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wttcsms · 8 months

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— excerpts of upcoming works;

i have nearly 90k words total in my google docs drafts, lol. i figured i would share some of my progress towards specific fics + to gauge overall interest in my projects. enjoy!

right now, it's just two atsumu fics + 1 kiyoomi fic because i'm still steadily looking through my drafts for anything halfway decent enough to show publicly lol

angel of the morning, atsumu miya x f!reader

soldier!au, nonspecific/fictional war, early 1900s setting * features first love, "you never answered my letters" "you sent letters?", breeding kink, lots of hurt, lots of comfort, happy ending * 3k words written, est. ~15k when finished

It’s been a rough day.

A rough week.

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know?

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize.

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily.

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan.

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople.

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom.

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own.

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying.

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target.

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body.

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him.

But if you a die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard.

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this.

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next.

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin.

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that.

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help.

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then.

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope.

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

no more keepin' score (now i just keep you warm), kiyoomi sakusa x f!reader

womanizer/playboy!sakusa x maneater!reader, celebrity reader * features meeting your match, the girl plays the game better, banter, sexual tension, * 2k written, est. ~25k when finished

Three mimosas in, and you haven’t flirted with a single volleyball player yet, even though Sober You thinks they’re totally hot, and Tipsy You thinks they’re just the hottest.

Bokuto and Mai are lost in their own conversation, leaving you to talk with the infamous teammates that Mai was so certain you would want to make your flavor of the week. There’s the faux blond sitting on your left, the ginger sitting diagonally from you, and next to the ginger — Shoyo — is probably the reason why Mai begged you to be good for once. Curly black hair, the most intense set of dark eyes, and the jawline of a god — he’s the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. You’re kind of already regretting your promise not to play with Bokuto’s teammates. Almost.

Atsumu, the blond, is funny. Shoyo has a fun energy that’s easy to reciprocate. And Sakusa…

Sakusa hasn’t spoken to you once, and you’re nearing forty minutes into this lunch. You’re wondering how long this vow of silence is going to last before turning your attention to Atsumu.

“—haven’t been to a volleyball game before?” He’s staring at you, mouth turning up into a boyish grin that’s surprisingly cuter than you expect it to be. During the whole entire introduction stage at the beginning of lunch, you played dumb, as if you couldn’t identify some of the most famous professional athletes in Japan. You don’t like letting people know that you’re aware of their existence; it gives them too much of an ego boost.

You know what he’s about to offer — the best seats in the house, probably to the upcoming game next week. He’s probably the type to send you a jersey — one brandishing his name and court number, of course.

“Nope.” Then, tilting your head curiously, you ask him, “Why? Am I missing out on anything?”

His grin only grows wider.

“Ya know, we have a game next week.” Well, you do know, but since you’re playing the role of ‘ditz to all things volleyball’, you let him continue his little sales pitch. “Each player gets to invite whoever they want.”

How cute. He wants you to make the next move.

“Oh, that’s great! Y’know, Mai mentioned something like that to me earlier today. I think she says I can be her plus-one, so I’m really excited to be able to finally experience a match.” You smile at him, acting as if you’re oblivious to the fact that he is readying himself to offer a ticket to you.

“I heard ticket processing for a guest’s plus-one is kinda tricky. I’d feel really bad for ya if you couldn’t catch the entire game because you got held up trying to get in.” The excuse is obviously flimsy, but you find it a bit cute the lengths he’ll go to beat around the bush.

But you can’t score if you never shoot, and if Atsumu isn’t going to directly invite you, you’re not taking his ticket.

“Hm, well, I’ll probably just sit this one out then. I think there’s a charity baseball game happening the same night, and a couple of the players are pretty good friends. I’ll just watch that if you’re sure it’s going to be an issue for Mai and me to get in.” You give Atsumu your bright mega-watt smile, the one you’re used to giving for ad campaigns.

“I mean, you could always use my ticket.”

Your smile only grows wider, and this time, just the slightest bit genuine.

Mai asked you a while back why you do it; flirt and have your fun with guys but refuse to commit to anything serious. At first, you told her it was because you wanted to focus on your modeling career and couldn’t afford a constant distraction. Now, at the height of your career, you can admit the other half.

You like being wanted.

Because right now, Atsumu is staring at you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear, and he won’t know what to do with himself if you did. Bokuto stares at Mai like that too, and for her sake, you hope it lasts.

(It never does for you, and you’re tired of hoping the next boy will be the one to break the pattern.)

“I might take you up on that offer.” You tell him, knowing that you won’t. “Baseball’s been my go-to sport for years. Don’t wanna break that tradition just yet.”

“Why baseball?” Shoyo asks, between forkfuls of extremely overpriced Eggs Benedict.

“Mm, probably because I’m rumored to be dating about half the league’s roster and fucking the other half.” You laugh at Atsumu and Shoyo’s wide-eyed expressions. You discreetly glance at Sakusa, only to find him more interested in the food on his plate than your admission. “Emphasis on rumored.”

And then, just because you’re now sipping on your fourth mimosa of the afternoon, you find the confidence to give them a cheeky grin. “Besides, I took a vow of celibacy.”

Now Sakusa’s staring right at you.

“You? Celibate?” Eyebrow raised, tone not quite incredulous but not entirely flat, either. It doesn’t take a psychologist to detect Sakusa’s obvious disbelief.

“Yeah, me, celibate.” You say it slowly. “You seem surprised to hear that.”

“Since when?”

