#...maybe more that section of the fic needed a lot of words so the chapter count has also bloated

[scenegraph]

it's a new chapter. oh no! oh noooooooooo

[roomwithanopenfire]

Six Sentence Sunday

Happy Sunday everyone!! Thanks for the tags @blackberrysummerblog and @artsyunderstudy!!

This week I’ve done the big three: writing, editing, and ignoring my wips, with perhaps a bit more of the last one than I’d like. Most of my writing this week has been for an exchange fic for a different fandom, which I finally finished the rough draft of. Cue the celebration. However, even if I wanted to share anything from that, I can’t, it must remain hush-hush, but I am getting pretty excited to share it (and way more excited about receiving my own exchange fic back, this whole thing is very fun).

I’ve written less than 300 words on my COBB this week, and none of them are good, but I have gotten some editing done of Proof of Life. I can’t share any more snippets of the next chapter though because I’ve shared too much already. So instead, I figured I’d do a bit of a process post this time around, because I always love reading those. Check that out under the cut! (and i'm sorry this is long, i still have not learned brevity)

So my editing process isn’t too crazy, and is brought to you almost entirely by google docs comments. I also use the word ‘editing’ very loosely to encompass rewriting, revising, and proofreading. Sometimes editing means completely rewriting a scene/section, sometimes it just means switching around a couple of words or cleaning up a sentence. 

Mostly, I try not to take everything so seriously, because I know that I could edit something forever and ever and never post it if I let myself get too carried away. So I try to keep everything pretty chill. So here’s my steps I go through for each chapter that I edit. 

Step One: Reread the whole chapter. While I do this, I’ll leave comments on big picture things. “Maybe move this scene into the next chapter” or “The dialogue in this scene feels stilted” but I don’t add a lot of comments at this point. Once I’m done with this I’ll copy over any comments I had on the first draft or the beta reader copy over into the ‘draft two’ document. 

Step Two: COMMENTS. Again, my fics are brought to you by google doc comments. I like to go through from the bottom up, reading scene by scene and leaving comments on pretty much every single sentence. 

A lot of the time (read: most of the time) these are really vague like:

And sometimes these are more detailed like:

And occasionally these are compliments

Step Three: Once the whole chapter is filled with comments, I go through scene by scene (in whatever order speaks to me), and rewrite, edit, or fix sections. This part I find really fun, because I’m taking parts that aren’t good yet and I’m making them better. I love fixing things and getting rid of all the comments. It typically ends up being a lot of  rewriting, but I always finish a scene feeling better about it then when I started.

For example, here’s the draft one vs. draft two version of a snippet from the first chapter of Proof of Life. This is one of the scenes I pretty much rewrote. Others look a lot more similar to their original versions.

Original:

Edited:

Step Four: Then before I post a chapter, I’ll read through the whole thing and sometimes find smaller bits to fix. Then I’ll run it through a grammar checker and ignore half of their suggestions in the name of ✨style ✨.

Overall, I feel like I have a pretty basic editing strategy and I’m really pleased with it. Even though sometimes I feel like more robust edits would make everything way better, it’s a good mix of fixing things but not spending too much time on it. I remember I spent like a month on editing the very first fic I posted at that was only 6k words. If I kept doing that for everything, I'd never post anything at all. With fanfiction, I know that y'all will be nice to me even though it's never perfect <333

Tags and Hellos!! (I'm unsure if we still need the spaces, but i've been burned too many times lol)

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @m1ndwinder @facewithoutheart @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee

@onepintobean @prettygoododds @noblecorgi @hushed-chorus @angelsfalling16

@thewholelemon @monbons @shrekgogurt @brendughh @hertragedyconnoisseur

@beastmonstertitan @valeffelees @horsesarenotdeer @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs

@fiend-for-culture @rimeswithpurple @cutestkilla @alexalexinii @ileadacharmedlife

@arthurkko @rbkzz @skeedelvee @bookish-bogwitch @brilla-brilla-estrellita

[voxofthevoid]

Commencing Mundane Unclekuna Wednesday #1—yes, these names get more ridiculous by the day. The actual fic title is bloodstains on the collar means just don't ask, which is significantly cooler on account of not being mine.

This is my first non-canon JJK AU—as opposed to the canon divergence, minor or major, that I favor—and despite the name, this isn't just sukuita; there's also goyuu. Quick, act shocked.

A lot of the AU development/exposition so far has focused on adapting canon details about the Itadori family for a no-powers, all-human context—like this post shows. On the character end, sorting out a version of Sukuna who's not a cannibalistic mass murderer but is sure as hell not nice, kind, or even sane has been a fun challenge, especially when depicting him from Yuuji's perspective. Gojou and the goyuu bits also needed some work, since taking them out of the canon context while keeping their age gap and teacher–student dynamic changes the flavor of fuckery. The most fun has been Yuuji though—you can see why here.

The fic is currently 3 chapters and 14k. I have a total of 7 chapters planned, though that may increase by one or two depending on how the sex scenes come along. For this week, instead of a single scene, I've picked a goyuu section from Chapter 2 and a sukuita one from Chapter 3.

Goyuu

Satoru plucks the manga that’s been resting on the table, balancing it on a finger while watching Itadori struggle to watch Satoru’s hand, chest, and face all at the same time. “School’s a boring place to wait. You can meet up at some café, can’t you?”

“I…guess?” Itadori shrugs. “It’s fine. I mean, I don’t mind. It’s more fun to go with people.”

“Shy?” Satoru asks, setting the manga down. “Or are you afraid people will think you’re some delinquent?”

Itadori looks both bewildered and entrained. He has a very expressive face. The eyes, especially.

“Nothing like that, sensei,” he says, and Satoru leans in a little at his tone—the same amused patience Satoru’s heard in people who can tolerate him best, except they generally take months, if not years, to get to that level of resigned acceptance. Itadori leans in too, matching Satoru consciously or unconsciously. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m a curious guy,” Satoru drawls. It’s not even a lie. “And you’re interesting.”

Itadori blushes again. “Oh. Um, thanks?”

Satoru smiles. This time, Itadori’s eyes drop to his mouth, and Satoru can’t help smiling a little wider.

Itadori swallows.

“Back to the question then.” Satoru links his hands and props his chin on it. Itadori’s gaze doesn’t leave his mouth. “Why’d your uncle come pick you up?”

Itadori’s well within his rights to tell Satoru to fuck off—diplomatically, maybe, since they’re teacher and student, but the sentiment would be the same. Even Satoru’s closest friends aren’t shy about firmly and often physically steering his nose out of their business.

But Itadori answers: “My parents left town pretty suddenly, and I’d forgotten my phone at home. They couldn’t tell me to go to Sukuna’s place instead. So he came here.”

Satoru hums. “I’d say you’re old enough to stay home alone. Don’t tell me you’re the sort to cause trouble with a bit of freedom.”

“No?” Itadori looks genuinely confused. “I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t mind staying alone either, but my dad worries, so…”

“So you’re being a considerate son,” Satoru finishes in his own words. “What a good boy.”

Itadori’s breath catches audibly. His eyes are darker now, giving an animal edge to his face. It’s an interesting expression, and it makes him look a bit more like his uncle.

Satoru gives him a moment.

Then— “He seems like an interesting man to live with, your uncle.”

Itadori blinks. A frown takes over his face, even though his eyes stay tellingly dark. “You could say that. Gojou-sensei, you aren’t…?”

Satoru waits, but Itadori doesn’t complete the question, just stares at Satoru like he’s trying to telepathically pour the rest of the words into his head. Unfortunately, Satoru isn’t fluent in awkward teenager.

“Go on,” Satoru prods.

Itadori grimaces, and it shows in his voice when he asks, “You’re not, like, into Sukuna, are you?”

Satoru’s dumbfounded for a moment. Then he’s stifling laughter, not all that successfully. Itadori’s expression shifts from disgusted discomfort to just plain embarrassment, but even through that, he stares at Satoru—his mouth and his eyes.

Brave boy.

“Sorry,” Satoru says, not meaning it one whit. He’s loving this. “Reasonable assumption on your part, really. But don’t worry, your uncle’s safe from me.”

Itadori seems to relax a little. “It’s more the other way around.”

“Oh?” Satoru asks, intrigued. “Is he trouble?”

Itadori squints at him. “Sensei, you sound way too excited about that.”

“I did say I’m curious! I can promise not to hit on him, if that’ll put you at ease.” Satoru holds out his hand invitingly. “Gentleman’s agreement.”

Itadori stares at the hand for a full second.

Then he slowly, warily takes it.

It’s not a small hand; Itadori’s not a small boy. Satoru is bigger though, and his hand envelops Itadori’s, the tips of his index and middle fingers coming to a gentle rest against Itadori’s pulse. His hand is shockingly rough, with hard calluses brushing Satoru’s skin.

He squeezes gently.

Itadori’s blush hasn’t faded fully since Satoru called him a good boy, but now, it flares, splattering gracelessly across his face. It goes shockingly well with his hair.

Lines are being crossed. Satoru feels it keenly, the change in the air.

He drags his hand out of Itadori’s, slower and more delicate than he needs to. His fingers trail from Itadori’s racing pulse to the trembling tips of his fingers, and even after Satoru’s leaned back again, folding his hands demurely in his lap, Itadori’s hand hovers in the air over the table for a good few seconds before dropping limply to the surface.

Satoru winks at him. “Now spill.”

Itadori blinks slowly. Satoru can practically see his brain rebooting.

“What was the question again?” Itadori asks.

Sukuita

Movement wakes him, eons before the touch.

A hand settles on his hip, searing even through the cloth. It’s limp, flopping there in a decent mimicry of a sleep-heavy limb. Sukuna knows better.

Wasn’t always like this. The kid was a kid once. More of a kid. Small, helpless, useless. A piece of shit from the start though. The first time Jin handed him to Sukuna, practically forcing his little bundle of snotty joy into his hands, the little fucker had thrown up on his face.

Jin laughed, the bastard. He didn’t mean to, that much was clear from the stifled snorts and painfully red face. Kenjaku had no such compunctions, chortling like the same brat hadn’t damn near killed them on his way out of their cunt.

Kaori had the sense to take the baby away before Sukuna could toss him out a window. The most sensible of the lot, and of course she’s the one who went and died. Sukuna’s been seeing a lot more of the kid since then. Even more since Wasuke followed suit.

Shit luck to be born into a family like this. He used to think the brat didn’t fit in, with his big baby eyes and bleeding heart. Worse than his father. Turns out he’s weirder too, but Sukuna blames Kenjaku for that.

Blood will always out.

That’s no excuse for this—the hand sliding down to his stomach, the body pressing against his back. The kid’s warm.

He’s not, usually. That body runs cold. Sukuna noticed it the first time when the kid was tiny, barely the length of his forearm. A frail mass of fabric and fluff nestled against his chest, leeching off his body heat. Not that it took much to warm that tiny thing.

’Course, then the kid woke up and promptly latched on to a nipple because he was even dumber then, and when Sukuna pried him off while yelling for Kenjaku, he’d been treated to a deranged shriek that damn near ruptured his ear drums.

Nothing much has changed over the years. The brat went from screaming at him to biting him to scowling at him to punching him to trying to fucking kill him. Wildcat, through and through. The only part of him Sukuna’s ever bothered to nurture.

It’s different when he’s asleep. The baby soaking in his warmth. The toddler sprawled on his chest. The boy curled up in his lap.

Small and weak and utterly unbothered about it.

How the fuck do you live like that, trust like that?

At least this is better. It’s not trust breathing into his nape and groping his stomach. It’s just human filth.

