#it's always okay to NaNo without NaNo

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Post NaNoWriMo - Now What?

So if you've only been loosely paying attention, the NaNoWriMo organization has collapsed in a controversy of mismanagement, lack of oversight, abusive forum moderation and a whole host of issues that's resulted in souring the whole thing for a great deal of people. While the spirit of NaNoing will probably continue, a lot of people understandably don't want anything to officially do with the organization anymore.

But you - like I have - still think NaNoWriMo has been very useful to get writing done. Here's some ideas on how to keep going.

How to Get Started

Think Local - All those places you used for NaNo events, libraries, schools, cafes, etc - may be more than willing to launch something similar with enough interest. Just because it won't have the NaNoWriMo name slapped on it doesn't meant it can't continue. My local library has started a monthly write-in event, for example.

Take the Initiative - If you know of a group that you usually NaNo with, it's never too late or early to reach out to them about create an alternative plan. You probably aren't the only one thinking about it!

Talk to your (former) ML - Many Municipal Liaisons I know feel burned by NaNo and won't join it again, but they did love running the event. My local ML is continuing our group under a different name, and yours might appreciate getting assistance or sharing resources about how to run a month-long writing event if you ask.

Find Your People - If you're in school, new to an area, or just not good at reaching out, I feel you. But if you do nothing, you get nothing. Reach out to people you know. Online Discord or Zoom meetings can work just as well as in-person events if you're too remote or broke to meet.

What to Use to Get Started

Shut up and Write provides quick and easy ways to find local groups or form your own to carry the write-in momentum all year round.

MyWriteClub copies the writing tracking method of NaNoWriMo to keep track of your wordcount.

Pacemaker Planner offers multiple ways to track your writing.

Regular old Excel. Or LibreOffice if you'd prefer to wash your hands of Microsoft. It's not as exciting, but a regular spreadsheet with an AutoSum of your daily progress can work just as well as a fancy website.

You can keep going with the NaNo energy without the official name. My local library has started a monthly write-in, and I know many people who have found success with Shut Up and Write. Look into what works for you!

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

Let Me Save You

fandom: Doctor Who

pairing: 11th Doctor x Reader

summary: Your favorite hobby is collecting alien medical supplies. At least, the Doctor thinks it's a hobby.

Or, you try to make your chronic illness go away without consulting the Doctor first. Can be read platonic or romantic.

tags/warnings: chronic pain, chronic illness, medical experimentation, self-medication, experimental drug use, emotional hurt/comfort

word count: 4384

a/n: an 11 fic in the year of our lord 2024? more likely than you'd think

i hope this is comforting for someone. i had a dream about this and now here we are.

reader's illness is never specified (it's mentioned that you experience pain of some sort, but not where or how or anything like that) so this can be generalized. also no gender identifiers that i can see (but ialso wrote this really fast so please correct me if im wrong!)

It’s been a week since your last market trip, and you still haven’t sorted the supplies. You know you’re slacking, but it’s been more difficult lately. To get up, to put on a smile for him, when your whole body is falling apart. Of course, he doesn’t know that. He can never know.

But he can keep you company while you sort the supplies. Hold you accountable. Even if he doesn’t know what for.

The Doctor, as usual, is tinkering away at the interface. Occasionally, a spark flies out at him, but he seems unbothered. You approach the console room from a nearby hallway, your satchel slung over your shoulder. You glance around, looking for him, before taking a seat on the floor.

The Doctor had heard your footsteps, and now he lifts his goggles to observe you. He watches as you set the satchel down. “Everything alright?”

You spare him a quick glance and a nod. “Fine. Just… looking for company. You can go back to work; I’ll just watch, if that’s okay.”

The Doctor pauses, disturbed by the slight downturn of your smile, but lets it go for now. “As long as you don’t distract me.”

You hum to yourself in quiet agreement. “I’ll try my best.”

As the Doctor turns back away to continue his tinkering, you dump the contents of your satchel on the floor - spoils of your previous trip to the Martian Markets. Your eyes scan over the bottles and tubes and capsules; all sorts of alien medical supplies. There were pain medications, instant bandages, antiseptic infused with nano-bots. This is your hobby - at least, that’s all the Doctor thinks it is - collecting medical supplies from the planets you visit.

You sit quietly, your brow furrowed in concentration, as you sort the supplies into piles. The Doctor hears the slight commotion and looks over his shoulder, a curious look on his face. He sets down his screwdriver and rests his elbows on the console. “You’ve never told me why you collect all these.”

You hum, eyes still fixed on the piles. “Might come in handy someday.” You manage a small smile, although it doesn’t quite reach the rest of your expression.

The Doctor tilts his head, a frown forming on his face. He doesn’t want to push; you would tell him the reason when you felt comfortable enough to do so. But he couldn’t help his curiosity. “You worry too much. Always thinking about the what-ifs.”

You snort and pick up a bottle of Martian healing salve, turning it over in your hands. “I worry too much? Okay.”

His mouth gapes open for a moment, taken aback by your sarcastic tone. Immediately, he jumps to defend himself, pointing his screwdriver at you. “Hey, I-”

“Do you think we could visit another market soon? I’d like to see if I can find anything else.” You cut him off, hardly noticing that you’re even doing it. You glance up at him, finally noticing the faux-wounded look on his face.

The Doctor closes his mouth, reaching for his bowtie in a self-soothing gesture. You’re being… weird. But he doesn’t mention it. “A… another market, yeah. Shouldn’t be a problem. Somewhere with lots of alien medical supplies, I assume?”

You smile again, the dull look in your eyes a stark contrast to the expression. “Yeah, preferably.”

The Time Lord’s unease grows as he sees the falsehood in your countenance. He goes silent for a moment, watching as you go back to picking through the supplies. Finally, he decides to speak. “I know there’s something wrong. You can tell me, you know.”

You, too, go silent. Your movements still. Finally, you reply quietly, “I know.” You begin to pack the things back into your satchel, finished with sorting and cataloging them.

“Then why won’t you tell me?” He slowly approaches from the console, kneeling down so he’s at eye level.

“It’s… complicated, Doctor.” You avoid his searching gaze and ignore the way your heart races.

The Doctor scoffs, settling down cross-legged in front of you. “I’m a Time Lord. I think I’m more than well-versed in all things complicated.” He reaches out a hand to gently touch your knee and his voice grows soft. “Try me.” When you don’t respond, the Doctor frowns. He can feel his own frustration bubbling up, the sort that comes when his companions keep secrets from him. But he tries to keep his voice level, not wanting to scare you off. “I can tell when you’re lying. I can see it with you just as I can see it with anyone else.”

You finally place the last item back in the satchel. Your eyes lift slowly to meet his gaze. “It’s not a lie if I haven’t even told you anything,” you whisper.

The Doctor’s expression softens as he looks into your eyes. There’s something broken there, and it scares him. “Fine. You haven’t lied. But you still haven’t told me the truth.”

You look down at where his hand rests on your knee. Slowly, you reach for his wrist, circling your fingers around it. The Doctor’s confusion only grows, his body tensing slightly at the unexpected touch. But he doesn’t pull back. You slide your hand to the underside of his wrist, two fingers pressed against his pulse point. Your gaze is fixed on the point where you touch, the warmth of his skin, the soft thrum of his hearts. “It’s odd, you know.” The words come out as a soft murmur. “Two hearts, but only one pulse.”

The Doctor swallows hard, feeling a strange sense of dread. His hearts pound in his chest, thrumming against your fingers on his wrist. He speaks quietly, “Not entirely. Gallifreyan biology isn’t the same as humans. Our cardiovascular system works differently. That’s all.”

You quickly withdraw your fingers, almost as if his touch has burned you. Your expression grows a bit harder - not unkind, just closed off. You swing your satchel back over your shoulder and stand. “The market soon, yeah?”

The Doctor’s eyes widen as you suddenly pull away. A pang of hurt, confusion, and fear shoots through him. The words stick in his throat. “Yeah. The market soon.”

You give one quick nod. “Just come get me whenever you’re ready to go. Or have the TARDIS tell me. Whichever.” You turn on your heel, heading back down the hall to your room.

Helplessness washes over the Doctor as he watches you leave. He wants to reach out, to call you back and demand you tell him what’s going on. But he has seen enough of his companions shutting him out, and he has no desire to make it happen again. With a heavy, dejected sigh, he stands, returning to the console to seek out a market you haven’t visited yet. He hopes perhaps this will cheer you up, or at the very least, give him a chance to try and talk to you again.

About 30 minutes later, the TARDIS lands on the unfamiliar planet with her usual jolt, letting out a groan to signify their arrival. The Doctor calls down the hallways in the direction of your room. “Oi! We’ve landed, come on!”

You come out with a smile on your lips, the previous interaction seemingly forgotten. There is still an emptiness in your eyes, but it’s clear you’re trying to offset it. You clutch your now-empty satchel at your side eagerly. “What are we waiting for then?”

Your vigor should put the Doctor at ease, but it only serves to strengthen his resolve to find out what is bothering you. He tries to swallow down his nerves, giving you a broad, excited grin as he opens the TARDIS doors for you.

As you both step outside, the brightness nearly blinds you. You have to blink to clear the sudden spots in your vision. The Doctor rattles on enthusiastically beside you. “The interplanetary markets of the Rumalian system. They have 3 suns, which makes for some interesting orbital patterns. We’re actually standing on the remnants of the 4th planet in the system, which imploded after a nasty leak of toxic goo.” He rubs his hands together, eyes taking in the various tents and canopies which line the streets of the market. “But nothing to worry about now; the implosion managed to burn up all of the toxicity and now it’s a wonderful place for the markets! All sorts of folk around here, Grumians, Braleths, Wertikens…”

Finally, your vision clears and you can observe the sight in front of you. The ground is a mottled green color, with bits of rock and dust around. The street winds and twists, branching off into different sections. There must be thousands of market stalls, stretching out as far as your eye can see. Alien species of all shapes and sizes wander past, browsing the tables and exchanging wares. You hold your satchel a little tighter, tamping down the anxiety that rises in your chest at the noise and commotion. “Right. Where are the medical supplies then?”

