#writers of ao3

[risafeywritesdrarry]

Oof!

[vavandeveresfan]

When you're so obsessed about getting your fanfic right you research the parts of a helicopter.

Lazy writers:

Me:

Tail boom! That's what that fucker's called! *types it into fic*

[nsk96]

Writing Help

General Tips

The purpose of writing

Important: only you can tell your stories

Every fanfiction genre has value

HOW TO STAY MOTIVATED!

Maintaining Motivation

Reasons to Keep Writing

Stretch your hands and fingers

Analyze the stories that you like

Title creation

How to comment on your favorite fics

Moodboard sources

PIRATED FAN FICS!!!

Fanfiction is legitimate (featuring Neil Gaiman)

Angst and Horror: if you can't handle it

Publishing

Writing Smut: overcoming shame

Don't toss your work

Dialogue / Writing rules

Prologue

Paragraph breaks

Sentence length matters!

Dialogue punctuation

Scene Checklist

Body Language

Descriptions between dialogue

3 dots in a sentence (Ellipsis)

Using adverbs

Using adjectives

Coming Outs

Commonly misused words & phrases

Words to Avoid

Flirting!

World Building

World building through plot holes

Using context clues

Creating land

Government

Matriarchal society

Dystopia

Descriptions

Resources for Describing Physical things

Alcoholic drinks & cocktails

KISS SCENES

Clothing references

Sewing sources (includes history of fashion)

Hair texture

Skin color/tone

Sword / Martial arts inspo

Character Development

Character sheet

Character sheets

Character development, agency, plot

Esk*mo is a slur

Naming characters

Naming characters in other cultures

Emotional intelligence

Human body limits

Making threats and the third option

Bartenders

Children

Kids

Asian characters

Muslim characters

Slavic characters

Russian names

Mixed characters

Bilingual characters

Blind or Visually Impaired

Morally grey

Dangerous female characters

Liars

Romance development

Healthy Relationship

Sacrifices

Redemption arc vs forgiveness

Redemption arc trope

Regret / Remorse

Prompts/one-liners

Prompt masterlist

Another prompt masterlist

A third prompt masterlist

Best friends to lovers

Mob Boss

Prophecy of lost child

Super power of truth

Enemies to lovers

Enemies to lovers: Reasons to hate

Enemies to lovers: Getting together

Enemies to lovers Prompts!

Enemies to lovers: Fake dating

Past-life Enemies to lovers

Late-night wandering

Compliments

Touch-starved

Romance/physical intimacy prompts

Romance: little acts of love

Smut

Reputation

Break-ups

More sources

Masterlist: body language, words, translator

Masterlist: prompts, LGBTQ+, NSFW Advice

Meme: fanfiction problems

Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice)

Bechdel Test

Part 2 ->

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

I love all your comments, no matter how short or long they are. They never fail to make my day, so never apologize for it, and I know other authors feel the same way, too.

[axl-ul]

Question for writers who publish their works online - do you encourage your readers to leave comments or engage in other ways?

Asking because I noticed the lack of engagement. At the same time, I don't want to sound, I don't know, annoying?

So, what's your experience? How do you deal with it?

[captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship]

FM2M Ch8

Nothing Is Going To Wake Me Now

Summary: Feyre is delving further into herself as she becomes more and more isolated in the Spring Court. Her powers are erratic, Tamlin's temper is on the rise, and she has some things to consider before she needs to make a decision about her future.

Read here on AO3

My nightmares began to blend together until they were reduced to pools of blood on marble floors, the cracking sound of bones splintering underfoot, and Amarantha’s last testament as I lay dying. Those words still echoed in my ears, haunting me even when my view of blood and bones were replaced by that of my reality.

“Admit you don’t really love him, and I’ll spare you. Admit what a cowardly, lying, inconstant bit of human garbage you are.”

“You think you’re worthy of him? A High Lord? You think you deserve anything at all, human?”

I hated to agree with that monster, but… I was not worthy. Not worthy of the screams that echoed my name, threatening to banish her ruby stain away. Not worthy of this new life I had been given when the two innocents I had murdered met the Mother’s embrace in my stead. Not worthy of those who have vowed to protect and love me.

