#but i've had this sitting unfinished in my drafts since may so

[lunacias]

but I swear, when I'm ready I'll fly us out of here

[maple-the-awesome]

Twilight's Calling ||

Pairing: Twilight x GN! Reader

Words: 2,544

Requested by anonymous: Heeey. First of I love your writing style! It’s just amazing! Cause twilight is my fav. could you maybe write something like xreader with him, for example they’re in a battle or smth? Only if it’s okay ofc! Thanks a lot and have a good day and week! best wishes :) Twilight may or may not be my favorite Link, too (TP was the first game I finished, so I'm a little bias, okay?). I've had this draft lying around unfinished for awhile, so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to finish it. Here you go, hun 💜

Zelda Masterlist 🤎Fandom Masterlist

It's getting pretty late. 'Late' as in the sun has long set and the last time you saw any of the boys was about an hour ago when Time finally managed to herd the remaining stragglers out of the room, although he was being a bit hypocritical seeing as he still lingered in the doorway for a good minute himself afterwards (not that you dared comment on it).

Since their heavy footsteps had faded into silence - and aside from the innkeeper sometimes shuffling down the hall or a sudden 'pop' of the bedside candle - you've been left entirely alone with your thoughts as they dance on the very edge of sleep, but you refuse to lose balance. It's your shift. You promised to be a good lookout and it took a lot of convincing to even get the position, so you can't disappoint no matter how heavy the weight upon your eyelids or heart is.

You've always been well aware of the risks that would come with this mission and from traveling alongside nine heroes of legend; troublesome young men and boys who can definitely handle themselves in battle, however none immune to making possible mistakes. You expected one to occur at some point, yet never wanted the aftermath to be anything too serious.

Wild getting a decent scar on his forehead was a scare when it initially happened, but he was back on his feet within the hour - less than that actually, because if you remember correctly, his quick recovery had been controversial and resulted in quite a bit of bickering. The bottom line is that Wild bounced back with little to no trouble thanks in part to his thick skull. This is different. Twilight has yet to follow his protege's example and it's been hours.

You must admit you underestimated the situation at first due to a lack of context. It's not to say you didn't care about Wolfie when he got struck, however there's a notable difference between a wild 'pet' that occasionally trails your group and the very man you've grown to secretly admire over the months you've spent traveling together. If you had known then that they are one of the same, you would've likely shared a similar level of panic as the Champion, but instead you were left in the dark until Four finally explained Twilight's secret to you.

Even at that moment, although more worried, you figured everything would be okay. Wolfie or Twilight, a fairy should be able to do the trick to heal the worst of injuries, so one can imagine your heartbreak once learning that, for some odd reason, the state of his wounds haven't changed even under a fairy's sacred touch. That's when you truly became fearful, but you refused to show it outwardly - no more than whatever made itself present on your face, anyway.

Making a fuss won't aid Twilight's condition nor will it calm the concerns of your friends, so instead you had mostly stayed out of the way until Time announced everyone should get some rest. At that point, you made your presence known, quick to shoot your hand into the air while volunteering to take the first shift for watching over Twilight. Champion was the only one to fight you for it and honestly, you still aren't certain how you won the argument, but here you are, sitting quietly at Twilight's bedside while trying desperately to keep yourself from descending into madness as you fret over his well-being.

He's doing somewhat better after Hyrule's magic managed to stop most of the bleeding, however his wound remains deep without any further healing progress and his skin is drained into a pale, sickly color clear even through the dim glow of candle light. He looks like shit and you'd guess he feels like it, too, seeing as his face curls into a pained expression every now and again, a whispered groan leaving him whenever he slightly shifts his body (not that he moves that much).

It's gotten a bit chilly tonight, however all blankets in the room have been laid over him and you refuse to swoop as low as to steal comfort from a dying man, so you simply keep huddled to yourself, half praying the next shift will come sooner and half praying it won't because a stubbornness inside you is somehow convinced that the simple act of you being here will keep himsafe from death's hands.

You don't pay much attention to the quiet groan that comes from the bed, having already bitterly accepted that there's nothing that can ease whatever pain haunts Twilight during his nightmares, although you do lift your head when a hand shakes its way into view, barely able to carry itself to the edge of the covers where it collapses with a broken echo from its owner, "W...What time is it?"

You almost cry simply by the sight of Twilight's dull eyes staring up at you, half-lidded and only appearing bright if compared to the dark bags hiding underneath them, but you manage to hold back the tears for the sake of not scaring him.

"I-I'm not sure. After sunset," You answer slowly as to prevent any wobbling to your voice.

"And the others? Is every - everyone else okay?" Hylia, he sounds awful, his once handsome, accent-laced voice butchered by a hollow croak.

"Yeah...Yeah, we're all okay - and don't worry about the shadow. Wild managed to take it down - thanks to you tiring it out, I'd say. You sure gave that thing a run for its money there," You attempt to joke lamely. Although your laugh doesn't carry much life to it, Twilight's expression does soften a tad after the sound.

"...Good..." Is all he says before closing his eyes with a sigh through his nose. Meanwhile you fidget nervously, debating with yourself on whether you should let the conversation die off so that he can continue getting rest or keep him talking while he's able to. You sure do love hearing his voice, after all, no matter how broken it may be; it reminds you that someone as great as him is actually real and, after recent events, still alive.

In the midst of your depressed thoughts, you notice Twilight reach his hand out towards you again - or at least it looks like he's trying to. Really, he only has the strength to lift it palm-up slightly off the covers, yet you understand this movement's wordless request. Ever so gently, as if he's made of glass, you take his hand and sandwich it between both of yours. He's a bit too cold for your liking, a sharp contrast to his normally warm touch, not that you draw attention to that worrying detail.

"...Is there anything I can get you?"

He tries to shake his head, but loses will halfway through the action and instead chooses to simply let his head lull to the side towards you. From there he stares for a bit longer than he means to, his dazed brain struggling to process his thoughts at its usual speed.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on you," You allow a small smile, slowly reaching forward to help move his bangs away from his face, "We're all taking shifts throughout the night. I was just lucky enough to get the first."

Twilight hums, closing his eyes for a brief second when your fingers brush his forehead, "How'd you manage that?"

"Barely. For a second there, I thought I was gonna have to duel the Champion for it - had my hand on my sword and everything before he finally caved," Twilight makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh which makes your smile more genuine even if he does flinch in pain immediately afterwards, "The real question is how I won against Time...Actually, I wouldn't be that surprised if he's secretly standing outside the door as we speak."