The Doctor breaks off from his tangent about the stall that makes the best plum creams to look at you. He points down the path. “Three rows down that way.”

You look where he’s pointing and nod firmly. “Good. I’ll meet you back here, yeah?”

The bowtie around the Doctor’s neck seems to grow tighter as he looks at you - it’s like all the air has been sucked from his lungs. The look in your eyes is something fierce and determined. It scares him. Still, he manages a small smile and a nod. “Or I’ll find you. I’ll get some plum creams for us.” As you begin to walk down the path without another word, he calls out to you. “Make sure you read the labels!”

Aliens brush up against your shoulders as you make your way to the row the Doctor indicated. Your eyes grow wide as you arrive at the end. Nearly every table and stall is lined with bottles and jars and tubes. For about the thousandth time since you began traveling with the Doctor, you send a prayer of thanks to the TARDIS translation matrix. This would be impossible without it.

You spend the next two hours stopping at every stall on the row. You speak to vendors about their wares, picking up a few items at nearly every table. By the time you reach the end, your satchel is heavy and nearly bursting with neatly wrapped packages. As you finish up, placing a roll of Gradorian tendon tape into your satchel, you hear the familiar sound of the Doctor’s voice. He’s at the end of the next row, conversing with an alien that has the head of a walrus and the body of a horse.

You approach the pair, struggling to zip your satchel as you go. The Doctor notices you and gives you a smile, walking away from the walrus-horse thing. “Looks like you’ve done well.”

You smile back at him, and this time the darkness in your eyes seems a bit lighter. “Yes, I think so.”

The change in your demeanor only causes the Doctor’s confusion to grow. But he keeps his face neutral, nodding at your stuffed satchel. “Might need a bigger bag soon. The Lorentians make a wonderful dimensional bag, like a TARDIS! Bigger on the inside and all that. In fact, there might already be one here.”

He’s already begun to walk away in search of a Lorentian bag stand. You manage to catch the end of his sleeve, bringing him to a sudden halt. “Maybe next time. Let’s get back, yeah? I wanna go through all this.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow at you but nods. He falls into step beside you, watching how you clutch the satchel at your side protectively. You make your way back down the row to where the TARDIS is parked. As you walk, the Doctor hands you one of the infamous plum creams he’d mentioned. You chew on it, savoring the flavor as you walk.

Once you’ve arrived back to the TARDIS and taken off, you turn to the Doctor. There’s a strange look in your eyes, the same look you always get after a trip to a market for more medical supplies - something eager, something… desperate. You pat the full satchel. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

“Right… I’ll leave you to it, then.” He watches as you head down the hallway. The lump in his throat seems to choke him. He’s missing something, and it’s driving him wild.

In your room, you mirror your movements from earlier, dumping the satchel’s contents onto the floor. You sit cross-legged and begin to sort the supplies - pills in front of you, injections to the left, and any goops, solutions, or salves to the right. By the time you’re done, the floor around you is covered in neat rows of bottles, tubes, and syringes.

You stretch out your legs and roll up your pants to above your knees. A roll of medical tape sits beside you, and you grab it to begin carefully taping a grid on your knees. You make sure to have enough squares for each of the substances intended for topical usage. Before long, you’ve neatly taped off each joint.

Out in the control room, the Doctor is pacing. He rounds the center console over and over, his frustration mounting with each revolution. He’s racking his brain, trying to find what he’s missed, but nothing comes to mind. He runs his hand through his hair before leaning back on the console. He speaks quietly to himself and to the TARDIS. “What do you think? Surely there’s something wrong… it’s been like this for weeks and it’s only getting worse.” The TARDIS lets out a low hum, the lights glowing brighter for a second. The Doctor takes this as a sign of agreement. With a determined huff, he strides out into the hallway. He’s going to get answers, whether you like it or not.

The Doctor has to focus hard in order to unclench his jaw, tight with anxiety. He tries to tamp down the fear that rises up in him - it feels like walking to his doom. As he approaches your room, he straightens his bowtie, then raps firmly on your door while calling your name. “It’s me. Open the door.”

You startle in the room, accidentally dropping the bottle of pills you’d been holding. They scatter across the ground, rolling all over the place and causing a loud clatter. “Bit busy!” you call out, desperately trying to clean up the mess you’ve made.

The Doctor frowns as he hears the commotion, the knot in his stomach growing tighter. “I need to talk to you. Open up or… or I’m coming in.” Normally he would never threaten such things, but the anxiety coursing through him was enough to drive him mad - well, more mad than usual.

You swore under your breath, staring at the incriminating scene around you - your gridded knees, covered in colored goops, the rows of pill bottles in front of you, the syringes waiting neatly beside them. “No! I’m… I’m changing!” The lie came out thin as you searched for something to clean the substances off your skin.

“Oh come on, I’m a thousand-year-old alien. I think I can handle the sight of you in a state of undress.”

You huff indignantly, staring at the door with narrowed eyes. You can make out the shadow of his form under the door. You’re silent for a moment, scared and a bit angry. Then, finally-

“No.”

The Doctor clenches his jaw at your simple response. He can hear the hesitation, the defiance, and knows that you’re certainly getting yourself into trouble. “Right. You’ve left me no choice. I’m coming in.” Before you can protest, the Doctor pulls out his sonic and points it at the door handle. It unlocks with a gentle click and he pushes it open all the way.

It takes a moment for the scene before his eyes to register. He scans the substances laid out in front of you, the pills scattered across the floor. One rolls across the ground to stop next to his foot. He sees the cacophony of colored gels on your knees, the odd grid pattern you’ve placed them in. The waiting syringes, the bottles of pills…

“What are you doing?” His voice comes out small, almost trembling.

Your mouth gapes open, an odd sort of croaking sound coming out of it as the words stick in your throat. You have nothing to say, no explanation that will make this any better.

The Doctor leans down to pick up the pill that stopped by his shoe. He examines it carefully, scans it with the sonic, and reads the results. His brow furrows and fear rises up in his chest. He whispers your name. “Talk to me; what is all of this? Why… why do you have all of these?”

Finally, the shock wears off and you look down at your hands in shame. You slowly move to take the tape off of your knees, then grab a towel to wipe them down. As you do, the Doctor watches in silence. You can’t look at him - you can’t look at his face when you’re sure he’s absolutely infuriated with you. “It’s nothing.” The words sound weak even to you.

“Don’t say that!” The Doctor’s voice is louder than you’ve ever heard it before, and you startle, looking up at him with wide eyes. He softens as he sees the fear on your face, slowly lowering himself to the ground. He holds his hands out to you like one might do to a wounded animal. “Please. Please be honest with me. Just… tell me what’s going on. I only want to help.”

Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes and you hate your body for betraying you. You wipe them away angrily, then pick up the towel to continue scrubbing at your knees. You can’t speak, even if you wanted to. Anything you want to say will just come out as a shitty excuse, or a lie. And you can’t lie to him. You manage a deep breath and meet his eyes. To your surprise, there’s no anger, no frustration - just fear. “I can’t tell you… I just need you to know.”

The Doctor dips his head to hold your gaze. He speaks softly, “How can I know if you don’t tell me?”

You shake your head, averting your eyes once more. “You’re the Doctor. Make an educated guess.”

The Doctor’s hearts feel like they’re about to burst out of his chest. He’s so scared and worried for you; he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. His mind is in overdrive, going a million miles per hour as he tries to work this out. Why do you have all these pills? Why were you using alien medicine on yourself? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?

The answer hits him all at once and it takes everything in him not to scream his frustration for not figuring it out sooner. The exhaustion, the medicine, the desperation…

“You’re sick.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a breath, an exhale, a momentary nightmare that the Doctor wishes he could wake up from. He hopes you laugh, hopes you tell him this is all a big joke or something. He wants you to deny it, to say it’s not true. But the look in your eyes says the exact opposite.

A sob rips itself from your lips as you clap a hand over your mouth, trying to hold in the emotions that threaten to escape.

The Doctor feels like he’s been punched in the gut. The air seems thin and tenuous, each breath a struggle. “How long?”

You sniff and discard the towel you’d been using, wiping away tears once more. Each word wobbles as your resolve fades. He knows now; there’s no use holding back. “Since the beginning? It’s… I was born with it.”

With every word, the Doctor’s grip on himself grows weaker. The lump in his throat almost chokes him; his hearts squeeze in a vice. “And you’ve… you’ve kept it a secret this whole time. From me.”

The brokenness in his voice nearly makes you crumble. Shame and guilt race up your spine and blush burns on your cheeks. Another sob spills from your mouth. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Immediately the Doctor regrets his words. This is about you, not him. He can manage his own feelings later. Right now you need him. He shuffles closer to you, almost close enough to touch. “No, no, shh. It’s not your fault. It’s alright, hush now.” He carefully wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side. You immediately turn your head into his chest, crying with your face buried in his shirt. He rocks you gently, murmuring reassurances in your ear. “I have you now; you’re alright.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually your tears slow. The Doctor continues to sway you side to side, the motion soothing both of you. When he thinks you’ve calmed, he slowly starts to pull away. You grip his shirt with both fists, letting out a whine. He moves to hold your hands, already trying to reassure you. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. Can you just look at me?”

You release your vice grip on him although you stay close. You manage to tilt your head to meet his eyes while still keeping in contact, his hands covering yours.

He smiles softly, sadly, at you. “There you are.” His voice is kind, almost paternal.

You sniffle, shame still coursing through you. But the gentleness in his eyes makes you feel a bit more at ease. This is the Doctor. He won’t hurt you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought…”

The Doctor waits for you to continue, hating to hear you apologize but wanting to know what you’re thinking. He nods, indicating he’s listening.

“I thought if I… found a cure, then I wouldn’t ever have to tell you. That I could keep going, keep traveling with you, and you would never know because… it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

The twin hearts in the Doctor’s chest seem to stutter. The thought of you carrying this burden alone, of keeping this a secret to protect him… “How could you think… I care about you. Of course this matters. You matter. You’re my… you’re my friend.”