Not worthy.

Not worthy.

Not worthy.

They say that sometimes you have to fake it until you make it, and I wondered just how long it would take for me to truly believe that I was not damned for Hel. That all of the pain and loss and death was worth it.

I am nobody.

I am no one.

I am not worthy.

I felt my power stir beneath my skin, but instead of coaxing it from its hiding spot and letting it comfort my aching soul, I pushed it down, down, down until it was firmly locked away. For once, I was too tired to care. All caring did was cause more pain. I just crawled back into bed where I slept, and slept, and slept.

Days bled into weeks, and soon I forgot how long it had been since my new existence began. As a fae, it didn’t seem to matter now anyways. The need I once had to acclimate to my new life was stifled by the sheer unchanging nature of this court. I made my home within the walls of my room and the library, only leaving the haven of the manor to stroll amongst the rose gardens. I hadn’t dared enter the wing of the home where my painting room lay dormant, awaiting a soul to wake it from its slumber.

Tamlin was away from the Manor more often than not. Part of me hated myself for feeling a little more at ease when he was gone. It was just one less person to lie to, to fake smiles with, to pretend that I was the same girl who had drank faerie wine and danced the night away during the Summer Solstice. I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I didn't want to tell him that there was no fixing a soul that was broken beyond repair. Fortunately, he hadn’t tried to kiss me again, save for a kiss on the hand or cheek here and there. It felt as if all of the time we had put into our relationship leading up to now had been swept away in the wind.

There was no lack of effort on Tamlin’s part to return to simpler times, to our life before we went Under the Mountain. When he was home we would sit at meals together, walk through the grounds, and make small talk. I could see how much he craved a sense of normalcy, and I tried my best to fall back into our old routines.For his sake, I could at least try. He tried to hide his stress from me when we were together, but every time I tried to get him to open up about what was bothering him he just shut me out.

In the days that Tamlin was around and in the mood for company, Ianthe rarely left his side. They would have lengthy conversations over meals, and I could hear them bickering over tea and pastries long after I would excuse myself from their presence. Sometimes I wondered if one of my new budding powers was invisibility because I was rarely acknowledged, if I was noticed at all. Just as well, I suppose, because there was something unsettling about Ianthe. Without Lucien, it was just the three of us and part of me was grateful to fade away into the background. It made it easier not to care- not to bother with court posturing that I felt completely out of my depth with. The conversation I overheard a fortnight ago became a distant memory, and no one seemed to suspect that I had been lurking in the shadows.

Ianthe spent her days doting around the manor, acting more as a Lady of the house than I did. I was greatful that she took those menial tasks away from me, I wanted nothing to do with picking what teas would be served at meals and seating arrangements for parties. Apparently, she was planning a gathering next month for the people of the land and deemed my input invaluable. I truly didn’t care for any of it, but there was no point in denying her.

My aloof relationship with Ianthe made me appreciate the time I had spent with Mor even more. I was slowly realizing that Mor was the closest thing I had to a true friendship with another female. I was always surrounding myself with the boys of the village- at first because they were happy to run out in the mud with me across our estate and later because they knew the tips and tricks to surviving in the woods even in the harshest winters.

Mor’s friendship was one of the few things keeping me sane. When I was sure that no one was paying attention, I would pull out my notebook and talk with her. No matter the time of day, she was always quick to respond. There were some days where she was the only other being I would speak with. We would talk to each other about our days, tell each other stories from our childhoods, and it was nice to know she would always be there. She never once passed judgment- never once shied away from the hard conversations. In some ways she was becoming more of a sister to me than my own were.

Thinking of my sisters always cleared the way for a pang of loss and grief to strike my chest. There were some days I wished that Elain were here. She would love the party planning, talks of the latest fashion, and spending hours on end in the extensive gardens. I even missed Nesta, and in her own way I think that she would fit in more with the fae than even I did. She was born to be a general, commanding anyone and everyone in her wake with an iron fist. I tried not to think of them that often, as it only ushered in memories of a life that I no longer was welcome in. I quickly buried thoughts of them away into that part of my human heart that had withered away.

