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seidreamblogs · 1 day ago

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A Flirting Guide For Writers (And Real World Usage)

I reblogged a post a day or so ago, and the result (which made me sad) was mostly people saying that they feel they cannot flirt (and therefore cannot write it effectively).

So I thought I’d share my own, admittedly limited, knowledge (under the guise of writing advice) so that you can all write kick-ass romance and show your feelings like the boss-ass-bitches you are!

The Basics; Eye-Contact, Personal Space, Body Language

The thing about flirting is that most of it is non-verbal, and the world is split between those writers who find this part the easiest, and those who find it the most incomprehensible.

The problem is that it’s all dependent on a fine, mostly unspoken, line which makes the interaction creepy if crossed. When writing a character who is trying to flirt with someone, or when trying to flirt with someone yourself, you need to keep three main things in mind; personal space, body language, and potential restriction. This is especially important for men. The problem is that this is mostly instinctual, and so it can be hard to write if you haven’t had time to develop the right skills yourself.

Personal space

When trying to show that your character is flirting you need to make a note of them moving into the other person’s personal space but not too much. Consider this; someone leaning into your space just a little to speak to you versus someone being practically nose to nose with you. One catches your attention, the other is uncomfortable at best and intimidating at worst. The idea is to lean in enough to show interest and create a sense of intimacy, without becoming overbearing or threatening. As a rule, I find that I begin to feel uncomfortable if a man I’m not sure of gets closer than the distance it would take to perform a ballroom Waltz.

To get an idea of how that looks, hold up your hand at arms length as if pushing someone away or pressing against a wall. Now slowly bend your elbow until the point sits just under your breast or pectoral muscle.

That’s the maximum personal space invasion I allow from people I don’t know well. In my experience, this is common to many women, though others prefer more space. Likewise, in my experience, men I have met seemed perfectly comfortable with me being closer than even that, but I am small, relatively unthreatening, and we have to allow for the fact that we were in the position of viewing each other as romantic interests. Men may prefer more space from other men, or from individuals that they do not see in a romantic light already. This changes from person to person, and noting your characters preference is a good way to show what kind of person they are.

Eye-Contact

Another fundamental which relies on instinct subtlety; conventional wisdom says that you should make eye-contact in order to show interest. Actual wisdom will also tell you that too much becomes intense and a little creepy. If your character holds someone’s eye for too long its becomes fixative rather than flirtatious; it becomes staring. Depending on your character and their interest this can either read as obsessive, creepy, or aggressive.

Flirtatious eye contact can take a few forms;

1 - the “getting caught” method where a person looks at someone and quickly looks away again. When caught have your character (or yourself) look away quickly and then back, hold eye contact for a few moments and then acknowledge the other person. A smile, wink, or nod will suffice for this.

2 - the “lash” method where someone, usually a woman, catches their crushes eye, looks down, and then back up from under the lashes. Also very effective when done by men with big eyelashes.

3 - the “full cheese” method by which someone winks, grins, or wiggles their eyebrows. This is effective when used sparingly.

If your character also touches the person they are flirting with lightly, this will build tension. The touch should be gentle, but obviously deliberate. Avoid possessive gestures like gripping or pulling, however.

Body Language

When flirting, the body language of both people is important; your character should watch their crush for signs of interest and/or discomfort.

Positive signs; leaning in, touching, playing with hair, smiling, licking or biting lips, tilting their head slightly, mirroring.

Negative signs; leaning away, crossing arms, pursing lips, refusing to make eye-contact, raising their shoulders, crossing their legs away from the other person, frowning, clenching jaw, balling fists.

This body language can apply to both characters in the scene.

Advanced Techniques; Verbal Cues, Suggestions, And Other Senses

This is the shit I thrive on, as a writer you will probably feel the same way; I notice the sounds, smells, and textures of another person as well as what they say (in fact, when you read my work you’ll notice that the smell of any romantic lead is noted upon more than once).

Verbal Cues

This is the thing that most people focus upon when it comes to discussions or attempts at flirtation. The verbal sparring that comes with flirting is what really gets our stomachs churning and our hearts pulsing… but why are some people so naturally good at it, while others are… less so?

And why does some of the most vapid and run-of-the-mill stuff seem to work between the right people?

Well, the sad news for your unlovely characters is that physical attraction makes us more likely to respond to even the most poorly constructed of verbal flirtation. Then again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder so even the least pretty of characters could find themselves flirting up a storm with the right person.

Verbal cues include;

- Gentle teasing

- Compliments

- Inside jokes

- Using someone’s name (yes, really)

- Asking questions and responding in a thoughtful way

- Sexual innuendo (when used tastefully and sparingly)

Suggestion

This is the easiest to miss or overshoot because it’s a combination of everything else we’ve already covered. For example, your character saying to a friend,

“I’m just going to hop into the shower, talk soon.”

Is not a suggestive statement. Now imagine your character flirting with someone on the phone before sighing and saying,

“I’m going to take a shower… I’ll speak to you soon, ok?”

The difference is subtle but important; the second suggests that they don’t want to stop talking to the other person, that they definitely want to speak to them again as soon as possible, and subtly encourages the other person to consider them in the shower. You see?

