#i didn't think i had writing advice but apparently i am passionate about that!

[startanewdream]

As the anon who asked you about Mcgonagall earlier, I’m gonna need you to write that version of SWM, please and thank you xxx

In spite of her very vocal defense of him minutes earlier, Professor McGonagall did not seem glad when she answered the door and found Harry there.

"Potter," she greeted curtly, looking down the hall, though it was empty.

"Professor." He bit his lips, suddenly unsure. There had been no hesitation when Harry turned back on his way to the North Tower, but now, looking upon Professor McGonagall's severe face, he wondered if he had made a mistake—he would talk to Sirius after classes—"Is Professor Umbridge still there?"

Her lips twitched for a moment. "No, Dolores has left. We agreed to postpone the remaining meetings for tomorrow."

"Hum. That's nice." He doubted anyone else's Career Advice would be so upsetting, though.

"Shouldn't you be in class now?"

Harry did, but he didn't answer her. Professor McGonagall had been most passionate in his defense, something that felt so warming and comforting this year—so far from Dumbledore's distance—and there was a memory replaying on his mind...

A smile on Professor McGonagall's thin lips. Your father would have been proud.

"I was wondering if I could ask for your advice, Professor."

"Our meeting is concluded, Potter, and in the current climate, it would not be wise—"

"Not career advice, Professor, actually about—about my father."

Professor McGonagall blinked. She glanced up and down the empty hallway once again, and Harry could see her weighting the risk—if Umbridge had lost her marbles when Professor McGonagall had defended Harry's career choices, how would she react upon finding out that Harry had asked about his family—he had a sudden vision of Professor McGonagall being dragged in front of the Minister while Umbridge laughed—

"Sorry, Professor," he said hastily, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," she said, seemingly agreeing with him; and then Professor McGonagall took a step to the side. "Come inside, I will make some tea."

Harry smile grateful, but Professor McGonagall was already walking back to her table. She lit the fireplace, and the moment that the door closed behind Harry, she twisted her wand; a bright cat sprouted to life, passing through the door.

"Just in case," she whispered to herself. When the kettle was inside the fireplace, she sat in front of Harry, hands clasped; this was not very encouraging. "Why do you need advice about your father, Potter?"

"Ah—I saw—I shouldn't—I was wondering how he was."

A tiny frown appeared between her eyes. "Perhaps this is something you should discuss with—" She glanced at the door, though it was still closed, her patronus out of sight, "—others who might have been closer to him."

"I—" He didn't think it was a good idea to discuss his plans for later. "You once told me that my father would have been proud of me because he was an excellent Quidditch player."

Her face relaxed a little. "Yes, he would."

Showing off with that stupid Snitch...

"Would he be proud because of other stuff as well?" He fidgeted with his hands, scratching the back of his hand where he had written so many times, I must not tell lies.

"Ha—Potter." Professor McGonagall seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "If everything you have faced, I am sure that any parent—"

"No, I mean—of course, if they had lived everything would have been different, but..." His lips trembled. "I saw—I saw my parents, and Sirius, Remus, even Wormtail, when they were my age, and—my mother hated him, and my father deserved it, and I don't know—I don't know what to make of this."

Apparently, neither Professor McGonagall. She stared at him, mute and evidently surprise, and when a whistle came from the tea kettle, she jumped instead of bringing it with magic. Professor McGonagall took a long moment to fill their cups, then to bring a pot of biscuits to the table. She grabbed a biscuit for herself before talking again.

"How did you see them?"

"Ah—a memory. I accidentally tumbled during my Occlumency lessons—"

"Severus." She fought a grimace unsuccessfully. "I doubt he would have any good memory to share of James and Lily."

"Were there?" Harry asked in a small voice, unable to stop himself.

Her face was stern now. "I don't know if I am the right person to discuss this with you, but I was their professor and Head of their houses for seven years, we were all members of the Order, so I watched them over the years. On the day I woke up to find You-Know-Who was gone, I cried instead of celebrating because I knew whose lives it had cost." She sipped her tea. "James and Lily were very dear to me. They knowingly gave their lives for you; do not doubt their love."