A creak of old floorboards in the hallway makes your eyes dart to the door, almost expecting the man in question to walk in and call you out for your jokes, yet you calm that doesn't happen. Twilight brings your attention back to him by moving his thumb against your hand, "Don't tell 'em, but I'm glad it's you here. I like having ya' here with me..."

You press your lips, hoping it'll help you ignore the heat against your cheeks. That must be the first time Twilight has ever openly said he 'likes' anything related to you; you're certain you'd remember any other instances of such a milestone. It might not be the exact sentence you'd want him to use the word in, but it's a step in the right direction, so you'll take it.

"I like having you here with me, too, Twi...which is why I've officially decided that I'm too selfish to let you die on any of us. I don't care if I have to fist-fight Hylia for it; I'm not letting you get out of this journey so easily."

"That right?"

"I swear it on my life."

He chuckles weakly, although the sound is taken over by a fit of coughing. Promptly you pour a small glass of water using the pitcher kept on the bedside table before gently helping him sit up to take a careful sip.

It's insane for you to think that only a few weeks ago, you had been secretly watching him move hay bales at Time's place effortlessly. Now he lies here in bed struggling to hold a conversation, his muscles shaking horribly by the simply action of prompting himself up even slightly. Seeing him like this makes you feel awful, but you also consider yourself blessed to be the one taking care of him during a low point like this, ensuring that he's properly cared for and tended to almost like a spouse would.

"Seems like I'm starting to lose you, farm boy. You should relax and get some more sleep," He makes a face and seems prepared to argue, however he must not have been able to think of anything convincing to say - that or the aching in his bones has become too hard to ignore. Either way, instead of saying a word, Twilight nods droopily before inching his way back down against his soft pillow while you fix the blankets over him again.

"Look on the bright side: make it through this and you'll probably get special treatment from here on out. Get your bags carried for you, have whatever meals you're craving be made each night...If you hobble around a little I'm sure you could even get Time to fuss over you -"

" - And what about you?" Twilight quizzes and you can't tell if he's being serious or just teasing. It feels like the latter, yet the way he watches you while awaiting your reply makes you feel another way; soft and warm, but a tad anxious at the same time, "What can I get from you?"

You pretend to think, although in truth, you already know there wouldn't be any limitations for what you're willing to give. If he asked for the world right now, you'd figure out some way to gift wrap it for him...but that's too embarrassing to admit aloud, "...Depends on what you're thinking and if you can swing it the right way."

He hums, once again staring at you just long enough to make that anxious feeling really prominent. Is there something on your face that no one told you about earlier? Is he judging your messy hairdo that you had no time to fix since the battle? Did you sound too flirtatious in your answer? Maybe his injury has given him the ability to read minds, so now he knows just how desperate you are to earn his affections!

"...If I asked you to stay with me, would you?" Twilight whispers so quietly that you barely hear, yet you do. 

"I, uh...Time will be here in an hour or so for his shift, but I won't go anywhere until then, okay?" Not even your poor excuse at smiling can save your stumbled words, yet you pray he doesn't look beyond either. He's loopy from such a stressful day, so it makes sense that he's have trouble properly wording questions. It also makes sense for him to be scared to be left alone - anyone would be in such a state. He doesn't have to worry, though; between you and the boys, someone will always be by his side throughout the night. You'd expect that knowledge to be a relief for him, however Twilight only frowns and looks away with a surprisingly depressed look in his eyes. 

Fiddling nervously with your hands upon your lap, you ask carefully, "...Unless you're wanting me to watch over your for the whole night? In that case, I wouldn't mind staying if it would make you feel better. I'm sure the others would be fine with it if they could just check in here and there."

Twilight presses his lips, refusing to look directly at you. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that based on his continued reaction, you're still somehow missing the point of his question, yet no matter how much you rack your brain, you can't think of what else he would've possibly meant.

You were tempted to ask for more clarity, but Twilight speaks before you can, "...I'd like that."

"Yeah?"

He nods bashfully which melts your heart in a way you're sure would be shamefully clear if he were only looking in your direction.

"...Well, since you took one for the team -" Scooting your chair closer to the bed allows you to cross your arms over the mattress and rest your head on top of them. Desperately you try to ignore your nerves and the cute way Twilight curiously looks over at you, "- I'll stay for the night if you promise me one thing."

"Hmm?"

"Stay with me, too? Without you, I might just loose my mind. Don't tell anyone else, but you don't drive me nearly as insane as some of the other boys do," not in the same way at least.

The corner of Twilight's lips turn upwards, his hand taking it's time to move over yours. The second it makes contact, you take the chance to hold onto it, "...Sounds like a deal..."

You match his smile easily, "Get some sleep, Twi. I'll be right here when you wake up, so just focus on getting better for me, alright?"

He hums one last time, drifting off to sleep as commanded where he seems to be far more peaceful than earlier. As promised, you remain by his side until morning, eventually falling victim to quick naps yourself only disrupted whenever someone else sneaks into the room to see how things are going. You're certain you'll be tired tomorrow with an aching back after spending an entire night hunched over, but that's a small price to pay for someone like Twilight. It'll all be worth it to see him recover, granting you even more time to spend by his side through thick and thin.

[frosti-moon]

Hi, are you still doing the WIP thing? If so, I am most interested in the "Find yourself a (check)mate" one.

(⁠  ;∀⁠ ;) AAAAAAA yes I am still doing it!!

The idea for this fic came to me not that long ago so I don't have a lot for it yet? Just the idea and one scene drafted I can show you a bit of! But it would be a one-shot porn-with-plot modern AU fic.

Summary: Hiccup's been in a funk ever since he and Astrid mutually broke up, and even though they're still friends he's just being kiiiinda super pathetic over it. Astrid isn't having any of that and drags his moping ass to go drinking and hopefully hook him up with someone nice. Neither expected Hiccup to end up regularly spending the night playing chess against one very attractive older man who may or may not be flirting with him ;) Featuring Viggo being a cocktease, Hiccup becoming increasingly frustrated trying to beat him, and everybody else being mad at Astrid for causing this all to happen, including Astrid herself.

But aimlessly wandering around in a room full of intoxicated strangers is not how Hiccup prefers to spend his nights. He could've been doing something actually productive! Astrid can say whatever she wants but the very last thing he needs right now is to hook up with-

"Do you play?"

Hiccup startles at the deep voice from behind. As he turns around he locks eyes with the dark-haired man he'd noticed when he'd been walked in. The man draws up an eyebrow and gestures towards the chess board in front of him.

