horrorizen

[horrorizen]

Chapter four of Through the Black Book is up!

[horrorizen]

Almost done with chapter four. This one is really trying me.

[horrorizen]

Chapter Three is up!

[horrorizen]

hey 👉👈 looking for a beta reader to tear my fic to shreds

hmu if you’re a mean reader pls

[horrorizen]

Going back to old writing is either just like:

1. “Who wrote this masterpiece?! It was ME?!”

2. “Who wrote this absolute shit? Oh fuck my life, that was me, wasn’t it?”

[horrorizen]

Pspsps this is your sign to get real self-indulgent and design a fictional drug or illness that only does your favorite things, bc it's super fun and you don't have to do any research

[horrorizen]

diagnoses character with whatever the fuck it is that i got

[horrorizen]

How to use Em Dash (—) and Semi Colon ( ; )

Since the ai accusations are still being thrown around, here's how i personally like to use these GASP ai telltales. 🦄✨

Em Dashes (—)

To emphasize a shift / action / thought.

They're accusing us—actually accusing us—of using AI.

To add drama.

They dismissed our skills as AI—didn't even think twice, the dimwits—and believed they were onto something.

To insert a sudden thought. Surely they wouldn't do that to us—would they?

To interrupt someone's speech. "Hey, please don't say that. I honed my craft through years of blood and tears—" "Shut up, prompter."

To interrupt someone's thoughts / insert a sudden event.

We're going to get those kudos. We're going to get those reblogs—

A chronically online Steve commented, “it sounds like ai, idk.”

Semi Colons ( ; )

To join two closely related independent sentences / connect ideas.

Not only ChatGPT is capable of correct punctuation; who do you think it learned from in the first place?

Ultimate pro tip: use them whenever the fuck you want. You don't owe anyone your creative process. 🌈

[horrorizen]

being a writer is constantly google the definitions of words you already know the meanings of because your brain's always paranoid and telling you maybe you've been using them wrong your entire life

I can excuse misusing words in my daily life but my mlm slow-burn enemies to lovers smut has to be perfect

[horrorizen]

[horrorizen]

has this been done

[horrorizen]

My second chapter for Through the Black Book is up on Ao3!

[horrorizen]

aha did I say thirty? make that forty.

was bold of me to share my scarcely edited prologue when I’m still writing chapter ten of potentially thirty chapters.

[horrorizen]

was bold of me to share my scarcely edited prologue when I’m still writing chapter ten of potentially thirty chapters.

[horrorizen]

Got called a weirdo irl for the way I write my fics sooo

I am the “writes in document tabs” if anyone’s wondering

[horrorizen]

Through the Black Book

Prologue

The leaves crackle underfoot—louder than I would prefer. A chill gnaws at my spine. Irritating. I counter it with another warming charm.

The full moon offers little assistance; its light is feeble at best, useless at worst. I ignite my wand with a wordless Lumos. Pale light floods my hand, carving a pocket of clarity from the dark. My gaze lingers on it—too long. A haunting reminiscence rises, unwanted. I smother it.

My robes snap as I turn, stepping past the threshold of trees. The night is not my enemy, though it conspires to dredge up ghosts. But I have work to do. And ghosts are of no use to me.

My gaze settles on a patch of shining moondew, the prize of tonight’s outing. My harvest is precise as I neatly snip the shimmering flowers, collecting them in my Flitterbloom-covered hand to be wrapped and stowed away in enchanted vials. At the edge of my perception, pale eyes glimmer in the darkness—Mooncalves, watching from the shadows, their quiet presence a mere flicker in the periphery.

By the time I retire, the night has surrendered to dawn. My collection of moondew now rests on the shelves, a luminous archive of the hours spent beneath the trees.

———

My eyes burn upon waking from what little sleep I could manage. I glare at the ceiling before reluctantly getting up and dressing for the day.

Three owls sit upon my desk expectantly as I exit my private rooms into my office. A sigh escapes me. It’s too early for this.

I pay the owls their expected treats and fees and send them off. Left behind are two letters and today’s edition of the Daily Prophet. One letter is from the Ministry. Undoubtedly to update me on the progress of my impending yet unwanted Order of Merlin. Fucking Potter. Again. As if I feel any amount of heroism for my actions in the war. They want to award me for killing one of the greatest wizards since Merlin? For murdering and torturing innocents as a Death Eater? How dare they thank me for such horror? Snorting in derision, I cast the unopened letter aside.

My gaze lands on the second letter, delivered by Potter’s unmistakably overenthusiastic owl. That Potter had orchestrated this damned Order of Merlin nonsense was unsurprising, and the boy could fling himself into the nearest ravine for all I cared. The letter remained unopened.

With my mail firmly disregarded, I switch my attention to the Daily Prophet on my desk. My eyes skim over the front page, catching words such as “ministerial election” and candidates proclaiming themselves arbiters of “post-war reform” before losing interest entirely and casting it aside as well with a tired sneer. It was too damn early for any of this.

[horrorizen]

finally have my fic planned out! as soon as I build up my confidence in writing it’s over for you hoes.