My headaches seemed to come in waves. Some days I felt fine, the connection to my magic almost feeling normal. When I had access to it, my whole body hummed with a contentment that made me feel whole. Other days I was so sick that I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. I had brought it up to Ianthe once during an afternoon tea in the rose garden. She had just told me that when a fae comes into their power it wanes and flows until it settles. That what I was experiencing was normal . That maybe I might not even have significant magic once its volatile nature settles. There was no point to have it during the time of great peace our lands are now seeing, she had said. I didn’t bother to remind her that nothing about me was normal. In reality, no one really knew what was wrong with me as I was the first and only of my kind. My existence only raised questions with no answers.

No one seemed to notice me these days, especially with Lucien gone. He was off on emissary missions to the neighboring courts, and his missing presence weighed on my heart. He was the only one who I could talk to here, who knew my secrets. The only one I trusted in this court to confide in. Most would use that knowledge against me, but not him. Never him.

The loneliness was made worse by the fact I was never really alone. There were always at least two guards stationed near me- outside my bedroom, below my balcony, outside the study. No matter where I roamed, there were sentries. I could tell they were trying to be discreet and keep a respectful distance away, but that didn’t stop the hairs on the back of my neck from constantly standing on edge. None of the fae around the manor bothered to speak with me, aside from Alis, but they did gawk. Gawk at their savior- cursebreaker- they called me. I know they tried not to stare, and I couldn’t really blame them for it. It didn’t make it any less comfortable, though.

Some were wary of my presence, like I was a lion prowling amongst gazelles. Others looked at me like I was holy. Those were the ones I hated the most. I was never treated like this when I was a human, when I was so fragile and weak compared to the immortal beings surrounding me. Now that I was one of them, they treated me more like a porcelain doll than ever before.

I hated the title almost as much as the staring. I didn’t dare leave the grounds and visit my glen again. There were too many eyes on me these days. No real chance to slip away. I would have to explain where I was going to the guards stationed around my room, and they would be obligated to tell Tamlin. Despite his consistent absence from the manor, the temporary reprieve wasn’t worth the ire and inconvenience it would cause him.

I floated through the estate like a ghost, stuck to relive my human life on repeat for eternity. I began rising later and later in the day, and some days I stayed in bed well past the time Alis would bring lunch to my rooms. I rarely ever ate what she brought me, and some deep rooted part of me screamed at how spoiled I had become. Long gone were the days when I would have dreamt of having a plate of hot food to fill my aching belly. My mind often drifted south, below the wall, to the life that felt so distant now that it felt like it belonged to someone else. It was only a year ago that we had been so desperate after an unusually slow summer that we went almost a week sustained on nothing but broth and some half-edible vegetables. Elain had recieved them as payment for helping a more affluent townsperson with their garden. These days, I seemed to eat less than I had then. The food in this court was too rich, too harsh. It felt like a waste to consume it, only to inevitably end my nights kneeled in front of my toilet heaving my stomach contents out of my system.

When I was up for a change of scenery from my bedroom, I would hole myself up in the study. I would spend hours sitting at a small desk in the back of the library underneath the tapestry of the creation of Prythian. I gave up on my search for finding books on those strange symbols and focused instead on learning as much as I could about the world I now lived in.

Most days I would rarely ever see or speak to anyone. My reading and writing had been accelerating at an incredible rate, and by the second week back I was consuming any tome I could get my hands on. The only marker for the passage of time became the increasing stack of books I had read in their entirety. I finished the Unabridged History of Prythian within a week, and began learning about the customs of the different courts. It was fascinating how each court developed right next to each other, but they could not be more different. There were similarities across all courts, of course, but each court was so unique in their clothing, histories, and customs.

I would read a page from a book and then copy a paragraph onto a piece of parchment. Soon, the feel of a pen was as natural to me as a paintbrush once had. My brain consumed all of the information around me like a sponge. I didn’t realize just how little I knew about our world, and how ill equipped I was to navigate it. I could not believe that just a few months ago I almost died from not knowing the skill that felt like second nature now. I hadn’t lied when I had told Rhys that I never wanted to feel weak again. I realize now that if I had eternity to live, I needed to know these skills.