They’re testing touches, slow enough and idle enough that the brat probably thinks they’d pass as sleepy ministrations.

Idiot.

Nobody would miss the intent behind this. It’s scorching.

If someone held him at gunpoint and forced him to admit the one thing he has in common with his brother’s spawn, it wouldn’t be the hair or the blood or the killing rage—it’d be this, the hunger.

Sukuna can tell the exact moment the brat decides he’s actually asleep. His palm presses flat against Sukuna’s stomach, skin to skin. That’s on him for sleeping shirtless despite his impromptu bedmate, but like hell is he changing his habits just because this little creep wants to molest him in his sleep. Not like clothes would stop him anyway.

Sukuna continues to feign sleep, his breathing steady and just a little uneven—a rhythm he memorized and learned to mimic for situations a lot more dire than the badly planned porno playing out right now.

The kid’s patient. Or just a fucking virgin. Sukuna can’t imagine why else he’d spent minutes just touching his stomach, that warm palm rubbing lazy circles over his abs. Sometimes, it presses down, denting the soft layer of fat on his belly to dig into the muscle underneath. It’s a struggle not to flex then. A few muscles jump, entirely involuntary, but the brat just breathes heavier and wetter, squirming closer to Sukuna.

There’s another hand between their bodies—an entire arm, the line of it doing nothing to hide what it’s touching. It’s not moving, yet, and Sukuna still hasn’t figured out whether it’s there just for the pressure or if the stupid shit actually thinks that not digging his boner into Sukuna’s back means something.

Some line to not cross. Some precious moral to cling to.

Sukuna wouldn’t put it past him, but the brazen bullshit the other day told a different story. It sure wasn’t guilt or even shame that darkened the brat’s eyes when Sukuna tore him off his back and pinned him by the throat.

[naranjapetrificada]

Time for Fanfic Friday!

First, a WIP update: it appears that the much lamented Izzy POV section of Chapter 3 was important scaffolding for the chapter as a whole, and finally tackling it clarified most of the rest of the structure I needed. I order to gauge my progress over the last several weeks, I moved everything to a new doc and it looks like I'm about halfway to my self-imposed upper word count limit of ~8000. That's not a goal, it can be shorter, but it will certain grow on revision.

All of which is to say that the weeks I've spent whining about my slow progress weren't necessary, because I have been making progress, even if it wasn't visible to me at the time. TLDR Chapter 3 will be here sooner than you think, although idk exactly when. My progress over the next couple days will determine whether it takes one week or two (or three) for me to have a beta-ready draft. I think. I hope.

Anyway, time for recs! I seem to have fallen into a rhythm of a few OFMD recs and one from GO, and if it ain't broke I won't try to fix it! Here's some things I've been reading:

Maybe it's just time to give @piratecaptainscaptainpirates a permanent Fanfic Friday slot, because no matter what he seems to end up on here. And this time I've got TWO recs! There's Moth to a Flame, a sweet funny modern one-shot where Ed pretends to share Stede's enthusiasm for bugs early in their relationship, with predictable consequences; and their newest multi-chapter WIP On a Bright Day, Next Week, which is (sort of?) a Portal/Portal 2 AU? Or at least inspired by it? In any case, I've never hit the subscribe button faster.

fuck ’em, only we know by @medievill, which is more of the inevitable Zaddy fallout, something I cherish every possible iteration of.

In "older fics I'm finally circling back around to" we've got Here's to the Night by @xoxoemynn, a Y2K NYE AU because who doesn't love acronyms? But for real, it's sweet and funny and full of wonderful 1999 flavor that made me smile a lot.

As an Astrology Gay you know I was gonna love Connecting the Dots by @theyellowestmustard! It's so good I can even ignore my personal headcanon that Ed is a Pisces, whereas in this fic he's a Cancer. At least we agree on his undeniable watery nature, and that even though astrology is fake, he's too sweet to ever be a Scorpio. Anyway what really matters here is Ed getting pampered on his special day by Stede "The Most Romantic Motherfucker Alive" Bonnet, as is right and proper.

Last but not least there's Waddle Together by @sylwritesstuff, a weird wonderful GO fic that I genuinely can't explain how I found, but I have to assume it was fate because I had such a blast reading it. This may be the first and only time I've finished a fic where Crowley and Aziraphale aren't their eldritch selves. They're uh, not human either. Just roll with it.

As always, happy Friday and happy reading!

[parmawiolets]

Fruit Salad

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie Munson's ex-not-quite-girlfriend Hannah Newby is pregnant. But it's not his. And she won't say whose it is. Very slow burn. Exes to friends to (eventual) lovers.

A/N: Chapter 2 of my first ever fic! Still not really sure why I decided to do such a big project for my first, but I'm enjoying it! Again, thank you soooo much to @shybunnie20 for being absolutely wonderful and helping me so much. Definitely go check out her work, she's amazing.

Contents: No upside down. Pregnancy. Fluff and angst. Reader is called Hannah because I didn't want to use Y/N but no physical description of reader (so maybe an OC? I don't know). Bob is her dad, because I love him. The Byers are still in Hawkins because I love them too.

Word count: 5.1K

Previous chapter

Chapter 2: Blueberry

Flashback to Hannah finding out she is pregnant. Lots of fluff, some angst.

July 4th, 1985 - 7 weeks pregnant

— 

Jules is worried about Hannah.

Hannah has been nauseous for over a month. And more irritable than usual. If Jules thinks back on it, it's also been a while since Hannah has complained of cramps. 

Jules thinks she knows what's going on. She just doesn't know how to broach it with Hannah.

—

Jules is standing in the feminine hygiene section of Melvad's, pretending to mull over two different boxes of tampons, waiting for the other woman in the aisle to just leave already. How long does it take to choose a deodorant?

The woman finally seems to decide and shuffles away to a different part of the store. In a flash, Jules is where she wants to be.

Shit.

Why are there so many different ones?

Does it make a difference?

Jules quickly looks around to check the coast is still clear, and opts for the second cheapest. She gets two. Just to be sure.

She struggles to hold the boxes conspicuously, so dashes back to where she had been standing and grabs a box of tampons to hold in front. No one's going to look too close at that.

Jules makes her way to the end of the aisle and peeks around the corner. Hannah's dad's girlfriend is working one of the tills. Jules knows Hannah likes her, and she seems to keep out of the small town gossip. Jules hasn't taken her driving test yet, so she can't get to the next town over on her own. This is her best bet at discretion.

"Hi Joyce." Jules puts down her purchases; tampon box on top, and reaches for a brown paper bag.

"Oh, hi sweetie." Joyce starts scanning. "How are-" Joyce's eyes snap to Jules' as she picks up the second item. Joyce clears her throat. "How are you doing?" She quickly scans the offending items and reaches over and drops them in the bag.

"Oh, um, yeah, you know." Jules grimaces at her stuttering.

"Mmhm." Joyce gives Jules her total, and takes the money offered.

"How about you?" Jules attempts a smile.

"I'm good, sweetie. Thank you." Joyce takes Jules' hand as she gives back the change and drops her voice. "You let me know if you need anything, ok?"

Jules nods her head quickly, giving a weak smile, and dashes out the door. "Bye, Joyce." 

She runs all the way to Hannah's house.

—

"I thought it would be fun!"

Hannah eyes Jules skeptically and deadpans, "You thought it would be fun."

"Yeah!" Jules grimaces, forcing out a laugh. "Who hasn't always wanted to pee on a stick, right?"

Hannah slowly raises her hand. "Uh… me?"

"Come on, it will be great!" Jules grabs her by the arm and starts pulling her towards the bathroom.

"Jules! What? No!" Hannah pulls her arm from her friend's grasp. "What's going on? Are you ok?" Her eyes widen. "Oh god, do you think you're-"

"No! I think you are!" Jules slaps her hand over her mouth. "Shit. I'm sorry. There was definitely a better way to do this, but I'm panicking now. You've been nauseous and more grumpy than usual and you haven't complained about cramps in ages."

Hannah is frozen. Staring straight ahead with a look of pure horror on her face.

"Han, please don't freak out." She reaches out and takes Hannah's hand. "Not yet anyway." She laughs weakly.

Five minutes later, the two girls are sat on the bathroom floor, shoulders pressed together, leaning against the bath. Hannah is hugging her legs with her forehead on her knees.

"How much longer?" 

"30 seconds."

Jules' hand is circled around Hannah's ankle in an attempt to comfort. She doesn't want to overwhelm her, but wants her to know she's not alone. She gives it a squeeze. "Times up." Jules is whispering. "Do you want me to look?" 

Hannah takes a deep breath and leans her head back. "No, I can do it." She picks up the stick, not looking at it. "What am I looking for again?"

"Two lines means pregnant."

Hannah scrunches her eyes closed and takes another deep, steadying breath. She opens her eyes and sees two lines staring back at her.

—

Jules is still worried about Hannah. She hasn't spoken in nearly half an hour. The pair are lying side by side on Hannah's bedroom floor, hands linked between them. 

Jules tests the waters by squeezing Hannah’s hand. Hannah crushes hers in response.

“Han, I need you to tell me what you need. Do you want to stay like this for a while, or do you want a hug? Or a cry, maybe? Food?”

Hannah lets out a shuddering breath and tears slip out down her temples. 

“Do you want me to call your dad? Or, um, Eddie?”

Hannah groans. “I’m supposed to go to the carnival with Eddie tonight. We were going to watch the fireworks from the ferris wheel.”

“That sounds nice.” Jules likes Eddie. Likes him for Hannah. She’s watched Hannah grow comfortable around him, which is rare for her. Hannah finds it difficult to let people in and let them see her vulnerable side. Jules has relished watching Hannah’s irritation at Eddie worming his way past her defences. She always worried that Hannah would push away anyone good for her, for fear of getting hurt. Eddie's determined though, and he’s good for her.

“Shit!” Hannah shoots up with a look of horror on her face. 

“Shit, what? Han, what?”

Hannah stares at her best friend, her eyes filling with more tears. “I don’t know whose it is.”

Jules freezes for half a second, then springs into action, scrambling to her feet. “Ok, we can definitely figure this out. We’re just talking about the two guys, right?”

Hannah nods, yes.

“Did they overlap at all?”

Hannah shakes her head, no.

“When was your last period? And any missed ones.”

Hannah rushes over to the calendar on her wall and flips through it, looking for the last time she drew a little star on a date. “I’ve missed two periods. A week and a half ago, and the month before that.”

“And how long have you been sleeping with Eddie?”

“Less than a month.” Hannah’s face falls. Tears spill from her eyes again. “Fuck,” she whispers. “Fuck, this just got so much worse.”

Jules pulls her into a tight hug. “No, hey, no we’re gonna figure this out, right? It’s all going to be fine. I’ve got you, ok?” Her own eyes are welling up now, the worry she was feeling earlier is nothing compared to now. “There’s options, right? You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, but I will be here whatever you decide.” She pulls back and holds Hannah by her shoulders. “Ok?”

Hannah sniffs and wipes her cheeks. “I can’t think about any of that right now.”

Jules tucks a lock of hair behind Hannah’s ear. “You don’t have to.”

“I need to- Shit. I need…” Hannah buries her face in her hands and her voice comes out muffled. “I need to break it off with Eddie.”

Jules’ heart breaks for her best friend. “Are you sure? You can wait, if you want to. Since you don’t even know if you’re keeping it yet. I know how much you like him.”