“When I… when I was diagnosed, I lost people. People I thought were my friends, too. They promised to be there, promised to stay. But they only helped when it was convenient for them. Once they realized that my condition stops me from living like they do, they moved on.” Your voice was small and scared.

The Doctor raises a hand to cup your cheek gently, ducking to look into your eyes. “Hey. I’m not people. And I would never leave you. Not for this.” His hearts ache at the fear and pain in your eyes. He wants to hold you tight to his chest and never let you go. Instead, he keeps his voice steady as he speaks. “You are more than just what you go through. You’re brilliant, and kind, and caring. I could never think less of you for something like this.”

A soft sob spills from your lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you… that I didn’t tell you.”

He shakes his head, bringing his other hand up now to hold your face. His touch is gentle, like you’re something fragile that might break if he lets go. “Please, don’t apologize. I understand, I really do. Just… promise me you’ll never keep something like this from me again. Please.”

Your eyes search his, looking for any sign of deception, or anger, or hurt. But you find none - just affection and a concern as deep as the universe. “Promise.”

He gently rubs his thumb across your cheek, your faces only inches apart. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours for a moment. Now you can feel his fear, feel the anguish that you’ve put him through. You wince as the feelings grow stronger. He pulls away and murmurs, “Sorry. Time Lord telepathy.”

“It’s alright,” you reply, feeling off-kilter, unable to sort his feelings from your own. “What… what do I do now?”

The Doctor opens his eyes once more. “We work together to find a cure. For whatever it is you have. You stop keeping secrets, and you stop this reckless attempt at a solution. You stop the self-medicating, the experimenting, the searching-”

Already you’re shaking your head. “No, I… I can’t stop. I’ve been trying for so long. I can’t just… give up.”

“It’s not giving up.” The Doctor clenched his jaw, trying to keep his voice level even as his frustration grew. “This is dangerous. Do you have any idea what these things could do to a human?” He releases one hand from your face to grab a nearby pill bottle. His eyes scan the label before he holds it up in front of your face. “These could kill you.”

You swallow hard, averting your eyes. “It’s all I have.”

“No.” The Doctor’s voice is firm, almost scolding. “Absolutely not. This is not all you have. You have me and I want to help. But I won’t let you destroy yourself.”

You shrink away from him, a little scared by the tone of his voice. You’ve seen the Doctor angry; of course you have. But never at you.

He notices, sees you retreating into yourself, and regrets his words immediately. He whispers your name like it’s something sacred. “I say it because I care. I’m not angry, I’m… I’m afraid. I don’t… I can’t lose you.” He grips your hands once more, holding them like he’s afraid you’ll disappear right then and there. “Please, let me help. Let me save you.”

You don’t have to think about your answer. You’ve kept your secrets close to your chest, and that was a mistake. Now here he is, always the savior. The Doctor. Your Doctor. How could you ever say no to him?

[ppssession]

Strong Men Gym

On a quiet night, Clyde is walking home from the gym on a lonely and scary path.

In the meantime, he felt eyes staring at him. He tried to run faster, but felt like he was running in the same place.

Suddenly, a large number of black hands grabbed him. Clyde, who was a strong man, felt weak. He tried to escape but failed.

Many hands grabbed him and ran their fingers over his muscles curiously. Suddenly, a voice whispered in his ear, “This is a good opportunity.”

Suddenly, Clyde woke up from his nightmare. His breathing became a little labored, but people outside could hear him. “Honey, are you okay?” Clyde’s young husband, Theo, who had lived with him for several years, greeted him with concern.

Clyde: It's okay, honey. I was just dreaming.

Theo showed a slightly worried look when he saw Clyde's tense expression. He said with concern, "Darling, are you sure you're okay if you're not feeling well? We can postpone our date."

Clyde smiled and pulled Theo into a hug. Our date today was going to be special. Clyde kissed Theo's neck like he always did. Just seeing your face made me feel so good.

Today Clyde and Theo are very happy, they dated in many beautiful places, it is a beautiful feeling for them like a flower in a beautiful field.

As they were heading home, he saw a new gym opening near their house. Remembering his nightmare last night, he chose to go to the gym here instead of the old one, which was quite far from home.

The next day he went to play at this fitness center. He was impressed when he found the modern, clean exercise equipment and the spacious area in the fitness center. There was a lot of air conditioning but there was no smell of sweat at all because of the special air conditioners.

When he finished playing, he decided to sign up for a fitness membership. It was great that this fitness center had a lot of options for people to exercise. He could play with people without being disturbed. Many of the rules were the same as his old gym.

But there is one rule that Clyde particularly likes: the gym offers free chicken breasts and protein for members, which saves him the trouble of having to go out and buy these items during his workout. Plus, the chicken breasts and protein here are of high quality.

After Clyde started going to the gym here, he really liked it. Whether it was the convenience or anything else, Clyde felt that his muscles looked noticeably better, even though it was strange that he always felt strangely comfortable after he finished going to the gym.

One day, while he was playing fitness as usual, he suddenly felt strangely unwell. He thought that it might be because his workload had increased, making him tired, so he decided to go to the fitness shower room and he didn't forget to take a picture in front of the mirror to post on social media as he likes to do.

When he took off his clothes to reveal his hot body, he slowly got into the shower and started to take a shower. He loved the feeling of the water running over his muscles, and the gym soap and shampoo had a very special smell.

When he finished washing his body, he was about to get out of the shower but he felt that his body was very heavy, causing him to bend down to the floor. When he felt that his body was getting heavier, his legs started to become uncontrollable.

His muscles visibly tensed, his arms became uncontrollable as if they weren't listening to his commands, his eyes rolled to the side, he started to groan, the vision gradually darkened, Clyde's body blacked out.

As time passed, Clyde's body slowly rose up as if nothing had happened, his face showing the utmost satisfaction. "This was worth the wait."

As time passed, Clyde's body slowly rose up as if nothing had happened, his face showing the utmost satisfaction. "This was worth the wait."

Clyde's body walked to the control panel for the staff to enter a special passcode for high-level members.

This is a top secret project of a rich man who has created a special nano cell that can penetrate every touch. This nano cell will enter the body of the person who touches it. It will gradually adjust the body and mind of the person who touches it to be ready for the possession.

However, due to the limitation that nanocells must be present in large quantities in the body, and the lifespan of nanocells is very short, in order for the host's body not to think that nanocells are a threat to the host's body, the host that will be possessed must receive nanocells regularly so that nanocells can still work effectively.When Clyde's body confirmed that he could possess Host's body, he received a message through the circuit board. He received, "Thank you for using our service. We will take care of your old body so that you can live comfortably. Please accept this."

Suddenly, a strange Sim popped up from the screen. Clyde pulled it out with a message that said, “A special Sim, if placed at the nape of its neck, will disintegrate. It will issue a command to the nanocell to access the host’s memories so that you can gain the host’s memories.”

He quickly did as the message said and soon he had all of Clyde's memories. He groaned in his throat as the memories flooded back to him.

Clyde, this body's name is Clyde, you have a cute little husband, I will take care of him. You probably don't know that ever since you came to this fitness center, you have received a large number of nano cells. Every machine you exercise, every chicken breast you eat, every protein you drink, every water you shower in the fitness center, even the soap or shampoo, everything in here has nano cells, even the air from the air conditioner. When he finished speaking, he noticed his erect penis.He began to masturbate by using his beautiful hands to quickly stroke his 13-inch cock up and down.Every time he touched a new cock, he felt like he was about to reach his climax. Soon, warm semen would shoot out from the tip of his cock and splash all over his chest. He used his tongue to lick the white liquid on his body. “It tastes so good. The taste of a real man.”When he cleaned himself up, the new Clyde was getting dressed. Instead of choosing the other clothes the real Clyde had prepared to change into after his workout, he called out to the original shirt that was sweaty and smelled like the real Clyde. He sniffed the sweaty smell of the shirt before putting it on. “This smells so manly.” When he was done putting it on, he walked out as if nothing had happened. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Clyde turned to take a picture of himself in the mirror. “I didn’t forget to take a selfie, haha.”

When they got home, the new Clyde didn't hesitate to rush in and kiss Theo hastily. I'm sorry, honey. I need it so bad right now. Theo, although slightly shocked that his husband's day seemed rushed, didn't refuse. He pushed his body against Clyde's erect penis in his pants. "Start, honey."

After a hot night of sex, Theo hears Clyde getting ready to go out the next morning. "Honey, where are you going?" Clyde turns around and answers immediately, straightforwardly.

I want to go play some sports with my friends. Will you allow it, my love?… Not right away, Clyde could speak. Theo answered quickly. “Sure, my love, but don’t be too late.” Clyde walked over and kissed his husband goodbye. Thank you for the hug.

When he left the house, the new Clyde didn't forget to take another selfie to share on his social media channels.

I am the same person in a new body. I am so excited to use my new body to play sports instead of my old fat body. Suddenly, a message popped up from his account, “You have received $1,000,000.” Great, the company works very fast. Now I have pocket money for my new one.

Oh but before I go play sports with my friends I have to deal with the hard penis in my pants first and luckily there is a bathroom nearby I will have a lot of fun with my new dick hahaha

Thank you for reading until now. I tried to write longer stories and add more details because I got some advice from my friends. I hope you guys like it. I'll push for the next story.

[runa-falls]

scratches and bites - 4

pairing: miguel o'hara x spider-girl!reader

cw: suggestive scenes, insecurities, a bit of cussing

wc: ~2.1k

a/n: god i am SO sorry how long this chapter has taken. i'm not the type of writer to have multiple chapters in a series done before posting them every week, i literally post chapters right when i finish them lol. thanks for sticking with me and being patient!

series masterlist | main masterlist

----

Miguel is still a grumpy man, sneering at anyone who dares to get in his way, still stressed out about keeping the multiverse on track and recruiting capable Spiders to assist him, but at least you’re no longer the main culprit of his frustrations.