“Hmm…” You pick up your phone, pretending to check the time. “Let’s see… Since twelve hours ago, give or take.”

“Wow, I’m surprised E!News hasn’t reported this breaking news.”

Is it just you, or did he sound a little bit rude when he made that comment?“Probably ‘cause their reporters are too busy writin’ about your little — what d’you call ‘em? — indiscretions.” Atsumu jumps to your defense almost immediately, and while you’re perfectly capable of biting back at Sakusa and making a jab about his headlines, you’re glad Atsumu’s here. Sakusa seems smart, and if you reveal that you’re aware of his “indiscretions”, he’ll certainly call you out on pretending to not know of him.

atsumu miya's guide to escaping from the friend zone, atsumu miya x f!reader

third year au, enemies to lovers, shoujo manga vibes * features romcom elements, knowing each other since childhood, he falls first AND he falls the absolute hardest, getting together, miscommunication as a means to be comedic not for poorly manufactured drama/angst, lighthearted with a happy ending, no angst 1k written, est. ~10k when completed

STEP ONE: ACTUALLY GET TO THE FRIEND ZONE FIRST

You’re in love with Atsumu Miya — you just don’t know it yet.

At least, that’s what Atsumu claims as he speaks with his mouth full, bits of rice flying out of his mouth, leaving everyone in his immediate vicinity disgusted.

“She doesn’t even know you exist, idiot.” Osamu doesn’t look amused as he pulls his bento box closer to himself, trying to avoid the hailstorm that is Atsumu’s half chewed grains of rice.

“She does!” He’s awfully indignant when he replies, looking like he’s about to make a move to slap his brother but thinks better of it. As captain of the Inarizaki Boys’ Volleyball team, he has to learn to behave lest he lose the title altogether.

“Wanting you dead isn’t the same thing as loving you,” Rintarou is quick to chime in, and the first and second years on the team snicker.

“It’s a work in progress.” Atsumu snaps, failing to mention that you loving him has been a ‘work in progress’ for the past decade and counting.

(Not like he’s, you know, obsessively keeping track. Definitely not.)

The two of you have been attending the same school since your elementary days. On the first day of class, your teacher made everyone hold hands with the person next to them, and a five year old Atsumu just so happened to be the person seated next to a five year old you.

“This person is going to be your buddy for the rest of the school year!” Your teacher exclaimed, clapping her hands together and smiling too cheerfully for so early in the morning.

Then, someone had exclaimed that boys had cooties, and every girl buddied with a boy immediately took back their hand, either on the brink of tears and dramatically turning up their nose in disgust.

Atsumu likes to claim that this is where things went wrong (never minding the fact that you had been the only girl not to drop a boy’s hand), but what really started your dislike for him (that has since spiraled into his closest friends thinking you want their captain dead) happened in middle school.

As fate would have it, you were seated in front of Atsumu for math. He had (still does) a bad habit of chewing gum as loudly and obnoxiously as possible (from your perspective, anyway; truthfully, Atsumu just lacks self-awareness). He made it hard to concentrate during lectures and tests, and midway through the year, you complained to your teacher.

(“Why do you not want to be seated close to Mr. Miya, hmm?” Your teacher smiled at you, his tone light and teasing. “Is it because of a crush?”

“Gross! No! I do not have a crush on Miya!” Your eyes were wide, and you were shaking your head. “He just gets on my nerves. He’s always stealing my pencils and smacking on him and hiding my textbook-“

“You know, Miss [Surname], middle school boys are mean to girls they like. I’m afraid that my seating charts are always permanent, but even if they weren’t, I think I would make Mr. Miya very upset if I moved you.”

“Who cares about that? He’s so annoying. Let him bother someone else!”

“Ah, [Surname], class is only in session for a few more months. If it gets worse, then we’ll see to adjusting the seating arrangements. For now, let’s get you back to your desk and focused on these fractions.” Your math teacher doesn’t bother hiding a smile as he jokes with you. “You better be careful; he might yank your hair and think it’s a proper declaration of love.”

Your math teacher never tells you that Atsumu spent two weeks of summer break cleaning this classroom to get seated next to you.)

The complaining didn’t work, and you were still stuck in the same seat in front of Atsumu. Then, one day, while he was ignoring the teacher’s lecture and giving his attention to something more worthwhile (such as the back of your head), Atsumu noticed a spider crawling from your back and aiming upwards, towards your hair. He watched in morbid fascination as the spider made its way into your strands of hair, and he reacted quickly, not quite thinking things through.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled, forcing you to tilt back with a yelp, which then caused the entire class to turn and stare at the two of you.

The spider was nowhere to be found, at least, but your teacher had to stop his lesson, shaking his head while he walked to the classroom phone.

“Honestly, Mr. Miya, what goes on in your head?” The teacher sounded like he was holding back laughter as he dialed the principal’s office.

Meanwhile, you straightened yourself out and turned to glare at Atsumu, who could only give you a sheepish grin in return.

“Sorry,” he told you, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Ya should be thankin’ me—“

“Thanking you?” You practically yelled it out. “I should be beating you. What is your problem with me, Miya?”

And that was the moment when Atsumu Miya realized that getting you to fall in love with him might be a bit of a struggle.

But that was then, and this is how. Now, you’re both in your third year of high school. Now, Atsumu is the captain of a team that’s an absolute powerhouse. Now, Atsumu is a box blond and despite his harsh attitude, girls are still vying for his attention.

He figures it’s only a matter of time before you come to your senses and join them.