Hannah shakes her head. “No, I don’t want him involved when he doesn’t have to be.” She rubs at her eyes. “I don’t want him to feel like the bad guy if he doesn't want anything to do with me; or, god, feel some weird obligation to be with me.” Hannah drops down onto the edge of her bed. “If I decide to… y’know, then I’ll talk to him about it. But not before I know what I’m doing.”

Jules sits next to her and takes her hand again.

Hannah sniffs. “And there’s no way I could avoid him until then if I don’t. The boy would just break down my door if I tried to dodge his calls.” She lets out a watery chuckle.

Jules smiles sadly. “You really like him, huh.”

“Yeah,” Hannah huffs. “It’s gross.”

—

Wayne Munson is getting himself ready to go to work when there’s a knock at his trailer door. He finishes tugging on his worn work boots and puts an unlit cigarette between his lips before stomping over and opening the door.

His gruff, furrowed face brightens immediately upon seeing Hannah standing nervously on the other side. “Hannah, darlin’. Come on in.” Wayne turns to the side and swaps places with her. “I was just heading out. Ed’s in his room, so just head on through.” 

Wayne lights his cigarette as he watches Hannah look warily into the trailer. She’s often quiet, and a little prickly sometimes; Wayne thinks she’s a little like him in that way. But right now, she just seems anxious.

“You alright darlin’?”

Hannah’s wide eyes turn to him. “Mmhm.”

“Well, like I said, you just head on back. Let Ed know I’ve left for work, will you?”

Hannah nods. “Yeah, sure.”

He eyes Hannah again, unconvinced. But he has to get to work. Wayne raises his cigarette in a wave and shuts the door behind him, leaving Hannah alone in the quiet room.

Hannah takes a moment to steady herself. She looks around the snug trailer. She loves this place. It’s always so homey and welcoming. The Munsons clearly take care of their home and their belongings. Everything is well loved and well kept. 

It’s at least a full minute before she moves again, toeing off her shoes and creeping down the small hallway towards Eddie’s bedroom door. She doesn’t want to alert him to her presence yet. She wants to delay what she came to do for as long as she can. Hannah knows she should do it, knows it’s the right thing to do. But she wants to be selfish. She wants to indulge in Eddie and live in denial for a little while longer.

“Eds?” Hannah’s voice is soft as she pushes the door open, peering into the dimly lit room.

The main light is switched off, the blinds closed. The only light in the room comes from the small lamp on the cluttered desk that Eddie is hunched over, headphones over his ears and Hannah can hear the deafening blast of whatever music he is listening to. Eddie’s hair is tucked behind his ears to allow for the foam pads from his walkman. Even from her angle, he looks adorable. She longs to run her hands through his hair; twirl a spiral of it around her finger; pull at it and hear him moan. A muscle by his shoulder blade twitches as he furiously scribbles at a drawing. Hannah is itching to run her hands over his sinewy back and drape herself over his shoulders. She wants to wrap herself around him. Surround herself with him and never leave.

But she can’t bring herself to.

Instead, Hannah shuffles towards him and walks two fingers across his shoulder before laying her palm on it when he jumps, whipping off his headphones and turning in his chair.

“Hi Eds,” she lets out in a breath.

“Sweetheart!”

Hannah winces at his shout.

“Shit,” Eddie looks around. “Am I late? Wait, did you walk here? I'm supposed to come and pick you up. Jesus Christ, how late am I?!"

Hannah turns Eddie's chair to fully face her and moves between his spread legs. She puts both hands on his shoulders and squeezes, digging her thumbs into the dips in his collarbones. "You're ok, I'm early." Her voice is still soft despite Eddie's volume.

Eddie's voice joins hers in a murmur. "Well, shit, sweetheart." He takes one of her hands from his shoulder and holds it to his chest, massaging his thumb into her palm. "You should have called, I would've picked you up early if you wanted." 

She shrugs. "I wanted to walk. It's still light out." 

Hannah turns her attention to his desk, eyeing the drawings splayed across the surface.

"Did you want to go early? The fireworks aren't for a few hours yet, but we can go and look around for a while if you want."

She shakes her head. 

Hannah’s hand moves from Eddie’s shoulder to drift over his drawings. A vicious, sharp-toothed mermaid; a snarling, fire breathing dragon; a grotesque zombie, flesh dripping from its bones. 

“These are really good, Eds.”

The tops of Eddie’s ear burn red and he grins bashfully. “Thanks Han.” He kisses her captive hand. “Got nothing on you though.”

Hannah frowns. “Don’t do that.” She pinches his bicep, causing Eddie to yelp.

Eddie studies her for a moment, she seems off. "You ok?" He reaches up and takes her chin between his forefinger and thumb, skimming her chin with the pad. 

This is when she should tell him. She should break it off now. It's the right thing to do.

Eddie can see that Hannah's eyes have glazed over; she's gone somewhere else in her mind. Eddie stands up and cups her shoulders, bringing her attention back to him.

"Listen, I know you really wanted to go to this thing tonight," He's lying, they both know it. It was him that suggested it. "But I'm pretty beat. Would it be ok if we stayed in and watched movies? We could order a pizza and just veg out."

She shouldn't. It’s selfish.

"Yeah, ok."

—

As Eddie opens the fridge to grab two sodas, he peers into the living room at Hannah settling on one end of the couch. He can tell something is up, but he knows better by now than to press. They’re still getting to know each other, but after hooking up for several weeks, Eddie knows he needs to warm her up when she gets like this. If he lays too much affection on her too quickly, she’ll freeze up and push him away. 

Hannah is squirming on the couch trying to get comfortable. She slouches in the seat, then sits up straight, then crosses her legs. She’s wriggled between at least five different positions by the time she looks up and realises Eddie is standing next to the couch and watching her with an amused expression. 

“Comfy?”

Her face flushes and she nods sheepishly. Hannah tucks her legs underneath her and sits still. 

Eddie puts the cans and some napkins down on the small table in front of them and sits down beside her. He leaves a small space between them, but takes one of her hands in both of his and holds it to his chest. He can see that Hannah is still stuck in her head. Eddie hums a soft melody and runs one calloused palm back and forth along her forearm, kneading with his fingertips. 

He watches Hannah’s face carefully for her reaction. She blinks a few times, coming back to herself, and looks over at Eddie, resting her head against the couch cushion. 

Eddie's voice is a murmur, "I ordered one plain, one pepperoni. Wayne can eat whatever we don't when he gets in tomorrow."

Hannah hums in acknowledgement and leans in slightly towards Eddie. "I'm sorry for making you miss the fireworks." 

Hannah is speaking so quietly, Eddie has to lean in too. But he copies her speech. "Nothing to apologise for, Han." He wants to say that it doesn't matter as long as he's with her, but instead he tempers his sentiment. "I'd rather do pizza and a movie anyway." 

She understands what Eddie isn't saying. "Me too." 

Eddie resumes his tune. Along with the drone of the AC unit in the window, and the buzz of Eddie's hand along her arm, Hannah is starting to relax. She decides to deal with real life tomorrow. Right now, she wants to stay in denial; stay in this moment with Eddie.

Eddie's ears perk up as he hears the crunch of tyres coming from outside. He doesn't want knocking to burst their peaceful bubble, so he squeezes Hannah's hand and places it in her lap, bounding off the couch and opening the door before the pizza guy is even up the porch steps. Eddie pays and thanks him before padding back to Hannah, placing the boxes on the table and flopping down next to her with a grunt. This causes Hannah to fall towards him, shoulder to shoulder. 

Eddie’s heart sinks when she immediately sits up and away from him again, but he smiles when he sees her shining eyes as she zeroes in on the pizza. Hannah pulls out two slices and passes one to him. When she settles back into the couch, she rests her back against his arm, and wiggles until he takes the hint and puts it around her. A small smile on her face, Hannah raises her pizza to Eddie. “Cheers.”

Eddie chuckles and taps his slice to hers. “Cheers, sweetheart.” He nudges his temple against hers and she turns to press her forehead to his.

—

Hours later, The Princess Bride is quietly playing on the TV across the room from the couch, where Hannah is now laying on top of Eddie; him flat on his back with her cheek to his chest, torsos pressed together and her hips between his raised knees. Eddie is running one hand up and down her back. His other is entwined with Hannah’s, hanging down to the floor as she plays with the rings on his fingers.

This is Eddie’s favourite version of Hannah: soft; warm; affectionate.

Eddie’s hand drifts further up Hannah’s back into her hair and scratches at her scalp. She hums and nuzzles into Eddie’s touch. She props her chin on his chest, gazing up at him. Her free hand reaches out and begins tracing aspects of him with her fingers, skimming over his soft cheeks and strong jawline. She presses her thumb into the dip in his chin and her fingertips whisper along the skin under his eye, admiring his faint crows feet and the light smattering of freckles. Hannah ventures further up, hungry for more of him; she pushes her fingers into his bangs and sweeps her thumb across his forehead, smoothing out the crinkles from his concentration on the movie.

Eddie turns away from the TV with a smirk. "Help you?"

Hannah's index finger ghosts over his plump, pink mouth and settles in his dimple. "Just looking." A fond expression on her face. "You're so pretty, Eds."

The tops of his cheeks bloom pink. Hannah's fingers dance across the blush, giggling at the effect her words have had.

Eddie cups the back of Hannah’s head. “Can’t compare to you, sweetheart.”

“Fuck off.” She’s beaming now.

Hannah shifts her weight back onto her knees and crawls forward, nestling into the crook of Eddie’s neck. She places a kiss behind his ear. Eddie makes a happy noise from the back of his throat and hugs her closer. Hannah pulls back slightly and dots kisses over his face, both of them giggling, their faces pink with affection. Her kisses follow the path of her fingers before finally pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She goes to pull away, but Eddie threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her back to kiss him again. 

She’s fully indulging herself now. Being greedy.

"You know,” Hannah’s lips brush Eddie’s as she speaks. “If we went outside, we could probably see the fireworks when they start."

"Yeah?” Eddie grins. “You want to?"

Hannah nods eagerly.

Immediately, Eddie rolls them both off the couch, Hannah screeches at the sudden fall. He jumps up, standing over her in a heap on the floor. 

“Jerk!” Hannah kicks out at Eddie and he catches her by the ankle. “Let me go!” She whines, grabbing at him as he laughs.

“C’mere.” Eddie captures Hannah’s hands and hauls her up into an embrace. He cups her face and smacks a kiss to her mouth. 

Eddie thinks for a moment. "Trust me?"

"Well that's never a good start to anything."

He cackles. "I'm taking that as a yes." 

Eddie pulls her to the front door. The pair of them scramble to put their shoes on, giddy at the prospect of doing something foolish. They stumble through the door and Eddie drags Hannah by the hand around the side of the trailer where he gets down on one knee under an open window. He taps his thigh and looks up at Hannah expectantly.

“I… don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

Eddie grins wickedly. “We’re going up, sweetheart.”

“Fuck that. No.”

“C’mon, we’ll have the best view from up there!” He pouts at her, using his best puppy dog eyes.

Hannah groans, but moves to step up onto his leg, mumbling about “those fucking eyes.” 

“Ok, now step onto the windowsill, and I’ll push you up onto the roof.”

Hannah grunts as she heaves herself up and clings onto the edge of the tin roof by her fingers. “If this is just an excuse to feel me up, I’m gonna kill you.”

Eddie gasps dramatically. “Me? I’m the picture of integrity, Han.” He grips her by the hips and encourages her upwards, giving her a tap on the ass as she wiggles over the edge into a heap on the roof.

“Perv!" 

Eddie appears a few moments later and collapses on top of her; forearms braced either side of her head. “You love it.” He buries his face in her neck, making her squeal as he blows raspberries against her skin.

