lunchtime, and then watch the game with her father in the late afternoon, cheering for them the same way she cheered for the Eagles, all for a few extra minutes away from home the following week.

Her sister, Kristin Marie, has always been passionate about nail polish. Colors, designs, sparkles, and little gems, all of them fascinated Melissa's sister, and so it was easy for the teacher to simply barter the household chores that needed to be completed between the two of them when Melissa had something to offer in return.

As she grew older, the targets became different, but the way of offering always had the same basis, making Melissa triumph brilliantly in bartering as if she were in the Middle Ages.

Now, asking without having something to offer in return?

Please, Y/N, talk to me like you talk to others around you. And if it’s not too much, compliment me like you do to them.

It was definitely off the teacher’s list of skills.

But fortunately, she doesn’t need to ask for anything. And she only doesn’t need to because a look from her, on a Saturday like any other, is seen by Angelina.

And what kind of friend would she be that wouldn’t open the Brazilian’s eyes?

“Your redhead is mad at you.”, the Greek woman says with a smile, watching her face contort in confusion.

“My redhead?”, Y/N asks, completely lost until she sees Angie tilt her head toward the salon door, where Melissa can still be seen, walking slowly toward her own car, “You mean Melissa? Mad at me?”

“She looks at the other clients as if they personally offended her every time you compliment them.”, the Greek manicurist explains as she helps her friend clean the counter for the next appointment, who will be there for a haircut in forty minutes.

“You are being ridiculous.”, the hairdresser’s response is said with a smiling but suspicious tone, as she continues to gather her belongings.

“Just pay attention. It’s not jealousy, but discomfort.”

And so Y/N does, only to see as clear as the light of a sunny day how right her friend was.

Melissa looks at her for too long, as if she is studying her, before glancing at the other people in the salon. The redhead looks at her reflection in the mirror seriously before bouncing her foot nervously, absorbing Y/N’s every move like a hawk, but it only takes one sentence to dismantle all her bravado.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”, Y/N says softly as she points to the hair of a client next to them, but makes a point of touching the redhead’s hair at the same time, watching the teacher’s face attentively.

The face of the woman of Italian descent turns as red as her hair, even after realizing that the compliment wasn't meant for her, and that's what turns on all the emergency lights inside Y/N's brain.

"Yeah... beautiful.", she says with little enthusiasm, but still with a small smile on her face, and the Brazilian woman feels so guilty about it that, before Melissa leaves the salon, Y/N hands her a lollipop and justifies the gesture by saying that it's to sweeten the rest of the redhead's weekend.

Even knowing that her own weekend is ruined.

Y/N sleeps little in the following weeks, caught up in thoughts and possibilities.

The Brazilian woman has been attracted to clients before, and she always compliments them shamelessly the moment she notices that they are open to receiving her words. Sometimes, some of them even turn into something bigger and more intense as comfort has settled between them.

But Y/N had been reading Melissa wrong all along, and thinking about how to compliment a client like her was eating her brain day after day.

Because Melissa wasn't like the other clients. The teacher had not only had an awkward moment with her when they first met, but she had also been a dear client of Andrea's, and Y/N deeply believed that she needed to walk on eggshells around the redhead.

Melissa was important. Too important for small talk and silly compliments.

So she thought.

How would Y/N justify, more to herself than anyone else, if Melissa took her behavior back to that first day at the salon because of her words?

Y/N knows she's not one to mince words. The hairdresser knows she's kind and even considers herself more charismatic than most people, but the way her brain works has always gotten her into trouble. If something bothers the Brazilian woman, her reaction in response is automatic, no matter the consequences. Wherever or with whomever, the Brazilian woman receives the information spoken, her mind suddenly processes those words and then creates her response, which escapes between her lips without any warning. Over time, with the maturity of becoming an adult and working with people every day, Y/N managed to tame this side of her soul. But if something went too far, Y/N would quickly act accordingly.

What would she do if her words offended Melissa?

But the teacher's gaze was too obvious.

Expectant, even anxious, even in the midst of discomfort.