Once the sun set, the library would grow dark and eerie. Despite the large windows to my back, the walls would always seem to close in, and all of the darkness lingering in my thoughts would begin to swarm. It kept pushing on my subconscious until the once expansive room felt as cramped as the Middengard Wyrm’s lair. I would be forced to seek shelter from the storm of emotions and memories that threatened to be released from their cage. More often than not, I would find myself staring up at the stars until I would fall asleep on my balcony, with only a candle and a book to keep me company. During the day, I would read more practical books, ones that taught me about the world. In the evenings, I tried to read something light if only to keep the darkness from my nightmares at bay. The nights were warm- balmy despite the crisp autumn chill that must have begun to settle into the Mortal Lands. Even the weather here was content with leisure and had long forgotten what change was like.

When I wasn’t reading or practicing my writing, I would work on building up my mental shields. Soon it became a striking adamant wall, glistening, thick and impenetrable. I would hold it in place until the feeling became as inherent as breathing. Despite all my hard work, it was impossible to tell how well they actually held up under pressure without another daemati to help me train. On the days where I could feel my magic, I would train it until I was spent and tired. I would only have enough energy left to drink some tea before going to sleep. Many times after my clandestine training sessions, I would wake up and my magic would lay dormant again.

I tried to not let my spiraling thoughts overtake my life, but I was haunted by the abyss my power left in its wake when they would disappear. It was just another hole in my chest that I had lost my desire to fill. But, my magic felt… empty. Almost as if it had been missing. Although I could still practice my mental shielding no matter my ability to access my magic, my capacity to feel the world around me had been dulled- censored. Every few nights, in between the nightmares and trips to the toilet, I would feel the rush of my powers, and it would overtake me once more. They still felt distant, somehow, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on? What was wrong with me? I was too tired to delve further, though.

Too tired to care.

I hadn’t heard a word from Rhys, not a single tap on my mental shields. We never shared our dreams with each other again, either. Honestly, I barely felt him on the other side of the bond most days- if at all. He was busy, and his court must have been in as much shambles as this one. He didn’t have the time to check in down the bond, despite the ache in my chest that would sometimes surface at the thought of it. At the idea that he didn’t think of me as often as he seemed to pop into my head. At random times during the day, I would think of him, what he was doing, if he was alive.

Stupid mating bond- I didn’t know if it was me who cared about such things, or the instincts involved with having a mate outside of my grasp. I had no idea how any of it worked. I pushed the thoughts of Rhys out of my head as fast as they had popped in. I am sure he is getting a lot more work done now that he doesn’t have to go back and forth between the moonstone palace and wherever he spent his days.

Despite it all, I didn’t care about most things anymore. With books being my only source of consistent company, there was no one, including myself, who cared enough to notice that I had delved further and further into myself. No one bothered to see the raging empty pit inside me that was growing by the day, threatening to devour me whole with every passing breath.

Continue on AO3

Tag list: @thebelladonnamoon @s-uppertime @vulpes-fennec @the-lonelybarricade @panicatthenightcourt @coracrowart @starfall-spirit @freyjas-musings @vikingmagic33 @hlizr50 @valeridarkness @lokisllama @aldbooks @foreverinelysian @dxnniiix @popjunkie42 @mis-lil-red @rhysiedarling @bearbluebooks @sadiegirl2021 @foundress0fnothing @climbthemountain2020

Let me know if you would like to be added :)

[codename-adler]

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

Want to be on the tag list? -> Comment with 'tag me!' Have an idea for next chapter or clicked the wrong option? -> Reblog about it! Check the bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 16 ~

When he returns from hunting treasure to find the cave empty of jedi, his scream of rage is enough to make the walls shudder and rain with scree. Maul reaches out in the force, throwing a wide net of energy out with the intent to hunt Kenobi and drag him back here. Retribution would be paid in blood for this-

He finds the jedi's energy signature just a little ways away, stationary. Lambent. The sith is brought up short, confused. Taken aback even.

Was this an escape attempt… or not?