Well, you’ll take that back, you’re no longer the one being yelled at.

Your transgressions are dealt with in another way…

Miguel is…insatiable to say the least. Since the day he reprimanded you through very unconventional means, seven suits have fallen victim to his desperation, shredded until they slipped into a pile below you.

Before he could destroy another one, you demanded a nanotech one of your own, tired of having to wait days in between for another one to be tailored, but he refused to give you one because he’s concerned about the unstable WIFI.

Eager fingers tug at the neckline of your suit. He groans, listening to the delicious sound of his claw tearing at the fabric. Red eyes darken as he watches each thread give out to the sharp point of his claws, slowly revealing the supple skin of your throat. He only gets down to your collarbone when you suddenly move away with a huff.

“Mig! Stop.” He frowns when you pull away from his touch, confused as to why you’d reject his advances.

“Sweetheart?”

“You’re always tearing up my suits.”

He’s still confused. You’ve never complained about it before. Actually, you seem to enjoy it, flushing with desire when he uses his claws on you.

“Look, I’m done wearing the extra shirts you keep in your office, Miguel. It’s…awkward having to navigate through HQ to get home without real clothes.”

Miguel’s frown grows deeper. He loves seeing you in his shirts, watching how your smaller frame practically drowns in the fabric and brushes against the softness of your thighs. There’s a hint of domesticity in a sight like that, one that he’s longed for since losing his family. It brings out a whole new side to him and he’s stubborn to let it go.

“Plus, all the Spiders wear their suits 24/7 so it’s even weirder that I’m only in a shirt!” You don’t seem to notice how lost in thought he is, how much your words are impacting him. “...so how about getting me one of those nano-suits? That way I don’t have to worry about bothering the seamstress for the fifth time this week…”

Miguel’s hands pull you closer, cradling the back of your neck as his thumb fiddles with the small tear against your throat. “Mm…no, nanotech isn’t super reliable…” His hand drifts down and cups over one of your tits, “and I’m not letting anyone see what’s mine under here.” He squeezes gently, watching avidly as your lips part with pleasure.

“Yes, but–”

“No ‘buts,’ honey. This isn’t up for discussion. You know exactly what I’m talking about…”

It’s true, you’ve seen the risk of technologically powered nano-suits first-hand when Miguel gave the Spiders a glimpse of his impressive *cough* stature *cough* during a debriefing meeting.

Needless to say, he was the talk of the city for reasons other than being the grumpy boss…

“Okay, fine. But still…I’m serious about the suits.

That’s when you established the first ground rule of the relationship: no ripping suits unless there’s another one ready to go.

Sure, Miguel sulked about it for a week, making sure you saw his pout when he’d peel your suit off you, but he still made an effort to follow it, carefully evading the sharp tip of his claws when he’d get too eager to see what’s underneath.

You weren’t surprised when you returned to your apartment a few days later to boxes full of suits. Miguel stood there with a proud grin, fangs and claws ready, eyes glowing like rubies. You barely got in the door with your suit still intact.

You also made another rule: no touching during work hours.

You were surprised that you had to make the rule as Miguel is universally known as a strict boss, but similarly with your shredded suits, sometimes he just can’t help himself.

There were enough instances of almost being caught and having to scramble for one of his shirts (or tug on the biggest piece of suit left on the floor) because Miguel forgot to lock the door, that you had to put your foot down.

You grumble as Miguel attempts to pull you onto his lap.

“You know the rules, baby.”

His arms loop around you as you stand between his legs, “But it’s five o’clock!”

“Mm…check again.” He looks up at the holographic clock, you were right, it isn’t five. “It’s four fifty-five.” He raises a brow, unamused.

“Hm…” He yanks you against him causing you to fall over his seated figure, “Fuck it.”

“Miguel!”

—

Sure, being with him is hot and fun, but Miguel isn’t exactly ‘boyfriend’ material.

But it’s not like you’re any better.

Back in your dimension, you were never interested in relationships. You preferred to coast through flings and crushes rather than get emotionally involved with someone.

So this, whatever it is, is all new to you.

That being said, you had zero expectations when it came to this thing between the two of you. You’re like an eager puppy, enthusiastically taking everything he gives you and returning it tenfold. This could mean everything…or nothing.

You assume it’s been a while since Miguel has been with anyone. He’s…hesitant with you, sometimes, like he’s holding a part of himself back. Like it would be too much if he were to fully commit to you and show you what he wants deep down. There’s a constant push and pull with Miguel and it’s either very intense or barely there at all.

It’s a dynamic you’ll never get used to.

Sometimes you spend hours curled up on his lap, content with enjoying his company without a word exchanged between the two of you as he works on his computer, matching anomalies to dimensions and answering messages from different Spiders.

It’s peaceful and oddly domestic. You can almost forget about the collapsing multiverse, the worries that loom over all Spiders, and pretend it’s just you and him.

But then, there are the other times.

Moments that you’d like to forget.

Sometimes he needs space. He needs time to methodically plan out missions and brood in his office until it gets late enough that you know he isn’t coming to your apartment.

Sometimes he disappears for days, or even weeks at a time, never giving you a hint of where he’ll be, just an, “I’ll be back,” thrown over his shoulder. And then you’re left at the entrance as he shuts the door behind him, desperately waiting for him to return so you can be happy again.

You don’t know why he turns cold, and you’ll probably never find out because he doesn’t talk about his past.

It could be your fault.

You never ask.

You never push him to tell you about that little girl whose photo floats on his desktop, or the ring that sits in a drawer right beside his side of the bed.

Sometimes you wonder if you should. If that’s what you’re supposed to do in a ‘relationship’ like this. If you deserve even a crumb of vulnerability from him. But you’re too afraid to lose the fragile thing you have.

You left everything for Miguel. Without him, you’d just be a girl floating in a sea of spiders.

For some reason, you’d rather constantly be on the edge of your seat than lost without him. Because that’s how it would end. You convince yourself that the good times outweigh the bad.

Your infatuation blurs the blue waves and disperses the confusion and hurt until it barely feels like a pinch. He buries your seeds of worry with delicate kisses and numbs the creeping feeling of defeat with the heat of his touch.

With every cold shoulder comes a warm embrace, and you’ll wait weeks in the chill if it means you’ll be in his arms again.

—

Hobie is back, again, despite claiming to quit a couple of weeks ago. Always expect the unexpected with Hobie because consistency is not in his (very British and barely decipherable) vocabulary.

“Oi, Black-Widow, long time no see, eh?” His eye must’ve caught on to your new outfit, a custom dark-gray suit with nano-tech details. Miguel finally reimbursed you after carelessly shredding through your one and only suit.

It’s really nice, and you’re finally more recognizable with this one than the old red and blue traditional you sported before. You turn, spotting his iconic hair and piercings.

“Hobie! You’re back!” You practically jump into his arms, and he catches you easily. “Where’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know, here and there.” A cleared throat echoes through the room and he sets you down on your feet before slightly stepping away from you. Right, you’re still in his office. Whoops.

“Brown.” Miguel acknowledges Hobie, barely, despite talking directly to him. Hobie looks between the two of you, picking up on the change almost immediately. Whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t show it.

“O’Hara.” He replies with an amused expression.

“Ready to get back to work?”

He shrugs, clearly not shaken in the slightest. “S’why I’m here, innit?”

“Good. Go report to Drew, you’ll be leaving in 20.”

“Right…” Eyes back on you. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah, we can catch up later! Be safe.”

“Will do, Spider-Woman.” You catch Hobie sending Miguel a teasing smirk as he draws away from the two of you and leaves the room. 

Freaking bugger, he’s trying to rile him up!

“I don’t like that guy.” He says it after a few seconds of silence.

You sigh, “I know.”

You turn to face him, meeting his signature scowl as he continues to glare at the door.

“With you.”

“I know.”

—

You’re still trying to do things your way, which, in your opinion, is the right way. And Miguel is still webbing you to any convenient surface and telling Parker to watch over you so he can get back to work.

“Not today, sweetheart.” You tug against the wisps of glowing red webs, nearly growling in your struggle. He’s clearly upgraded their strength after you’ve been able to escape and secretly tag along behind him.

“Wait, but, Miguel–!”

“This operation is especially sensitive. I can’t have you window shopping in a crumbling mall again.”

“That was one time! And we weren’t even on a mission.”

He raises an accusing brow, “Exactly.” He starts to walk away, ignoring your groaning and moaning. “Don’t forget you’re still on thin ice after you disobeyed orders last time.

“Ugh! C’mon, that was eons ago. I think I’ve proven myself.” He walks away, clicking a few buttons on his watch before a portal appears.

“Yeah, on unauthorized trips.”

“Still!”

“Brown, you ready?”

Hobie pushes off the wall he is leaning on and gives Miguel a teasing salute, “Aye-aye, sir.”

“What?! I’m stuck over here, but he gets to go?” The Brit sends you a teasing wink.

“He’s dispensable, cariño.”

“Ouch.”

You look over to the other side of the room where Peter sits.

“Okay, and what about him?”

“He's on babysitting duty.”

“Really? We’re still on this?” You raise an annoyed brow.

Peter holds his hands up in surrender, “Don’t look at me, look at your boyfriend. You’re not the only one suffering from this arrangement.”

“Boyfriend? More like father…” You mumble grumpily.

Hobie’s mouth quirks up, “Father? More like d-”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence, Brown.” Of course, this doesn’t discourage him, if anything, the low growl only makes him smile wider. Miguel sighs, releasing the sudden tension from his body with a quick roll of his shoulders. “Alright, we should be back in a handful of hours.” He begrudgingly looks over at his mission partner, “Let’s go.”

“Okay, call me if you need help!” You yell as Hobie disappears into a flash of neon lights and pulsing sounds.

Before Miguel follows and slips through the portal, he stops and looks back, not at you, but at your babysitter, “And Parker,” He pulls his mask on, always ready for battle, “Make sure she behaves.”