Easy to miss, easy to fudge. Suggestion is hard to pull off, and hard to write, but think of it this way - suggestion;

1) Encourages the other person to think of you/your character in an intimate way

2) Implies enjoyment in and desire for their presence

3) Is open-ended and encourages reciprocation

The Other Senses

This is not so much flirting, but the act of making your character/yourself as appealing as possible to another. Personal hygiene, a good fashion sense, and good manners are a part of this.

But -

When writing about this you should not discuss it directly unless your character is making a conscious choice. Instead, focus on the character that yours is focussed upon.

- How do they smell?

- What are the textures of their clothes?

- What manners do they affect?

- Does their voice have a texture?

- Do they touch your character a lot?

- Do they note upon your characters smell or noticeably try to take in their smell?

- Do they react noticeably to your character’s voice or mannerisms?

This is just a basic guide, of course, but if you get this down you’re in a good position to build romantic tension in every walk of life!

If you found this post useful and you want to help keep me writing, you can support me through Kofi!

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seidreamblogs · 2 days ago

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little late BUT here we go y'all! many thanks to everyone who recommended prompts!

Welcome to Whumpay 2025! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list as the rules

Rules are the same as usual -

You only have to use one (Or two, if you’re doing the extreme edition.) prompt a day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to, and it still counts for both.

I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.

Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.

This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2025 tag throughout May.

scaled things back a bit this year, so theres no mini challenges or extreme edition, but if you want a smaller challenge choose one prompt from each category and post one each week

I - Trapped

1 - Used as a Weapon

2 - Hostage Situation

3 - Crucifixion

4 - Toxic Relationship

5 - Incapable of Disobeying

6 - Muzzled

II - Supernatural

7 - Psychic Link

8 - Immortality

9 - Magic Overuse

10 - Loss of Power

11 - Truth Serum

12 - Aftermath of Possession

III - Mundane

13 - Allergic Reaction

14 - Flu/Fever

15 - Forgetting to Eat

16 - Tonsillitis

17 - Financial Trouble

18 - Falling Out

IV - Dialogue

19 - “Don't make me choose.”

20 - “Let them go!”

21 - “They'll be fine…. Right?”

22 - “I've got you.”

23 - “Please don't leave me.”

24 - “I don't want to scare you, but….”

VI - Post Mortem

25 - Character Death

26 - Funeral

27 - Resurrection

28 - Grief

29 - Time Loop

30 - Mistaken for Dead

31 - Self-Sacrifice

ALT PROMPTS

1 - Buried Alive

2 - Empathetic Healing

3 - Gossip/Bullying

4 - “You’re hurting me!”

5 - Came Back Wrong

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seidreamblogs · 2 days ago

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How To Lock All of Your Fics At Once On Ao3

Someone has probably already done this but

For anyone looking to lock their works for only registered users over on Ao3 in light of the sudowrites scraping thing here is how you can lock all of your fics at once.

Log into Ao3 and go to your Profile, Works or Dashboard

At the top under you’re user name there are four buttons pick Edit Works

Second row of buttons on the right chose All and then hit Edit

Scroll down past all of your works and then keeps scrolling until you find Visibility change it to Only Show to Registered User

(If a fic is over the tag limit you have to edit those down to make edit to the work.)

Hit Update All Works at the very bottom and you are done all of you fics should now have a little blue lock next to your user name on each fic.

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seidreamblogs · 3 days ago

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Pacing really happens at three levels: 1. In the overall story (the "narrative arc") 2. In the scenes 3. In the lines (passages and paragraphs). This week, I'm excited to talk in depth about how pacing works within the narrative arc. (And I've been crazy busy and also having some health challenges, sooooo . . . instead of reposting it all on Tumblr, I'm doing a link for now here, but please check it out if you're interested!)

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seidreamblogs · 3 days ago

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this week's word is...

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

And please do me a favor: Poke through the reblogs/replies and interact with each other. Comment on a stranger's post. Read something from a fandom you've never heard of.

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seidreamblogs · 4 days ago

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How do you write friendly teasing like between friends or siblings? When I try to write it, it always comes out a bit mean

To me, there are a few key pieces:

Avoid the pain points. If it's something that someone is sensitive about or that is part of an existing marginalization, the teasing will probably come out as mean rather than friendly/familial. Teasing a fat person about not fitting in a chair, teasing a trans person about whether or not they pass, teasing someone about bad grades when they worked really hard to get good grades--all of those will come out as mean in the vast majority of cases.

Lean on inside jokes. Someone misspelling something in the group chat, or that time they got all the way over to their friend's house carrying their little sibling's backpack, or the way they refuse to eat meatballs because one time they got high and thought that they were eyeballs.

Establish reciprocal teasing. To some degree, things like teasing can become like a script--I say x, you say y, and we know that this is how it goes. It's a comfort as much as anything.

Let people take part in teasing themself. If they are part of it, it will come across as less mean, because they're clearly participants.

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seidreamblogs · 4 days ago

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balsam, blue morning glory, galcham oak | drabble snippet 8 (410 words)

“Wow.” They part at Namjoon’s voice, hushed and reverent. Hoseok doesn’t turn to face him just yet, holding Yoongi’s gaze for a moment. There’s the start of something sitting between the three of them, something that he and Yoongi could just as easily end here and walk away from. Yoongi’s gaze reflects his thoughts, and only when Yoongi nods, does Hoseok exhale and turn to face Namjoon.

full drabble snippet now available for elari members on my patreon!