They're interrupted by a loud boom echoing through the trailer park.

"Shit, it's starting! Get off me!"

They scramble up to face the fireworks exploding in the sky. Eddie sits with his legs spread out and pats the space between them for Hannah to sit. She settles with her back to his chest and he wraps his arms around her front, pulling her flush to him, his chin resting on her shoulder as she hugs one of his arms tightly.

The pair stay like that, watching the rest of the fireworks display, Eddie occasionally pressing kisses to Hannah's shoulder and neck. When the last bang rings out and the sparkles fade, they remain silent for a while, enjoying the quiet of the trailer park; all the other residents probably at the fair. 

Eddie burrows his face into Hannah's hair. "Do you want to stay up here for a bit longer or go back inside?"

Hannah turns her head to nuzzle him back. "Maybe we should go inside. I can't feel my butt." 

"Oh thank god, me neither!" 

Both of them fall to the side, giggling. Eddie manoeuvres them so that Hannah is laid out beneath him. He cradles the back of her head, weight braced on his forearm, with his other hand on her waist. He nudges his nose against hers and she lifts her chin to press a sweet kiss to his lips. 

Eddie draws back a little, his gaze flicking between her hazy, adoring eyes. "Do you want to talk about whatever is going on with you?"

Hannah stiffens and her eyes snap fully open.

"Shit." He fucked up. "Han, I-"

Hannah sits up, pushing Eddie back onto his heels. She presses her palms to her eyes and huffs. "I shouldn't… we should… fuck-" Hannah looks around. "Can we get down, please?"

“Yeah! Yeah, of course.”

Eddie scrambles to the edge of the roof and over, landing with a grunt, and then turns back and helps Hannah slide down. The second her feet touch the ground, Hannah rushes off around the trailer, up the porch steps, and through the front door. She stops in the threshold, hugging her arms to her chest. Eddie scurries after her.

Eddie steps up behind Hannah. “Hey, look, I’m sorry.” He coos, turning her around gently. “Let’s forget about it, ok? We can just finish the movie.” He desperately doesn’t want her to leave. He doesn’t want to lose that closeness, that loving version of Hannah he just had.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Eddie. It’s my fault, I know I’m being weird.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Hannah stiffens again and whispers, “I can’t. Not right now.”

“Sweetheart… please?” Eddie pulls her to him by the waist, cradling her head with his other hand, pushing his thumb into her cheek. “You’re worrying me now.”

"Listen, I've just… I've got some stuff going on. And," she puts her palms flat on his chest and steps back from him. "It means I won't be able to see you. For a while, at least."

"What?"

"Eddie," she pleads, eyes darting around the room. "I can't explain right now, ok?" 

He steps closer to her again. "Han, look at me." He grips her hands in his and ducks his head to catch her gaze. “Please, talk to me. I just want to help.”

Hannah squirms. “I don’t need-”

“I know! I know you don’t need help, Hannah! But I want to.”

She looks up at Eddie, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Eddie splutters. “Why?! Because we’re-” he gestures between them. “Because I like you! I really fucking like you!” He’s gesturing wildly now. 

Hannah buries her face in her palms, her voice muffled. “I know, Eddie and I really- I- FUCK!” She throws her hands out, her eyes glassy now. “Why do I find this so fucking hard!”

“Hey, it’s ok-”

“No! It’s not, Eddie!” Hannah swipes at her eyes. “I’m emotionally stunted. I’m grumpy and irritable and I can’t express my fucking feelings.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “I just need some space, Eddie. I’m sorry I just can’t say why right now.”

“Sweetheart, you’re really worrying me.” Eddie goes to cradle Hannah’s face again, but she immediately pushes him back.

“Stop, Eddie. I don’t need you to worry about me.”

Eddie is having trouble tempering his emotions. He just wants to help. “Well, tough shit, Han! You can’t exactly stop me caring about you.”

"You're not my boyfriend!"

They both freeze. She shouldn't have said that. She didn't mean it like that.

"Shit. Eds-"

"No.” He cuts her off. “You're right. I'm not your boyfriend." Eddie's voice is quiet, but icy. His eyes hard. "I'm just some guy you’ve been fucking."

Hannah flinches at the venom in his words. "No, you’re not- I didn't- I can't… I just can't!"

"Right, my bad. The ice queen can't have a boyfriend. She'd need to have actual feelings for that."

Hurt flashes across Hannah's face and she blinks back the tears threatening to spill. Her voice is strained when she speaks. "I should-" she clears her throat. "I'm gonna go." 

“Fine.”

Hannah steps past Eddie to the door. He doesn’t move to stop her.

“Bye, Eds.”

Hannah closes the door behind her and trudges down the steps. She takes a shuddering breath and rubs at her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Son of a BITCH!” 

The exclamation is muffled from inside the trailer, but still makes Hannah jump. Seconds later, the door slams open and Eddie stomps after her with his keys in hand.

“If you think I’m letting you walk home in the dark, you’re a moron as well as an asshole.”

Hannah lets out a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. She rushes to Eddie and throws her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. The action knocks the wind out of him.

Eddie sighs, but doesn’t hesitate to hug her back.

“C’mon sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

Hannah pulls back and nods, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

Eddie takes Hannah’s hand and leads her to the passenger side of the van. He helps her up and closes the door behind her before rounding the front and pulling himself into his seat. He starts up the van, but immediately shuts off the music, choosing to drive in silence in the hope that Hannah might start talking to him.

As the van pulls out of the trailer park, Hannah reaches over and takes his right hand, holding it in her lap. She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help it. She wants to indulge in little bits of him while she still can. Hannah twists the lone ring on this hand around his finger.

After a little while, Eddie breaks the silence.

“It’s my favourite, you know.” Eddie’s voice is low and he doesn’t look over at her.

Hannah doesn’t look at Eddie either, but continues to stare at his hand cradled in hers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “This really amazing girl got it for me. You probably don’t know her.”

"No?"

"Nah, she was actually nice to me."

Hannah scoffs. "Well that's just not true."

Eddie grins, but there's a sadness in it. He parks the van outside Hannah's house and finally turns to look at her.

"Hannah?"

Hannah stares blindly straight ahead out the windshield. If she looks at Eddie, she’ll definitely cave.

"Hannah, please just talk to me. Tell me what's going on. What can I do?"

If she tells him now, he might hate her. He might be angry and not want anything to do with her; which would hurt. Or he might stay with her out of pity; which would hurt more.

"Nothing, Eddie. There's nothing you can do." Hannah resumes fiddling with Eddie's ring. "I need some time to get my shit sorted."

"Can you at least tell me if you're ok?"

"Yeah, I'm…" She rests her head back on the seat and sighs. "I don't know. But I think I will be." 

That didn't reassure Eddie at all. "Do you at least have someone helping you? If it can't be me."

"I've got Jules. And I'm gonna talk to my dad." 

She wants to tell him she doesn't want to do this. She wants to ask if he'll let her be self-centred, let her be greedy and keep him. She thinks he'd say yes.

But that wouldn't be fair.

"I'll see you around, Eds." She squeezes his hand and opens the door, but pauses before getting out.

One more moment of indulging herself.

Hannah turns back to Eddie and leans over the centre console, pulling him towards her with a hand on his cheek. She presses her lips against his in a lingering kiss. Eddie sighs and holds her hand to keep her there a little longer. 

Their foreheads stay pressed together as their lips part, neither of them wanting the moment to end. Hannah places another soft peck to the corner of his mouth and whispers, "Bye Eddie."

[delusinaldreamer19]

Vent/Rant incoming. Feel free to disregard.

(But also maybe don’t, idk)

Something that’s become apparent to me as I’ve posted more frequently on Ao3 is just how disheartening it can be to feel like I’m performing for a silent crowd.

Dgmw, it is very much that I am just a sensitive & insecure person by nature. (I’m incredibly embarrassed abt posting this, but again, just venting.) And its not that I’m trying to directly beg for ppl to read and comment on my works, but I am sort of…indirectly doing that.

I just can’t help but feel a bit like ‘what am I doing wrong?’ I’ve both intentionally and unintentionally written a decently wide verity of fanfics for Kuro, whether it’s shorter oneshots or longer multi chapter fics, as well as tonally with things being funny, sad, mysterious, contemplative. I try and pay attention to what gets the most interaction so that I know what people are most interested in reading. But even with doing that, I can’t really tell. Like I want to write stuff that people enjoy reading, but it sometimes feels impossible to tell if I’m doing that.

(Pls excuse me, I’m about to start very much complaining)

I don’t even know why I tend to feel that way, I’ve got six stories posted and half have over 1000 hits (two that are over 2000 hits). But again, I’m a horrifically insecure person with an adhd brain that never shuts up.

I know that I’m doing nothing but preaching to the choir when I say ‘authors really want you to comment on their works!!’ And it’s not that I don’t ever get comments (and I swear that I am extremely thankful for each one despite how what I’m about to say sounds), but I just feel like the nature of them is what gets to me sometimes.

I put a lot of time and effort into my stories (despite how quickly I’ve been updating), and I work really hard to write things that are well thought out, interesting, and while I don’t write smut (as of now), mature. I’ll look in other stories comment sections to see what other ppl have said about works that I’ve enjoyed, and I’ll see questions and commentary about specific things that happened in the chapter, and my works just…don’t tend to get a lot of that.

It could very well just be that my neurodivergent brain is upset about not getting that instant gratification, I get that. But I just wanna like- talk to people about my stories. I wanna have discussions about things in Kuro or things that I’ve written. I wanna hear when something I’ve created has garnered any sort of reaction. And because I don’t get a lot of that, my cursed neurodivergent and insecure brain translates it as meaning that I didn’t truly make anything that warranted a reaction.

I’m just incredibly prone to growing obsessive over things like this. I didn’t really ease into writing fanfiction over time, I sort of just hit the ground running and took off. For reference, I quite literally wrote all of my stories (a collective 146,000 words (I added it up cus I was curious)) in JUST this past year.

I’m kinda not sure what I should do. If I need to “work harder” and “do better”, or if I just need to wait for this influx of self doubt to pass. Or even take a small break from writing, which I don’t necessarily want to do since it’s still something that I greatly enjoy. But if that’s advice worth giving in regards to my predicament, then I suppose it warrants being considered.

(inhale) BUT ANYWAYS, that’s the end of my little vent session. As I said in the beginning, feel free to disregard, or don’t. I could probably use some advice tbh, but don’t want to beg for it. I haven’t had much of an active presence in fandom spaces (or really just active internet presence) for most of my life, so dealing with this sort of thing is still very new to me and I’m not really sure how to navigate it😭.

[xfancyuu]

~ cause i can feel a real connection, a supernatural attraction. [aemond targaryen]

PART II (my blood, sweat, tears, and my cold breath, take it all away.)

as promised, here is the second part! the first part of this series contains a westerosi wedding, this fic will contain a valyrian wedding and the third part, well that's a surprise. reader is afab with she/her pronouns if requested i will write non-binary characters! i'd also love some feedback for this! i'd love some pointers on what you liked/didn't like about it! as always i tried to make reader an actual person who you could see yourself within but she's a lot more chill this chapter, only aemond and reader are in this so nobody is making a surprise guest appearance lol.

this fic contains: bolton!reader (now targaryen), valyrian wedding, valyrian wedding traditions (cutting each other so if ur squeamish to that maybe skip over that section), afab reader, no appearance indicators (except height, aemond is taller than you, reader cuts her hair due to impulsivity and frustration — your hair will be long enough to have u cut it to your shoulders), reader and aemond are both around eighteen-twenty-one (but this is some time before the war & that gossip girl thanksgiving worthy moment — the girls that get it, get it) [3,188 words]

Escaping your own wedding ceremony was easier than you had thought, the hallways were scarce with limited few dotted around. And those who were around would not stop the one-eyed prince from leaving his own ceremony with his bride.