“Oh, come on–”

Peter grins and sends Miguel a half-hearted thumbs up, “You got it.”

[lauravanarendonkbaugh]

Thoughts on A Message from NaNoWriMo

I got an email today from the National Novel Writing Month head office, as I suspect many did. I have feelings. And questions.

First, I genuinely believe someone in the office is panicking and backtracking and did not endorse all that was said and done in the last month. From what I understand, the initial AI comments were not fully endorsed by all NaNo staff and board members, or even known in advance. It's got to be rough to find out your organization kinda called people with disabilities incapable of writing a story on their own, and overtly called people with ethics racists and ablists, by reading the reactions on social media--and then your organization's even worse counter-reactions on social media.

I still think NaNoWriMo has a good mission and many people in it with good goals.

But I think NaNoWriMo is SERIOUSLY missing a point in its performative progressivism. (For the record, I'm actually in favor of many progressive policies, and I support many of the same concepts NaNoWriMo claims to support, and I applaud providing materials to underfunded schools and support to marginalized groups historically not producing as many writers, etc. The issue here is not "whether or not woke is okay" -- it's whether or not the virtue signaling is still in line with the core mission.)

Also, honesty. (That's below.)

NaNoWriMo has ALWAYS been on the honor system AND fully adaptable to needs. Some years I had a schedule which absolutely did not allow for 50k new words -- I adjusted my personal goals. (I did not claim a 50k win if I did not achieve one, but I celebrated a personal win for achieving personal goals.) Some years I wrote 50k in one project, and some 50k across multiple projects. NaNoWriMo has acknowledged this for years with the "NaNo Rebel" label.

So saying out of the blue that because some people cannot achieve 50k in a month, we should devalue the challenge (y'know that word has a definition, right?) and allow anyone to claim a win whether they actually wrote 50,000 words or not... Well, that's not only rude to writers who actually write, but it was unnecessary, because project goals have always been adjustable to personal constraints.

It's also hugely unhelpful to participating writers. Yeah, writing 50k words in a month is tough. That's why it's a challenge. Allowing people to "generate" (quotes intentional) words from a machine does not improve their skills. No one benefits from using AI to generate work -- not the "writer" who did not write those words and so did not practice and improve a skill, not any reader given lowest-common-denominator words no one could be bothered to write, and not the actual writer whose words were stolen without compensation to blend into the AI-generated copy-pasta.

Hijacking language about disability to justify shortcuts and skipping self-improvement is just cheap, and it's not fair to people with disabilities.

I would much rather see NaNoWriMo say, "Hey, we don't all start in the same place, and we may need different goals. Here's overt permission to set personal goals" (or maybe even, "here are several goals to choose from"), "and if you are a NaNo Rebel, rock on! This creativity challenge does require you to do your own work, in order for you to see your own skills improve."

And, honesty. Part of why I don't feel great about NaNoWriMo's backtracking and clarifications is that they're still not being open.

The same email links to an FAQ about data harvesting, which opens with this sentence:

Users of our main website, NaNoWriMo.org, do not type their work directly into our interface, nor do they save or upload their work to our website in any way.

This is technically correct in the present tense, but for years it wasn't. Every NaNo winner for years pasted their work into the word counter for verification. That was, by every web development definition, uploading.

[Updated: the word count validator was discontinued in recent years, and I was wrong to originally write as if it was still happening. I do think addressing the question of the validator would be appropriate when refuting accusations of data harvesting, for clarity and assurance regarding any past harvesting, especially giving today's AI scraping concerns. Again, as stated below, I don't think the validator was stealing work! But I wasn't the only person to immediately think of the validator when reading the FAQ. I was, however, wrong to state it as present-tense here.]

To be clear, I do not believe that NaNoWriMo is harvesting my work, or I wouldn't have verified wins with their word counter. But that's not because of this completely bogus assurance that their website never had the upload that they've required for win verification.

"Well, sure, we had the word counter, but it didn't store your work, and you should have known that's what we meant" is not a valid expectation when you are refuting data concerns. Just as "You should have known what we meant" is not a valid position when clarifying statements about the use of generative AI.

My point is, there are a number of different people making statements for NaNoWriMo, and at least some of them are not competent to make clear, coherent, and correct statements. Either they are not aware that the word counter exists, or they're not aware that pasting data into a website that uses that data to process a task is in fact uploading, or they are not aware that implying they've never collected data they did previously collect in a FAQ is dishonest. Or they are not aware that commenting or DMing users to castigate them for expressing legitimate concerns is not a good practice. Or they are missing the whole point of a writing challenge and emphasizing instead the warm fuzzies of inclusion without actually honoring that marginalized people also want to feel a sense of accomplishment rather than being token "winners."

I judged another writing challenge, once, which included an automatically-processed digital badge for minimum word count. One of the entries was just gibberish repeated to meet the minimum word count. Okay, "participant" who did not actually create anything -- you got your automated digital badge, so I guess you feel cool and clever. But did you meet the challenge? Did you level up? Did you come out stronger and more prepared for the next one?

That's what generative AI use does. Cheap meaningless win, no actual personal progress. That's why we didn't want it endorsed in NaNoWriMo. That's what NaNo is missing in their replies.

And I remain suspicious of replies, anyway, while absolute falsehoods are in their FAQ.

It's sad, because I've truly enjoyed NaNoWriMo in the past. And I actually do think they could recover from past scandal and current AI missteps. But it does not look at this time like they're on that path.

@nanowrimo

[olderthannetfic]

This NaNoWriMo stuff with AI is largely unsurprising to me. I don't know how many people have gone beyond reading the viral clipped out bit about classism and ableism, but there was a follow up statement on that, in which they claim to take a very neutral stance. That their initial intent was apparently trying to curtail harassment of those who are using AI and they at least apologized for their confusing and unthoughtful wording of their original statement. Which seems legitimate enough to me. I'm sure they are sorry, considering the swift and unforgiving backlash they received. What I find kind of bizarre about this whole thing is, like, if you are running an event surrounding writing and making guidelines for what is and isn't okay in general-- then wouldn't it be a perfectly reasonable addition, to set out some level of encouraged practices for how one should or shouldn't use AI for during said event. Guidelines that are encouraged, that follow what everyone believes to be the spirit of the event (sitting down and actually writing a little every day for a month) would seem like a perfectly reasonable thing to do, to me. Like, am I off base here? With the rise in AI this seems like the natural progression. Even if only in spirit, not allowing generated works specifically seems like it would be a completely understandable guideline that keeps the event fair to those trying to do it the way it's meant to be done. And if you wanted to be neutral about it, it could be presented alongside a more lax policy around using AI to say, generate a plot bunny when experiencing writers block or create names for places/characters. People have been using tools like that for ages so there's precedent to allow "thoughtful" use of AI for these purposes. Anything at all, even if it can't be completely enforced, seems like it would have been better. The random endorsement of AI for people in certain circumstances from their follow up statement, and how it can be life changing, if one were to take their meaning in the most charitable way possible, does not feel like it's on topic here. Like, all this effort to be "neutral" on their part is not really coming across that way it's all just so damn clumsy. I try to always assume positive intent, not attributing to maliciousness (such as capital gain at the expense of creatives, which is one of the major problems with AI generated work) what can be better explained by ignorance, but even taking all that they've said in such a fashion, it largely feels like they didn't want people arguing about AI but also didn't want to have to make rules around AI that they would then have to, even if only in spirit, enforce. I can sort of understand that, considering it would be (most likely) impossible for them to differentiate between generated work and stuff that was written by a person. But again. They could have just said that it wouldn't be possible for them to police AI usage, blah blah blah, honor system (which again is already part of how NaNo works-- an honor system) but that targeted harassment campaigns of individuals for any reason would not be allowed within these spaces, up to and including suspected use of AI. Like there were so many different ways this could have been approached to accomplish what their stated goal was. Without??? Accidentally taking a very strange and not well thought out direct stance on AI that they later had to halfway walk back and apologize for. I don't think NaNoWriMo ever intended the message to be "We allow AI generated works now" (unless there's something I missed) -- That's not explicitly something they said, but rather the at large and reactionary interpretation of it. Now, I just have to wonder, what the hell happened to their September update post from last week, that was apparently addressing other issues. One thing I'll say for this whole mess, is it's at least amusing to watch the absurdity of their slow motion collapse hitting the speedrun stage toward total implosion. The org has had major internal problems for years now.

--

Honestly, I think the reaction is at least as much about longstanding issues with the organization as about people's fears of AI. Poorly thought out corporate idiocy feels in-character.

[just-prime]

I was looking back to see when I originally started Dream House and found that the one year anniversary is today!!!!

So I was scrolling through the notes on the original post and found this lovely comment from @hoblingtyrant

Also, I would have responded to this directly but now the post is locked because @midnight-downpour's old blogs all got terminated >:(

BUT, it was the perfect lead-in for an update post!!!

Because let's just say that wishes have been granted, cuz I am offically finished (okay I was a few days ago, but wanted to make this anniversary post, so bear with me) with The Horror of Dream House Book 1, Myth of Sisyphus and the final word count has come out to 158,022 words!

Which is kinda insane if I'm being perfectly honest.

There already is a short Book 1.5 that will also be published once all of Book 1 is up and posted, though probably after a short break, similar to the one that will happen between Part 1 and Part 2 of Book 1.

To everyone who's been following along for the ride, I just want to say thank you so much, your comments have buoyed me in times of struggle and your kind words consistently bring smiles to my faces. To those who've done art, I literally have no words for how amazing it feels to have created something that inspires art, truly an incredible feeling. I also want to thank @sledgehamur for all of their support on late night calls as I babble for hours about plot points and character arcs, their help transcends that of beta reading and functionally are the second set of brain cells I run ideas through to make sure everything makes sense...couldn't have done it without you.

