#i need to write fanfiction but need a new keyboard to do so.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

I dreamed about Lucanis Dellamorte last night. Not exactly sure about the details, but I was very upset when my alarm woke me up. Maybe tonight, the dream will pick up where it left off? 🤔

[bweirdart]

EVENT OVER! THANKS EVERYONE WHO JOINED IN U ALL DID AN AMAZING JOB <3 SEE YOU AGAIN NEXT YEAR IN MARCH FOR #mARTch OR NEXT OCTOBER (2024) FOR A NEW SET OF PROMPTS!!!!!

OC-TOBER 2023 PROMPTS!!

general tag: #oc-tober / my prompts: #bweirdOCtober

F.A.Q:

Do I have to draw EVERY DAY?

NO! I highly encourage skipping as many days as you need to avoid burnout! There are 10 main days in the event (marked with a ⭐ star) that you can focus on if you don't feel up to doing every day, or you can choose your own adventure and just do the prompts you personally like!

Do I have to DRAW?

NO! You can also write fanfiction snippets, repost older art that fits the theme, tweet headcanons/backstory, roleplay in-character as your oc ... genuinely anything that fits the theme is OK!!

Can I start early?

YES! I understand some people work at a slower pace and might need a head start! So long as you wait until October to post it, you can start working as early as you need!

I missed the start of the event .. do I have to catch up?

NO! Please don't stress about days you missed, you're allowed to just skip to the current prompt!

RULES:

1. MAKE FRIENDS! The community is the best part of this event .. please try to follow new people, ask questions about ocs you like, compliment people's styles, ask friends to create with you, etc!

2. TAKE IT EASY! Skip a day if you're tired, busy or just not interested in the prompt. You don't have to catch up on it later. This is supposed to be fun, not work!

3. BE KIND! Please think about the people around you - don't give people unwarranted harsh criticism, content warn for themes/imagery in your work that could trigger someone, don't create anything hateful, etc

MORE:

text version / tips and ideas on bweird.art or below ↓

star = main prompts | no star = optional

INTRO WEEK

1: FAVE OC ⭐

-Which of your characters is your favourite right now?

2: NEW OC

-Who is your newest OC?

-Design a new OC right now

3: OLD OC ⭐

-Do you remember the first OC you ever made?

-Is there an OC you haven't drawn in a long time?

4: RE-DESIGN

-An OC who has changed a lot over the years

-Take an old OC and update their design right now

 

BACKSTORY WEEK

5: RELATIONSHIPS ⭐

-Who is important to your OC?

-Do they have a partner?

-Do they have a best friend?

-Are they close to their family?

6: SYMBOL

-What imagery do you associate with your oc?

-Are there any colours, flowers, animals or concepts that symbolize them?

7: PERSONALITY ⭐

-How does your OC behave?

-What are their positive traits?

-What are their negative traits?

-Are they extroverted or introverted?

8: PAST

-What was your OC like as a child?

-Where did they grow up?

-Are there any significant moments from their past that shaped who they are?

9: FUTURE ⭐

-Does your OC have a goal they're working towards?

-What will your OC look like when they get older

-Do you have a planned ending for their story?

PALETTE WEEK

10: pumpkin patch palette

#251604 #1E3807 #5B5E1A #A2A657 #EBA00F #F3ECCC

11: hot cocoa palette

#520B13 #BB382E #E27E6D #88392C #AF5D40 #E1AFA4

12: midnight zone palette

#000007 #000049 #183885 #004D4F #0E8788 #FFF1C0

13: peachy palette

#DE6450 #DB9171 #FFC1AE #FEE1AD #FFF2E0 #D9D8D8

14: haunted house palette

#552506 #6E25AA #ED690B #F925A0 #8F8BA7 #A6C1AA

FUN + GAMES WEEK

15: MEME ⭐

-Post memes that remind you of your OC

-Draw your OC as a meme

-Fill out a character meme (classic deviantart style)

16: FOOD

-What is your OC's favourite food?

-What is their least favourite?

-Can they cook?

17: EYES-CLOSED ⭐

-Draw your OC with your eyes closed! No cheating!

-Write a scene without looking at the keyboard! Keep the typos in!

18: SWAP

-Swap the style or aesthetic of two of your OCs

-Species or gender swap AU

-Invert an OC's colour scheme

19: INSPIRATION ⭐

-Is your OC inspired by any pre-existing characters?

-Are there any particular songs/lyrics that inspired something about one of your OCs

-Do you have a dedicated pinterest moodboard for your character?

20: INVENTORY

-What does your OC carry around with them on a daily basis?

-Are there any objects that have sentimental value for them?

-Loot drop for your DnD OC

 

FRIENDS WEEK

21-25:

There's no specific daily prompts for this week, but here are some ideas you can try ...

-Art trades with friends who are doing the event with you

-Your OC interacting with a friend's OC

-Gift art for someone whose OCs you like

-Work together and collaborate on something with a friend

-Roleplay an OC scene together with someone

 

HALLOWEEN WEEK

26: FEAR ⭐

-What is your OC scared of?

-Draw one of your OCs trying to scare the others

27: MONSTER

-Do you have any monster OCs? (eg: vampires, werewolves, creatures, ghosts...)

-Draw a human OC as a monster

-Design a new monster

28: TRICK

-Play a trick on an OC

-Do you have an OC who would play tricks on people?

29: TREAT

-What is your OC's favourite halloween candy?

-Give an OC a special treat to make up for yesterday's trick

30: MAGIC

-Do any of your characters have magical powers?

-Give an OC a magical or cursed artifact

-Create a magic-using OC like a witch or wizard

27: COSTUME ⭐

-What is your OC dressing as for halloween?