You were thankful to Aemond, the bedding ceremony would have been humiliating, you knew your own parent's had one, and it had left your mother traumatised, thankful she had sons and only one daughter, it could minimise the generational trauma felt by that moment. You supposed in the two years of courting Aemond he had cared for you enough to refuse the outdated tradition all together.

"Will you be present tonight?" Aemond had asked you, confusing you as the two of you walked towards your chambers.

"What in the seven hells is that supposed to mean?"

"You were not mentally present during the wedding." It was a fact, he had noticed too much for you to comprehend. Would he hurt you for being such a disgrace? As though sensing your fear, he spoke, "You fret far too much, I just worry it had been something of my doing."

"Oh no..." The pause between words was present as you tried to come up with a reasoning for your actions, "It is just something I do, and I fear I never know when it is happening until it is over."

The grunt Aemond had allowed to escape him worried you, "I will be present tonight, crowds scare me and put my mind into high stress levels, but when we are together alone I enjoy my time with you."

It seems as though your explanation had fallen on deaf ears, however Aemond was simply analysing the event and your explanation. It seemed fitting that the both of you did not seem content in the world you were living in. With you escaping into your own mind while he focused his energy on fighting and learning.

The silence between the two of you was slightly uncomfortable, with you fearing you had said something wrong and your actions being ridiculous for a princess of the realm while Aemond had simply enjoyed being within your presence it hadn't taken you long to get to your chambers, however Aemond hadn't entered with you.

You were left to your own devices, as Aemond thought it fit to leave you in your current state. You knew what he was doing — going to gather all he needed, you weren't sure what it was, but you trusted him, trusted him enough to believe all he told you about the Valyrian ceremony you were about to partake in.

You felt suffocated, though, the nervousness and fear of what was to become of tonight had hit you in waves. You felt as though you could rip your hair out as you stared at the braids you'd have to spend far too much time to undo. Your ladies had spent such a long time creating such a lovely sight, you simply didn't want to take it out, but you knew you had to.

The hotness you felt within had you itching at your skin, it was already irritated and the red marks you had left hadn't affected you much. However, your hair was going to be a problem.

The knife had glinted in the candlelight, and your own temptation would not vanish, perhaps if you had cut your hair the braids would be easier to remove and would not hurt you. Long hair was the bane of your existence, and cutting your hair while sectioned into braids would be easy. Far too tempting for you to not do it. Nobody could stop you.

Before you could comprehend the knife within your grasp, you had already cut one braid to your shoulder. The freeing feeling was short-lived once you had realised what you had done. Your once long beautiful hair was now unevenly cut and to your shoulders no less. What would the people surrounding you say? That Aemond had cut it off in an act of hatred towards you?

You would certainly be the gossip surrounding the castle for many moons to come. How the prince had dragged you away, defiled you in more ways than one. You hadn't thought about your actions, instead you chose the easiest way for you to escape the confounds of tradition and suffering. It's not like you could reattach the hair either — but it would grow back to the length you had such hated for, or you could keep knives and continue cutting to your desired length.

You had contemplated cutting the dress too — the beautiful white dress your father had ensured was designed with your specifications in mind, but you couldn't. It was far too beautiful, and you were sure Aemond would help you with the removal when it came time for that section of the night. The part which made you [word] and wish for it to be over in minutes, like your mother and ladies told you it would be.

"The knife's intended purpose wasn't that." Aemond had spoke, you hadn't heard him entering while your thoughts spiralled to the mistake you'd made despite being fully conscious of your actions.

"Oh..." You didn't know how to retort, other than another "oh" with a raised octave.

"You could have waited before you decided to chop it off."

"But where's the fun in that? Do you not like surprises? You told me once you liked nice surprises, is this not a nice one?"

"It is certainly a surprise." Aemond had approached you and had taken the knife from your grasp before you could decide to cut anything else on your being. "The blade is sharp, I don't like the idea of it being so close to your neck."

"But you trust me enough to not cut you?" You had asked, not completely aware of his trauma but knowing he didn't like blades in his general direction when he was not fighting.

"Do you intend to hurt me?" Even if you did, you knew Aemond had fast reflexes and could easily detain you without much effort.

"I intend to love you, if you'd allow me." Your sincerity seeped through your words, "I know our courtship was a long one, and you may not see yourself the way I view you, but I want to show you, you're worth so much more than you give yourself credit."

You viewed him as though he put the stars in the sky, as though he was the one solely responsible for your own happiness. The prince who put duty above all else, the man who few had got to see the true self of. They hadn't seen the man who cared about your own happiness, indulging in horrific romance books with bad tropes to simply have conversations about such topics with you, the man who looked at you like you were the only person in existence when you spoke. And you had left him utterly speechless.

You had surmised that while Aemond may have been his mother's son, her clearly being his favourite and only present parent. He valued the traditions of his father's culture — you had thought as much with his claiming of Vhagar, his pride and his passion. He was truly the fire and blood you had always craved. The only person you could ever see yourself happy with, the only person who truly understood you.

The idea of a Valyrian wedding was much more fun in your mind, without speaking the language you had no idea what to expect, yes you had studied the language, but it was very different from speaking a language you weren't fluent in. Aemond was insistent and you could not deny him. Assimilating yourself into his culture would be an honour, having his children would be an honour, but with honour comes learning, and it was something you enjoyed. But less than a year was not nearly enough time to learn an entire language, and the nuances that came with said culture and language.

"There would usually be a Septon to bless us, though I think it would be fitting for the two of us to be together and join as one."

"How scandalous." You joked, hoping to ease some of the tension you felt within yourself. "You aren't withholding any other key information about this ceremony, are you? You do not need a dragon to breathe fire on us?"

"Unless you have a death wish, it is not advised." He enjoyed this feeling, being so free with one another, with only the spectators being yourselves and your desires.

"Next you'll be telling me you're not fireproof."

"I live to be a disappointment, princess."

"You could never disappoint me unless you withhold cake from me."

"Cake is your only weakness?"

"The only one I'll tell you about, I need to have a few secrets up my sleeve to surprise you with in ten years."

"You have already revealed far too much."

"Then I suppose I must stop speaking, for I am no longer a mystery, and you shan't be interested any more." Aemond had laughed as you continued your melodrama.

"This is what you want?" Aemond had asked, his sudden mood change had almost given you whiplash.

"I wouldn't have committed myself to you fully if it wasn't what I had wanted."

"I just wanted to be sure before we started the process." You were not sure where Aemond's insecurity had come from. The two of you had spent so much time together, albeit chaperoned by your brother. "I wanted to make sure before I truly reveal myself to you."

"There is nothing you could do which would make me want you less." You were not sure where your sentimentality had come from, "Would you like me to help you? With your eyepatch — that is." You had never brought up the eyepatch. It had made no difference to you. Rumours had circulated about why he wore it — you did not want to listen to them. Some had said there was a pitch-black hole where his eye had meant to be, others said it was decayed and rotted. You were not sure what was to believed, but you knew it would not change your feelings.

"I can manage just fine." The response was more hostile than you were expecting.

"I would like to help you, as your wife it is important to me that you do not suffer nor hide yourself from me." Aemond had not retorted as you moved to help him. You were not sure what you were expecting, but the sapphire was certainly not it. "You are beautiful." You spoke as you took in his appearance, wishing he would feel comfortable being his authentic self, "Never hide yourself away from me." It had been a demand. You wanted Aemond to see himself the way you saw him, beautiful and otherworldly. You knew the Targaryen genes were strong within him, but you had not expected him to be this beautiful.

"You do not need to lie."

"You doubt my words? I would like to know who hurt you and to hurt them in exchange, I want them to feel the pain you have felt, I want to set them ablaze, I want them to suffer. I will flay them if you ask me to, I would make it slow and painful."

"You speak treasonous words, wife." You had put the pieces together from that alone, one of Rhaenyra's son's — most likely Lucerys had hurt your husband. You had wondered why justice hadn't prevailed. Your father would have had your brother's manhood if he had hurt you, yet your husband was not fated with such luck, despite his own father being the King who could have easily sought justice. "It is long past now, I do not wish to think about it nor speak about it."

You thought it best to drop the issue. Irritating your husband was not your intention — especially on your wedding night. You hadn't wanted him to think about such things when you were meant to be happy. "Shall we get on with it, then?"

At your insistence, Aemond had placed the knife on the dresser along with the chalice he was holding — containing a substance you had no knowledge of.

The two of you were close, closer than you were comfortable with, Aemond may be your husband, but proximity and intimacy was not something you were accustomed to. Perhaps it would come with being a married couple — or perhaps it would come tonight when you would no longer be a maiden.

The blade did not sting as much as you expected, as Aemond had brought the blade to your lip, perhaps it was the anticipation of assimilating into his culture he treasured so dearly. Perhaps it was the idea of being a respected Targaryen Princess who followed the traditions of ancestors you did not have. Would your Northern ancestors be ashamed that you so willingly allowed your husband to maim you? To take your own culture from you and thrust his own upon you? You did not have time to think of that as Aemond had cut the palm of your hand, it had brought a gasp from your lips. That had been the painful part, though he soon let go of your hand to maim his own skin.

The blood had dripped freely from your hand onto the pristine white dress you had loved so much. The red had stained the pure white colour, perhaps it was an omen for what was to come. Aemond tainting everything with his love for you, placing you on such a high pedestal that he believed you could do no wrong. Willing to start wars to ensure your safety and happiness. He truly loved you even if he struggled to say the words out loud and in front of an audience. Aemond had always been reserved, believing it to be for the best. His own feelings had never meant more than those around him, his love for you had a toxic hold grasp on his being, so willing to do heinous acts to ensure you stayed pure to the chaos going on around you. But you were not that type of girl, you thrived on chaos, on the unknown and were more than willing to be the chaos that spread Aemond's passion and fire.

Aemond's own cut hand had held yours, aligning the cuts together as to mix your blood, to make you one. Both of your blood had seeped into the dress, there was a taste of iron in your mouth — your blood, both your and Aemond's blood, mixed as one whole being. You were his as he was yours.

"Ñuha ānogar, nager, qūvy, se ñuha iōrves jelevre, gūrogon ziry mirre qrīdrughagon. Bisa bantis īlon siñagon hae mēre, īlon kessa dōrī part. Iksā se ōños bona sīmontan arlī isse ñuha ābrar. Iksā se cause hen ñuha biarves."

You had picked up on a few words Aemond had spoken, but most had left you clueless, you were ashamed you had not taken studying Valyrian seriously when it was presented to you. You could not express in words how you felt about him, how you would burn the world down for him, instead you spoke what little Valyrian you knew, "Avy jorrāelan."

"Avy jorrāelan," Aemond's response was almost immediate, the hand which was not holding yours quickly moved to the chalice he had brought in, bring it to your lips and you took it as a sign you needed to drink. The liquid was bitter, almost gag worthy but went down smoothly. You did not want to know what was inside as it warmed your throat. You had looked at Aemond as he too drank the liquid, though his own reaction was not as evident as your own.

It was your turn to lead the ceremony you had thought, all ceremonies end with a kiss yet yours had not happened yet. It was a split second decision, bringing Aemond to your own height, he had towered over you naturally but you doubted he would complain as you sealed your ceremony with a kiss. This one had felt more intense than your first ceremony. You would not be satisfied with a simply peck as though you were children.