And it is thanks to this impulse, in the middle of a calm night watching bad television after an exhausting day of work, that the Brazilian woman realizes that perhaps being honest is the best thing to do.

After all, Melissa is pretty. Very pretty.

The redhead is attractive like those women who change the entire trajectory of someone's life with just a wink. With her leather jacket, sunglasses, and high-heeled boots, it's absolutely impossible not to notice her the second Melissa walks into the salon. So why not take advantage of that to complement her?

Something natural and quick, as if it were an impulse from her own mind or as if she were taking off a bandage. But something that could also be said to any other client without making it awkward, because the last thing Y/N wants is to embarrass herself in front of the redhead.

"It could work.", the murmur leaves Y/N's lips softly towards the television, as if the characters from Survival had the ability to answer her, "What woman doesn't like to be complimented? Especially in a hair salon, right? What's the worst that can happen?"

And wrapped in this wave of courage is how Y/N is the next time Melissa shows up at the salon.

“Have you noticed any difference in the color fading this month?”, she says as she takes the cape that will protect the redhead’s clothes from the dye and gently spreads it over Melissa, touching and moving the teacher’s hair away so she wont accidentally catch it when closing the cape before turning her attention back to her reflection in the mirror.

“No, I didn’t notice anything... Your work made me look like a million dollars in twenties just like the last few times.”, the teacher answers her as she does every time the Brazilian woman asks her this question, with a soft and unpretentious shrug, giving Y/N the cue she needed.

What could go wrong? It’s just a compliment.

Y/N holds a lock of Melissa’s hair, sliding her fingers carefully, as if she were evaluating her previous work, and then holds her gaze in the reflection in the mirror. The Brazilian woman's lips curve into a shy smile at the redhead who watches her through her reflection, before plucking up the courage to answer her, knowing full well that it will be enough to slip through her lips what lives in her mind as naturally as breathing:

"I appreciate it, but I dare say that this is only because of your pretty face, the work I do is just a bonus.", and as Y/N's words are spoken, she misses the button that should close the protective cover around Melissa's neck and, when trying to fix it, ends up gently scratching the pale skin of the teacher's neck.

As an automatic reflex, the hairdresser's fingers caress the slightly scratched spot with loving pressure, but only until she realizes the weight of the silence there.

Melissa has a single eyebrow arched, mouth open in surprise, and watching the hairdresser and her every move like a fucking eagle, but she doesn't pull herself away from her touch. A slight blush rises to her cheeks, and Y/N notices the surprised sigh that escapes the teacher's lips as she feels the skin on the redhead's neck visibly shiver beneath her touch.

With a quick movement, she attaches the cape in Melissa's body with trembling fingers before stepping back.

What Melissa doesn't pay attention to, thanks to how shocked she is watching her own blushing reflection in the mirror after recovering from the light scratching of Y/N's nails on her neck and her warm touch, in addition to her gentle praise, is the speed at which Y/N ​​runs towards the salon's stockroom.

Inside the stockroom and with no idea what to take back as an alibi for having so brutally walked away from Melissa right at the beginning of her appointment with the redhead, Y/N gently leans against the closed door with her right hand precisely on her own chest. With her mind dizzy from a feeling that takes over her, Y/N can feel not only her breathing affected but also her heart, beating hard enough for the Brazilian to believe that it is fully capable of escaping from her chest and running straight to the lap of the teacher who is waiting for her outside.

[dragonfly0808]

hi i just want to say i LOVE your winx club rewrite series im obsessed !!!!! i finished the first three like a year ago but i found myself coming back and going HOLY SHIT every 5 chapters or so.

i love how you made domino’s fall realistic like having survivors on other planets and the planet in a literal war a few years before it fell. from what i recall in the show it’s as if the witches cursed the planet in one swoop and boom, gone. it’s got to be an intergalactic emergency when the planet literally known for the dragon flame gets its ass kicked 😭

ALSO the writing for Bloom and the Dragon !!!!!! love that intergenerational trauma from her sister and bio parents (i mean it sucks but it makes for a great story lol) again iirc the show didn’t really specify what the ‘dragon flame’ was apart from being a power boost or a slightly different power set.

i’m rambling lol but tldr i love your series !!!! it’s thee shit /pos

thank you so much!!!