#kscosmos #bts fanfic #bts fic #patreon #rapline au #pistilverse au #balsam blue morning glory galcham oak #drabble snippet #elari

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seidreamblogs · 5 days ago

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How to plant information elegantly

Say, for example, you’re writing a swimming pool scene and you need to plant the fact that Susan is blonde, because in a few chapters, the detective will find a blond hair at the crime scene.

You want the planted information to be memorable, but at the same time not stand out too much. The ideal is to push the information into the reader’s subconscious without a neon light arrow saying, “You might want to remember this, dear reader. This will be relevant!” The planted information needs to feel natural, organic, but memorable enough so when it turns out to be ✨a clue✨, your reader thinks, “I should have seen it!”

Let’s look at some options.

Susan, who is blonde, took a deep breath and dived into the pool.

This feels forced and awkward. The two pieces of information (pool + blonde) are not connected, the fact that she is blonde feels irrelevant and shoved in. If the reader remembers this, it’s because they noticed how the information is forced upon them.

Elegant ⭐

Memorable ⭐⭐

Organic ⭐

The blonde Susan swam across the pool. / The blonde, Susan, swam across the pool.

This feels more natural, but there’s a danger that only the swimming will stick into the reader’s mind because her being blonde is so unnoticeable. There is also a minor danger that the reader will expect an non-blonde Susan to show up in the first variation.

Elegant ⭐⭐

Memorable ⭐

Organic ⭐⭐

Susan was annoyed. She had just washed her hair with that ridiculously expensive Luscious Blonde shampoo and now her friends wanted to go swimming? What a waste of money.

This feels natural and organic, because both elements are conveyed from Susan’s point of view. They are both relevant and connected, and on top of that you get to build Susan’s character.

Elegant ⭐⭐⭐

Memorable ⭐⭐⭐

Organic ⭐⭐⭐

Her friends were already in the pool, but Susan held up her pocket mirror, making absolutely sure that the latex cap wouldn’t let any water in. She just had her hair bleached and after the debacle of 2019, she would never forget what chlorinated water did to bleached hair.

Susan’s POV makes her blond hair relevant to the swimming, as with the example above, but this time you’re presenting a completely different character. It feels organic and personal, and the fact that she is blonde will be lodged into the reader’s mind without screaming “It’s a clue!”.

Elegant ⭐⭐⭐

Memorable ⭐⭐⭐

Organic ⭐⭐⭐

I hope this is helpful! Follow me for more writing tips or browse my entire collection of writing advice now.

Happy writing!

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seidreamblogs · 5 days ago

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Birthday Interruptions

Sylus’s idea of a birthday used to involve ignoring the date entirely. Now it involves a fancy dinner, a watch with a hidden compass, two kids fighting over space metaphors, and a fever that cuts the night short. It’s chaotic. It’s imperfect. It’s his best birthday yet. Aria’s face filled the screen, all serious business. “Dad, I have a question about the universe that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Sylus x Named MC. Romantic fluff but also chaotic family dynamic, kind of lmao. Will I ever stop writing about Dad!Sylus? Neveeeer! 1,956 words.

A/N: And here it is, my late Sylus birthday piece! Happy birthday to my favorite dragon :D

You can read on ao3 here | Series master list here

Sylus had never been one for birthdays. Growing up, they passed like any other day—unmarked, unremarkable. He used to prefer it that way, finding comfort in the quiet, the forgettable. But then Lili came along, and birthdays slowly transformed from days of silence into soft rituals, miniature adventures wrapped in laughter and love.

Truth be told, Sylus hadn’t wanted anything special this year. Left to his own devices, the day would’ve slipped by unnoticed, and he wouldn’t have minded. But after almost thirteen years of marriage, Lili knew better than to let that happen.

“I booked us dinner at The Seasons in Linkon. The whole twelve-course,” she announced that morning, stealing a piece of baguette from his plate and pressing a kiss to his temple. “And I already booked a sitter, so don’t even try to use the kids as an excuse.”

Now, sitting across from her in the restaurant’s soft amber glow, Sylus found himself deeply, wordlessly grateful. Lili wore a green-emerald silk wrap dress, the fabric catching the light like water. Ruby earrings—his gift to her last year—glinted at her ears, and her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves. Her eyes lit up every time they landed on him.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, a smile teasing her lips as she studied the menu.

"I'm appreciating," he corrected, reaching across to brush his fingers against hers. "Thank you for this."

"For making you leave the house on your birthday?" Lili laughed. "Such a hardship."

The waiter had just poured their wine when Sylus's phone lit up. Lili's eyes met his, both of them recognizing the specific chime.

"That would be approximately..." Sylus checked his watch, "Forty-seven minutes without a kid interruption. Longer than I expected."

Lili raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to answer it?"

The device lit up again, insistent. Sylus sighed, already lifting it.

“They’ll just keep calling.”

Aria’s face filled the screen, all serious business. “Dad, I have a question about the universe that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Sylus's expression softened. "Is that so?"

"Kai said stars are just holes in the sky where heaven shines through. I told him that's scientifically inaccurate."

Behind Aria, Kai’s smaller face popped into view, eager to defend himself. "But Mrs. Elton at school said—"

"Mrs. Elton teaches kindergarten, not astrophysics," Aria countered with the supreme confidence of an eleven-year-old.