You never do, though, and now he’s stuck rethinking his master plan. His friends are no help whatsoever, and the school year is going to fly by if he’s not careful. He knows you’ve been accepted to Tokyo U, and he knows that he’s probably not heading to college — not when professional scouts are watching his games and have the power to sign him right after graduation. He’ll never have a chance to be this close to you ever again, and he has to act now.

“Work in progress, my ass.” Rin snorts. “You’ll be lucky to even be her friend at this point.”

Now, Atsumu doesn’t like to consider other people as geniuses, but he’ll settle for considering Rintarou his muse. All this time, Atsumu’s been trying to get you to love him, completely disregarding the fact that you have to like someone before that can happen.

And people like their friends. For the most part.

“Ya know what, Rin? You might actually have a point.”

“There was no point. I was making fun of you. Whatever you’re thinking about doing, here’s actual advice: don’t.” No one on the team is particularly surprised when Atsumu doesn’t take that advice.

#LMAO THESE ARE FROM LAST YEAR #u can tell bc I was knees deep in my hq phase #sloooowly returning to it #these are very old to me and my writing has changed a bit so rewriting it will take additional time rather than just continuing where I lef

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ghost-facer · 1 year

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wip list

making a list of my spn wips to get sort of a idea of what i have to work on. most of these are saved on my laptop and google docs, but i have two that i began to post on ao3.

Nothing hurts worse than falling in love.

11k word destiel fic about dean pining over cas.

light in the darkness

3k word fic i began to write for one of my friend's birthdays.

Survivor's Guilt

my first midam fic; it's the one i’m currently working on. so far it’s 4k words. i'm trying to get this one finished this month. this is also the only thing i've written for these two, but i have so many more ideas for them.

Season 8 Dean Amnesia

the title is pretty self-explanatory. 17k words about naomi taking dean's memory.

cabin

2k words of cas and dean being snowed into a cabin for a few days and then kissing.

6k celebration

only 200 words of dean and cas going to get married. i wrote this for another blog's event before i had another idea and wrote that instead.

naked

1.3k words of a sam-centric fic i started based on finneas' song naked.

jack

7.5k word jack-centric fic about jack escaping from the winchesters after he's born but then meeting up with them later.

eyes blue like the titanic

oh man. this one. this one was going to be That Fic. it was supposed to be a season 12 rewrite with destiel. it's 45k words, and i'm not even halfway done with it yet. i haven't worked on this since 2021.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 16 days

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Thank you for the tag 😘 @moris-auri

20 Questions for Fic Writers

1. How many works do you have on ao3(or masterlist)? - 45 on ao3 and I would assume the same here too!

2. What’s your total ao3 word count? - 392,456 💀

3. What fandoms do you write for? - basically ewanverse and a smattering of Daemon if I'm feeling like a slag

4. Top five fics by kudos - Consequences, If looks could kill, Pearl of the Realm, No Pain, No Gain and The Stranger

5. Do you respond to comments? - I try to where I can! I just need the spoons sometimes 🥲

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? - oh we KNOW it's consequences. I was fighting for my life writing that

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? - Pearl of the Realm is quite a nice ending 🥹

8. Do you get hate on fics? - not really, but I should definitely get some on my first wave cos they're fucking shocking 💀 I did get some on consequences cos I think people were mad I didn't do an alternative ending 😅

9. Do you write smut? - nothing but bb

10. Craziest crossover? - I don't think I've done one. But Daemon invading valuable brain space might be a good contender

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? - not to my knowledge! 👀

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? -I did have the first few chapters of Consequences done into Russian but they gave up halfway lol

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? - yes...there is a cursed fic in some Google doc somewhere that may never see the light of day 😂

14. All time favorite ship? - Aemond x strong!niece ALWAYS hits ok? SUE ME

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? - oh god...maybe that Tom Bennett fic lol

16. What are your writing strengths? - I think I'm good at faffing up my language (maybe sometimes to my detriment)

17. What are your writing weaknesses? - I'm quite a linear thinker, so I feel like my stuff is too rigid sometimes

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language? - don't mind it as long as there's little brackets telling me what it means

19. First fandom you wrote in? - AHA fucking hetalia when I was like 15

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? - you can't make me choose between my CHILDREN 😭 but it's who we have gives me such a fuzzy feeling 😉

Tagging: @exitpursuedbyavulcan @assortedseaglass @flowerandblood @humanpurposes @sapphire-writes

#tag games

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facewithoutheart · 2 years

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Omg! Do I get to start this today? What a rare pleasure 🤩.

Finally got my prompt-fest fic almost done. I’ve been floundering in this google doc for awhile. Then yesterday I got a hankering to write friends to lovers and thought, “Oh! That accidentally-married-in-Vegas fic is like friends to lovers, even though they’re already dating at the time!” It’s WS-era. You know how it goes.

Not explaining the plot further but I will leave you with this tag “the inherent challenges of yes anding your way to marriage before you have a proper conversation about childhood trauma” and the following snippet:

“I don’t want to be like this.” I’m staring at the puddle of water I failed to mop up. “I don’t.”

Baz stands. Like a man approaching a wild animal, he walks to my side. Slowly, he curls onto the floor beside me.

We lay there, him and I. His body position mirrors mine. His hand rests between us, reaching.

He’s always reaching toward me and I’m always failing to meet him halfway.

“What do you want to be like, then?” he asks. “What do you want to be?”

Yours, I think, instantly and wholly. I want to be yours, forever, and ever. But I’m nineteen. I’m on the bathroom floor of a hotel room we’ve paid for with magic. Stolen, essentially. I haven’t found the NowNext. I haven’t saved Agatha; I haven’t saved anyone.