And of course, @midnight-downpour, had your art not sparked such inspiration within me, so if anything, this is all your fault :P

This has been so fun, and I am currently giving myself some breathing room before starting in on Book 2 properly for this years NaNo, so I'm looking forward to crafting another story within this world. I plan on bringing in some character that I think people will be excited for... >:D

So yeah...if you've read all of this, you get a gold star and a hug, and as always my askbox is open if you have any questions about Dream House. I'll answer to the best of my ability without giving spoilers!

[carionto]

Geronimo!

Space suits have come a long way - near 1 to 1 articulation and haptic feedback, intuitive zero-g booster based movement, nano-clamps for spiderman-like grip in low/no gravity, and of course dozens of micro layers of protection against all know space radiation and other hazards. Plus a centimeter thick composite armor against sentient threats, with a "cocoon" mode to fully cover all joints and other normally more exposed parts, that renders the Human inside near impervious to most small arms, and even some heavier impacts.

To fully test the limits of protection you don't actually need to have a person inside, just plenty of sensors and a good understanding Human physiology and anatomy. The military, of course, does things a bit differently, as their suits are even tougher. They do have this half-half mode where you are mostly armor, but can still move, but more like the Terminator. Given it also boasts a powered exoskeleton between the armor and hazardous protection layers, soldiers can wield weapons other militaries typically mount on vehicles, so the metaphor is almost just a straight factual comparison.

Some, however, are still not satisfied, and are always seeking to extend the durability of their suits to beyond the extremes.

____________________________

Hilda Lavre was standing on the edge of the ship in low orbit. One hand gripping an outer handle while engaged in final diagnostics.

"Alright, Hilda, everything looks green on our end, how 'bout you?"

"Same green green. I'm good."

"Whenever you're ready then. There's some clouds in the way of the predicted path, might slow you down a bit. Wanna wait?"

"Nah, nah. I'll wing it."

After a seconds pause, Hilda let go of the handle and gently kicked off the side of the ship. She was now on a direct collision course with the Atlantic Ocean.

.

.

.

(Thermals should start going up soon. I'm gonna turn on the external mic just a tad. There's just something about how the heat sounds scraping against the metal.

Oh, there it goes. Yellow, slowly getting to orange. Good.

Yea, that's a nice screech - burn that paint!

Halfway to red, altitude check. Already this close? Guess it'll be just shy of 80% tolerance.

Hehehehe, that means we can go for a bit faster next time. Cool.

Eh... wind without the heat just doesn't sound right, I'll turn it down to just barely audible. Something to keep me company.

Aaaand three.

Two.

One.)

SPLASH

.

.

.

(It's dark. But I guess it was dark before...

before what though?

Well, that's okay.

This feels like a new kind of dark though.

There's the dark when you're alone in your room at night, all the lights are out.

Another kind is when you decide to get inside your brothers closet to scare him when he comes back from the kitchen. That's a fun kind of dark. (it's getting cold)

There's also the dark of being in an underground bunker during a storm. Then the power gets cut and all the exits are sealed. That's a... lonely kind of dark.

One time I was wandering the woods, and before I knew it, it was the middle of a moonless night, overcast too. Hiding out in an abandoned shed, without even the wind or animal sounds to let you know anything is out there. I didn't like that kind of dark at all. (It's really cold)

This dark though... I dunno. It's like I'm hiding out in my own closet. My shoulder is up against my winter jacket, feet are grazing those old sandals I swore to throw out two summers ago. But also, it's not my room. Or even my house. Why am I in my closet? How did it get here? Where even is here?

I feel sleepy.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Hey, hey! Hilda! Wake up!"

*grunting* "Ugh... shut, shut up Barry..."

"Gods, don't freak us out like that. You okay?"

"Depends. How high did it go go?"

*laughter* "Okay, [She's fine everyone] yeah, you're fine. 87 meters, new record."

"Hmm, I was aiming to to break 90."

"Well, those clouds nudged you a little off, you hit it at a 83 degree angle. Still, those other readings are nice. I'm pretty sure we can do a boosted fall next time."

"Yeah, I I think so too. I feel a little little cold, did something break on hit hit?"

"Not break, but the impact did jolt the subsystems a bit. Activated one of the sedative shots. I manually made your suit give you a wake up shot right as I noticed. You should be feeling the effects right about now."

"Mmhhmmm, oh yea. I'm feeling the kick kick now. We need to improve the kinetic tic dampeners. No good if if it puts you to sleep upon any hard enough nough impact."

"Yup. We're suspending any other jumps for the week until we get that fixed and implement some minor tweaks based on your jump once we analyze the telemetry further.

Okay, everyone! Good job today! Let's meet up next weekend and test these bad boys out. Let's aim for a 100 meter splash by the end of the year!"

*cheers and yeahs as Barry opens a mini fridge and everyone cracks open a cold one*

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

Lore notes: The Inquiry

Court of inquiry → thing that exists

Interesting to me how romana is the only one here that introduces herself with her full name (well maybe except brax, because as far as we know braxiatel is his full name)

She does go on to say all this (‘President of the Supreme Council of Gallifrey and all her dominions, holder of the wisdom of Rassilon, preserver of the Matrix, guardian of the legacy of Omega’) so maybe she just likes to feel special

‘Chief coordinator of the celestial intervention agency’ → okay, so even this early on there was more than one coordinator as an established thing (guess i just didn’t catch it the first time)

There’s a separate door sound for all of them (at least i think that’s a door sound) (actually i have no clue what they is given it’s not the typical big finish door sound, but something is happening everytime one of them introduces themself) (well except for brax)

‘Matrix interpretation of events’ → interesting phrasing here, there’s the implication that what is recorded in the matrix is not necessarily what actually happened

Nano span → so what is this, i’d love an explanation of what the different gallifreyan time measurements mean (it seems to be the equivalent of seconds)

‘But just because it’s impossible doesn’t mean it can’t exist’ → yeah okay (something something paradoxes something something)

‘The President knows because it’s in the Matrix’ → now does she know because she has full access to the matrix and went looking, or does she just passively have the knowledge of the matrix (i mean it would be a bit much to have it all at once, but given the connection that a president has to the matrix, is it a case of they have to go look it up or can they just sort of summon the knowledge like bringing up an old memory)

‘You think the Coordinator of the CIA can’t Matrix data without the President, or the Matrix, come to that, knowing’ → a) narvin has probably illegal back doors into the matrix b) it’s possible to get into the matrix without it having a record of that and c) is the whole of the matrix only accessible to the president, or is there a surface level of information that everyone can use?

‘Let’s see what’s so secret that even the Matrix is forbidden to look at it’ → can seal matrix data from the matrix

Matrix outside real space time

Matrix accessed through linking your mind to it

Interesting that romana uses k9 to access the matrix for her, why is she not the one connecting to the matrix, and how did she configure an outside computer to be able to access it when it seems that it is something that’s intrinsically linked to the president themself

‘The energy-wave signature is a real-time recording of a timonic fusion explosion within the vortex. Such a device would operate on a temporal frequency of five-point-nine-seven-two on the Blinovitch Variable Scale’

Data bomb planted in the matrix → it is predictably, a bomb that destroys data

Cia has its own systems outside of the matrix

‘The APC net ensures that all data is cross-linked; that’s how it performs predictive analysis’

‘Now, the Matrix has a real-time regulator, that’s how it maintains relativistic relationships between the data’

So micropans seem to be a somewhat longer than a second, while nanospans seem to be equivalent to a second

‘the Matrix gathers all data pertaining to events in the Capitol’

‘it sees, but it doesn’t always remember. It makes decisions about the priority and importance of what it predicts and preserves. It may once have known, and then deemed the information valueless’ → matrix just deletes data sometimes

Brax threatens to leave gallifrey to get them to listen and they do + he doubts that they would have actually let him go → makes me wonder how hard it is to actually become a renegade, what safeguards are there against leaving gallifrey, also at this point it doesn’t seem that brax was all that important in the grand scheme of time lord politics, so it may not have even been about him in particular, but the prospect of anyone leaving (also this is just a bit funny to me considering we know he has left gallifrey, though maybe there’s the important bit of yes he’s left, but he hasn’t completely abandoned time lord society like a true renegade)

‘the Chancellery Guard is trained to officiate at state occasions and escort the President to and from her office’ → largely a ceremonial position

‘Biodata certification. It uniquely identifies the individual who created or modified the data’ → k9s definition of an artron imprint → the artron energy of each time lord is as unique as their biodata

Time lords have an archive of their biodata extracts

Artron imprints are pretty useless for tracking people within the capitol since there are so many overlapping artron sources from all the time lords there

So it seems it is possible to just go and travel around without anyone actually noticing

Artron imprint can be tracked, but it doesn’t seem that it is immediately able to be linked to someone

Archive has an online indexing system

‘in 2347, relative’ → seems that they default to the time when something happened in a measurement that lines up with where it happened, but that doesn’t actually do all that much to tell us when in happened in reference to gallifrey (unless i am getting this wrong, which is possible, i often get confused by time)

So we know that romana knows about the braxiatel collection (according to city of death), but she’s completely surprised by his art purchases, so i really wonder what the general perception/knowledge of his collection is

I mean the way romana talks about learning about the collection, it seems that she may have learned about it while travelling with the doctor

‘encrypted ident key issued to the higher ranks of the CIA’ → high ranking members of the cia are able to access things without leaving traceable records

President can order an arrest

Data extracts are color coded by chapter

Narvin using an earth expression that he doesn’t actually know what it means → someone has been spreading these, and i have to assume it is either romana or brax

Door controls use hand/finger prints

There’s rivalry between cia and chancellery guard

‘the lower levels of the old city, beneath the Capitol’ → capitol is build on top of another city, wonder if anything happened to the original or if they just built on top of it for more space or something similar

Staser blast to the head is enough to kill a time lord permanently

‘You know the penalty for unauthorised interference’ → interference is fine as long as it’s the right kind of interference

There were diplomatic missions off gallifrey even before they started reaching out to the other temporal powers (at least i’d assume they hadn’t during the time of project alpha)

‘The Matrix is outside time, outside history, it doesn’t know or care that events have changed’

Temporary transduction barriers can be set up for experiments

‘The High Council accepted the CIA’s recommendation that the whole event should be covered up’ → if it makes you look bad, just pretend that it never happened

[winterspiderpurrs]

Pepper sighed as she exited the elevator to head toward the lab. About two hours ago, she received the notification she and Rhodey set up several years ago. Rhodey was already en route to the tower. Should be here in the next twenty minutes.