Sylus cleared his throat. "Stars are actually massive balls of burning gas, mostly hydrogen and helium—"

"See?" Aria turned triumphantly to her brother.

"—but," Sylus continued gently, "there's something beautiful about thinking of them as holes where heaven shines through, don't you think?"

Kai's face brightened while Aria looked mildly betrayed.

Lili leaned into frame. "Where's Ms. Tessa?" she asked, referring to their regular sitter.

“Making popcorn. She said we could watch one movie, but we couldn’t agree—”

“Robots!” Kai shouted.

“We’ve seen it seventeen times,” Aria groaned.

“How about Deepspace Explorers?” Lili offered. “Robots and scientifically accurate space.”

Both children considered this compromise with matching thoughtful expressions that made Sylus's chest tighten with fondness.

"We'll discuss," Aria finally declared with diplomatic gravity. "Happy birthday, Dad."

"Love you!" Kai added, blowing an enthusiastic kiss before the screen went dark.

As the call ended, Sylus set the phone down with a soft smile. “That went better than expected.”

"They lasted almost an hour," Lili agreed, raising her wine glass. "To small victories."

"To small victories," he agreed, clinking his glass against hers.

"Fifteen years," he said quietly. "Sometimes it feels like yesterday we met."

Lili smiled, swirling the drink in her hand. "And sometimes it feels like I've known you forever. But I guess I do." She took a sip, studying him over the rim. "Do you remember that disastrous first date?"

"The leaking ceiling wasn't part of my plan," he admitted, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Neither was the fire alarm."

"But you handled it with such composure," she said, her eyes warm with the memory. "Most people would have been flustered or angry. You just... adapted."

"I wanted to impress you," he confessed, something vulnerable in his admission. "But you already knew that."

Lili reached across the table to take his hand. "I think what impressed me most wasn't your composure, it was when you finally laughed about it on our walk home. That's when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That there was so much more to you than you let the world see." Her thumb traced patterns on his palm. "That I wanted to be the one you showed those parts to."

His fingers tightened around hers. "You're the only one who ever has. Well, you and the kids."

As the courses came and went, Lili eventually reached into her purse. "I have something for you," she said, producing a flat, elegantly wrapped box. "Happy birthday, my love."

Sylus accepted it with visible curiosity. He unwrapped it carefully to reveal a watch case. Inside was a timepiece of exquisite craftsmanship: sleek gold face with a brown leather strap, understated but unmistakably luxurious. It was classic, timeless, and from Lili. He loved it instantly.

“Turn it over,” she said.

He did. Inscribed on the back: For all our time. Past, present, future. My heart beats with yours. -L

Sylus stared at it for a long moment, his expression inscrutable to anyone who didn't know him as intimately as she did. But Lili saw the emotion in his eyes, the slight tightening of his jaw that signaled deep feeling.

"There's something else," she said. "Press the crown twice."

When he did, the watch face illuminated briefly, revealing a hidden feature beneath the gold. A tiny compass and locator.

"So you can always find your way back to me," she explained. "No matter where you are."

Sylus looked up at her then, and the raw emotion in his gaze made her breath catch. He removed his old watch and buckled the new one onto his wrist with the kind of care he usually reserved for delicate instruments and newborns. “It’s perfect,” he said, voice just rough enough to betray everything he felt.

They drifted through memories after that—through time. Lili’s laughter spilling across the table, Sylus’s quiet reflections, the map of their years unspooling between them. Thirteen years married next month.

“When did you know that this was it?” she asked, swirling the wine in her glass.

Sylus considered this, his expression thoughtful. “There wasn’t one moment,” he said. “You know I waited for you—for a long time. I would’ve accepted it if you never chose us. But one morning I woke up, looked at you sleeping beside me, and realized I couldn’t imagine a life without you in it. The thought felt... wrong. Like a missing piece.”

“For me, it was the hospital,” she said. “That heart scare. You didn’t leave for three days. Not even to change. You looked terrible.”

“Appreciated.”

“But you were there. Solid. Quiet. Unshakable. And I knew. Whatever happened, you were my person.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, fifteen years of shared history surrounding them like a warm embrace.

"Any regrets?" he asked eventually, his tone casual but his eyes watchful.

Lili didn't hesitate. "Not one. You?"

"Only the times I've hurt you," he said honestly. "Even unintentionally."

She squeezed his hand. "That's part of loving someone. The risk of hurt comes with the territory. But you've given me so much more joy than pain."

"I plan to keep that ratio heavily skewed in joy's favor," he promised.

The gentle moment was broken by ring of Lili's phone, but this time it wasn't a video call from the children. Tessa's name flashed urgently on the screen.

"Tessa? Is everything okay?" Lili answered, concern immediately evident in her voice.

"I'm so sorry to ruin your evening," the sitter said, her voice tight with worry. "Kai woke up about twenty minutes ago crying about his ear hurting, and now he's running a fever. I've tried the fever reducer you left, but it's climbing pretty fast. He's at 39.2 degrees now."

Sylus was already requesting the check before Tessa finished speaking. "We're on our way," he said. "Did you try the cold compress?"

"Yes, but he's asking for both of you. Aria's helping me keep him calm, but—"

"Tell him we'll be there in fifteen minutes," Lili said firmly. "Less if Sylus drives."

They made it home in twelve.