Not even myself.

Who am I to ask forever of Baz? Who am I to permanently burden him with the never ending failure of every decision I’ve ever made?

So I ask him for what any nineteen-year-old man, lost in America, shacked up in Vegas with no bright future, would want.

“I want to be drunk.”

And because I can’t help myself with new WIPs, here’s a short clip from a piece I thought up awhile ago and finished last night because of a random burst of energy:

I’m five seconds from rolling up my sleeves and taking on the monster myself when Simon shouts, “Moon Prism Power!”

Non-pressure tags and hugs (with consent if you want them) to: @sillyunicorn @martsonmars @urban-sith @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @fatalfangirl @whatevertheweather @stardustasincocaine @captain-aralias @forabeatofadrum @aristocratic-otter @moodandmist @johnwgrey @takitalks @jbrrring @excalisbury @confused-bi-queer @palimpsessed @tea-brigade @cutestkilla @creepyspice @ivelovedhimthroughworse @bookish-bogwitch @bazzybelle @dragoneggo @letraspal @artsyunderstudy @orange-peony @nightimedreamersworld @messofthejess @ionlydrinkhotwater @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @stitchyqueer @castawaypitch @whogaveyoupermission my two speedo-serving loves @erzbethluna & @ic3-que3n thank you for your service 😘 & new peeps @hushed-chorus @bucketfishy @katmiscellanious hi hello!

#WIPsday #wip wednesday #snowbaz #fanfic

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bardofavon · 1 year

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✿ did anything major change when you started writing a good myth to when you finished (or where youre at now if unfinished) ?

+ im genuinely obsessed w it and get excited all day sunday knowing an update is coming !! <3

omg you are so sweet!! I started rambling again so the answer is under the cut bc i went on for 10 paragraphs

fic ask game!

and the answer is yes, oh my god yes, like....most things??? i am a known pantser meaning anyone who thinks i started this story knowing where it was going is wrong, unfortunately. i think it maybe took me ten chapters before i finally went "wait, how do i want this story to end????"

i write out of order and i tend to have a rough plan in my brain for how i want things to shake out and certain plot beats that i want to happen, but i definitely don't have anything mapped out chapter by chapter. the chapter I'm going to post in an hour or two i literally sat in front of my google doc and went "ok.......actually have no idea what's going to happen this week........i know what's going to happen next chapter but i have put no thought in how to get there"

SO that being said, i have written the ending scenes and know how everything is going to shake out but for a solid 4 months there I was like "okay, the ending is going to be any of these three things" until i finally settled on a direction.

also, i had a huge existential crisis when i turned 24 and then another even bigger one when i turned 25 and i changed career paths twice and made some MASSIVE changes in my personal life so i would be lying if that didn't also effect the things i projected onto the story in terms of "kaz as a person who knows what he wants and knows how to get there" to "kaz as someone who thought he knew what he wanted but is now incredibly indecisive and grappling with his own mortality" which i think is a positive change overall and is happening very naturally

when i first started this story i was kind of "ooh two bastards are evil together and dark sided and plotting schemes and it's GAY" and then the reality of being in kaz's head is like "ooh.....200k slowburn"

OH and the length, definitely the length. i found a message in the discord server where i sent a snippet of something i wrote in 2021 (that i SOMEHOW still haven't posted) and i was like "this isn't going to happen for another 30k words" (laughs in 70k later and i still haven't gotten there) and someone was like "so excited that means the story is going to be that long" and i was like "I'm estimating it's going to be around 50k" and now here i am around the halfway point at 112k words................sobs..........

i had my big climactic scene penned for happening around when shadow and bone ends, with kaz being forced to make a similar choice to alina (this was over a year ago so in the very early stages of planning the story) and then somewhere along the road i was like...no it's going to stretch across the three books

also very small changed detail but in my notes on my google doc i have the note "the darkling gives kaz flowers and kaz eats them" so if that lets you know how things have changed tonally ahaha.

and i have multiple snippets and deleted scenes created from me writing things out of order and then getting to them and being like...yeah there's no place here for this conversation to happen.....rip.

#a good myth is hard to kill #writing #ask meme

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thorntopieces · 8 months

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📓 :3c

Oh boy have I got fic ideas I want to write but haven't yet lmao.

I would really really really really really like to write a fic about Four (LU) specifically digging into how going adventuring in the Minish Cap at such a young age affects him (my notes currently says he was 10). I've been on and off playing the Minish Cap and it's such a good game, but I'm also objectively bad at video games (/lh) so it's taking me ages to get through it.

I just think there's a lot that can be done in regards to how he copes with the aftermath of that adventure and how he develops into a person going into Four Swords and then Four Swords Adventures. It would definitely work as another prequel to Constellation of Hope (AO3 link), because there's a lot of things in the first chapter of Dark Hair Significance that I want to go more into. Especially now that I've read the Four Swords manga.

In that vein I've also got other Four centric fics that are halfway typed up in a google docs, but that I'm struggling to finish because there's at this point so much plot to keep track of lmao.

Thank you for the ask /gen. I'm always happy to talk about my fic ideas!

#asks and answers #hyper!

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gokartkid · 1 year

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inception au chalex that will NOT BE A FIC. until i finish everything else <3

Some people think that being in dreamshare is glamorous, and full of action, like you’re some sort of a James Bond.

Right now, with a piece of toast crammed inside his mouth and a bit of toothpaste dripped onto his skinny blue tie, Alex would like to give a big middle finger to those people.