Harry drank his tea; it burned his throat.

"I don't need to know about the heroes who died, Professor," he whispered.

She looked at the fireplace. "You know James spent most of his time with his friends—even here. He served too many detentions, seldom alone. There was not a rule that he wanted to abide by." There was a tiny smile of appreciation on her lips; Harry couldn't understand. "Lily was not the same, but she served a few detentions as well. She couldn't refrain herself from a fight when she believed she was right." A long sigh. "I made them Head Boy and Head Girl."

"But if—"

"I do not know what memory Professor Snape shared with you, but I know it was not pleasant, not if Severus was involved—I was his professor also, and I saw how deep their mutual dislike was. But Severus was usually alone—your father never was."

"So he was—my father was—"

"Your father was flawed. And it's because of this that I grieved him so much. I saw him growing up. From a happy little boy who knew he belonged in Gryffindor to a teenage boy who thought himself at the top of the world to a young man who denied his privilege to fight for what was right." She twirled her tea. "And I suppose it was around them that he won your mother's heart."

Harry looked down.

"If James and Lily had few good moments, it was only because their time was short. But I can assure you, while they were together—I've never seen them happier. At peace."

The picture of his parents’ wedding day. His father was waving, beaming; his mother was alight with happiness, arm in arm with her husband—

"No more detentions?" Harry asked weakly.

And then, to his surprise, Professor McGonagall chuckled lightly. Harry glanced back at her; she was staring at the fire, with that glint of nostalgia back on her face. "Oh, there were detentions."

"Why—"

Light flooded the room when her patronus returned.

"You must go," Professor McGonagall said, standing up. "I would recommend you to talk more with... your godfather."

Harry paused on his way to the door. "You would?"

"He was James' best friend and usual partner in crime... and he grew up just as fine." She watched him for a moment. "Of course, you should only talk to him when it is safe."

Harry thought about Fred and George's plan for that afternoon—breaking into Umbridge's office... "Of course," he agreed hollowly.

"Good. Go on, Potter."

She gave him a brief smile as Harry closed the door. As he walked away, set to talk to Sirius later—following McGonagall's suggestiona after all—he wondered maybe if he wasn't as bound to get detentions as his parents had been once.

[traumavents]

[no major tws as far as i can tell? just vague mental distress/frustration.]

i had a realization recently, that i only feel truly happy and excited about things i'm nostalgic for. nothing that i didn't grow up with, no matter how much i might like it, hits the same as my silly old childhood stuff, like games and shows, or relics of the old internet like flash games and animations and crusty web layouts. i know it's extremely silly compared to what's normally bothering people, but it's left me feeling really stuck and isolated for a long time now, because while others move on or get invested in new things, i just can't. not wholeheartedly, anyway.

and what i realized is i think it's not necessarily the media itself, but what i felt when i first experienced it. back then, i Felt things like enthusiasm and excitement. so now, after being stuck gray rock-ing for around a decade at this point, i think these old nostalgic things are like threads, connecting me back to a time when i could feel things properly. i just wish i could feel like that about more/new stuff.

i don't even get to feel true joy for what i create; i can't think of any part of my projects that i could say i'm Excited about. some parts of it i'm Content with, i guess, but never Enthused, not like my friends and other people are about their own passion projects. my friends apparently feel some great satisfaction when they finish art pieces or sections of writing, but i usually feel nothing in particular other than maybe vague relief that i don't have to do it anymore. y'know, a normal thing to feel about something you Wanted To Do.

i don't even know what to call this situation so that i can find like, advice for trying to fix it. is it all because of the gray rock-ing? is it depression? is it a chemical imbalance i can't do anything about? am i just a ridiculous person? is it buried trauma? is it a Secret Option i haven't discovered yet? it's just really frustrating and feels like it should be easy to solve. like, Just Feel Something, Stupid, it's Not That Hard. Everyone Does It Except You.

to top it all off it's so silly whenever i try to describe it that i don't want to bring it up to anyone. like, how do you elegantly go "damn your depression and crippling physical ailments suck bro, oh what's one of My biggest issues? the fact that i only like the games and web design of the mid 2000s to early 2010s, and nothing else ever again" or "hey can you not talk shit about this pretty bad game from 2006 around me, it's the only way i can Feel Something."