Kai's room was dimly lit by his small star projector, casting gentle blue and purple galaxies across the ceiling. The boy lay curled on his side, eyes glassy with fever and clutching his stuffed robot for dear life. Aria sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, reading aloud from one of her books about space exploration.

"Daddy," Kai whimpered when Sylus entered, arms immediately reaching up.

Sylus gathered him close, pressing his lips to his son's forehead to gauge the heat there. "I'm here, baby. Not feeling good, huh?"

Kai shook his head miserably against Sylus's chest. "My ear hurts."

Lili moved efficiently around them, checking his temperature again, administering medicine, and murmuring soft reassurances. Her fingers brushed against Sylus's as they worked in practiced tandem, a silent communication refined over years of parenting.

"Are you mad that I ruined your special dinner?" Kai asked, his voice small and scratchy.

"Not even a little bit," Sylus answered without hesitation. "Some things are more important."

"Like what?"

"Like you," Sylus said simply. "And Aria. And Mom. That's why birthdays matter at all."

From the doorway, Aria watched with a protective older sister's gaze. "I knew it was his ear again," she said to Lili. "He was pulling at it during the movie."

"Good observation," Lili acknowledged, brushing back Aria's hair and giving her a kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you for helping, baby."

By the time they had Kai settled with medication taking effect, it was well past midnight. Sylus's birthday had technically ended. Aria had eventually fallen asleep in her own bed, and Tessa had been thanked and sent home with extra compensation for the unexpected medical situation.

Sylus found Lili in the kitchen making herbal tea later on. "Some birthday," she said with a tired smile. "I had plans, you know. The kids would be well asleep and there was going to be dessert back at home that wasn't just... dessert."

He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into her hair. "I'll consider that a rain check ," he murmured. "Besides, I got exactly what I wanted."

"A sick kid and cold soup?" she questioned with a laugh, leaning back against him.

"You," he said, turning her in his arms. "The kids. This life we've built. All of it—interruptions, fevers, science debates included."

Lili's eyes softened as she reached up to trace the lines at the corners of his eyes, signs of years of shared laughter. "Even when nothing goes according to plan?"

"Especially then," he confirmed.

Lili rose onto her toes to kiss him, soft and certain. "There's always next year for uninterrupted dinner," she whispered against his lips.

"I'm counting on at least three interruptions. Wouldn't feel like my birthday otherwise."

Later, with Kai nestled between them in their bed (his fever finally breaking but his need for closeness still acute), and Aria eventually finding her way to their room as well ("Just checking on Kai," she'd claimed, though they all knew better), Sylus found himself more content than any elaborate celebration could have made him.

Lili caught his eye over their children's sleeping forms, her hand finding his in the darkness.

"Happy birthday," she mouthed silently.

And despite everything—or perhaps because of it—it truly had been.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading and have a great day/night <3 -Nona

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seidreamblogs · 6 days ago

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Journalism in Worldbuilding

I'm currently reading Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros and it has really got me thinking about journalism and information, especially as it relates to worldbuilding. I'm working on my own space opera fantasy where there's a corrupt government structure, so information and knowledge are important considerations. But they seem to tie into so many different areas that I haven't really separated them out and thought about them separately yet.

Yarros' book inspired me to do so and I came up with this long list of questions that I hope someone else can find helpful as well. Journalism and information are integral parts of our culture and history and, in addition to weaving closely with lots of elements of worldbuilding, they can also help you think about your plot and your characters.

Here's my list (in very messy order):

What comprises the "official" media (newspapers, official notices, reports, briefs)? How many people are in control of it/have the ability to tamper with it every day? How often is it circulated? How does it pass from person to person?

How do people on the far edges of your world get their news? How do people living in cities get their news? Rural areas? What about people in the slums and pits of the cities? What about middle class people? Elite/rich people? To what degree are each of these groups able to receive information? Is it first-hand? Second-hand? Third-hand? Spoofing on this: how does rank affect what information is known or unknown (this can also relate to cultural or historical knowledge, not just current events)? Do lower members of society know more or less than the higher members of society?

Which overarching body controls the news (e.g. government, syndicate, company, conglomerate, non-profit, etc.)? Is it a combination of different bodies? If so, how do they interact with each other? Is there a ringleader? Internal corruption? Is everything done by machine or by hand?

How does language impact what gets printed and what doesn't? Are there dead languages? Is there a common language? Are there multiple common languages? Can something happen without anyone being able to understand exactly what happened? How does that impact public perception of different places/peoples?

Is the news truthful? Is it only partially truthful? Is it a total lie? Are some things omitted and, if so, what parts?

What other sources are available for giving and receiving news? Does social media exist? Do people send letters? Are letters tightly controlled? Is there any privacy to these things? Are there trading posts where information is shared or traded?

Is information generally compartmentalized or generally open? Is there a difference in the perception versus the reality? (This can be part of your world's culture or history, too.)

Are there societies in your world that have knowledge keepers? How do those knowlege keepers learn and share information with the rest of the society? How do societies with these structures interact with each other and with societies with different structures?

Is knowledge prized or considered insignificant? Do different levels of society think differently on this point? Do different societies within your world think differently on this point?

Can knowledge be weaponized? Can it be used against others, for good or for bad? How? (Think about this by thinking about the channels through which information currently flows and how those channels can be affected/changed.)

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seidreamblogs · 7 days ago

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A character finds a snake in their bathroom.