His phone starts ringing furiously in his back pocket and he swears, wipes his greasy, buttery hands on the tea-towel on the counter. He chews and swallows too quickly, can feel the toast travelling in big chunks down his oesophagus.

“Hullo, Albon speaking.”

“Alexander, that is seriously such a creepy way to answer your phone mate,” Charles says on the other end.

“Sorry, just trying to maintain some professionalism here,” Alex rolls his eyes. He pats at the white stain of toothpaste, then does his tie up quickly. Simple, not any kind of fancy Windsor knot. He wasn’t that kind of prep school boy.

“Do you have everything ready with the files?”

“Mm hm,” Alex shoves his phone between his cheek and shoulder, as he rifles around the loose papers on his desk. He prefers to be digital, everything stored on his laptop, but Charles is a pieces-of-paper-pinned-to-a-board type. It’s like he can’t think properly on a google doc, has to be able to highlight and draw arrows and circles and whatnot. Alex thinks it’s the best indicator of his personality you could get.

“And-“ Charles sounds excited, “-I have finally gotten in contact with George.”

Alex pauses, in his frantic search. He hadn’t really expected Charles to be able to get him, to be honest. Of course, that was one of the reasons that Charles was up there in terms of point men. He was frightfully good at pulling stuff and people together, even if he seemed a bit in his own head at times. Nobody could avoid him for long before he was borderline banging down your door, cherubic smile on his face.

He replies after a delay, too long to be strictly polite.

“Ah. Okay, so what did he say?”

“He said he is in, and asked if we were still working together.”

Alex’s mouth twists.

“And-?”

Alex’s phone bursts into static as Charles laughs. He really has to get a better microphone; Alex knows for a fact that he’s talking into his airpods that he dropped into the river the last time they went out drinking together. They miraculously came back to life after soaking overnight in a bag of rice, but they had never been the same.

“I said of course we are.”

Another pause. Alex sighs.

“And what did he say to that.”

Sometimes, getting a story out of Charles is like pulling teeth.

“Well he just made a noise like-“ he sighs, staticy “-and then said oh yes of course he will fly over, and where are we, and can I send the contract.”

Alex frowns.

“That is okay?”

Charles can also be, alarmingly perceptive.

“Yeah. Yeah of course, alright, look, I’ll get to you in a second.”

“No problem, I know how you are in the morning.”

Alex splutters.

“Just do not forget the compounds, I don’t want to have to talk to Max about getting more of his formula, and Daniel is on holiday.”

Alex hangs up on him. Charles is probably cackling on the other end. He had been about to forget them, but he wouldn’t tell him that. Five bottles with sticky styrofoam glued to them protectively, held suspended in case. Clear liquid, just a bit thicker than water, swirled around in brown glass.

He pulls up to the office that they’ve rented out with his suitcase, laptop bag slung over one shoulder and two coffee’s in his hands. He blends right in with the other suited, corporate drones walking to their jobs, nothing about him suggesting why it is he’s elevator-ing up to an abandoned and empty 4th floor, sandwiched between a law firm and a co-op workspace.

Alex had dropped out of architecture halfway through his degree, but had done well enough for his professor to earmark him for the dreamshare project. That is, he’d done well, got the dreamshare project, then promptly flung himself out of university in order to make more money than he ever, ever could designing buildings and infrastructure.

Charles had been a part of that initial uni group too. Alex remembers walking in and seeing him, knuckles pressed into his face and half sliding down his chair, looking like he hated being there. He’d had deep bags under his eyes, and his hair stuck out from underneath a bandana wrapped around his forehead.

He was easily one of the most attractive people Alex had ever seen. Alex had promptly wrote him off as an option entirely. People that looked like that, usually weren’t interested in advances from people like Alex.

George had been there too, in that little group that met late at night and laid down on the floor, all hooked up to a bulky machine. They weren’t architecture majors, all cobbled together from different degrees.

Alex is pretty sure they’re the only three that actually broke through from that little group. The rest of them were somehow satisfied with the few hits of Somnacin, of only dipping into that endless, beautiful world of dreams the once.

Charles is already under when he makes his way up, face still and peaceful, arm hanging down with the IV in. The machine is beeping steadily beside him. 8 minutes left, counting down on the screen. Decent time, enough for Alex to shuck off his jacket and push the sleeve of his shirt up; too starchy, he had to get it dry-cleaned after he spilled a bit of Chinese on it the other night. Sweet and sour pork.

It’s a facsimile of Alex’s plans that he drops into, buildings that stretch up and then become hard to look at, half made, your brain struggling to fill them in. That’s the problem when Charles hosts dreams. They blur at the edges obviously, and there’s too much free space where a clients mind can take over, construct a whole world without you having control.

When they need to use him for a layer, usually they make him do just a room, or the interior of a hotel that they never have to leave.

“Ah,” Charles turns and smiles at him. “finally. I think I am finishing up in here soon, no? Just wanted to get an idea of how everything was going.”

Alex nods, and spreads his arms. “Well. What do you reckon?”

Charles crosses his arms and looks around.

“Obviously, it is not done yet, and I am not so good at filling in, but it definitely looks like the pictures. And there-“ he points to a bridge, further in the distance, “-that is where we would do it? The kick?”

Alex nods. Dropping a car off the side of a bridge isn’t so original, but it’s the easiest way to coordinate a simultaneous kick, since they’re going 2 levels deep. An intricate dreamscape, their most complicated so far between the ones they’ve put together as a team. Alex had done 3 layers once before, with others. It hadn’t worked out well.