When the doors slid open to the lab, she found Tony sitting in a chair, hand deep into a robot, but his focus was on a projected screen in front of him. Looks like he was reading paged of book. When he tilts his head a certain way, the pages turn.

" Tony. What are you doing?"

" Nothing. Just reading"

" Uh huh. Then why did Friday notify me that you unblocked Peter's on the server"

" Hey! Big tattle tell Friday! Don't worry about it, Pep. It's been a while, and I heard from Brucie that Peter published another paper. And I just wanted to read it. "

" Don't start this up again Tony. You go down this rabbit hole its going to be like before"

" Have faith Pepper! I'm just reading a paper, I'm not asking him out."

" Again?"

Tony swirls around in his chair and faces Pepper.

" I can control myself!"

" Said that the last 3 times. This time isn't going to work. Just leave him be Tony"

" It's not going to be anything! His idea to use some nano tech in closing wounds is intriguing, but we would have to test that out. Lots more research. I could get a grant for him to explore it. "

" Tony!"

Pepper stomps her foot to get his attention before he goes off on a tangent. This is how it always goes with Peter and Tony.

See Tony met Peter when Peter was 18 and was doing a summer internship at the tower. They hit it off and started a whirlwind romance. And that's how it went.

Things would be great, then Peter would ask for more, and Tony would break up with him. They separate for a while. Peter does something that draws Tony back in, and they try to be friends and end up where they started.

It's not like Tony doesn't know that Peter knows himself in the ways of science. But it came to the relationship? The long haul? Tony wanted that, but Peter was just so young, so he kept pushing him away.

They have been doing this song and dance for years. The last break up was a year and a half ago.

And Peter left without a fuss this time. Simply packed up his bags, told Tony to stop contacting him til he grows up and figures out what he wants. But not wait for him cause he was absolutely done.

The doors open to the lab again and Rhodey walks out.

" i don't smell alcohol so Tony is still sober. Whats the emergency Pepper"

" PGMATDK Protocol "

" Shit okay. "

Tony blinks.

" Hey! Only I'm allowed to have acronyms!"

"Sure Tones. But brace yourself."

"What?"

Pepper sighs and looks to Rhodey before back to Tony.

" You've read just Peter's papers. Haven't researched into him again correct?"

Tony frowned and looked between the two.

" No just his published work..."

" Well I'm sorry that this is coming out but...Peter got married"

Tony stares at them before standing up and pacing.

" We have only been broken up a year and a half? When? To who? "

Tony spins around to look at them.

" Tell me it wasn't to that Strange guy"

" No he didn't marry Dr. Strange, someone else about a month ago.

Tony stares at them again before sitting down. Rhodey comes to stand next to him and puts his hand on his shoulder.

" I'm sorry Tony..."

They stayed like for a while before Tony whispered.

" Does he seem happy?"

" Don't open that box Tony. But... he does... yes."

Later that night Tony was looking up the photos.

[cicaedahums]

"There's blood everywhere! Please help me clean it before your grandma gets home!"

Obviously I wasn't expecting Okarun to be dead, but I do like the double reveal that while that third body ISN'T him, he's doing MUCH worse than the others. It also hurts that Momo's last interactions with him were busting his chops incessantly and also is great that the story respects my intelligence enough to not call attention to that fact.

I knew this was coming in the broad strokes even before the "reveal" a few chapters ago that Vamola was a spy, but this still HURTS, especially with the juxtaposition between what Vamola is saying and Momo's justified, if misplaced fury.

"When did my toes get broken |[" "Don't worry about it"

Once again, I have full confidence that her voice actresses are going to elevate the fuck out of this, and I'm already upset

I also kind of like that effectively, Momo is on her own here, especially with her realization in the previous chapters that she really hasn't actually managed much without at least Okarun fighting alongside her. Kenta's still around, but he's not exactly In with the group yet it seems. Mister Shrimp is here too, but he seems pretty reluctant to go out of his way to help more than he ABSOLUTELY has to and I don't think he'd be game to go on the offensive outright, even if there is a tactical reason for it.

I don't think Momo is weak, but it's going to be interesting to see how she deals without Yokai Support.

I'm never speculating anything ever again. That said, I'm always happy to see Momo extend affection and care towards Aira and vice versa. Even if the vice versa IS absent here, that's okay lol

"Sorry Momo can't help, we've got yuri duty"

Aira is such a fucking treasure also HOW is she able to move like that.

I really like how Jiji kind of simultaneously is the theoretical heavy and also the emotional core of the group, with the latter being more pronounced given circumstances regarding the former. (I also love how thouroughly unimpressed Aira is with his flirty nature even if it works on everyone else. It's like... No... I shant say...)

Everyone shish, Aira is having Leader Thoughts, taking in all the points and deciding on a plan of action.

Oh, yeah, the serpos WERE like. 1000000% cool with fully killing these kids too, they just sucked at it too bad. Idk kind of a downer to have these guys referred to in such a depersonalized and direct way

They have five days before what the serponian said about them becomes real and they're reduced to Batteries

I think she can

Get 'im

Ngl i completely forgot about mr ludris

Omg the kitten from the omake that Turbo Granny rescued is back ;w;

Also I'm glad they didn't give Jiji a turn with the nano machines if Momo and Aira fucked up that bad. If only any of them liked Kenta and had a thought to contact him

HGSDDFSHDGSFJ I GUESS SHE LITERALLY FORGOT ABOUT HIM

I will never stop loving these little moments between them.

Please more jijifaces forever

ALSO the eyepatch REALLY brings out a Leaderly look to Aira. Now she REALLY looks the part.

"IM NOT CALLING YOU A GOOD GIRL, THAT PERFORMANCE WAS SHIT!!!"

Momo finally acknowledged Aira as the leader which is great bc Aira is REALLY living up to that here. It's harsh but she's right that they're floundering and she's PROVING it just by being better. I actually kind of like that she isn't the strongest or first to onboard, but she's so technically competent that in comparison Aira has been looking downright badass this arc once shit got serious.

"Sorry Little Big Boss"

I'm still long-suffering over Jiji joining Momo in becoming a psyonic warrior but seeing as how this is clearly happening whether I like it or not, I can at least appreciate this moment. It's about time Jiji found his place in the polycule and not just with Okarun

That's rough buddy.

Don't be like that, they had to open their hearts to love again SOMETIME.

Aira this is no time to have your sapphic awakening!

The return of my favorite gag, yippie!!!

Glad to see Yuri Duty is going well

[bestworstcase]

Hello! You've mentioned being a NanoWrimo veteran, and I was wondering if you had any advice for planning out your writing for the month? I was going to do an outline beforehand to prepare, but I'm not sure if that's authentic to the NanoWrimo spirit.

i am i’ve been doing nano most years with wildly variable success since i was fourteen. my best advice is:

start writing now.

not your actual nanowrimo project necessarily and not the 1.6k and change daily you’d need to ‘win’ but start writing every day right now. if i’m going into november from a dry spell i like to start with a daily goal of minimum 100-200 words for a week and then at the end of the week, set a new goal of a few hundred more than daily average. rinse repeat until you’re in the habit of writing a decent chunk every day. THE POINT OF THIS is to avoid hitting the “”two week wall“” which is a thing that happens because writing 1.6k+ words in a day is pretty easy but writing 1.6k+ words per day every day for a month is really hard if you don’t, you know. train for it.

you will get the most value out of nanowrimo if you think about it as a writing marathon. it’s difficult because it takes a level of endurance and discipline that you probably do not have unless you’re already a prolific daily writer.

outlining is in the spirit of nanowrimo and has always been part of the culture; some people outline extensively (‘planners’) some don’t (‘pantsers,’ as in writing by the seat of your pants), many fall somewhere in the middle. the only hard rule if you want the, like, pure nanowrimo experience as it was originally conceived is: don’t start writing the actual story until 12:01 AM on november first. you can have anything from zero plan to minutely detailed scene-by-scene notes for the entire novel locked and loaded, but on day one you open a blank document and start writing.

another thing i’d really recommend is trying to write over that 1.6k daily baseline. an extra 340 words per day for five days will net you a free day and those are nice to have in case you hit a day where you can’t write for whatever reason. it’s a lot less stressful to bank up extra words ahead of time than to miss a day or two and have to catch up.

if you don’t already have a process for turning off your inner editor, start trying to figure one out now. the temptation to delete and rewrite a paragraph dozens of times will bite you if you indulge it. try things like hiding your text so you can’t read it (set font and page to the same color, or use wingdings), try sprinting apps like write or die, stuff like that. you are trying to complete a rough draft. it’s okay for it to be rough.

lastly, use the time between now and november to figure out warm ups that work for you. these are quick, simple writing exercises separate from your wip that you do before every writing session. here are some that i like:

set a timer for five minutes and write continuously, stream of conscious, without stopping until the time’s up.

set a timer for five minutes and write a loose synopsis or ramble about the scene you plan to write: what happens, who’s in it, what subplots is it advancing, what pieces of foreshadowing or set up do you need to work in, what’s the emotional tone, etc.

pick an object in the room. spend five minutes describing it in exhaustive but simple detail. think “this cup is a tall red cylinder. it’s made of glass. there’s about a half-inch of clear glass at the bottom. the red is bright and saturated, firetruck red. it’s sitting on my desk with sunlight falling through it, casting a red shadow. there’s water in it with three ice cubes. the cup is about six inches tall.” <- you want a stream-of-conscious list of observations, basically.

use a random [name/setting/plot] generator and write 2-4 paragraphs of something stupid based on the output. just the silliest or most overwrought or edgiest grimdark or saccharine bullshit you can spew out.

take the last five hundred or so words of your last writing session. read them over. open a blank document and transcribe them word-for-word (or nearly, if you can change a word here and there without breaking stride). the idea is not to edit, but to write out a decent chunk of words quickly, without thinking much about what those words are. (i like to do another warmup and then this one and then just keep going when i hit the end of the chunk i’m transcribing.)

the idea is to preempt writer’s block by giving yourself 10-15 minutes of no thoughts head empty rapid-fire word vomit to get your brain on track and ready to go. warming up before your writing sessions will dramatically reduce the frequency of sudden creative paralysis when you sit down to write.