"Er- yeah. Occasionally! I mean, I'm... decent?"

Hiccup's terrible people skills draw no obvious reaction out of the stranger. "Hmm. My opponent unexpectedly had to leave early. Leaving a match unfinished is such a shame, wouldn't you agree?"

"Y-yeah, a real shame."

"Would you humor me and help me finish it?"

Hiccup glances back to the bar, but Astrid has still not returned. After another second of hesitation, he sits down. "Whose turn?"

"Yours."

Hiccup takes in the board as the other man leans back in his chair and leasurely sips from his drink. "I don't think I've seen you around here before." He throws a look Hiccup can't quite read, but which makes his face heat up anyway.

"No, definitely not. I got dragged here by my ex- a friend! Uh, my ex who is now my friend. I mean we were friends before already aaaand I'll just stop talking now!"

[fountainpenguin]

4, 7, and 8

[Current Ask meme]

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

In terms of unpublished works I don't really talk about, I have at least 27 named FOP stories [as in, I'm not counting anything that already has at least one chapter posted and not counting any 130 Prompts]. Not all of them are winners and some are currently being recycled into 130 Prompts. Some I'm looking forward to writing, but am reluctant to start when I have so many other unfinished projects that are public.

Case in point, I have a draft for a 10-chapter AJ-centric fic called Pulling Your Puzzles Apart. It's an AU where Timmy considered A.J. his best friend instead of Chester, so AJ ended up with Norm's lamp and Norm has to go to college with him while AJ scrambles to keep him under control.

I'd like to post this one, but I also want to wrap up Come With May and maybe Pink and Gray before I open a new story. I keep going back and forth, trying to decide if it's better to have lots of projects that I'm having fun with at my own pace or if it's just better to tackle them one at a time.

(More answers under the cut)

I know I had two unfinished Danny Phantom pieces (plus No Anesthetic which did have one chapter up). Lots of Mario world drafts that I'm never satisfied with. Two TUFF Puppy pieces I started but couldn't put a plot together for, at least two Lilo and Stitch stories and some Bunsen Is a Beast pieces I stopped for the same reason.

I keep meaning to go back to that, they were fun. I love "town that sits on a portal to Beast World" and "Official welcome committee boy who has to take charge of the new fuzzy transfer student despite being descended from a guy who used to hunt his kind," it's such a cruel vibe... It was fun, but I felt weird being super dark for such a goofy show.

I have a stack of WordGirl ideas I've been toying with over the years and I'm looking forward to sharing some of those <3 The one I'm posting on Friday is something I've wanted to write for over 10 years so it's very cathartic and I hope people like it as much as I do.

My favorite Lilo and Stitch story was a Jumba backstory with lots of experiments scuttling around his lab. I've perma-shelved it since it has a similar vibe to Origin of the Pixies and I don't have it in me to write something so similar (nor create all the unique experiments), but Slick (020) was always a favorite. Here's my favorite snippet from that story, and I think you can see a lot of Sanderson's personality in how I wrote him (2016 or 2017):

---

“That’s all you are! Big talk, big guts, but puny muscles and punier brains. I mean, you’re programmed to sell stuff. How bright can you be?”

020 plucked 322 up by the scruff and set one hand to his hip. “Aw shucks, that’s real cute and flattering, partner. Now, you’re new here, so I’m gonna cut you a special offer free of extra charge.”

“If it’s anything like the way you cut cheese, count me out of here. If you’re some major room-clearing experiment, you deserve a raise.”

“Name’s 020.” He tipped his hat, and then one of the claws on that hand came down to prod 322 in the bowtie marking. “And I’m Jumba’s number one.”

“Number one what? Back-scratching errand boy?” 322 tipped his voice into a high falsetto. “‘Jumba, I finished all your paperwork. You got mail’.”

I picked up spray bottle and splashed it across back of 020’s head. “Ah-ah! Whoever said you were alpha on block anyway? Please to be giving me 322 now.”

Seething through his teeth, 020 placed 322 in my large palm and crossed his arms.

---

Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

One of my favorite sections of prose is the way Foop speaks about Anti-Sanderson in "You'll Never Know." This story was written with Foop as an incredibly unreliable narrator who dodges questions, is unfaithful with his answers, and skirts around his emotions.

In this story, we hit the 77,777-year anniversary of Anti-Cosmo's mysterious disappearance and Anti-Fairy politics demand Anti-Wanda take a new ruling partner. Anti-Wanda proposes to the Head Anti-Pixie (Anti-Sanderson) and Foop (mentally 11) is dealing with a lot of complicated emotions. He feels abandoned by Anti-Cosmo, fiercely protective towards his mother, cowed into submission by the people who have always see him as reckless, and he struggles with a lot of guilt over the fact that he actually admires Anti-Sanderson.

Two weeks before the wedding, I ask Hap the same question I asked Mother, following it with, "Do you even know which kids are yours?"

He points down at my head with two fingers. "DNA test, sucker!"

"No you can't."

"Oh fudge, you're right. I didn't think this through. Eh, weh, meh." Shrug. "I'll draw straws. Now, where should I put the maps I brought? I also have questions about my wrapping paper collection, but I do not have answers."

"The High Count's office, I suppose."

Hap doesn't move, hands still templed before his chest. "Does anyone else have an opinion?"

The only other person in the room is Klangfar, so no. I lean back on my heels in the air. "Nothing's going to bite you. I store all my junk in there." Hap still twitches, so I shrug. "It hasn't been Father's office in a long time."

"It's still a 'Yikes' from me."

And… that's why I didn't hate my step-father. I could have stopped the wedding. Easily, with just a twist of my hand. But I didn't. Because Hap might have overthrown his own father to seize the Head Anti-Pixie title, but I'd seen him tone down his playful teasing during the points in Council meeting discussions he was most passionate about. When he first showed up at the Blue Castle with a backpack containing his favorite valuables and three anti-pixie kids behind him, I watched from the stairs as he looked around the entry hall, gripping those backpack straps and looking absolutely overwhelmed. It took a few weeks before he could remember how to fly after being deprived of clean magic for so long, and Hap didn't scream or cry every time he got upset. He would chuckle and, sheepish and bruised, ask the next person he saw for a lesson. Something about his laughter stopped my cheeks from burning with secondhand embarrassment. He felt no shame.

"I don't like this," Hiccup murmured.