(to be clear, all questions presented are mostly rhetorical, i know this ain't the advice blog)

<3

[hopeintheashes]

7, 20, 36, and 54

Thanks for the ask!

7. Favorite author.

Answered here!

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Since I just posted a snippet from First Best here, I'm gonna go non-traditional! One of my wips isn't a fic at all, it's a song to go with a fic, so here, have a snippet of that:

but it's not just you: it's all this light that's in your orbit; shooting stars and galaxies trace patterns through my mind when i look at you— didn't think that i'd been lonesome until all of your love found its way into my life.

36. A spoiler for story _________.

Since you didn't specify, I'm going with First Best. Um, a spoiler...

Things work out in the end.

(I know, that's not a very spoilery spoiler, but the plan is to put the last chapter up tomorrow, so there's not very long to wait!)

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

Okay I was going to make a list and then this one got to be longer than a bullet point, so:

Note that you = generic you, not you the ask-sender!

If you're tempted to use an epithet ("the blond," "the shorter man"), think VERY carefully about whether that's actually how your POV character would think of them. If they're talking about two strangers in line at Starbucks and one is a taller man and one is a shorter man? Absolutely! If they are talking about their partner, or their best friend, or their relative, and they are not actively commenting on that trait, specifically, in that moment? Nooooo. Seriously, have you ever thought of your sibling as e.g. "the blond"? Remember that that's different than thinking about the color of their hair, I mean in place of their name. I never have. Ever. And remember, it's what they're thinking inside their head: I refer to my brothers as "my middle brother" and "my youngest brother" to people who don't know them by name, but in my head it is always [Name] and [Name]. However! In my family, we have always referred to them collectively as "the boys," and that carries over to the way I think about them as well, so in my case that would be fair game.

Character names (including nicknames that are commonly used in canon/throughout your work) and basic dialogue tags (said, asked) blend in. You as the author may feel like you're using them too often, but the reader doesn't even register them. It's like thinking you're using the word "the" too many times. Anything other than character names and basic dialogue tags stand out. Those are the ones you want to use carefully.

(come ask me things!)

[meffuyu]

𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘

(A spontaneous feeling of closeness)

Ask:: "Tanjiro and y/n have their first kiss, how did it feel, where did they kiss. Did it escalate?? I leave these questions to you, dear author."

tanjiro k. x reader

a/n : occasionally I post ship fics on my ao3, exploring wonderful genres for practice. (Pink93)

Writing scenarios even I wish I had experience in. 🗿

Fluff, and… more fluff?

It was time. 

Tanjiro dared himself to do something he had never done before. The next time he was going to meet you again face-to-face, he would seal his overflowing feelings with a passionate kiss. 

He didn't know how to kiss a girl or if that would break your boundaries. He didn't wish to upset you, he respected women! Unlike a particular comrade… 

Tanjiro couldn't ask anyone for advice on how to kiss a girl, and no, not just any girl, you. 

The topic was once brought to the two of his trusted friends, but they only looked at each other in confusion. Inosuke thought kissing was more like eating one's face for the sake of starvation. While Zenitsu kept pestering him to reveal the lucky girl he had his eyes on. 

If only they knew it was you, he was sure the two of them would have laughed their hearts away. 

But here he was, sitting on his knees attending a class that perfected 'the art of lips,' in other words, Zenitsu's lesson about love. 

The poor boy Tanjiro had his fingers curled into fists and firmly pressed against his knees. Beside him was Inosuke, apparently doing the same action. 

Back and forth, Zenitsu paced around, holding a long twig he had managed to obtain at the beginning of this class. He took this teaching job seriously as his arms were behind his back. 

Whipping the tip of the stick against the ground earned the other two boys a stiff reaction. 