He rubs at his coin in his pocket, smooth and well worn. If he flips it, it’ll be heads, a shiny golden queen staring impassively back at him.

They do a walk through discussing the little things; where the maze of roads needs to fit, the route the car will need to take, weaving through the city. Music starts playing faintly and muffled, the last ten seconds of a dream that stretch endlessly.

Alex frowns, and then opens his mouth to say, incredulously, “is that Camilla Cabe-“

He blinks awake. Señorita is blasting out of the speakers and Charles is red-faced.

“I didn’t expect you to be here! I wake up easier to this kind of,” he gestures, “anyway. Hello.”

Alex blinks, and then bursts into pealing laughter.

#anyway alex is like exes with george in this and spends half the time pining for charles #and lewis and seb r here also very like. the seniors of dreamshare. im imagining its becoming slooowly more known #and they were pioneers #alex albon #my fic #charles leclerc #chalex #inception au #charles/alex #f1 #formula 1 rpf

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nancywheeeler · 11 months

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9 and 29? :3

9: Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written!

i don't, though i really wish i did. when i'm in the middle of a big writing project, i tend to write (or at least edit) every day, but once that project is done, i have a lot of trouble starting new things and keeping to a consistent writing schedule. i did write today though! little sneak peek of something i hope to have finished tomorrow: To freeze to death, Shauna realized, was the slow transformation from a warm-blooded creature to a cold-blooded one.

29: Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

oh, i love this question. i wish i kept more cut scenes from already-posted fics, but i do have a fic graveyard ripe for the picking. “What has happened?” Sam asks, already halfway into a jacket. “One of your little friends has been crying into his suya for the last twenty minutes. I’ve had every table around him ask if they can move. There are only so many polite ways I can say, bitch, to where?” She says the last part in a hush and then adds, “Also, he’s freaking me out.” “Jamie is a bit emotional,” Sam attempts to explain, less of an excuse and more a documented fact. At the door, he pats his pockets for his keys, then his wallet. He has one foot out the door before he realizes he isn’t wearing shoes. “Who’s Jamie?” his manager asks in the meantime, while he’s on all fours, looking for his left trainer trapped somewhere beneath the couch. “The reservation is under someone named Colin Hughes.” from the sam/colin ted lasso fic i have tried and failed to write five different times. that is not an exaggeration. there are five different google docs with the title "stay young, go dancing: draft [insert number here]" maybe one day, she sighs, staring off into the middle distance.

fan fic writer asks!

#ask #thank you thank you for the questions <3

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mostlymaudlin · 1 year

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Hi! For ao3 wrapped I’d love if you answered 5, 12, and 30 😊

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

this SHOULDN'T have surprised me, but bangable was my first outright smut piece for aftg, and i laughed when i woke up the next morning and my inbox was POPPIN. i feel like aftg fandom is usually p quiet in the comment section (or im just spoiled by the richness of simon snow fandom), but people were SO READY to talk about this blowjob hahahha.

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

oh man LOL. theres a short answer and a long answer and im gonna go for long bc maybe talking abt it all will hold me accountable for finishing stuff.

ok so like technically i have 1 million wips. jk. technically technically i have 41 aftg wips (and ENDLESS more simon snow wips), but most of those google docs are resting in peace in my "wip graveyard" folder. they may be resurrected one day but who knows.

so more accurately i am currently sitting on four wips! all aftg.

my hs au We Can Live Forever... which i actually completed the next chapter for! but i dont want to post it until i finish the one after bc i kind of leave it off on a mean note. i might post it anyway so that people get mad at me and motivate me to keep writing though...

what i have dubbed "slut au," in which our favorite resident ace neil explores sex. its sitting at 20k rn, about halfway thru the plot. very messy atm. about 60% smut.

my secret aftg winter exchange fic

my (NEW AS OF A FEW HOURS AGO) secret aftg mixtape exchange fic

im also p much always playing w flash fics, AAAAND i have been thinking abt revisiting this old au i was working on last spring where neil works at a froyo shop. i actually wrote an entire first draft for that -- i think its sitting at like 12k but its a complete mess. i think of her tho... the found family vibes were v good...

OH and i am seriously considering doing a magnum opus andrew POV fic. i need to move into my own apartment in order to accomplish this because i want to like. really go ham analyzing the books and scaffolding that plot bc if i do it im going to tell the same story but with a very different structure i think. and i cannot do this in my current living situation. so that would probs be my Fic of 2023 if true.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

cheesy. but more than anything i think i've come to know myself as a fiction writer this year. ive always written fiction in bits and pieces, and ive done a shit ton of professional nonfiction writing. writing snowbaz last year felt good in that i was finally writing regularly, but switching fandoms upped my confidence because thats when i could finally prove to myself that i wasn't just copying rainbow rowell hahaha. WHICH LIKE she definitely continues to influence my writing but i think ive developed my style in a way where its more my own now -- i don't lean on the style of aftg the way i did for simon snow fics. and while andrew is undeniably NOT my character, ive done a lot of work around the way i write his POV that im proud of. and this makes me think that if i wanted to write original stories i could... even tho i havent rly come up with a story i want to tell on my own just yet!

from this ask meme!

#went off in this one LOL #my writing

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evilwickedme · 1 year

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I have a question!!! I really like your fics so I wanted to ask how you find the time/motivation to write your fics? I’m still in the thought process of planning the plot of my very first one and it feels so daunting. Is there any specific process or method you do when you write? Sometimes I get around to writing and I only get a few hundred words in before I’m exhausted. I’d love your advice :)

Hey thank you for asking this and for enjoying my writing!