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seidreamblogs · 7 days ago

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Midnight Blues, Chapter 2: The Other Side

Zayne x OC. Post-divorce, exes, parents, coworkers, ANGST, a lot of reflection on this chapter.

A/N: Hi guys!! So I decided to continue Midnight Blues because the concept of Zayne and Mona would not leave my head. But I didn't just want to hastily post a follow up. This story needed care, and I wanted to make sure I did this right. If you read my other recent stories, you might know that writing is something I am just seriously picking up again, and this has been so far the most challenging idea to explore. I have toyed with this concept in four different formats, went back and forth between three main arcs, and here we are today. While I have not completed writing this story yet, I believe I have the big picture finally set to guide me there.

I also want to thank you so much for your feedback about my writing! Whether it's about Midnight Blues or my other fics, they really have become a motivator. In a way, you help me hold myself accountable to my writing goals, which is amazing. And in exchange, if I can provide you stories you like, that is good enough for me. Enjoy!

Previous chapter | You can read on ao3 here

Structure, precision, and strategy.

These three things weren’t just Mona’s values. They were the building blocks of her life. They pushed her to aim higher, move faster, and chase ambitions no matter the cost. That blueprint had been laid early in her life, mapped out by parents who loved her through excellence. Fortunately, Mona had the brilliance to match their expectations. Even as a child, she understood that excellence was a language people listened to, and achievement is a currency.

Medicine had been a breeze to conquer this way. The human body followed rules. Systems. Predictable consequences. Love, on the other hand, broke every law she had ever learned. There was no structure nor strategy that could come into play.

She and Zayne had met as the youngest in their batch in medical school. They were both prodigies. Too young, too brilliant, too fast. They were taught to dissect bodies before they even understood their own. In comparison, most of their peers had more years, more life, but not more pressure. They would never understand the aching loneliness of being the youngest in every room, always to be admired and dismissed in equal measure. Sparks did not draw the both of them together, but it was the quiet recognition of feeling out of place. Always a little too much, never truly belonging anywhere.

They had grown up quickly to get where they were, but they hadn’t finished growing yet. Maybe that’s what made the connection feel so sharp when it finally clicked; their youth was both armor and burden. A sweet, bitter common ground.

Zayne was quiet back then. Guarded in that way that looked like arrogance until you realized it was just survival. Mona ignored him for most of their first semester, though. Her grades were the only thing on her mind and she refused to let any distraction lead her to fumble. But one day, in the middle of a lecture, he muttered a deadpan joke under his breath. Something about the aorta or the jugular vein? She couldn't remember it now, but she laughed so hard she snorted. Professor Noah had scolded her, but Zayne just looked at her like he was glad someone had heard him. And that was all it took. Soon it was late nights at the library, caffeine-fueled rants, anatomy quizzes before class, shared dreams about what kind of doctors they would become. Somewhere in the blur of ambition and overachievement, they fell in love.

When she was twelve, Mona grew a love for embroidery. She would buy tools and flosses after school and learned to make flowers on her hold t-shirts from video tutorials. When she started getting really good at it, she embroidered her mother's handkerchief with violets all around. When her mother found out it took her a month to complete it, she chastised her.

"Don't waste your time on things that don't bring any benefits to your future."

"You shouldn't be dwelling on useless things."

"If anything, you could have used those hours to study."

The handkerchief was thrown away, and Mona cried silently in her room that night. Ever since then, she never had the courage to want anything for herself unless it was encouraged by her parents. Not even the little things. It was a miserable way to grow up, but it did bring her to where she was right now: an accomplished doctor, carefully molded by her ambitious parents. She can't tell if that was supposed to be liberating or suffocating.

Zayne was the first thing she had ever wanted recklessly. She was always taught that desire should always be measured, tidy, and justifiable. That ambition is scripture and vulnerability is sin. It was all she had known. But Zayne? He made her greedy. He gave her the kind of love that burned bright and fast without ever stopping to consider the cost. Neither of them had been prudent in love, but especially not Mona. And she didn't want to. Not for this one thing in her life that was her safe place. She loved him, and his love never made her shrink. He didn't just understand her ambitions; he matched it. For once, she didn’t have to soften herself to be wanted. She could be brilliant, relentless, and still feel seen. That kind of intimacy—when you're young enough—feels like a forever thing.

At twenty-two, they got married.

The ceremony was small. Just a few friends and polite (albeit wary) parents. Still, no one stopped them. Why would they? On paper, they were golden: top of their class, on the cusp of extraordinary careers, perfect on résumés and holiday cards alike. They were a match made for every ambitious Linkon parent's dream.

For Mona, it had felt less like a choice and more like fate. They were two stars caught in the same orbit that grew closer and closer until it inevitably collided. The problem with celestial collisions, of course, is the aftermath.

For a while, it was beautiful. They were building something together. They had a rhythm, parallel lives moving toward the same horizon. But they didn’t know themselves yet, and love without identity can only get you so far before your marriage started to feel like something created together, so much as something they survived.

Residency. Fellowships. Parenthood.

There was no room to pause. No time to breathe, let alone reflect. Just the next shift, the next case, the next tantrum. They triaged everything, even each other. Function kept them afloat, but there was no space left for softness. It didn't just happen suddenly; it was a slow moving erosion, chipping away at them little by little as time passed by without them realizing it until the damage became too much.