"So…" He started. "What brings the two of you to my class? Hm? You both have sad lives, so; I'm curious to know why you asked little ol' me for help." The blond closed his eyes as he took deep breaths, almost like he was angry. 

"I ain't even wanna be here!" Inosuke huffed, folding his arms against his bare, rippled chest. 

Truth was, Zenitsu forced Inosuke to attend; the only person willing was Tanjiro. Yes, it is a surprise, especially since he debated his thoughts about allowing Zenitsu to teach him everything that needed to be known about kissing. 

Zenitsu clicked his tongue. Inosuke's complaints have ticked him off. "Shut up! You will sit there and learn how to kiss a girl properly- you should be grateful I am wasting my precious time on you since you don't even know what romance is!" 

"What did you say!?" The inner boar was set ablaze.

"You heard me! After I'm done, you better be able to kiss a girl so you won't be so depressed and lonely in life! While Tanjiro and I will have wives, you'll have nothing but your measly damned self!" The blond fired back, yelling at the top of his lungs. 

Tanjiro turned pale as his jaw dropped. 

Inosuke became speechless. 

[Name]... as a wife? 

Instantly, Zenitsu returned to his natural mood state and beamed as if nothing had happened. He pointed the stick at Tanjiro, slightly waving it around. 

"Very well, what about you? Why are you here?" He quizzically asked. 

Tanjiro thought carefully and soon parted his lips to explain.  

"I was hoping to prepare myself when kissing the girl I like, but… I realized that life is about risks. When we returned from the Entertainment District, Mr. Uzui told us that love seems to come in the ways you least expect."

Zenitsu raised both of his eyebrows, intrigued with what Tanjiro told him. "So, what are you trying to say?"

"I don't think this class is for me." He concluded. Tanjiro quickly arose from his sitting position and hauled the giant crate that contained Nezuko upon his back. 

"What? But Tanjiro!-" The blond began.

"I have to go! She's usually around this time, I know what I'm going to do." He waved, and before Zenitsu could give a piece of his mind, Inosuke captured the boy into a headlock. 

"HUgh-?!"

"Monitsu! You're all talk!" Inosuke retaliated.

Tanjiro wasted no time in leaving, he was desperate to see you. So he continuously waved to the two boys fighting and making a loud commotion. Tanjiro jogged through the mighty forest with a crate on his back, he knew Nezuko was asleep right now. 

You met Tanjiro before he formed his squad, but you had to depart because you preferred to be solo. Even so, working with Kanao Tsuyuri in combat had always been driven by a little Insect Pillar. 

The young teenager was in a hurry as the dust from the ground flew in the air each time he dragged his feet against the surface. He held onto the straps of the crate tightly, trying to keep it at least sturdy so Nezuko wouldn't awaken by the frequent movement. 

From the rural land, he escaped the forest with the tallest trees. He entered the town in his view, excited to see you again. 

"Hey Nezuko, it's natural to try your firsts with the person you love, right?" He inquired, as he knew he would receive no response from his kid demon sister anytime soon. So, for now, he would just see it as a rhetorical question.

Passing through the open shops that displayed their goods and services, Tanjiro examined his surroundings; however, it was only by the alarming scent he adored so much that he could get led to where you were located. 

He pondered thoughtfully on if he would give you something special one day. His eyes scanned the various stores with antiques for different occasions. Stopping his footing, he saw a hairpin that reminded him so much of you. For some odd reason, he knew he had to get it for you. 

About five hundred yen was the price. 

After just a few words with the shopkeeper, he had the hairpin in his hand in no time. Featuring fabrics and silks that complimented the designs, he believed you would love it. 

But of course, he couldn't spend any more time admiring the item, he needed to see you! 

He was off, jogging again at a pace his legs would surely take him. After some minutes of searching and turning many street corners, he saw a specific figure by a Palmate Maple tree. On the bench, you were, typically writing a letter. 

How did he know you were writing a letter? He knew everything about you, and little did you know that he did. 

Watching your concentrated expression while you thought about words to incorporate into your letter. Your eyebrows knitted together as you chewed on your bottom lip focused. 