Hap had skittish feet outside his own territory. I noticed early on that he followed my mother whenever he thought it wasn't weird. His whole presence was weird. He always stood crookedly with wings slightly open in a way that drew attention, but he didn't force himself into the centre of a room. He spoke when he wanted to and didn't when he didn't. For someone who wore bold red and yellow, he could certainly melt into the background when he wanted to. He walked the halls sometimes at night, hands clasped behind his back, and… not a single gram of anxiety shot through me if our paths crossed while I snuck midnight snacks upstairs.

"Take a scoop of vegetables with you," he said the first time he saw me, and I stopped dead.

"What?"

"Veggies," he said, walking right past me. "They're good for you. If you don't eat them tonight, get a lot tomorrow, yeah?"

"You're hardly the boss of me, Head Anti-Pixie."

"You got me there," he laughed. Never stopped. Never tried to push it. I saw the way he coloured pictures with his anti-pixies and listened in while Smoky played piano, offering advice and critiquing the bends of his claws. I saw how he spoke to my mother, keeping a respectful difference and trying not to overstep. I saw him stare some nights at the portraits of Anti-Cosmo on the walls, copying his posture for a few seconds before drawing a cloth from his pocket and wiping a bit of grime from the frame. He didn't try to take those pictures down. I saw him hesitate to seize my father's office, balancing on the heels of his feet. And that's why I don't stop the wedding.

"Can I have this?" I ask Hap three days after his coronation, pointing to a silver wand sheath lying on the High Count's desk. My father's own, if I'm not mistaken. Hap barely glances up from the weird golden bridle he pulled from the closet.

"Sure."

I buckle the sheath on. My ba-ba won't fit, but just wearing it makes me feel more like an adult. "Could I also get a little spending money for a camping trip with my friend Kelsia?"

"Mm, depends. Are you on a healthy diet?"

"Mostly."

"Then you sure can, pudding tin."

"Does pudding even come in tins?"

Hap points two fingers at me. "It does if we make some tonight!"

We do. Me and Smoky and Hap and the three anti-pixie children I keep not learning the names of since they rotate between the Castle and Isle every week. And it's fun. It's a lot of fun.

I fall in my coffin that evening without bothering to unclip the wand sheath, hands folded behind my head and feet kicked in the air. "Ah… Now this is the way a prince should be treated."

"Foop," Hiccup whines.

"What? You know I'm right. A father who respects Mother and gives Smoky and I anything we want is way better than a father who runs off with other lovers behind his family's back. Mother deserved better than him. We all did."

"This isn't fair to Daddy."

"What do you want me to do about that?"

"Are we ever going to tell Mum about the fight?"

"Why should we?"

"I don't know… I just don't like doing this."

I snort. "Nothing's ever good enough for you, Puck. I spent my formative years under so much distress that our mind split apart. All these years later, we're finally getting a normal childhood. For once, can you be happy for us?"

Of course it wouldn't last. Hap disappears five years later. Hiccup has the decency not to say I told you so.

It's not the most melodic prose voice, but I feel like it fits the vibe of "Foop being curious and not as judgmental as he expected to be." I really like the way I showed Anti-Sanderson's awkward adjustment to his new role as High Count (and Foop's temporary step-father). Anti-Sanderson is very unstable (as you'll see in the snippet after this one), and I love touching in on these moments where you see him out of his element, feeling self-conscious.

I love the parallels between how uncomfortable Anti-Sanderson is to be filling Anti-Cosmo's shoes and how Foop feels out of place and "never good enough" for his role as prince. I love how Foop sees beauty and strength where Anti-Sanderson sees his faults. I love this fragile, human side of Anti-Sanderson that shows how he's trying to do his best and find his way in the world.

---

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I wrote the 130 Prompt "Look At That!" in 2016, and it'll still be a bit before we get to the Cavatina arc of the 130 Prompts... This is a spoiler, but it's still a dear favorite of mine. The Cavatina arc has its dark moments but it's a lot of angsty fun. This scene is one of my favorite dialogue exchanges...

“What about your son?”

“What about my son?”

That wasn’t the answer Sanderson had been expecting. “They’re synced up, same as you and me? If my son dies in that fall, yours will go down with him? That’s Anti-Entities 101.”

Anti-Sanderson tapped his right temple as he pushed himself back up to his feet with the leg of the barstool. “There are nine hundred ninety-nine more on the way genetically identical to him. I’ll probably let one of them live. Get yourselves a long running start, team. Draw on that sugar rush. Give it all you’ve got.”

“Wait.”

That small voice belonged to Anti-Cavatina. As before, as soon as someone asked him to, Anti-Sanderson made the signal for his followers to stop what they were doing. Still leaning on his makeshift cane, Anti-Sanderson turned himself around and squatted.

“Come here to talk to Daddy, wrigglepie. Come, come- don’t be shy. Won’t you give your old man a hug?” In slow motion, the little anti-pixie did. His father ruffled his star-blond hair. “Oh, yes, that’s the way you do it. What’s the matter, kiddo?”

“You…” Anti-Cavatina, not removing his arms, shot a puzzled glance in his counterpart’s direction. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him if I got the watch.”

Anti-Sanderson sucked air through his teeth. He nodded two or three times. “Ooh, that’s right. Thaaat’s right. Rats- I knew I was forgetting something. I did promise you that, didn’t I? Well.” Flipping back into a smile, “Change of plans, peachcake. Can’t be helped.”

“But I got the watch!”

“I know you did. You’re my big bwave boy.” Briefly releasing his cane, Anti-Sanderson took his son’s cheeks in both hands and squashed them inward. “And I wuv you so much, yes I do, you’re just adowable, oh yes you are.” He kissed Anti-Cavatina on the forehead, then patted him between the wings and pointed up the street. “Go tell Uncle Anti-Wosencwantz all about it. Daddy’s busy wight now.”

I love Anti-Sanderson as an antagonist because he's absolutely feral. His morals are extremely fluid and you can't even trust him to take care of his own son... I love this scene because I feel like even without context, it still gives off a chilling and villainous vibe. I love how poisonous and dangerous Anti-Sanderson can be. He's horrible but I also find him hilarious... Just a horrid man.

Thanks for your interest!

[Current Ask meme]

[thoushallnotfall]

God Bless the Children of the Beast - Part 14

Previous // Masterlist

Pairing: The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: *shows up 3 months late with a bottle of Jake* So...what's up?

So so so so SO sorry I just dropped of the planet there for months my guys; I swear I've had the first part of this started since like, the beginning of November, and it's just been sitting in my drafts collecting dust.