I'd love it if there were any easy answer to this question, but the truth is the answer is simple and really fucking hard: to write a lot, you just have to write. Sometimes it's going to be easy, other times it's going to be hard. Sometimes I start writing and I blink and suddenly there's two thousand words on the page, other times I sit and stare at my screen for hours and all I've written is two sentences. And I'm not the first one to say this by any means, but the secret is - it's all writing. All of it is writing, even when you end up not writing anything.

Here's the thing though, is that I decided I wanted to be a writer when I was seven years old. I've kept a journal off an on for almost two decades. I wrote poetry for elementary school assignments and I had a blog for my writing in middle school and I wrote short stories for high school projects and I started writing fic when I was 14 and I published my poetry book last year at the age of 24 and it was all just writing and writing and writing. I went through dry spells when I was depressed that last months or even years and I've had periods where I was writing so much it's a wonder I kept up with it. And then I got a degree in screenwriting, where I HAD to write because such and such amount of pages were due by such and such a date, and the industry doesn't care if you're in a rut and neither did my professors.

Nowadays, writing is basically a habit. I have so many poems in my phone notes, because I'll have a thought on the go and suddenly there's a poem - so many phone poems ended up in my book, fyi, some of them barely edited. I can force myself to write something halfway decent just by sitting myself down in front of a Word doc, because I have the neural pathways set up that way from, oh, 18 years of writing. So a lot of my methods regarding writing involve just being like, okay, today I'm going to write something.

For example, I just published the final chapter of the mental health fic in my DC series, which is for now probably going to be the final work in that series (I have a couple more ideas, but they're shelved right now). That final chapter was sitting in my Google drive with about two sentences written in it for weeks, and it was weighing on me. I haven't been feeling very creative recently - I'm fully aware I'm in burnout - but I hate the feeling of being uncreative, so I said to myself, okay, let's fucking finish this. It took a couple of tries - first try I ended up only writing a paragraph describing what everyone was wearing and that's it - but eventually, just the act of me being in front of my laptop rather than facing a tv or buried in my phone made it so I finished it.

There's a story I heard when I was a kid that I can't find right now that basically informed my entire life philosophy, which was this kid went to a baseball game and met his favorite player who agreed to sign a ball for him, but nobody had a pen. Not him, not his parents, not the player, nobody that passed them by in the stadium, none of them had pens. Devastated, he started carrying a pen around with him everywhere. The final quote goes something like, "and if you carry a pen with you everywhere, eventually you start using it." And then he started writing.

To put it another way. In January, I only read two books. And the thing is, like, I genuinely really like reading. Like it's one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. And I asked myself, why didn't I read in January. And again, I know I'm in burnout, I know that's why I watched all that mediocre TV. But I didn't enjoy it? Like at all? So I looked at all that time I spent watching criminal minds and on TikTok and Tumblr and in February I made a concerted effort to read. When I sat down in my living room I asked myself what I was planning to do with my free time, and I realized often the "plan" was just to scroll through TikTok for six hours. So I listened to a five hour audiobook instead. Or read a 300 page book. Or finished a manga I was in the middle of. Or... And I read nine books in February! Which is not a lot for some people, I know, but what an improvement on January!

My point is, if you want to be doing something and you're not doing it, ask yourself why you're not doing it. I found that the time I was spending not-reading and not-writing wasn't getting used up by cooking or cleaning or going to work or meeting up with friends. It wasn't even being spent on something relaxing that I enjoy, like watching a comfort show. In November when I wrote the vast majority of hang on 'til the chaos is through I simply did not spend as much time on Tumblr or on TikTok cause I was writing instead. After I was finished with that, however, I pivoted so hard in the other direction that I didn't do anything I enjoyed at all in an effort to relax. That's honestly not even that relaxing.

So like, here's the thing. When it comes to my "method" of writing it varies so much that it's actually not worth listing out. With hang on the whole fucking thing was outlined in detail. With Of Three Times Lily Evans Changed Her Mind About James Potter I had the endgame in mind and a couple scenes written in advance, but the whole thing got written over 4.5 years and I was improv-ing basically the entire time. With I'm a mess (but I'm the mess that you wanted) I was texting @random-fandork in the middle of the night like, what if next chapter I did this, and they responded with ooh what if you did this, and it got written so fucking fast because we were constantly exchanging ideas. With the timkon jealousy au I just know I want Kon to be jealous of timber, and that's legit all I know, I'm absolutely pantsing it.

Sometimes I write with music. I have character playlists I usually listen to just like any other playlists, but also get used to write sometimes, but I only made my first character playlist around a year ago and I've obviously been writing fic for way more than that. Sometimes music helps get in the mood or helps distract from outside noises, and sometimes it distracts you from finding the right words. I usually write in bed, but I usually do everything in bed because I have chronic back pain. I usually write at home, but I also write in my phone on the go.

But I think you get it, right? Like there is no method. I certainly don't have one. Terry Pratchett famously wrote 300 words every day. I don't know what Erin Morgenstern is doing while working on book three, but I promise you it's not 300 words a day because it was six years between The Night Circus and The Starless Sea and it's been four more years and we still haven't gotten our spring or summer book. Every person finds they work best in different environments - I've tried to write in coffee shops and libraries, it's just close to impossible for me, but for others it's the only way to get motivated. But the point is the stories don't write themselves. Everyone loses steam, everyone gets in a rut, everyone writes bad things that they don't like and scraps them or edits them so thoroughly that they become unrecognizable. But things only get written because you write them, and they'll only get done if you keep at it.