You were lovestruck as your mouth's joined. You were one, you would continue being one until the end of your days, you had not known what to truly expect. Aemond was a wild card. But so were you. It was slow to begin with, the taste of both blood and what the liquid contained mixed within your mouth. You couldn't taste the wine consumed earlier in the night nor did you truly care. It was unbecoming of a lady as your tongue entered Aemond's mouth. You had heard from ladies both in court and workers of the palace that they had placated their husband's needs, but you had needs yourself — you felt yourself tingling as though you were on fire. You wanted more, no you needed more.

Aemond had pulled away from you, looking as dishevelled as you had felt. "We need to stop before I do something I regret."

"And what is that?"

"Please let me help you get undressed first, I do not want you to feel pressured to act a certain way around me and I fear you will feel far too much pain if we continue."

The meshing of two cultures so different, with such different beliefs didn't seem possible, but to you, it just seemed right. Your white dress sparkled like the stars in certain lighting — your father made sure he spared no expense, for his only daughter had stained red with your union. The blood had seeped into the fabric and turned a murky red-brown colour, which you could not salvage, but you did not care. The Valyrian traditions so strange, so otherworldly to you were something which you now partook in. The Godswood you had prayed to did not cross your mind, instead you thought to the gods of old Valyria, how the once prosperous city had crumbled and how you would not allow your own marriage to do so. Compromise was needed, and you would more than compromise for Aemond, to feel his touch upon you, to feel his warmth.

However, it felt good, it felt good to finally be as one, to have each other, to finally feel wanted. The corset was slowly becoming looser as Aemond's not so skilled hands helped you out of the dress. You had not once felt insecure in his presence but being so bare before your husband had left you feeling a certain way. Never once had you been before a man and you were scared. Scared you'd feel judged, scared that you would not be enough for him.

"We don't need to..." Aemond hadn't found the right words yet but you knew what his intention was.

"Do you not want to?"

"I want you, badly. I fear you are not ready yet, and I would not like to put you in the position where you could come to resent me."

"I doubt I could ever resent you... But I would like to take it slowly, to see where the night leads us, if we do or... do not, it is our decision and nobody shall take it away from us."

so i didn't actually use the vows in the show but i feel like pledging yourself and your own words instead of a priest works out well? i also researched this a bit and apparently you don't actually need a priest? just somebody who knows how to do the ceremony. i also used a valyrian translator so if anything in the language feels... off please tell me. thank u for reading this fic! again feedback would be appreciated but u don't need to give it, the next instalment will be posted in exactly a week (wed, 15th)! cross posted on ao3 under the name hedonism! this fic was reformatted on 7th april 2023

[purrincess-chat]

For the writers truth or dare ask: 🌿❄️🍄

Give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

So, this is something I've actually been dealing with a lot over the past year. Some of it is out of my control, but the other side is just a general lack of motivation. Here are a few tips I've found that are helpful for me:

First, identify where your block is coming from. Is it because a scene isn't working and you don't know how to fix it? Is it because you don't know what to do next in the story? Is something else in your life stressing you out? Do you suffer from a mental illness that may be making you feel disconnected? Once you recognize what kind of block you're facing, you can find ways to overcome it.

The way you handle your block is going to depend on what kind of block it is. For me, I've been dealing with a lot of outside stress in my personal life that doesn't usually leave me with much mental energy to devote to writing or even some of my other hobbies. In cases like that, I've found it's best to be patient and kind to yourself. I've been working on managing my stress and taking breaks to fight the burn out. If this is the case for you, I can tell you it's sadly a slow process depending on your circumstances. Be kind to yourself, write when you can, and don't beat yourself up if you are struggling, it will only make it worse. Try to rebuild a habit of writing. Maybe set aside a certain time every day or every other day to write, even if you can only manage a few words. Building a habit will help you get back into the swing of things. If your daily life is too hectic to allow for that, then put the writing down and take care of your business. Sometimes things are just more important than writing, and you shouldn't feel guilty for putting aside a hobby. Life is hard. You'll get there.

If your struggle comes from being stuck on a particular scene, I have a couple of remedies that usually work for me. One way is to skip ahead and bridge the gap later, so for me if a conversation between characters isn't going how I want, or what happens more to me is filling in exposition between conversations, I might skip ahead to the next portion of the scene or chapter that I can clearly picture in my head and work on that for a while. Often times I find when I go back to bridge the two sections later, it's a lot easier seeing where exactly I need to end up, and I can usually fix the problem with a sentence or two that was previously tripping me up. The second option that I also sometimes run into is if I follow a particular thread and find out it's a dead end or just not flowing how I want, I might cut a chunk of the most recent bits I've written. Sometimes I delete it, other times I just cut it and paste it either further down on the same doc or by itself onto a blank doc. That way if I decide I want to keep it or add it back later, it's not totally gone, but sometimes going back and rewriting a particular bit that isn't quite working how I want gives me a fresh start to try something else. Writing sometimes is throwing things at a wall until something sticks. It's okay to delete something you've already written or cut it. In fact, oftentimes it's needed. It can be frustrating when you realize something you've spent a lot of time on just isn't working, and you have to cut it, but in the end, if it will fix the issue, it's unfortunately time to swallow your pride and just cut it.

On the other hand, if your block is coming from just not knowing what to do next in the story, I have a few options to re-spark inspiration. First, I recommend rereading over what you've written. Get a sense for what you already have on the page or in your notes. Next, revisit the source material you're writing from if you're writing fic. Sometimes I find that putting myself back into that world helps me put myself back into the characters heads, and sometimes getting a renewed sense for who the characters are and what drives them can help me figure out how they would react in a given situation or what choices they might make. Third, ask yourself what your end goal is, then work on figuring out what you need to get your characters or plot there. I know a lot of people don't like outlining, but if you find yourself running into this issue a lot, it might be worthwhile to figure out a system that works for you. I utilize a number of different kinds of outlines when I write. I usually start with a bare bones outline and summarize each chapter in a sentence or two. What is the main focus of each chapter? After that I work on a more detailed outline and fill in the blanks, focusing on what I want for each character throughout the story. What challenges will they face, what lessons do they need to learn, what flaws are they going to overcome, and how are they going to grow? Once I know that, I work on putting them in situations that will accomplish that. Sometimes, when you're making things up as you go with no real plan, it can be easy to write yourself into a corner. Planning a little bit ahead of time can help you see where you're going and hopefully avoid pitfalls. If you've already fallen into a pitfall, I'd recommend advice I gave earlier and go back to the point where things went wrong and cut the parts that aren't working and try a new approach. Writing takes patience, and you don't always get it right the first time. That's perfectly fine, just keep trying.

Some other remedies that work for me are taking time to clear my mind and refocus on the story I'm telling. I may go for a walk, or clean my room, or listen to a song that reminds me of the characters/story. I'm not the best example of it, but also sometimes reading other people's work (professional or otherwise) can spark inspiration, or studying the way they tell their story can help you figure out how to tell your story. Also, keep in mind that you're not going to crank out 3k every single day. Sometimes all you can manage is 500 words or even one sentence. That's fine. Every day is different. Just keep going. It's difficult to give a blanket piece of advice because everyone suffers differently. Hopefully any of this advice was helpful 😅

What's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

Ooo, so it depends. I have a lot of ideas all the time, and I love all of them in different ways for different reasons. I've been dipping my toes into the LoZ fandom lately, particularly the botw/totk side. I've been working on a Zelink fic that picks up right after botw ends and bridges the gap between botw and totk following how they began recovering from the calamity, so right now that is my dream fic, I suppose. I've also been working on my secret project for ML that I'm not quite ready to reveal yet, but it's another Adrinette centric story (surprise, surprise, Cat) where the reveal has happened and they're together, but things aren't as wonderful as they'd hoped. As for who will write them, ehhh me 😅 all of my ideas are things that I would write. But typically if I post about something publicly like in one of my brain dump posts, I don't mind if other people get inspired by the idea and want to write it. 🤷‍♀️

Share a head canon for one of your favorite ships/pairings

I'll give two because my brain lately is oscillating between love square and Zelink.

For the love square, I headcanon that Adrien would be the dad that wants to take his kids to do everything that he couldn't do as a kid, and Marinette has to reel them back in bc I don't care if it's fun for you, you can't take our five year old skydiving. Let's just go to Disneyland 🤦‍♀️

For Zelink, I headcanon that post botw, pre totk when Zelda is a teacher at the school in Hateno, that Link often brings her a picnic lunch, and they sit outside under a tree in the school yard and eat his cooking while talking about their day. I also hc that Zelda would absolutely rope him into teaching PE to the kids.

[dandylovesturtles]

Okay, not sure if this but is under 500 words or not, but it’s probably my favorite snippet in the whole fic and maybe even all the rottmnt fics I’ve read. It’s just so good!

Awww, thanks so much! I'm still really happy with how this scene (and this entire sequence) turned out.

I end up spoiling the fic a bit in this so don't venture into the read more if you're a new reader and don't want spoilers.

Leo stayed on the ground, waiting for a hand to be offered to him. He didn't want to admit it, but his legs felt like liquid. The help would be appreciated.

Since Leo is out of his body, everything he feels is psychosomatic. But of course your brain controls everything about how you experience the world, so does not having a body really matter? It was important to me that while Leo experiences some physical benefits from not having a body (not getting tired, not feeling thirst or hunger, etc), he also experiences the physical effects of stress and dissociation and all the other mental illness he's currently experiencing. Poor guy.

No one extended a hand to him. Rejection twisted hot in his gut, burning him inside out.

This whole sequence, really from the moment he gets separated from Mikey, kicks off the "Raph arc" of the story (intermingled with closing out the "Mikey arc", as it were), and I turned the idea of Leo wanting someone to extend a hand to help him as a running theme for this arc (which is... maybe not the most cohesive since Raph doesn't get touch, but Raph is also his big brother and no matter who is in the leader spot, Raph will always be the person Leo most looks to for help when he's in trouble). I bring this line back in chapter 8 when the two of them talk out their feelings and Raph extends the metaphorical "hand" to Leo, and Raph keeps doing that for the rest of the fic, pulling Leo out of his dark thoughts whenever he sinks a little too deep and being ready to help him however he can.

"There you go, Leo," said Mikey softly. "Take a second."

Mikey ends up doing a lot of the caretaking of Leo in this fic, especially in the first part, because he can actually see Leo and can see how badly all of this is affecting him, even as Leo tries to act strong for them. Leo is Mikey's big brother, and he doesn't exactly love being this vulnerable in front of Mikey, but he doesn't have much of a choice. And Mikey is doing such a good job. Isn't it fine to swap roles now and then?

He looked at Mikey, then opened his arms for a hug. He'd write it off as being for Mikey later, because he looked upset. But he needed to grab something. He needed to know this was real.

Mikey's eyes brimmed with tears. "Leo," he said, and his voice trembled on his name. "Oh, Leo..."

He didn't hug him, and Leo felt the sting of it under his skin. His arms fell.

Ah, the part everyone yelled at me about.

This is actually the moment I got the idea for that inspired basically this entire section, from Mikey getting yanked off the tank all the way through this dissociative episode. In my interpretation of Leo, he doesn't ask for things very often, especially things like affection or comfort. Sure, he'll encourage them to chant for him or call him their champion or whatever, but this is different - it's a lot more vulnerable. To be fair, though, Leo doesn't usually have to ask; we see in the show that he's pretty touchy with his brothers and clearly feels like there isn't much of a boundary there when it comes to touch, and Raph and Mikey especially give hugs easily, so he doesn't really have to do much when he's feeling low to get affection. And the thing about asking is that you can be told no, and rejection when he really needs something is devastating. So if he's going to ask for something like a hug or some other kind of affection/comfort, it means he really really needs it and can't just wait around for it to be offered to him.