I went and reread the whole fic in prep for writing this and it was actually really fun? Like, I forgot everything the MC has gone through. (god what a rollercoaster) She and the boys have really been through it huh? They've grown so much; my babies. 🥺 I have felt so bad that this has just been sitting here unfinished; I never wanted to abandon it, and I am determined to finish this even if it kills me! I love this story so much, I have to see it through to the end.

This chapter has a lot of conversations without having dialogue which normally bugs me but it's already such a long chapter and I'm tired. Also, it's purely cheese and fluffy good feelings because I feel like we deserve that don't we? (And I mean y'all have been waiting forever; you deserve something nice.)

Warnings: None

1993

After Heather had kicked him out, Tommy moved into your guest room. He promised it wouldn’t be for long–a few weeks, maybe a month–and then he'd be out. You told him from the beginning he could stay as long as he wanted, but you knew he was ashamed of his current situation. He wanted to get a new house as soon as possible so he could pretend everything was fine. It wasn’t, of course; but the thought of you or anyone else pitying him absolutely killed Tommy, and you knew it.

Tommy was completely broken up about his divorce, and as much as he may be embarrassed about having to crash at someone else’s house, you could tell he also craved the company. If you were both home together–and you usually were–you began to notice Tommy gravitating to whatever part of the house you were in. Even if he was doing his own thing, he just wanted to be around you. You knew he didn’t want to be alone–alone with this thoughts, his feelings; thinking about why he was alone and replaying it all in his head. That’s why you were so insistent that he could stay; you didn’t want him to have to go through this alone.

At first he was adamant about finding a place as soon as possible, but after the first couple weeks he went out looking at houses less. Then, after another few weeks he just stopped looking altogether. You didn’t bring it up–knowing any mention of it would force him to start his search up again, even if that’s not really what he wanted–and the two of you silently acknowledged he would be staying for awhile, which is what you’d wanted from the start.

You knew Tommy enjoyed living with you, and even though it had been over a decade since the two of you had shared a space, you fell back into it with ease. Your house was much bigger than the shabby little apartment you once cohabitated in with the others, but with Tommy always trying to be in your orbit it felt just as close. 

You made a point to try and hang out with him even more than usual; which was easy with him living with you. You would have Nikki and Mick over and the four of you would hang out–the sobriety of the Dr. Feelgood tour was back as the boys worked on their next album, but it was always a good time when you all got together, even without the booze. Then, there were the nights the two of you spend alone. Usually, you’d end up watching a movie or playing Nintendo together, simply enjoying each other's company like you always did. 

Sometimes you would just hang out and talk; you’d talk about the past and how young and stupid you all had been. Then you’d say you couldn’t believe it’d been 12 years since the two of you had met.

You’d been thinking about that a lot since Tommy moved in–it had been 12 years since you’d met him and the others; 12 years since Motley Crue was formed. You’d think about all the shit you’d done, all the things you regretted, all the moments you’d die to relive. You'd wonder where your life would be now if you and Nikki hadn’t met Tommy that night in the diner.

You didn’t want to know where you'd be right now without him.

Tommy always had such a sweet look on his face when he talked about the past with you. It wasn’t like in rehab; when you had to drudge up the shit from your past that you hated and lay it all out in a row for everyone to see. It was softer than that; a gentle nostalgia about your lives together. Yeah, you did some stupid shit, but you did it together.

And so the days turned to weeks, and those past until Tommy had been living with you for nearly four months. You thought he might go through with leaving after the first month; then he got the divorce papers from Heather, and all the work you’d started to help put him back together was undone in an instant. Your heart ached seeing him so miserable, and you knew no matter how long it took you would help him get through this.

And he did improve, with time, and the longer he was with you the more you began to realize you didn’t want him to leave. You knew one day he would have to move out, but whether for his sake or for yours, you hoped that day wouldn’t come any time soon.  

—

December 25th, 1993

You look up at the green suburban home in front of you, with it's festive decorations placed meticulously around the expertly kept lawn, and you felt a sense of panic well up inside you. You knew this would be good for Tommy–and it had sounded like fun at first–but now that you were here you just felt wrong. Like you didn't belong–something that was clearly out of place in a world that was otherwise perfectly organized.

It was an old feeling, one you hadn't experienced in a long, long time; and you wondered why you were suddenly feeling it again now. You had been living in mansions and staying in ritzy hotels for years: suburbia should be nothing to you now. Yet here you were, palms sweating and stomach in knots, feeling like an outcast again for the first time in years.

You thought back to when you were younger; imagining the different world Tommy came from and how you used to think it somehow separated him from you. But now that you were here in person looking up at Tommy's childhood home, you knew it wasn't true–not anymore at least.

You and Tommy may have started out worlds apart, but you grew closer with each day you spent together–every stupid decision, every victory, every mistake, and every heartache along the way–the two of you moved closer and closer with every step you took until you ended up side by side.

He wasn't the sweet, naïve boy you first meet that night 12 years ago, just like you weren't that lonely, jaded girl. You'd both grown and changed–for better and for worse–and you'd done it together. You weren't from two separate worlds now; you'd made your own world, with Nikki, and Mick, and Vince. The five of you carved out a place for yourselves where you could all live together; where you made the rules and no one could judge you.

Maybe that's why you felt so wrong now; you were stepping back into Tommy's old world. This was his life before you–before Motley Crue–and it made you feel like you did when you were a teenager. Before Motley Crue you could never walk into a suburban neighborhood like this without people giving you looks or asking you what your business there was; they might even go so far as to call the cops on you.

But here you were; not a teenager looking to start trouble in suburbia, but an adult, invited for Christmas at your best friend's house–well, his parent's house anyway. Normally, you'd spend Christmas with Nikki and his family, but when Tommy had asked you to come home with him how could you say no? He needed you now, and admittedly when he'd asked you part of you had just really wanted to say yes.

After all, you liked Tommy's parents–the few times you'd met them they'd been so kind to you, always treating you with consideration and warmth, even if you felt like you didn't always deserve it. Then there was the fact that you didn't just invite anyone home with you for the holidays. You knew you were reaching–seeing what you wanted to see–but you were slowly finding it harder and harder to suppress your feelings for Tommy after these months living so close together, and even the little things were starting to look like signs to you.

So when he asked you to come with him all you could think about was how it looked. How this was something couples did: going home to meet the parents over the holidays. It was ridiculous and selfish; you were his best friend, you already knew his parents, it wasn't anything more than Tommy reaching out to you because this was his first Christmas without Heather in nearly seven years and he didn't want to go through it alone.

But still, you couldn't help but wish it was more.