The season for romance Zenitsu would say, but it was only Autumn. 

Placing the giant crate down, Tanjiro approached you with great reluctance in his movement. He did not wish to startle you or stop you from continuing your intense writing. Magenta orbs observing the straw brush in your hand, and to him, the motion of the tip indicated you were writing a specific word in Kanji.

Then you suddenly looked up. 

He was so alarmed by how you did so, it was something he least expected. The rate of his heartbeat increased per minute, and for a second, he lost his breath. 

Actually, when did he get so close to you? He was peering over you, staring at your features up close. How embarrassing… 

"T-Tanjiro!?" You squeaked. 

Quickly, your arms shielded your work when you understood what was happening. That action caused you to knock over the small jar of jet black pigment, which Tanjiro caught instantly due to swift reflexes. 

"[Name]!" He called. 

Tanjiro was caught off guard. Sitting next to you on the wooden bench, he lifted the jar of ink. You had rolled up your letter, giving him your full attention. 

Typical Tanjiro. The answer was clear to anyone, even if you wanted to ask how he found you. Somehow, he looked even tenser than the last time he saw you during an outing. 

Setting aside the parchment paper, you retrieved the ink jar from his hold. 

"Were you looking for me?" You asked, and to that, he nodded. 

Tanjiro began sweating when he remembered what he specifically came here to do, so he thought to himself: what would Mr. Uzui do?

He displayed a poker-faced expression, which had you slightly concerned. His index finger was pressed against his chin as he thought intensely about how the Sound Pillar would behave. He was… thinking a little too hard. 

"Hello? Hey?" You waved your palm directly over his face. 

You weren't able to get an answer to your question because all that followed was silence. Only people's conversations could be heard, or the hardened Fall leaves were crushed under the feet of 'seasonal' couples. 

'Remember you three… actions, always speak louder than words.'

Tanjiro thought those words were rich coming from Tengen Uzui. However, there was a point made that he couldn't deny. 

Actions do speak louder than words. 

Actions… Words… 

And a heartbeat. 

His heart was beating at the thought of kissing you. He swore he'd make a move; he told Zenitsu and Inosuke he could do it without using the kissing classes. Then why was he stalling so much?! 

It's because he's never kissed a girl like you before. 

Two roughly textured palms were wrapped around your single hand. The force that came with the capture of your hand was immeasurable. You toppled over him until your body was pressed firmly against his chest, and his eyes locked in with yours. 

As people tried to see what exactly was happening, the two of you were in a questionable position. On the bench, Tanjiro was lying flat on his back, and you hovered over him. 

It was hard not to laugh as your noses touched each other, as if his clumsiness had gotten the best of him this time. It wasn't long before your hair tickled his face, and he was laughing. There seemed to be a mess between you two, almost as if you were a couple. 

"What on earth are you doing, clumsy!" You joked, patting his chest to try and sustain your laughter. His sweet chuckles had already died down, and all that remained was a soft smile. 

"This." He replied.

With his eyelids closing, Tanjiro's lips made contact with your own. It was an indescribable feeling that one would call a 'spark.' In this case, a spark had been ignited by the tender kiss. 

As his lips moved against yours, he savoured the passion he was experiencing and the taste of your plump lips. When the surprise wave ended, you kissed him in return. Tanjiro's lips formed to become one with yours as he took his time. He had no thoughts; he couldn't think of anything to distract himself because the kiss felt so alive. 

In the boy's eyes, it didn't matter if your hair was thick or thin because his main objective was to push the hairpin into the clusters of hair tendrils. 

The young Kamado found his way to express his undying love. 

It was a success that the hairpin stuck in your hair and looked pretty on you as well. 

The first kiss Tanjiro had ever shared with you was finally over as he pulled away from you. He fiddled with the pin before allowing you to embrace it. 

"You shouldn't have, and you know it!" You chided with a fit of giggles.

"But," Tanjiro shook his head with that permanent smile. "I had to because of one specific reason." 

"Oh? What's the reason?" Another question you decided to ask as your fingertips traced the hairpin lightly. 

"Because I love you."