And Mikey would definitely know that. Poor Mikey isn't rejecting him on purpose, of course, he couldn't hug Leo if he wanted to (and he very much wants to!). He knows that rejecting Leo when Leo is being this upfront about his needs is something that will really hurt him, but he can't do anything to help.

No one is happy here, that's for sure!

(Well, except maybe me, the person who wrote it. See, the benefit of being the author is that I can write this scene while I also have the ending in my head so I don't have to be sad about it. ^^ )

"What happened?" asked Donnie.

"Nothing. Leo just..." Mikey sniffed. "We need to get him back in his body."

Mikey was trying not to embarrass Leo here, because Leo probably would get a little embarrassed by Mikey telling them he's asking for hugs, and besides, if he said that was what Leo was doing then Leo would have to be rejected two more times. So he's trying to help!

But maybe if he'd answered this question, Donnie would have gotten his act together a little faster later haha.

Everybody's doing their best but sometimes your best doesn't fix it. :c

Thanks for the ask!

[horns-the-demon]

hiiii bestie hope ure well!!!! out of pure curiosity, when will we get an update on 'use me use me'? no pressure just curious. lots of love <333

Hello!!!

First of all, my bad for being radio silent for so long. I’ve been posting progress updates on my Twitter, but now I’m realizing that mayhaps doing that on a private account is not the move 💀 I might need to cross post that here lol

Anyhow, I’m honestly not sure???? I’m really aiming to get it out in the next week or two, ideally before Ramadan ends because I have a couple of friends that are fasting rn and I’d like them to have a new chapter to come back from. Also because I updated last before Ramadan started and it would be pretty embarrassing for an entire monthlong holy period to go by without me being able to update my damn fan fiction once LMAO

Currently, Chapter Three is at about 12k words. I didn’t mean for it to get so long, but then interactions happened and Mika got screen time, and Lewis and Nico appeared and then Nico wanted a turn at being a POV character and it’s still like six thirty in the morning on the day after Chapter Two takes place. I think if I’m going to get it out in any sort of a reasonable timeframe, I’m going to have to up the chapter count, which I didn’t want to do, but the more I look at the document the more I realize this is the only way I can avoid putting out like a 50k word chapter.

Hopefully the back half of this chapter should be faster, though. There were a couple sections I found tough to write, and I decided to deal with the resultant writers block like a total dumbass (starting another WIP that’s now at 11k words, but that I don’t know if I want to post until the first fic in the free use verse is done). Luckily I have great friends who help me through writers block and also some painkillers because I accidentally bodied my thumbnail a little while ago which send my typing speed to the shadow realm.

Anyways, my bad for the long response as well 🤠 thank you for reading and enjoying the fic, and for reaching out!! Hopefully the update should be out in a week or two, but maybe less if I go sicko mode.

[greetings-humans]

this has already been said a million times but ig some people never got the memo so here I am.

when a fic updates and it's been a while (be that a month, a semester, a year, multiple years, a fucking decade or maybe several of those) YOU DON'T SUDDENLY GET A FREE PASS TO BE AN ASSHOLE TO THE AUTHOR

some things for your consideration:

the fic author is not paid for this creative effort and also needs to spend time actually supporting themselves financial

the fic author is not a robot that cranks out creative material. breaks are needed, sometimes people leave fandoms and come back much later. it is human and it is natural. some people can't completely obsess over one single fic consistently and also write stuff for it, and thus cannot consistently give you chapters. sometimes, "consistently" also means not as soon as you'd like. please find your brain from the lost and found and realize that if someone is updating and has not abandoned their fic, that is an absolute win and definitely not a given

the fic author is a human being that just so might wanna engage in hobbies and relationships (platonic and/or romantic), which takes time

you should keep in mind that it takes a lot of fucking brainpower to have an idea, like the idea, decide to write the idea, find the time to write the idea, find the inspiration to continue said idea, ACTUALLY FUCKING WRITE THE IDEA, and find it in yourself to publish it

you are entitled to nothing. actually, since I'm a nice, empathetic person, I'll ammend that. the only thing you might be entitled to is an edit at the tags saying 'fyi next chapter is gonna take a while'. you deserve no explanation. I deserve no explanation. if the author comes back after years to update I will go to the comments and tell them how surprised and happy I am and then talk about the fic. be a bit more like that please

if you don't like the updating frequency, consider DOING IT YOUR FUCKING SELF (and talking about it with the fic author if you got inspired by said fic, and definitely giving credit).

if you don't like the updating frequency, consider NOT READING OR COMMENTING ON THE FIC or just maybe READING A DIFFERENT FIC (don't like don't read is always in effect babes, this is fanfiction, if i started saying shit under every fic with a premise that made me grimace I'd have made so many people and myself so upset)

this is not one of those cases where you can make it other people's problem. the author has every right to take as much time as they fucking want. I don't see you writing this exact fic in their exact circumstances, so kindly shut up

okay, for real, though. you can't know. the author could be going through anything, including but not limited to childbirth, divorce, grief, mental health issues, physical health issues, schoolwork (not everyone is an academic genius samantha, let people take their time), friendship/romance drama. they could also, fyi, just wanna take a break. nothing wrong with that. it's actually the recommended course of action to avoid burnout in case you hadn't heard. literally who do you think you are to take an issue with that? their fucking publisher? do you have a deadline to meet harold? is your pay based on this? what was that? no? okay cool then shut it.

how fucking dare you complain about how fast a literal human being with an entire life outside of fanfiction can write literally so many words about something new.

btw this is what inspired all of this

one of my favorite fics updated after... well three months maybe? and I spot this in the comment section as I go to drop my own comment. literally how dare you. do you understand how discouraging and infuriating it is to see some random person say this about your brainchild?? im glad you're liking the fic berryl but if you have an issue with the time between updates, keep it to yourself, read another fic, or write your own fic.

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-Fi prompt from Uncharted_Constellations:

I don't know enough about econ to ask about econ, but maybe a tip on how to actually start writing a story instead of just over-planning it? love your stuff!

So, I've been putting this one off for... significantly longer than I should have, because it's so much more subjective, and because I've been having so much trouble with my writing recently.

But let's give it a go.

Write some bullshit to start with. Frequently, I don't start with a real 'hook' of a sentence. I start with nonsense that could go anywhere, just to get something down on the page. "This is how it starts" or "[character] is [X], but not [Y]" does a lot of legwork for me. If I kick off with a basic opening that guides me to define the setting or problem in a prose manner before I start engaging in actual narrative, it lets me get the ball rolling with getting any words down at all. Often, it's enough to put me in the right mental space in terms of tone and style. Sometimes, repetition or parallels get you rolling. Whether you keep this section or not is up to you, as you can come back to it to fill it out later, but I find that writing something down is more effective for me than just skipping to a scene I want to write more. - Big Damn Kiss is an example of a fic where I kept this opening structure, by setting character ages and inciting incident in mirrored phrasing - Rex and Anakin Raise a Family is one where I use "the beginning of the end is this" four times in sequence to establish the premise - Imperial Consort Rex Skywalker shortens that process further, by using a numbered, step-by-step format to skip to the 'good part.' - Fake Spontaneous Training Bond is the three POVs of the first chapter, each established with a short paragraph headed by "it starts like this"

Alternately, I get a lot of mileage out of "When [character] [verb and setting, possibly age], they [action, emotion, or reaction to premise]." In fanfiction, you can usually use a character's age or location to shorthand a lot of information that lets the reader settle in quickly. if I start with "When Ahsoka is nineteen, she falls into the past," the reader immediately knows the main character, her age, what work she was doing, how much trauma she's been through, who she cares about, and what the premise is. If you're lucky, that's all you need to start, and you can always come back and change it later.

The next option for starting a fic I'm having trouble with is in media res. You can just... skip the setup. You might have to go back and add it in later, but it's frequently superfluous. You probably aren't writing television for twelve-year-olds, so you don't need to have missions assigned and explained on screen. Unless you're writing a fic that focuses heavily on politics and the ramifications of military actions, which TCW actually was, in a way meant for children... you can just start already there. Sometimes I try to pump myself up to write establishing facts and setting and Why The Characters Do This, and then I realize I don't need to. Why are Anakin and Obi-Wan exploring a Sith Temple? Because that's the shit that happens to them. Don't need an opening scene where they meet with the Council, have the mission assigned, and ask for details. You just open with someone hacking away at the foliage to get at a door and drop a line about how they aren't seeing signs of Ventress or something to handwave why they were sent here.

Get yourself a cheerleader. I have a few friends (these days, usually @firebirdeternal, @atagotiak, and @jebiknights) that I send things to as I go. I generally screenshot to send (none of them have particularly severe visual impairments, so it's easier on me in regards to maintaining formatting; discord eats italics), so the chunks are a few hundred words at a time. They do some beta-ing, too, but it's mostly just me going "is this still good?" and mostly getting 'Heck yeah, I like [X]" about individual bits.

This is a bit mean, but find a story with similar tropes and characters (not hyper-specifically, but if you're writing an Obi-Wan time-travel fic, there are tons to look at)... which is not your style at all. With a ship you hate or a characterization you disagree with or a plot progression you find illogical. Find something that gets your back up so you are fueled by the spite of "I could do this better." I don't actually do this on purpose, but the sheer fury of "She would not fucking do that" has propelled me through many a one-shot.

Playlists can help, depending on the fic and how you personally respond to music as a driving force. If you find the right song/album, you can railroad your brain into thinking about a premise or scene so hard that you have to get it out of your head to stop going over the same three moments from occupying your mental replay button.

I can't help with 'how do I finish' though. I only have like... two complete fics over 100k.

(Prompt me on ko-fi!)

[dangerously-human]

Surrendered and upped the word count for the Dune twins fic to 15k, although the fact that I'm currently guessing at 15 chapters (5 per arc) makes me think that 20k might be more accurate. I'm at 8.5k currently, and when I look at the number of sections still labeled "To Do" in Scrivener... Yikes. I probably wouldn't've started this if I realized at the time how much I was committing to, but honestly, to get through this much in two months is pretty impressive for me. It's possible I can handle these more ambitious projects better than I think, that my pace is more at a percentage of the overall story than by word count alone. Also started a smaller Dune thing that might be a double drabble, or maybe I won't enforce any structure on it at all, I haven't decided yet.

As for My Heart Walked into the World, that's going surprisingly well! I think I've got about 2/3 or so drafted, and I'm feeling pretty good about my 8k estimate. It needs a good bit of rewriting, especially for voice in some spots (getting back to my TEG reread should help), but the bulk of the story exists already. The nice thing about that is I might be able to post rather quickly, or at least on some semi-regular basis, once I start. Which is certainly my preference, when it's possible.

Sometime in the next week, I want to shift my focus to Sparktober things. I've done a good bit of brainstorming, even started one project, but I'm feeling kind of stuck on another. Maybe I'll make SGA my next lunchtime watch, now that I'm almost done with The Bear, just to get myself back in the seasonal spirit. 😉

Sheesh, I get a lot of writing done when I have an easy semester, don't I? I wonder if that'll still happen when I'm done with grad school altogether.