Lashing down on his rage, setting aside judgment for a moment, Maul leaves his pot and box on the shore, and returns to the water to seek the jedi through the force. He swims fast and true for less than a minute, left and right and around…

The dragonfish sith breeches the pocket of his own bedroom cave, and rises up in a quiet rush of shedding water. Kenobi is here? Here? He went wandering, but not to his lightsaber or the surface, but here?

Maul sways his way through the caves and comes up on his own bed. There the jedi lies, buried under makeshift blankets, curled in on himself, shivering.

The sith looks around in disbelief. There on the shelf of his nightstand is his saberstaff, he leans close sniffing… not a trace of skin scent on it. Kenobi had not come looking for a weapon to kill him with then.

The last embers of his rage dowse themselves as he returns his attention to the cold little ball of stewjon.

“Jjjedi,” he whispers thoughtfully, running his claws through salt-crisp hair. “Always leaving behind the heat you need, awake or asleep. What a pathetic thing you are.”

Maul withdraws, considering the situation. Either Kenobi needed to be brought to heat, or heat needed to be brought to Kenobi. He ponders it briefly, but easily decides that he likes the jedi to be in his bed.

He goes, gathers the magma ball from the second prison cave, and returns. It is cooled somewhat, so he slices it in half with his saber like an orange, revealing the cherry red center. The freshly unmasked lava blooms with heat, rapidly forming a new black crushed shell on its surface.

Maul situates one of the halves just so, pointing it's radiant heat toward the bed. Then, he climbs in, finding his way under covers to drag his Kenobi to him. He discovers bare skin, offering him easy access to touch new places. The variety of textures is fascinating.

Predictably, when faced with heat and weight and a living body, the jedi seeks him out like a plant turning to the sun. Limbs unclench and the ball of him eases open. Arms come winding around his back, and a scruffy face presses to his shoulder.

Kenobi sighs with contentment at his presence, and Maul feels… he feels…

The words for this. These too are missing from his memory of before. Or perhaps he never had them.

Darth Maul draws his prisoner close, and waits for him to wake. The other man’s force signature brightens at one point, perhaps touching consciousness, but he drifts back down again without a word.

It is hours before the jedi truly stirs, groaning at the back of his throat as he peers blearily around.

“Kenobi,” Maul says, catching the man's chin in his fingers and drawing that watery gaze toward him.

The jedi blinks a few times, focus slow to resolve. “Where am I?” he asks.

He hums, fingers playing through that ginger beard. Soft. So soft. “Where you are meant to be.”

With a muddled huff, Kenobi turns to look around, not satisfied with his answer. “I remember getting bored and going exploring, and then I found a cave with… things. Art and trinkets… was I dreaming?”

“Mmno,” the sith denies, “you have found my cave, and put yourself in my bed. This is... good.”

The jedi scrubs a hand over his face, and back through his hair. Maul runs a hand down his bare side, then back up again.

“Sorry. I'm… not really parsing anything,” Kenobi replies.

Maul scoffs, “Because you left the heat, again. You are too weak to survive the cold. I have scolded you before but you did not listen. Hear me now: I forbid you from leaving warm places again unless I am there to watch you.”

Kenobi sloughs back down, loose limbed in his hold. “...”

“Jedi,” he says warningly at the silence, leaning in toward the other man's face. “Obey me.”

That tired, watery blue gaze lifts to his. “Mmnnn?”

So unfocused. So soft and pliant. Irresistible.

Maul’s eyes are drawn to chapped pink lips where the lower one is loose and slightly parted from the top. He doesn't question the stray desire to taste the cracked texture of it. The sith presses close, licking those lips, slipping his tongue inside a slack mouth.

“Ah,” Kenobi says softly, letting him take what he wants. His smooth tongue slides against Maul's, reactive to the languid stroking of his.

The dragonfish sith runs his claws gently down the back of his prisoner, careful not to cut unintentionally, until back becomes backside. He cups the handful of curve, squeezes and pulls, drawing their hips closer together.

The jedi turns his head away, hiding in Maul's neck. “Please, I don't…”

“Hnn?” he asks, enthralled with the way Kenobi’s soft belly and scattering of body hair felt against his own smooth stomach.