I really wanted to make the fall of Domino not just more realistic but also for it to have a very clear impact througtout the story and not just through Bloom’s lens if that makes sense. Like encountering survivors, Solaria and Eraklyon having shrines for Daphne, etc

Also have had so much fun figuring out how to write the Dragon and have it be a creature with a consience and thoughts but not too human cause it’s still like a leviathan, love-craftian, greater-than-life kinda creature

Glad you’ve enjoyed it so far and hope you’ll continue to do so!!!

[quidell-fics]

○Masterpost

I see a lot of people doing these, so I might as well make one myself!

Last updated: 6/16/2025

About me: Hello! Quidell here! I'm a fanfic writer for fun and I live in the US. My current obsessions are Black Myth: Wukong and Vinland Saga. This blog will be mostly about my fanfic writings, but I do post some screenshots from time to time that I will use throughout my chapters that I hope will be useful to anyone else who'd like to do the same 😊

At this moment, I am not taking requests, but feel free to ask me anything on my current WIPS 🙂

Small hiatus as i play Death Stranding 2!

Current chapters I am working:

A Tale Painted with Blood: new chapter posted on 6/14

Sword and Spice: new chapter posted on 5/16

Hearts over Havoc: New chapter posted on 5/31

Weekly update click here

If you enjoy my writing, I hope you’ll take a moment to read this. Your support truly means everything to me. (Click this link)

More below cut

My current fanfic works:

A Black Myth: Wukong fanfic ♡ Wukong x OC/Reader ♡ Destined One x OC/Reader ♡

♡ AO3 Link ♡ Wattpad ♡ ff.net ♡

Status: WIP • 14 chapters so far

Story Summary: At the journey’s end, every path she’s tread unwinds to a single, quiet truth: her final breath, where even the stars bow to her fading light.

Act 1: Ember, nicknamed after her wildfire, blood-red hair, finds herself swept into a world far from the one she knew. What seemed at first a cruel twist of fate, a misstep in the grand scheme of fate, soon reveals itself as destiny's design. Her role, woven by powers she could never understand, is to guide The Destined One along the right course. But in the end, as doubt coils around her heart, she questions whether the choices she made have left her with nothing but ashes—or if the fiery and untamed Monkey King, Sun Wukong, is the very thing she needs to help rewrite her terrible fate.

Will Ember let fate forever change The Destined One into an untamed, wild force of raw furious power, or will her own doubts turn the tide of his own destiny? Which path will she choose, and will The Destined One even heed her desires in the end?

Or is the weight of his inherited obsession too overwhelming for him to resist…

A Vinlad Saga Fanfic ♡ Askeladd x OC ♡

♡ AO3 Link ♡ Wattpad ♡ ff.net ♡

Status: WIP • 28 chapters so far

Story summary: Askeladd fancies himself a master of unpredictability, his every move and utterance a dance of caprice. Yet, when someone dares to unravel his enigma with unnerving accuracy, he scrambles to veil his true nature, only to find himself tangled in yet another conundrum of his own making.

Fiadh, a spirited Irish soul, seeks but one simple pleasure in life: to see joy bloom on faces as they savor her culinary creations. Yet, why must the universe persist in sending forth an unending parade of meddling men to thwart her culinary dreams? All she desires is to toil over her pots and pans, infusing her dishes with a symphony of spices and the subtle allure of what some would call poisons, in serene solitude, undisturbed by the intrusion of unwelcome distractions.

Old fics

You Had Me At When

My Hero Academia fanfic

Status: One-shot of a budding romance with Present Mic

Surprise!

Dragon Ball Super fanfic

Status: One-shot of a maybe(?) budding romance with Beerus

Skip

One Punch Man fanfic

Status: One-shot. Honestly, I don't remember much about this old fic 😅

Discontinued fics

I actually have 2 discontinued fics I no longer have posted. One for My Hero Academa and another for One Punch Man. The reason I discotinued/deleted them is because I got A LOT of death threats about them. I won't go into detail why I got death threats as I don't want this blog to go a certain direction. But if you're the few who remember those fics and no longer see them on my profile, this is why.