[melodygatesauthor]

Hi again bb, hope it's okay to send more than one ask in for your celebration. It's not on the list (so feel free to ignore this if you want) but I was just wondering how the writing for your original novel is going? What does your writing process look like? Is it the same as when you write fic or is it different? Just curious, thought maybe since it was writing related it might be something you could talk about lol. If not, that's okay, no worries 🥰 love youuuu 💖

Yes it's more than okay of course!

It's like you know me, and know how much I love having a stage to talk about my writing on hahahaha. I'll answer below the cut...

So the first part of the question, "how's it going", it's going okay. I've started it. I have the first few pages done but I started writing it before I had decided to make it an original fiction so I need to go back, change some names and whatnot.

I also keep coming up with new ideas for it all the time which is both great, and frustrating because in order to set up some major plot points, I need to start building the suspense from book one and it means rearranging thoughts and rewriting scenes and making sure there's continuity throughout.

----

My personal writing process is similar for both novel-length fanfictions, and my original fiction novel I'm working on. I always have 2 docs in google docs for the novel. One doc is the novel itself, and the other doc is where I take notes. I'll also break this up into sections.

Character Names/Locations - I'll also include a tidbit about who the character is, relation to the main character/reader, if it's a place I'll put what that place is/its importance to the story, e.t.c. - I'll also put like birth dates or ages for characters in this place too.

Timeline - This is for fics that are spanning over a significant amount of time, or fics that I want to ensure last a while. Sometimes I have a tendency to want to rush getting the reader or m/c together too quickly, this helps me pace it. Plus if I go back to reference WHEN something happened, this is a good place to do it. - Further, it's where I keep track of WHERE a character is during a given time period. That way when a character says, "don't you remember what you told me three weeks ago when we were on Jakku?" I can confirm easily that they were indeed on Jakku three weeks ago without having to scour through the fic for hours trying to confirm this. I would consider it a "living timeline", meaning, I work on it as I write the story, not the other way around.

Outline - My outlines are often loose ideas of what I intend to do in a fic. As I've been working on the novel, I'm spending A LOT more time working on this part. I try not to get myself bogged down with this piece of the process, because if I do, I won't actually write the book. That being said, having a basic idea of where your book is going and how many chapters/words it might have is very important (in my opinion). So for Lock & Key, I have 3.5k words in notes I've taken. I'm sorting through them, deciding what's happening when, and creating an outline based on that.

I hope that all makes sense, there's a lot there, but if I don't do all of that then my novels would be all over the place with no rhyme or reason as to what's going on or when. I did it with A Bit Dodgy, Yes Master, One Hell of a Pilot, By Your Side, Just You, and The Recruit and the Hunter, and I'll do it with this one too lol.

Melody's 2k Celebration Masterlist

[prince-of-elsinore]

4 povs fic!!

Ok! So that is my languishing MASH wip. It's post-canon, a couple years after the war, and the main pairing is beejhawk of the mutual-pining type (although there is a surprise other past pairing as well). 4 povs is because I planned one chapter each from the perspective of BJ, Peg (BJ's wife), Hawkeye, and Daniel (Hawkeye's dad). (So far only BJ's and Peg's sections are complete.) It takes place over the course of one evening, night, and morning full of revelations and reminiscences that cause the characters to reevaluate their relationships.

I got the idea for the fic after watching a production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and seeing a lot of parallels between Brick, the closeted husband, and BJ. I wanted to write a confrontation like the one between Big Daddy and Brick, where Big Daddy makes (surprisingly nonjudgmental) insinuations about Brick's relationship with his late best friend. Brick is torn apart by the accusation and tries to deny it:

BRICK: Normal? No!–It was too rare to be normal, any true thing between two people is too rare to be normal. Oh, once in a while he put his hand on my shoulder or I’d put mine on his, oh, maybe even, when we were touring the country in pro-football an’ shared hotel-rooms we’d reach across the space between the two beds and shake hands to say goodnight, yeah, one or two times we– BIG DADDY: Brick, nobody thinks that that’s not normal! BRICK: Well, they’re mistaken, it was! It was a pure an’ true thing an’ that’s not normal.

I mean! Is that not so very BJ and Hawkeye?? Anyway, that gave rise to a fic where BJ has been trying, like Brick, to numb the pain of a sexless marriage and separation from Hawkeye with alcohol. BJ's parents are over for dinner, BJ gets quite drunk, and everything unravels:

****preview****

B.J.’s mouth opens. He closes it. “You seem to know more about my marriage than I’ve told you.” He looks at Peg, whose hand is shielding her eyes in mortification.

“For God’s sake, B.J.!” his father goes on. “You’re a civilian now. Your place is with your wife and child.”

“Who said it’s not?” he says petulantly. He feels ambushed and contrary.

“You need to believe it with your heart.”

“Trust me, I’m not secretly yearning for the rats and fleas of Uijeongbu,” he sneers.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Well, what are you talking about then? I’m on tenterhooks, Dad.” Anger prickles at his skin, pounds in his skull. He needs to reel it back or he won’t be able to stop. But it feels so good to open the valves. It’s been festering too long. This dark, hot thing, this fury, at all of them, expecting him to slip back into the life he had before the war as if he could possibly fit, as if the very shape of him hasn’t changed. They don’t care about who he is, who he’s become. They want the old B.J. back. Get in line, he thinks. The only person not clamoring for that old B.J., good ol’ good tempered get-along B.J., is on the other side of the country. And B.J.’s managed to drive even him away.

“All right, then.” His father’s face is deadly serious. Suddenly B.J. second guesses his challenge. “What happens in war, between soldiers…that’s foxhole comfort. You wouldn’t be the first man to need it, and you won’t be the last. But it’s time to wake up. You’re not in the foxhole anymore.”

B.J.’s mouth opens. He drops his gaze to his fork. He wonders how much he’d have to drink before he could stab it into his hand and not feel a thing.

“You think I’m a queer.” It slips from his brain to his mouth before he can stop it.

Peg makes a small noise. Bea’s hand jumps to the small silver cross around her neck. Even his father has the decency to look chagrined.

B.J. is as shocked as them. It’s not a word he uses. It’s a medical condition, and B.J. is a man of medicine. He prides himself on his tolerance, his willingness to treat anyone who comes to him for help. He knows homosexuals exist, and he’s never been fussed about it. He’s sympathetic, even—everyone’s got their own burden to carry in this life. But that’s not his burden.

“I didn’t say that,” says Jay cautiously. “One indiscretion—”

B.J. barks an ugly laugh. “You think, Hawkeye and I—you think we—indiscretion—”

“Now, calm down, son—”

“Who put that idea in your head?” B.J. glares at his father. Even as the words leave him he knows the answer. He turns to his wife. She won’t look at him. “Peg?” he asks. The numb unreality of the situation is draining away, leaving nothing but the anger. “You think I’m a queer?”

Peg closes her eyes. “B.J.,” she whispers. “I don’t want to have this conversation in front of your parents—”

B.J. is slamming his fork down on the table before he’s conscious of the urge to do it. He shoves his chair back and stands. If he stays in this room he’s going to lose it. He steps towards the hallway.

“So you deny it?” his father booms behind him. “If you’re not a—a queer—give me one good reason to believe you!”

That word, from his father’s lips, cuts through B.J. like a scalpel. He spins around. “Nothing happened between me and Hawkeye! Nothing!” The windowpanes ring with the force of his denial. “You don’t know the first thing about me and Hawkeye! How could you? You weren’t there! You don’t know what it was like! Living the way we did. If you can call it that. It wasn’t life. It wasn’t anything. And the only reason I’m still here is because of him.” His throat is torn raw but he keeps going. “And you think—just because two men—love each other, and need each other—? You’re the one who’s sick!”

His father regards him from behind the fortress of his wizened face. “Then why haven’t you slept with your wife in a year?”

The calm accusation, the certainty behind it, knocks the wind from B.J.’s lungs. He clutches the back of his chair for support. He wants to scream, stamp his feet like a child in the face of his father’s implacable will. His father won’t back down, not till B.J. bends or breaks entirely. And in front of his mother. In front of his wife. He’s never felt so humiliated and small.

“B.J.,” Peg ventures. As if speaking to a spooked horse. “Let’s finish this conversation later—”

“You told them I was a queer.” It rips from his chest in a vicious whisper.

“B.J., please—”

“You told them I was a queer!” It’s not a whisper anymore. It’s a howl. “You told them I was a queer!” He bends double over his chair.

Peg is crying. B.J.’s vision blurs and he realizes he is, too. But he can’t stop and he can’t hold back. “You told them I—you—you told them—you told them,” he wails. “You told them…”

He hears himself. He knows how it sounds. He doesn’t have the strength to deny it.

****end preview****

Thanks so much for the ask!

[hazy-hazel-fics]

My fanfic writing process!!! yippee!!!

Step 1: getting my idea. First off, I need the very basic idea of what I want to write. Sometimes it's just a vibe. What fandom am I writing for? What characters are involved? Is it a crackfic or angsty as hell? Is romance involved? Are they in a different setting than canon?

Step 2: planning. I don't like this one a whole lot, mostly because I never know if I'm doing it right. However, the way I do it is I basically come up with a few basic plot points and decide the order that they should happen in. I also try to keep it appropriate to the setting and especially the characters. Sometimes I kinda skip this part, which in hindsight, never turns out good. The part I like most about this is that it's usually where I design my characters! I like drawing, so getting to sketch out how my characters look so that I can describe them or draw them better is nice.

(there's 4 more steps and explanations below the cut! it's just there so that it's shorter if anyone's scrolling)

Step 3: writing. I try to split my base writing into chunks. First, I start everything on paper! I write down a chapter 1, and try to extend it to part of the second chapter as my first section. I then make my next section finishing the second chapter and starting the third, and so on. As my first draft, it usually has a lot of placeholders where I just say [thing that he grabs the hairbrush out of] or something along those lines, and I don't care too much about my writing seeming bland.

Step 4: editing. As I just mentioned, I tend to section things out, albeit loosely. This part is where I grab a red pen and start to fill in the placeholders and fix any grammatical errors. I also tend to replace words and sentences and make them better, at least in my eyes. I do this by section about twice, meaning that I finish writing my first section, and then later on I do the first corrections, and then the next day or after a nap I do the second corrections. Once I'm done, I start writing the next section, and then I edit that, and the cycle repeats!

Step 5: importing. The next step is to import it somewhere that I can check my word count, edit it, and format it right. I usually use Google Docs because it's easiest. First, to avoid that weird double spacing with AO3 when copy pasting, I make it so that it's single and has a space after each paragraph, which shows me how it'd look in AO3 (image below).

I import it from paper by just manually typing everything out besides the fact that things were corrected. The next day or just a few hours later, I go into suggesting mode (another image below) which basically means that any edits I make will not be permanent, and I can come back later and decide whether or not I want to use the edits. I do this and re-read until I think that my story is silly enough.

Final/6th step: PUBLISHING!!!! Yep, this is the last step, and probably the most nerve-wracking for me. I open up AO3, make a new work, and then I have to decide the tags (probably the hardest part for me; feels like there's too many to chose from or there isn't something as oddly specific as I need it to be), decide the ratings, write notes for the first chapter... and write a summary. I don't like writing summaries, but I try to keep it short and sweet, and I try not to spoil too much. Maybe 1-3 sentences, and then an author's note that's usually the same length or shorter. I re-read everything I've written, make minor changes, add or remove tags that don't seem necessary, usually mention that tags will be removed and added as necessary... Then, my cursor hovers over the button to publish it... and I haven't gotten past that yet! At some point, though, I'll actually publish a fic rather than letting it sit in google docs and in the drafts until deletion.

So sorry for the very long tutorial! I hope you have a nice day :)