—

You walk up to the house, a pile of presents balanced in your arms. Maybe you had gone a little overboard, but you couldn't help yourself; of course you wanted to get gifts for his parents, how could you not? Tommy looks over at you and laughs.

"Dude, you think you bought enough?" He asks, smirking at you.

"Shut up; you have no room to talk." You say, nodding at his own arms full of presents.

"Yeah, but they're my parents. You didn't have to get them anything." He replies.

"I know, but I wanted to." You say, adjusting the gifts in your arms as you feel your stomach doing somersaults the closer you got to the house.

What if they didn't like the presents? What if they didn't approve of Tommy living with you? What if they wanted him to come home?

You're worries were instantly washed away as soon as you got in the house. Tommy's dad had opened the door for you, and it wasn't even a minute before his mother was on you both; all smiles as she greeted you and told you how happy she was to have you. You could feel your cheeks warm as she doted on you, ushering you in and attempting to take the presents from you. You insist you can carry them, following Tommy into the living room to put them under the tree which was already surrounded by a sea of presents.

"Come on guys, I told you you didn't have to get us anything." Tommy said as he sat down his presents.

"Of course we did; how could we not get you presents on Christmas?" How mom replied, smiling at you both.

"You know your mother Tom; she loves giving presents. Better just to smile and accept them." His dad said, putting his arm around his wife. As you set your own stack of presents down, you saw at least a few presents with your name on them and smiled to yourself. You felt bad that Tommy's parents got you anything, but you couldn't help feeling secretly happy about it too.

"You really didn't have to get me anything." You say quietly.

"We wanted to; we were so happy when Tommy told us you were coming." His mother replied, smiling brightly at you. "Now, why don't we have some lunch? I'm sure you're both hungry from your trip."

She practically pushed the two of you into the dinning room. You sat next to Tommy as his mother dished out a nice, light lunch for all of you. You ate and chatted and any lingering fear about what his parents thought of your current situation was completely dispelled.

"We were so relieved when Tommy told us he was going to be staying with you." His mother says as she looks over at you from across the table. "We knew he'd be alright with you looking after him."

"Aw come on mom, do you have to say things like that?" Tommy groans, clearly embarrassed.

"You're mother's right Tom; with how well she's looked out for you and the band all these years, we couldn't help but feel relieved knowing you were in such good hands." His dad replies.

"Still, you don't have to say it like that." Tommy says, still pouting.

"I hope you've thanked y/n for all she's done for you–you're helping her out aren't you?" His mother asks, raising an eyebrow at her son.

"Ugh, yes mom." Tommy answers, and you can't help but laugh under your breath. You loved watching Tommy interact with his parents; despites being a grown man and an actual rockstar, they still treat him like he's a teenager. Of course, it was all done out of love; but it was still funny.

—

After you spent a little more time talking, the four of you move into the living room to open presents. You hadn't really been quite sure what to get them–you'd never bought anyone's parents presents before, and it's not like you knew them that well–so you tried to play it safe and just buy them practical things, or things Tommy told you they'd like. You got his father some nice tools, some cologne, and a nice watch. You got his mother some books, some nice perfume, and a gold bracelet. They both thanked you profusely, saying of course that you shouldn't have and that the gifts were far too expensive, but you insisted that it was fine. In return they got you a Greek cookbook and a few nice photo albums–both things you had mentioned to Tommy about wanting.

You and Tommy had agreed not to get each other anything this year; neither of you actually needed anything, and if you wanted something either of you could just buy it. Normally you would still have exchanged something, but with Tommy still living with you he was adamant that you not buy him anything; you were already giving him enough by letting him stay with you. You had wanted to protest, but you didn't want to push him either, so you just let it go.

—

You spend more time hanging out with Tommy and his parents, talking and joking and to your joy and amusement looking through photo albums, until it was already time for dinner. You all moved back into the dining room and his mother brought out the large dinner she had been working on. You offered to help, but she wouldn't have it; insisting guests should relax, not helping with the meal.

You did find yourself alone with her after the meal was through. Tommy and his father had gone into the living room, and you stayed behind to help her clean up. She hadn't wanted you to help, but you insisted, and she finally relented. While you were helping her wash dishes, she looked over at you and smiled.

"We are very grateful for how you've looked after Tommy." She says as she hands you a plate to dry.

"Oh, it's no problem; it's actually kind of nice having someone else in the house." You reply sheepishly, playing it off as you dry the plate and put it away.

"Not just these last few months–you've always been such a good friend to Tommy, always looking out for him and helping him. Who knows where he would be now without you." She insists. You feel your face flush as you keep your eyes on your task.

"It's really not that big of a deal–and Tommy's looked out for me too. He's been there for me more than anyone–even more than Nikki at times. I owe him a lot." You reply, glancing over at her. She's smiling warmly at you.

"You care about Tommy very much, don't you?" She made it sound like a statement rather than a question.

"Of course, he's my best friend." You answer. She gives you a knowing look, and you look away again.

"Don't worry; one day he will see what's most important to him." She says, her words were vague but the meaning was obvious to you. You didn't try to deny it; you just kept on drying dishes in silence, Tommy's mother still smiling to herself.

—

You stayed for a little longer until it began to get dark and the two of you decided you'd better leave. His parents gave you both hugs as you left–his mother even giving you a quick kiss on the cheek–before the two of you were back on the road, heading for home.

In the car you listened to the radio and talked about the day. Tommy was grateful you'd come, though he wouldn't say the real reason why. You knew he was ashamed of his divorce even now, and going to his parents without Heather was still hard for him. You didn't mind, and assured him you'd had a good time.

When you get back to LA it's late, but Tommy insists on going to grab some food. You're tired, but agree; somehow hungry even after the large dinner you'd had hours before. Tommy drives pretty far out of the way, and you wonder where he's taking you, until you're on the strip; parked in front of a familiar diner.

"Really Tommy?" You ask with a laugh. "Donny's? You couldn't have stopped at one of the twenty other diners on the way here?"

"Oh come on y/n, you know no one makes pancakes like they do at Donny's." He joked as you two head for the door. You walk in and see the place mostly empty; just a few drunks at the bar, and a young couple over in the corner.

"They're not that great; don't forget I used to work here–I've seen the innerworkings. It's nothing special." You reply, smiling as you take your seat in the once-familiar both, the waitress coming to take your orders soon after.

How many times had you and Nikki come here after shows before you met the others? How many times had the five of you come crawling in drunk after one of Montly Crue's early gigs? How many times had one of them come in to bug you for free food while you were working? You hadn't realized how nostalgic this place was; it had been years since you'd last been here, but it still held so many memories for you and the boys.