Amara was born when they were twenty-five. Holding her for the first time was the only moment Mona had ever felt time stop. She was perfect. And terrifying. And nothing had prepared her for how deeply she loved her.

Mona thought if she could just keep the ship afloat, they would eventually outlast the storm. She was wrong. They loved each other, yes, but their entire life had become urgent for so long that neither of them remembered how to simply sit in the same room and just be with each other.

They stopped being curious. Stopped asking each other the small, big questions. How are you? What do you need? They became excellent co-parents and efficient housemates, but as lovers? They were a hopeless case long before the papers were signed.

They were both problem-solvers, trained to fix what was broken. But feelings don’t behave like patients. They bled differently; in ways neither of them ever really knew how to handle. There was no textbook, no guide, no instruction on how to deal with them.

Mona had always been the type to swallow her grievances whole, mistaking silence for composure. But silence isn’t peace. Some part of her always kept score. And when things got hard, that part rose like a tide dragging old hurt to the surface, demanding retribution for wounds that were left to fester.

Zayne, in contrast, retreated when emotions grew complicated. He just... vanished. Turned inward when the words didn’t come, folding into silence like it might shelter him from the weight of unresolved issues bursting at the seams. Where Mona calculated, Zayne concealed. Two flawed defense mechanisms that left them stranded on opposite sides of the same silence.

“Every time I asked what was wrong, you said you were fine,” he told her once. Not in anger, but in resignation. “So I stopped asking.”

And it gutted her, because it was true. They were too alike in all the wrong ways. Brilliant. Proud. Terrified of needing too much. Neither of them knew how to lean on the other without feeling like they were failing. They had spent so long being exceptional that admitting they didn’t know how to be married was unbearable. It further destroyed her when she realized that both of them had turned into unrecognizable people. Zayne was no longer the inquisitive, cheeky, affectionate person he used to be, and Mona had lost her spark so much she felt like looking like a stranger in the mirror every time.

As Amara grew, their fractures widened. Her presence wasn’t the problem, though. If anything, she was their brightest light and the best part of them. But parenthood amplified every fault. Mona’s relentless standards became suffocating while Zayne’s guilt made him disappear into himself, and it was starting to clearly affect Amara. Her signs of upset and emotional distress whenever arguments happened were the first red flag that made them sit down with themselves. Their daughter became both salvation and reckoning.

Mona would find herself staring at their daughter's sleeping face some nights, tracing the slope of her nose as she whispered silent apologies with grief that weighted her heart. How had they create this perfect, wonderful, breathing thing together and somehow still lost each other?

Their end was death by a thousand cuts rather than one fatal blow: a forgotten anniversary, a birthday celebrated late, the evening she sat in their spotless kitchen, staring at the calendar where Date Night! had been crossed out for eleven weeks in a row.

Signing the divorce papers had been the most civilized thing they had done for each other. It was an act of mercy. Nevertheless, she cried when she got home. Not the graceful kind. The kind that locked your lungs, cracked your ribs, and left you with a headache that lasted for days.

“We didn’t fall out of love,” Zayne had said during one of their last arguments, voice cracking. “We just never stopped being kids playing house. And it got too much.”

And wasn’t that the cruelest truth? They had built a life together like children stacking blocks. No foundation, just the dizzying height of their ambitions and impulsivity. Mona had mistaken endurance for intimacy, had believed if she just worked harder and performed better, the fractures would seal themselves. She hadn’t realized Zayne was drowning too, his silence not indifference but a cry for help she had been too exhausted to hear.

And maybe that was the tragedy of it all: they did it all too soon. They tried to be everything for each other before they had figured out how to be anything on their own.

Prodigies, after all, are always praised for what they can do. Never for who they are.

After the divorce, Mona didn’t fall apart the way she thought she would.

The year after unfolded like a slow exhale of relief. For so long, she had sprinted toward every milestone: medical school at fourteen, marriage by twenty-two, motherhood at twenty-five, and chief of pediatrics before thirty; only to wake up one morning and realize she never paused to ask herself who she was outside of these titles. The unraveling of her marriage, as painful as it was, became the unexpected beginning of something else entirely: her own becoming.

There were nights when the silence in her apartment felt like a gnawing reminder of her failure, or when someone casually asking about Zayne's presence struck her like a blow to the ribs. But there were also mornings when she woke up and realized she could just be. Not someone’s wife. Not someone’s anchor. And certainly not someone trying to patch something long past mending. Just Mona. And that was a novelty she hadn’t known she craved.

So here she was at thirty, gradually learning the art of solitude. Not the hollow loneliness of those final years with Zayne, where they moved around each other like ghosts, but a quiet companionship with herself. The kind that felt like a rebirth.

She read novels she never had time for. Reconnected with old friends over wine and laughter that didn’t feel forced. She picked up embroidery again and started making little flowers on Amara's clothes. "Mama, you make the most beautiful flowers," she would tell her. And Mona would cry, not because she was sad, but because her daughter's words and appreciation for this once deemed stupid thing healed something in her. It gave her the courage to finally set firm boundaries with her parents. Not completely cutting them off, but keeping their contact at a minimal. The last straw for her had been when her father blamed her for her failed marriage, implying that if she had been capable enough, Zayne would have stayed. Today, those words would easily roll off her back. A testament to how far she had come.