[faunandfloraas]

top 5 non skz kpop songs 🫶🏻

Bibora by SF9 - idk man it's just a banger every time!! a sad banger... a sanger << sanger is aus slang for sandwich and this song does satiate me like a good sandwich

Monster by exo (chinese version) this song somehow ended up on my playlist ages ago and has never left bc it's a bop lol idk why its the chinese version but it is

Juice - SHINee - banger banger banger

macarena - blitzers < literally know nothing about this group but this was also a song randomly put into my playlist that also never left. Also bc of my dyslexia I thought they were called Blizters like blisters and was like.... well thats kinda a horrible name... fun song tho.... but they weren't called that.

Into the new world by Girls Generation- Okay this one has a whole story but back when I was like 12 or so I was always going into the local hock shop, yk like uhhhhhhhh pawn brokers? and I bought a hot pink ipod nano secondhand and it already had a bunch of music loaded onto it and it had some girls generation on there and I had no idea about kpop but I did absolutely look wistfully out the bus window to that song and then flash forward years later i realized that was probably the first kpop song i ever knew, without knowing. So they deserve the spot.

thanks for the ask k!

[uxop]

Okay I tackled only the surface of Togainu No Chi, since I just finished Motomi’s route and so far the game is not as fucked up as heard people say. Although it’s just the beginning, so…I am gonna assure myself the full story is not what is seems right now, but a little blurb about the route.

MOTOMI’S ROUTE SPOILERS

I must say, again, similarly to Slow Damage issue, nitro-chiral could have had an appropriate age gap relationship if they wanted to. As much as I want to love Motomi as an individual, since his route is a little more philosophical, meaningful conversations about grappling with grievienace, discussions about religion, and just life lessons in general. I was pleasantly surprised and I really, really loved the approach that they took with him, but the relationship with Akira is just such a miss. As a separate character Motomi is great he is sincere, attentive, also very consensual , but these weird ass additions of him comparing, saying and seeing Akira as his deceased son it’s just so vile to me. it’s literally giving me flashbacks to how Taku always said he knew Towa as a child and kept having this pressuring duty because he saw him as a kid. Since the whole Motomi’s confession, saying that he tried to refrain himself from doing anything about him because he saw his son in him is just…😐 YIKES. Not only that their dynamic was so off, like Motomi has seen so much, while Akira is inexperienced, to the point of cluelessness towards the consequences of his actions. In my opinion, games should have routes about platonic relationships and this would have been great with Motomi, having him as fatherly figure can be healthy for Akira without it being romantic. ALSO what I found quite funny is how both Taku and Motomi were doing some research for government. If I remember correctly, Taku was developing drugs because he was threatened, and these drugs were one of the essential sub plots to that villain guy who was giving it to civilians. But in Motomi’s case (I haven’t finished the game yet so these are speculations, partially) it’s seems that because he was doing research on those kids, maybe Akira and Nano were like created to be an essential tool in driving the citizens to violence, like how nano is doing it right now with drugs. But who the fucks knows, I haven’t finished the game, can’t say, but yes. Conclusively, I must say I think I am liking this story better than Sweet Pool, Sweet Pool’s story was so anticlimactic,I like the build up of Togainu No Chi much more.

Here are the photos I took of Motomi mentioning how Akira reminds him of his son (I am sure I missed some as well)

[laminy]

Thank you for the tag @merriell-allesandro-shelton!!

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

How many works do you have on ao3?

Apparently 74! I'm not sure how that's possible but okay! Not what I was expecting. That's like twice as many as I thought.

What's your total ao3 word count?

2,178,053

What fandoms do you write for?

The works that I have posted on AO3 are for Bohemian Rhapsody Actor RPF, BoRhap/Queen, Ted Lasso, 13 Reasons Why, Teen Wolf, 6 Underground, Midsomer Murders, and Shazam. Pre-AO3, I wrote in a lot of other ones. Hypothetically, I write for Gran Turismo, but I've never finished any of those fics lol.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. I'm breathing in the chemicals (Teen Wolf) 2. and you know you don't have to go (Ted Lasso) 3. Fear and Self-Loathing in Beacon Hill (Teen Wolf) 4. you're the sunflower (Ted Lasso) 5. into the blue and sunny morn' (BoRhap Actor RPF)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, absolutely! I appreciate when people comment and I like the interaction.

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I try not to have angsty endings! All my angst is sprinkled throughout the story (maybe more than sprinkled lol) and then they get a happy ending.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Since most of my fics have happy endings, I don't know what the happiest of the happy endings would be. Probably a fic in the ITBASM-universe, because I tried to make them all very happy (they deserved it).

Do you get hate on fics?

I did get a couple hateful anons on here in my day but they didn't stick around. Thankfully I've avoided much of that (knock on wood).

Do you write smut?

I do, I do. All M/M, though for my original NaNo story I'm apparently going to be attempting M/F and idk how that's gonna go lol.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written two 6 Underground x Midsomer Murders crossovers because Ben and Gwil.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of! I hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I'm also not sure I'm aware of any.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not! I'll be honest that I really don't know how it works and I'm kind of a solitary creature in that regard. so, I don't know that it would be my vibe.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Everrrrrr? Oh my gosh I don't know if I could pick. According to my AO3 bookmarks, apparently it's Joe/Nicky from The Old Guard but I don't think so (and for the most part I avoid that fandom these days). I don't know, ever???? I still can't decide. I'm too finicky. I will say that a ship that I will always love and I go forever without reading and then I'll be in that mood again is Eggsy/Harry from Kingsman. Like, they're the old stalwart.

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Probably those Gran Turismo fics I mentioned above.

What are your writing strengths?

I would say dialogue but I don't know if anyone would agree. I find it the most fun, so I enjoy it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I don't know how to describe what people look like, because 99.9 of stuff I write is fanfic and readers already know what those characters look like, so that whenever I attempt anything original, I don't know how to naturally include some idea of "this person has brown eyes and is very tall." I see it done so badly sometimes and I just try to avoid that.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have done it before sparingly. Different languages, I know fics I've done have included French, Spanish, Dutch, German, and Arabic. For most of them, I use Google Translate. for the Arabic, I watched YouTube and tried non-Google Translate sources. for the French, some of it I knew myself and wrote it as I know it (I am not fluent in French). I would never write an entire fic in another language but I think including other languages is fun and rounds out the characters.

First fandom you wrote for?

Probably shockingly, it was Friends. A friend and I wrote it together in the fifth grade. Handwrote it, actually. We had a notebook that we passed back and forth.

Favorite fic you've written?

Overall, every ITBASM fic because it's like, my universe, my world, my characters, and it covered so much time (and space, ha). I don't know that I could pick an individual fic.

[mightbewriting]

hi so i want to ask how i would go about improving my craft. more specifically, how do you do that, and do you have any advice?

i've accepted that my writing now isn't going to be perfect by any means, but i've also found myself wondering how i'd go about improving my craft to that point where i'm satisfied with it? or is it always going to feel like you have more to improve and more to change and more, more, more even when you've come a long way? like idk it's so hard to measure the endpoint (is there even an endpoint/end goal?) because even when i can see that i've improved in certain ways, there are also times i cringe at myself so much, which actually leads to fluctuating motivation too.

hi anon!

so sorry for taking a bit to get to this! i think the place i want to start with is no, there is no end point. at least, not one i've ever found. and truly, i think the most helpful point of growth with writing is in finding a way to accept that nothing you write will ever feel 100% perfected to you. even the things that readers might give you glowing feedback on and say there's nothing they would change, even if you can't necessarily figure out what it is that's wrong or that you would change, in my experience, there's always going to be a lingering sense of "but i could do this better, i know i could." the trick is in letting that be okay and, if i may be grotesquely trite, accepting that writing is the kind of activity that's pretty exclusively about the journey, not the destination. i'm not convinced there is a destination.

with regards to how i've gone about improving my craft, i'm a big proponent of craft books and reading a wide variety of them (which is boring, tedious advice, i know, but it's what i've done). i think it's easy to want to take craft advice as prescriptive, but processes are so unique to the way each of us thinks and how our brains work that i employ more of magpie technique. i want to pick and choose from a bunch of different sources to build my own little treasure trove of what works for me.

in addition to that, my trick for a very, very long time was disciplined practice. writing is one of those things you have to do to improve. i had a lot of success with daily word count minimums because, at least for me, having to get a certain number of words on the page no matter what they were or what project they were for, really helped me push past perfectionist tendencies. there just isn't time to obsess over 100 words when i have 1500 more to write and don't want to spend every second of my life doing it. if you're struggling to let something be a little bit imperfect, i highly recommend giving daily word counts a try for at least a month to build the habit and see how it feels. it doesn't work for everyone, but it worked for me. and if community helps, i highly recommend nanowrimo (national novel writing month) as a way to make a little event out of those daily word counts (i've done nano many times in my life and even wrote at nano pace for an entire year. and while that was...a lot, it also did a lot for my ability to write first drafts without shame). additionally, word sprints (timed, focused writing as fast as you can) with friends are a great way to help get words in with a support system cheering you on.

the last thing i'll throw out there, if it's helpful at all, a lot of the time my "endpoint" with a project is when i can't stand working on it anymore, not when i feel like it's perfect. because at a certain point, i'm not the project's best advocate anymore; i'm too close to it. and calling it done is usually the best thing for both me and the story.

i hope this is at least a little bit helpful anon! good luck with your writing! i promise you deserve way more credit than you're giving yourself right now!