“Just hold me and let me sleep. I just want to rest,” the man pleads softly.

He tsks, “If you would stay where I put you, your strength would not wane.”

Kenobi sighs gustily, relaxing when Maul's hand returns to petting the pale flesh of him higher up. Straying places that are personal, but not quite so personal. The jedi comes back out of hiding when the trend continues. His eyes look like they struggle to stay open.

“I have gifts for you,” Maul tells him, “To earn your favor.”

“It isn't something that can or should be earned with material things,” Kenobi mumbles.

“Jedi drivel,” he counters. “Nice and necessary things are a fair measure of who to show favor to.”

Unable to help himself, the sith's claw skim just a little lower, teasing the sensitive line of skin between the other man's low back and ass. Kenobi groans, and his hips rock.

“Nng,” the pale man says simply, brows drawing faintly upward in pleasure.

Maul kisses him again, far more gently than he deserves, then settles down. “Sleep, Kenobi. Regain your strength. When you wake I will show you your gifts.”

For once, the witless jedi does as he's told.

To be continued...

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043 @moonsickvampire @maulish @obi1-kenobae @milkcioccolato @cyborg0109 @messy-sunbeam @krazykupid

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

[risafeywritesdrarry]

[vavandeveresfan]

When I've FINALLY finish outlining my plot & my Writing Brain comes up with one more fucking idea.

[lordoftherazzles]

YIKES.

Imagine reposting someone’s fanfic, and acting so insanely gross when the author KINDLY asks you to take it down, or at least credit them. (I can’t reblog the og post because I was blocked ages ago by the op)

Imagine then having a toddler tantrum because the author, who was rudely rejected and insulted, shared the post and advised people they were the author as seen in the first set of images.

Imagine being such a GROSS bully because YOU were wrong.

(With permission from Conkers to use the screenshots she’s sent me from her inbox, I’m attaching some of the cruel backlash she’s received from this person, tagging triggers just in case - TW: transphobic, fatphobic)

Please treat people with kindness. I don’t care if you create something or not, if this type of behavior is allowed in ANY space…wow.

DO BETTER.

[umber-cinders]

Can I get a reblog/comment train of Black writers that are on Ao3?

There are a lot of them on here but with the state of tumblr rn I'd like to know where is everybody on Ao3?? Where are the Black writers on Ao3 with Black OCs and stories with Black readers and OTPs?!

Like I'll go first if you want

Cause of course I love a good story no matter the writer's ethnicity or race but I really want to see more from people that look like me.

WHERE Y'ALL AT? 😔

[a-world-trapped-in-a-person]

[mairaiscarrierofthepaperclips]

Me: I'm gonna keep it to a max of 1500 words per fic for Flufftober!

Also me: *2000+ words deep into a fic about a fucking PORCH SWING of all things*

Still me: Bitch, why.

Me again: *lights everything on fire and cackles*

[lttledog]

Walter Benjamin’s Rules for Writing, from ‘The Writer’s Technique in Thirteen Theses’

[golden-letters]

how to be interesting

teach me, how to be interesting. because right now im too dull and boring to get anyone to be obsessed with me, to even glance my way. im trying to convince myself that being a good listener and a quiet guitarist is going to be enough to get me through life, to get me through crowds, but i dont think its working. im drifting around, utterly without pupose. so

teach me, how do i become interesting. because a girl called me boring that one time she was mad. and what's annoying is i didn't get annoyed. i just nodded, said yeah i am, and moved on. isn't that just the most boring reaction i could have given? tell me, would it have been more interesting if i screamed and pulled her hair and fought in front of the world. but

teach me, please, how to be interesting. because i keep reading self-help books, and self-help youtube channels, and self-help posts on instagram, and i still want to drown myself in self-pity. someone told me to just find an interest and hyper fixate on facts. but how can i? when i can't even make my bed in the morning and get my weekdays' work done on the weekends, or fill up my water bottle and drink from it when im thirsty.

teach me, or don't. it's probably not going to work anyway. and in the meantime i'll keep on listening to sad music, crying in my made-up scenarios, and searching on google every mental breakdown:

how to be interesting