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

Do you have any advice for writing your first draft?

I’ve just finished an outline for a fic of mine, and like all my projects I abandoned them at the first draft because I lose interest in the story.

So, how can I stay interested long enough to complete my draft and move on to actually finishing the story?

HOW TO WRITE A FIRST DRAFT

A first draft is the hardest draft you will ever write; it’s creating something from nothing, without the benefit of using a previous draft as a base. Obstacles such as writer’s block and motivation may oppose you at every turn, and it can be easy to get sidetracked and frustrated when you have ideas for the “middle” of the story but somehow can’t get to it. 

Just know that everyone is different and writes in a way that works for them, so don’t feel pressured if these tips don’t work for you or don't fit your style of writing!

1. Start With a Good Outline

Since you don’t have a previous draft as a foundation for your writing, your outline will take the place of this! Refer to my posts below:

How to Outline

Plotting for Pansters and Pantsing for Plotters

You can also refer to my FAQ, which includes a variety of resources on getting started. This includes posts on how to get into writing fiction, how to write consistently, and how to combat writer's block!

2. Know that You Don’t Have to Write in Chronological Order

Write what inspires you! If you have no idea what your first scene is going to be but have very specific ideas about a coffee shop interaction during the middle of the book,  write the coffee shop scene instead of staring at your blank word doc for an hour and giving up!

Writing is better than not writing, even if it’s not the part of your story that you “need” to get done. In fact, it can be easier (and more cohesive!) to write all of the major scenes you’re excited about first and connect them together, than to write out everything in the order from start to finish.

3. Give Yourself Permission to Write Incomprehensible Garbage

This goes hand-in-hand with the tips I highlight in my post about overcoming writer’s block. When it comes to a first draft, DONE IS BETTER THAN PERFECT, and QUANTITY OVER QUALITY. It is totally okay if your first draft is covered in placeholders for scenes and conversations that you don’t feel like writing.

For example, rather than getting stuck on writing about your characters on the car ride to the carnival, just write and highlight in red “THEY DRIVE TO THE CARNIVAL” and come back to it later. That way, you can have fun actually writing the carnival scene instead of struggling to write the stuff leading up to it. Momentum is the key to getting your first draft done, not producing writing that “sounds good.”

If you’re just going to go back and edit it later, why bother getting stuck on that now? This leads me into my next point:

4. STOP EDITING!!!

When it comes to a first draft, opening up the doc and editing the things you already wrote for the 712123979843th time is not progress; now you just have one REALLY good scene and no rest of the story. Save the editing for later; you’re more likely to lose steam and feel stuck if you keep getting caught on the same things over and over again. 

I am calling myself out on this one, as I am INCREDIBLY guilty of using editing and rewriting as an excuse to not write new material, but unfortunately it has to be said. Having it in your mind that you’re making progress when in reality you’re using editing as an avoidant technique will not help you in the long run (as much as I wish it would). 

This can sometimes be helped by writing each chapter (or scene that’s getting you stuck) in a new document so that you have no choice but to focus on what you’re currently writing; sometimes the temptations of editing are too great to resist when you have all of your writing in one place!

5. Set Specific Goals and Document Your Progress

Setting goals helps you break up the huge task of “writing a book” into more manageable chunks. 

For example, heading into a writing session with the goal “finish this chapter” or “finish this scene” or “write this dialogue” can make it easier to overcome writer’s block; you are solely dedicating your focus on doing this specific task, and are less likely to get distracted. It’s better than barging head-first into it with no direction, and may also have the added bonus of keeping your writing cohesive.

Documenting your progress can help hold you accountable for reaching the goals that you set. If you like to perform under pressure, maybe you can document your progress online or with a friend; that way, you feel a bit of a pushback from outside sources to get things done! Keeping consistent will also help in maintaining a steady flow of inspiration—you’re always thinking ahead!

However, you should remember that life happens, so don’t beat yourself up if you’re struggling to reach your goals or deadlines! Nobody is a writing machine!

Hope this helps, and happy writing!