You met Tommy in this booth.

"Man, it's crazy how long it's been since we met here, you know?" Tommy was apparently thinking the same thing you were.

"Yeah, hard to believe it's been 12 years." You reply. "We've had a wild ride, huh?"

"Hell yeah we have–you know sometimes I can't believe we actually made it this far." He answers with a smile. "I mean shit; between the five of us I don't know how at least one of us isn't dead or in prison."

"Not for lacking of trying, that's for sure." You joke, and Tommy laughs light-heartedly, before looking back at you quietly. The look in his eyes was one of admiration and affection, and it took you a little off guard.

"You know we never would have made it without you." He says, not a single ounce of sarcasm in his voice. You were taken aback by the sudden sincerity he was showing.

"Oh come on, don't start getting all weird and sentimental on me." You joke, trying to change the tone. You couldn't handle Tommy being like this with you–it was too much of a reminder of what you really wanted your relationship to be, and you didn't want any reason to start feeling false hope. "If all of us hadn't been there together it wouldn't have worked." Tommy shook his head.

"That's not what I mean. You've always been there for us–for me–like no one else has. I don't know how many times you saved me from doing something crazy or stupid, or how many times you forgave me for fucking things up or after I was a total asshole. Even now you're helping me, even when I don't know if I deserve it." He looked down, and you felt your heart ache for him. You reach out and grab his hand that was resting on the table, and he looks over at you.

"Oh Tommy, of course you do. Just because you made a mistake doesn't mean you don't deserve help." You squeeze his hand in yours gently. "I'm your best friend Tommy, even if I don't agree with what you did of course I'm still going to help you–no matter what." Tommy was quiet for a while, and before you had the chance to think of something to break the silence, the waitress brought your food over. You quickly thanked her before looking back at Tommy.

"You know the whole time I was with Heather, I felt like something was missing?" He suddenly says, his voice quiet. You feel your heart nearly stop. "She was my dream girl, the one I'd been waiting for; but it always felt like there was supposed to be something else. Something more. I don't know how to explain it–it just felt off. I thought getting married would be the missing piece, but it wasn't." He sighed, looking down at his food. You stayed still, eyes wide as you looked at him silently. In all these months he hadn't brought up his relationship with Heather once, and you didn't want to interrupt his one chance to let it all out.

"I loved Heather, but I cheated on her anyway because I thought maybe that would fill that missing part of me, but it didn't. I was just an asshole who cheated on his wife. I can't even say I'm surprised I got caught; I'm more surprised it didn't happen sooner. When she left me I was a wreck–I thought I'd fucked up the one good thing I had going for me." He looked up at you. "But now, I think I'm finally realizing maybe it was for the best; like maybe I felt like something was missing because Heather just wasn't the one, you know?" You stare back at him, unsure of what to say. He was saying everything you'd always wanted to hear, but you didn't want to make this about your feelings. And really, what could you even say after that?

"Sorry dude, I brought the whole mood down, huh?" He says at last, breaking the silence with a small laugh. "Just forget it; we should eat before our food gets cold."

The two of you eat in silence, unsure of what to say after that. You wanted to be supportive, to tell him that he was right and that he would find love again, but you were still reeling from the sudden revelation you just couldn't bring yourself to say it. You wanted to be a good friend like you always had been, by being supportive; but how could you support him finding a new love when it was so against your own feelings?

You wanted him to be happy, but now more than ever that selfish voice inside you screamed that you wanted him to be happy with you.

—

You mostly ate in silence until Tommy changed the subject and you were both back to reminiscing again. You were calmed down and mostly feeling yourself again by the time the food was finished, when Tommy looked over at you.

"Oh right! I almost forgot there's something I want to give you." He says, moving to grab his discarded jacked off the seat of the booth.

"What? I thought you said no Christmas gifts." You say, a little dismayed. "I didn't get you anything because you seemed so serious about it." He laughs as he pats the jacket pockets down, looking for something.

"I know I know, but I only said that because you've already done so much for me. If you feel bad about it being a Christmas present, maybe you can think of it as a 'thanks for taking my sorry ass in' present instead." He says as he pulls out a small black box. Your heart skips a beat as he hands it to you.

It's not a ring, obviously it's not a ring–stop being ridiculous.

You pull back the hinged lid and see a beautiful diamond necklace sitting on the black velvet lining.

"Oh Tommy, you really didn't have to–"

"I know, but I wanted to." He replies, smiling at you. "Here, let me help you." He grabs the box from your hand as he stands, moving over to sit next to you in the booth. You feel your heart racing as you turn your back to him, pulling your hair to the side as he slides the necklace around your neck. You have to stop yourself from shivering as his fingers brush against the back of your neck, quickly hooking the clasp together. You turn back around to face him, looking down at the necklace before looking up at him. He's still sitting so close you have to crane your neck to see his face.

"It's beautiful Tommy, thank you." You say, smiling up at him. You expect him to move back to his seat, or at least scoot back a little, but he just stays where he is, staring down at you. You stare back, afraid to move as you feel your face flush with heat; your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you're sure he must be able to hear it.

Before you know what's happening, Tommy moves one hand up, cupping your cheek as he leans down and kisses you.

[mad-madam-m]

So I'm just curious, how do you get yourself to write? And do you use prompts and if you do where do you get them? I meant to use NaNo to get me to write but it took 4 days into November for me to realize November started so I failed lol. I've been meaning to start this original thing and it's just not...working.

First of all, anon, you could start writing RIGHT NOW (yes, with 10 days left in the month) and you would not fail NaNo. You might not hit 50k (although I know people who have hit 50k in that amount of time, or less), but you won’t fail. NaNoWriMo isn’t about hitting 50,000 words so much as it is about putting a stake in the ground and saying, “Here. Today. I will start writing the project I’ve always wanted to.” And doing it. Doesn’t matter what that project is—original novel, short stories, fic, poetry, revising something, a series of blog posts—NaNo is about just. Fucking. Doing it. And you still have time to Do It.

To answer your questions:

Do you use prompts and if you do, where do you get them?

For original stories, particularly novels, I usually don’t. For fic, particularly short fic I’m writing for events, I do. Tumblr has a wealth of writing prompts that range from “here’s a situation” to “here’s a line of dialogue GO,” and I tend to reblog them under the tags “fic prompts” or “writing prompts.” Honestly, most of them would work for either original fic or fanfic, so if you are a writer who likes to work from prompts, go forth and enjoy!

How do you get yourself to write?