My assumption is that you enjoy telling stories. Yeah, writing is hard, sticking to something is hard, finding motivation to write when you're tired or depressed is hard. But if you don't write, it's not going to get written. So I just try to remember that I enjoy storytelling. That I would be having more fun working on my teacher!peter/dadpool au than watching criminal minds (seriously, I'm not going to finish this show, 2.5 seasons was more than enough; sorry to keep shitting on it but I spent much of January watching it and honestly I've never considered watching a show a waste of time but this was an absolute waste of time).

I also want to reiterate that it's okay if you sit down to write and all you write is a couple hundred words! It's okay if you only wrote two! The turtle wins the race after all - you just gotta keep at it. Just remembere that if you write ten words enough times, you end up with a whole ass book.

#writing #gail speaks #ask #pokemonisbeast1999

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animanightmate · 2 years

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A Novel(la) Feeling

Yet again, I am writing a new fanfic which is completely off the arc of the massive War Series WIP.

Yet again, it has taken off in directions I never expected. (Long post follows.)

For one thing, at current calculations, it’ll be about 40,000 words by the time it’s finished. That’s novella-sized. I only started writing it four weeks ago… For another, I’m writing it even more non-linearly than usual. I started with a scene halfway through what has now become Chapter 10. I then wrote a massive chunk of Chapter 11. Then abruptly wrote the opening chapter and posted it. Then Chapters 2 and 3 (which split when they got too chunky). The only one of these that I actually started writing from the beginning were Chapters 1 and 11. And then I lose track, because of the whole amoeba-like quality of various chapters, while I hurled chunks of notes and dialogue at the Google Doc like someone who’s got hold of some cans of word paint and is dashing out a spirited impersonation of Pollock.

It’s also Mature rated rather than Explicit which, you know, fine, I can do that, but it has only a touch of it (haha) to kick off Chapter 4, then nothing much apart from some very heated/ confusing flirting and innuendo until Chapter 10. This is very far from my roots.

Talking of roots, Athos insists on talking cryptically using imagery from Greek and Roman literature and mythology. And it’s very much set around 1627/28, so there are important political elements to take into consideration, but I never say so explicitly except alluding to that in the end notes. Which are, even by my standards, HUGE. Because everyone’s being so subtle and era-compliant and referencing a lot of Greek, and I don’t want to spoil the flow, the end notes turn into infodumps of encyclopaedic girth. At least that way people can skip it, and I don’t have to go ham on exposition, which irks me at the best of times.

And stylistically, I’m leaning ever further into “Anima likes doing awkward and realistic dialogue,” but snappier than usual, with fewer explicit clues as to who’s speaking, and so it’s coming across more Dumas-like (I flatter myself), but even cheekier. It’s banter-heavy pretty much from the get-go. And yet it’s packed with internal rhyme, so is even more prosodic than my usual standards.

Oh, and despite being a slow burn Athamis fic, I appear to have inserted Porthos into pretty much every chapter until they get some time to themselves in Chapters 10-15 inclusive. But I miss him, so he’ll be back in several others. Also angst. Did I mention the angst? Athos is even moodier and more confusing than usual, not least because this is all from Aramis’s perspective.

And it’s getting some lovely feedback and subscribers and all that. The Musketeers continues to be a teeny fandom, so “good numbers” on this aren’t exactly what those of you creating for Marvel/ OMFD/ SuperWhoLock fandoms probably take as a baseline, but it’s nice, and people are gushing, either on AO3 or in the discord sever where I’m sharing snippets as I go. I’m thrilled, to be honest.

I’m also TERRIFIED. Because there’s a twist coming that only a handful of people know about, because they were there on the server when I said WAIT, WHAT IF...?! and... some people currently reading are going to be shocked, others appalled, many confused, and I, being more invested than I anticipated, am braced. (And what if I lose momentum, and what if I don’t live up to my initial creative vision, and what if it’s actually too preachy, and what if, and what if...?!)

My brain’s churning.

So I’m doling this out twice-weekly on AO3, building up a healthy buffer (some of which is as a result of being on holiday BUT ILL, which is a shitty combination, I don’t mind telling you, but at least has given me the time and conditions to write in), and planning. Actually planning. I have a spreadsheet that works out when the Athos of this timeline was born, along with his brother, and acts as a tracker that plots how complete everything is (about 76% written, apparently!) and which Ovid quote is going to be the title of each chapter (good job he wrote a lot, as we’re up to 21 chapters at an average of about 1650 words each so far). I have notes. I have many, MANY open tabs of research.

And I’m loving it. I’m obsessed, and I’m loving it, and I’m finally seeing how my various professional writer friends who churn out four novels a year can actually do that. You basically write about 500-1000 words every day, no matter what, and you keep the flame lit (or dopamine secreting, however you want to put it) by sharing bits and woes and notions with good, invested friends.

So that’s it. And somehow I’ve written close to 800 words to talk about how I feel about writing a long piece of fanfic. There’s a theme developing. But I’m also having to resist that voice (of my ex, actually) that keeps saying: if you’re writing this much and it’s going well, you should be monetising this somehow, as if that were the apogee of creative endeavour, or any endeavour. But no - I’ll not be filing off the registration numbers anytime soon. I’ll take the lessons I’ve learned, maybe, and the sheer amount of practice hours and surprising amount of discipline poured into this craft, but no, shitty ex, it was never, and will never be about the cash.

Thanks for listening.

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