She started buying herself flowers every Sunday. A small act that felt almost laughable, but it mattered to Mona. To choose beauty simply because she could, and not out of the expectation of having to always keep up with appearances. She even dated, briefly, a fellow pediatrician who made relationships feel like such a breeze. Something that was a contrast to what she was used to. They ended amicably after three months. The remarkable part wasn’t the breakup, but the realization that she could still choose like that. Not because she had to, not because the timeline demanded it, but because she wanted to. It reminded her of how she had once chosen Zayne. Not because he was convenient or approved, but because he was the first thing she allowed herself to want out loud. This time, though, the choosing came from a steadier place. Not a rebellion, not a rush of young defiance, but something gentler. Something like peace.

As for Zayne, he was changing too. They didn’t talk much beyond co-parenting and the occasional overlap at the hospital, but Mona noticed things. The way his shoulders no longer seemed perpetually braced for impact. The suspiciously perfect loaves of sourdough he started sending over with Amara, despite claiming to be a beginner. When he took Amara camping and sent a video, she watched it twice. It was unmistakably him, but softer somehow. There was a lightness in his laugh she hadn’t seen in years. It was like watching the man she used to love and someone entirely new, all at once.

And yet, for all their growth, the past still lingered like a thread neither of them could quite sever. It hummed beneath every shared smile over their daughter’s antics, every polite conversation that edged too close to something tender. A quiet, relentless ache for what was and what might have been. Because the truth was, you don’t just stop loving someone like that.

She told herself it's just the side effects of proximity. That sharing a child keeps you linked in strange, emotional ways and does things to the heart. That working at the same hospital only adds to the illusion. It shouldn't mean anything.

And then came the gala.

Mona hadn’t meant to wear that dress. She had worn it for herself, not anybody else. But when she looked in the mirror, something inside her went still. The memory hit hard and fast: the night she told him she was pregnant with Amara, and how, in hindsight, it felt like the beginning of the end. And when she caught Zayne staring—his gaze lingering just a moment too long—it sparked something warm, traitorous, and wholly uninvited in her chest.

It had been months since she really let herself look at him. But that night, there he was. Zayne, in a tuxedo, nursing a glass of whiskey—something he never did in all their years together, and he seemed to have the tolerance for it too, now—humoring conversations with people she knew he couldn’t possibly care about. When he saw her, his expression faltered for the briefest second. A tell that only someone who used to love him would notice. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the dress. But the way he looked at her—as if she were the only one in the room, as if he still knew her better than anyone—undid her.

Hours later, she was standing outside his door.

She didn’t plan to go. She hadn’t even texted. Her body just moved, guided by something buried under her skin since the day they signed those papers. Dormant all this time, now suddenly awake.

She didn’t know what she wanted coming to his apartment. And she certainly hadn't meant to kiss him. She just did.

Maybe it was the years of restraint collapsing. Maybe it was the way his fingers trembled slightly when he touched her face or how his voice cracked when he whispered her name. But when he kissed her—slow and aching—she knew. Some ties don’t burn out. They smolder. They wait.

It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was two people finally admitting that they were tired of pretending they hadn’t missed each other, even knowing very well they parted for the best.

After, she lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her. It should have felt like a mistake. It should have felt reckless or selfish or confusing, but it didn’t. It felt like coming home to a place she didn't realize she had been aching for.

Still, she didn’t stay the night. She got dressed in the dark, pressed a kiss to his temple, and slipped out while he was deep in slumber.

Because as much as she wanted him—as much as something inside her screamed that this wasn’t finished—she was also afraid. Afraid that they would fall back into old patterns. Afraid that love, deep and devastating as theirs had been, still might not be enough.

In the backseat of a taxi, Mona pressed a hand to her racing heart. She wanted him. But she couldn’t go back if it meant losing herself again. Not this time. A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you a wonderful day/night wherever you are <3

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seidreamblogs · 7 days ago

Text

Midnight Blues, Chapter 2: The Other Side

Zayne x OC. Post-divorce, exes, parents, coworkers, ANGST, a lot of reflection on this chapter.

Previous chapter | You can read on ao3 here

Structure, precision, and strategy.

"Don't waste your time on things that don't bring any benefits to your future."

"You shouldn't be dwelling on useless things."

"If anything, you could have used those hours to study."

At twenty-two, they got married.

Residency. Fellowships. Parenthood.

“Every time I asked what was wrong, you said you were fine,” he told her once. Not in anger, but in resignation. “So I stopped asking.”

“We didn’t fall out of love,” Zayne had said during one of their last arguments, voice cracking. “We just never stopped being kids playing house. And it got too much.”

And maybe that was the tragedy of it all: they did it all too soon. They tried to be everything for each other before they had figured out how to be anything on their own.

Prodigies, after all, are always praised for what they can do. Never for who they are.

After the divorce, Mona didn’t fall apart the way she thought she would.

And then came the gala.

Hours later, she was standing outside his door.

She didn’t plan to go. She hadn’t even texted. Her body just moved, guided by something buried under her skin since the day they signed those papers. Dormant all this time, now suddenly awake.

She didn’t know what she wanted coming to his apartment. And she certainly hadn't meant to kiss him. She just did.

It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was two people finally admitting that they were tired of pretending they hadn’t missed each other, even knowing very well they parted for the best.

Still, she didn’t stay the night. She got dressed in the dark, pressed a kiss to his temple, and slipped out while he was deep in slumber.

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