That’s kind of a big question, and uh, the answer to it got long. Very long. (I said once that if you give me half a chance, I’ll talk about writing all the live-long day, and this answer is no exception.)

Different things motivate me for different projects, and as with all writing-related advice, YMMV, but here’s a few things that really help for getting myself to write:

1) Develop your story.

The current original story I’m working on, for example, I have not really had to struggle to get myself to write at all because 1) I’m stupid excited about it and 2) I have developed the hell out of it.

I’ve talked before about outlining my stuff here, so I won’t go too much into it again; suffice it to say that I have done about the same amount of development on my current original story that I had on ADA by the time I started writing. I started around the very end of September developing my characters and spent a good chunk of October working on setting, worldbuilding, plot, and finally my notecards.

Shockingly, having some idea of what’s happening and where I’m going is making this story easier to write.

Right? Like WHO’D HAVE THOUGHT.

Because of that, I’ve been excited about writing my story, so getting myself to write on it has been (comparatively) a cakewalk.

That’s not to say any of the writing is good (oh God no) or that there aren’t parts that need fixing, or that I haven’t been stuck. But it’s been stuck like “how do I describe seeing a tree-covered mountain in the middle of fall from the POV of someone who has never seen something like this” rather than “I have no fucking clue what happens next uh…”

The stories I struggle the most with writing are the ones that I’ve worked the least on developing. The stories that have been the easiest to write have been the ones I’ve spent at least a month doing prep work on before I ever start drafting.

2) Love your story.

Being in love with a story makes it a lot easier to write, at least for me. Because here’s the thing, ideas are easy.

If you’re a creative person, you’re going to end up with a file of story ideas—maybe prompts you liked, dialogue that stuck with you, one of those “humans are space orcs” tumblr posts that’s just really clicking in your brain—that will be longer than you could conceivably write if you had a hundred lifetimes. That’s okay! That’s great. But it means a lot of them are never going to get past the idea stage.

For me, the stories that get finished—the ones that not only get started but actually make it through the first draft and then three rounds of editing and revisions—are the ideas that I’ve been percolating on for months, if not longer. They’ve been cooking in the back of my brain while I’ve been doing other things, sorting themselves out, and most importantly: they will not let me go.

Coming up with ideas is easy. Finding an idea that will last and sustain a story and my interest for at least a year, if not longer? That’s harder.

Y’all know how much I’ve been talking about Tiger & Bunny over the past year? We’re talking that level of obsession with a story that I want to write, whether it’s fic or original. Sometimes it takes months or years for all the puzzle pieces to come together. Sometimes the whole thing will congeal within a few weeks, or there will be one crucial piece of story that will just make EVERYTHING come together, I will literally shout “OH MY FUCKING GOD” and that’s it, I’m off to the races. (In this particular case, it wasn’t anything I’d done in the first two weeks of poking at steampunk-y ideas; it was the realization that I could put a circus on an airship. The whole story just went WHOOSH after that.)

BUT. But. Sometimes you don’t have that. These stories are great and I love them and they remind me why I love writing so much (and if you’re writing something that’s gonna be 90k+, like I have a tendency to do, you need to be in love with it, IMO), but sometimes you’re in situations where you just have to get it done. In those cases:

3) Resort to bribery.

I’ve been poking at the third part of Alpha & Emissary, oh, basically since I posted the second part. My problem is that my fandom focus has been, shall we say, split for the past year. *coughs delicately, shoves Tiger & Bunny fics under the bed*

But here’s the thing: I hate having a published WIP on AO3 (it’s why I don’t publish long!fics until they’re completely drafted and mostly edited). I hate—HATE—having an unfinished series on AO3.

So that’s the rub: I have an unfinished series that I want to finish because I hate that it’s not finished. I also have a new fandom that is wresting my attention and inspiration away from said series. What’s a girl to do?

A girl tells herself she can’t write any more Tiger & Bunny fic until she finishes this one WIP, that’s what she does.

And it’s motivated me to sit my ass down and work on that WIP, because goddammit, I have a “but there was only one bed” TaiBani fic that I would really like to have up by New Year’s.

Your bribery will be different. Maybe you get to watch 1 episode of your favorite show per every 1k you write, or you get to try a new knitting project when you finish this short story. Maybe you binge-watch an entire season of your favorite anime if you exceed your NaNo goal. Or you write 50 words and get a cookie. The point is, find what works for you to get it done.

4) Figure out a minimum daily goal and stick with it.

For me, this was 500 words a day. 500 words. That’s it. That’s one 30-minute word sprint for me. That’s something I can do without stressing myself out.

Because of this point and point 3, I wrote more than 7000 words on a story I’d been stuck on for the better part of a year before I had to stop to work on NaNo stuff. Another 7k, and I’ll probably have it finished.

Your minimum word count will almost certainly be different. Maybe it’s 300 words a day, maybe it’s 1000. Hell, maybe it’s 100 words. Again, find what works for you, what you can write regularly without stressing yourself out.

Another important thing: If I didn’t hit 500 words, I didn’t beat myself up about it. Maybe I wrote 350. Or 220. Or just 93. The point is, did I write? Yes? Then I did good. I got myself a sentence or a paragraph closer to finishing. And it all adds up.

(And hey, you don’t have to write every day. I do, or I try to, because that’s what works for me. If it stresses you out to do so, then find another way to make it work.)

5) Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines.

This one’s hard because I can rarely keep a deadline that’s not set by an external source. If you tell me on December 20 that you need a story by December 22? Then on December 22, you’ll have a story, edited and ready to post. But when it comes to something I set for myself, the chances of a deadline working are 50/50.

That being said, it is something that helps me keep on track and even if I don’t finish something by a self-imposed deadline, it does get me writing.

6) Sprint with friends!

NaNo is really great for this because all your writer friends are coming out of the woodwork going I need to hit 5k by the end of today, will you sprint with me? Sometimes it just helps to have that kind of accountability. You all get together (I’ve used Discord, Google Hangouts, IRC, and Twitter DMs for this), set a timer, and write for 15 minutes or 20 minutes or 30 minutes. Then, when the time’s up, you post your word count, everybody congratulates everybody else, and then you take a break before doing the next one.

Sprints are the reason I’ve been able to make some pretty significant headway on my word counts, and few things get me writing like knowing I’m going to have to tell everybody in my group what my word count is in 30 minutes or less. >.>

Like I said earlier, YMMV on all of these. What works for me may work for you, or it might not. But if you aren’t sure, it’s worth giving it a shot.

Happy writing!