@tackytigerfic thank you for the rec!! This was an unexpected but very pleasant surprise and Tacky, you are an absolute gem to fandon ❤
sorry for acknowledging harry potter on main but one thing about the books that haunts me to this day is what happened to harry’s dragon miniature that he got in the triwizard tournament. the last time it’s mentioned he puts it down on his bedside and it curls up to sleep and then we never hear about it again. what happened to the dragon. nobody let jkr see this because i don’t want her to pull something out of her rancid ass but i need to know what happened to that dragon.
This isnt a joke my favorite piece of writing advice that I’ve ever seen is someone that said if you were stuck with a fic and couldn’t figure out why or what was wrong, your problem is actually usually about ten sentences back. Maybe there was something wonky about the tone or the dialogue or you added something that didn’t fit but it’s usually ten sentences back. And every single time I get stuck in a fic I count back ten sentences and it’s always fucking there
and its my Breath of the Wild brainrot that gets me to finish an isometric piece of course lol
no complaining though ,, this was ssssoo much fun and i want to live in a Hateno house even more than i did before it looks so cozy :')
im 100% planning on doing another thing where im gonna unpack my worldbuilder brain and give Link a house that matches the exterior build (the boy deserves a comfy fireplace at least) but this was so much fun even based on the game appearance
why are there so many posts about asexuals being immune to sirens. people. sirens don’t lure you in with sex (necessarily). they sing about whatever it is that you want most. they could sing about mothman or cinnamon toast crunch and guess what then your asexual pirate is fucking dead
the meaning of life is summed up in the story elmer bendiner tells about how when he was a pilot the second world war, his plane was hit with a barrage of anti-aircraft fire from the nazi forces but the crew survived. and how everyone was saying it was a miracle until they investigated the shells that got in the fuselage and found there was no explosive charges in any of them. in one they found a note scribbled in czech, written by the person who had been forced to manufacture the shells, and it just said ‘this is all we can do for you now’.
just remember that the most prolific and famed writers, artists, musicians, etc all died with folders full of drafts, sketchbooks full of unfinished concepts, notebooks of lyrics and tunes that never made it into a song. leaving behind unfinished work is just part and parcel of being a creator. for every finished project there are dozens of ideas and WIPs that never reach final form. and that’s fine. because unfinished works still serve a purpose—they allow us to engage in a craft we love, and to practice and refine our skill.
and the fun part? they can be passed down to other creators, as inspiration or material to build on. how lovely to be a creator, in a world where creation is not a wasteful act.
It's been so long since I've properly written anything that I'm going to rec an older fic that I'm still very much proud of today: The Lion, The Dragon, and the Broom Cupboard (17k, rated E, written for HP Kinkfest 2020).
Starring a headstrong Auror Harry, sort of Auror Draco who is pretty much exhausted all the time, and featuring three cupboards, two times they get it on, and one dashing Cheng Wu to help a pair of bumbling idiots realise how much they like each other.
I'm so proud of this one because it references something from my childhood, and it's even been turned into a podfic, read by the brilliant Lep!
Here's a snippet:
The first time that Draco finds Harry Potter hiding in a cupboard is unexpected, to say the least.
At this point, Draco hasn’t slept properly in four days, and so he assumes that he’s hallucinating when he opens the door to the office pantry and finds Potter there instead, looming out of the shadows of what appears to be a cupboard like some deformed gargoyle. He looks back at Potter staring out at him, light reflecting off his glasses, and says politely, "Oh, sorry, I thought this was the pantry," and closes the cupboard door on Potter’s red face. Behind the closed door, Potter makes a strange noise; half squeak, half spluttered outrage.
Tagging @triggerlil and @jovialobservationanchor if they'd like to share!
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