[itscoucouharry]

Returning to my Roots lol

I don’t know how to start this, but I’m here, sitting at my work desk with my fingers on the keyboard, feeling the pull to return to something I haven’t touched in years: One Direction fanfiction.

Liam Payne’s death hit me harder than I thought it would. I didn’t realize how much of my heart was still tied to those moments when I was a teenager, writing about them, imagining a world where they were more than just the pop stars we saw on TV. I poured so much of my joy, my pain, my dreams, and my hopes into those stories. Back then, it was all about escape – the music, the camaraderie, the connection to a group of boys who seemed so real to us.

And now, with Liam gone, it feels like that piece of my heart has cracked open again.

I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t prepared for the flood of memories, the longing to go back to those days when the fanfics were all I could think about. The days when I believed in the magic of what if, in the safe space of fandoms, in the comfort of writing and reading about a band that gave us so much joy. The days when we were all just kids, learning and growing alongside each other.

I’m writing again. I’m writing for that younger version of me who found solace in words, in worlds I could shape with my own hands. I’m writing for the healing of the inner child that was never fully allowed to let go of those fantasies, those hopes, that feeling of being seen and understood. Because in a way, these stories helped me heal then, and they might just help me heal now.

I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how long this healing process will take, or what new roads it will lead me down, but I do know that I’m doing it for the little me who needed these words to make sense of a world that didn’t always feel kind.

So here I am, typing away once more, remembering why I started writing in the first place. Not for fame, not for attention, but for the therapy of expression, for the joy of creating something from nothing, and for the love I still carry for a group of boys who made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this world.

Liam, thank you for everything. You’ll always be a part of this journey.

[wobblycolly]

the one-person heated blanket - Harry

Hi, this is my first story on this new blog. I used to write a shit ton of stories nearly ten years ago, but kind of lost touch with this form of art. I'm trying to get myself back into writing and reading and hope to work towards more literature-type stories but as of right now I just need to get back into not-being-scared-to-write-down-words. And the best way to do that, is (unfortunately) through fanfiction-type stories, which I feel a bit conflicted about as I do think it still is a strange thing to share written stories about someone you've never met. Therefor I'm getting rid of as much 'things' as possible that connected a specific person to this story.

TW: None

❄-❄-❄-❄-❄-❄

After attending the big pubcrawl, you came home rather drunk. You waved your Uber goodbye and went inside. Just as you got to your bedroom and started taking off your shoes, your phone buzzed. You didn't expect to get a message so late at night.

'Did you get home alright?'

The text was from Harry, which definitely surprised you. You had known Harry for a couple of years now, but you'd never been that close. His mannerisms and humor were definitely attractive, but you'd never mustered up the courage to actually flirt with him or anything. Besides, you barely saw your close friends Tobias and Peter, so whenever you did happen to hang out with the boys and thus Harry, you were mostly focussed on catching up with others.

Feeling the last drink still tickle the back of your tongue, you let your fingers slip over the tiny keyboard of your phone.

'Yea, just did. Why?'

With one shoe still on, you let yourself fall onto your bed. Your hands held up the phone right above you. As you stared at the screen, you waited and watched three dots appear and disappear.

'Some dicks made some weird remarks about you and walked out right after you so just wanted to check'

You felt a grin creep up on your face and awed silently. You hadn't heard or seen any guys behaving strangely towards you on your way out, but of course it also didn't entirely surprise you.

You rolled onto your stomach and let your chin rest on the bed. Clicking on Harry's profile picture, you quietly looked at him for a while and zoomed in. As you silently admired him, a memory of just ten minutes back popped into your mind. As you were in the cab, there was a car following you that even at one traffic stop caught up to you. There were like two or three boys in it, honking wildly at the Uber. You hadn't even considered they'd be honking at you.

You opened the chat again and saw Harry was still online.

'Some car with a few chavs did honk aggressively long at my Uber on the way back. Maybe it was them.'

'Did they follow you home?' His message came almost immediately after you'd sent yours.

You sat up straight, feeling chills spread over your arms. 'I don't think so??' Just as you were about to type another message, a phone call popped up on your screen.

It was Tobias.

You picked up right away, feeling unease all over your body. "What's going on?" You asked him immediately.

"Are you at home already?" Tobias asked, he sounded just about as stressed as you were getting.

"Yeah, I'm home and I'm inside and I don't think anyone's followed me. I'm pretty sure those guys took a right turn at one point. You guys are starting to freak me out."

From the background noise, you could hear Tobias was still with some friends, but it didn't sound like they were at the bar any more.

"Fuck, okay." Tobias breathed. "So, there were a few assholes that catcalled you when you left."

You got up from the bed, still only wearing one shoe, as you moved to your window. Sliding the curtains just a bit open, you peered outside. It seemed just as quiet and peaceful as you were used to.

"I know, Harry told me."

"He did?"

You frowned, "Is he not with you?"

"No, and he's not answering his phone- He yelled at those guys and ran after them. And then the next second he was gone."

Your frown only grew bigger. "Well, he was just texting me like a second ago checking in on me."

Tobias sighed loudly. "Can you try calling him? I don't know why he's ignoring all of our calls. He's way too far gone to be alone outside- And he didn't bring his coat or anything."

"Okay, I'll try. I'll let you know."

❄

When your phone call ended, the chat with Harry sprung open again. He'd gone offline, but only a couple of minutes ago. You saw he had sent you a couple of new messages you hadn't seen yet.

'You sure?'

'Y/N?'

You phoned his number and impatiently waited for him to pick up. When he did, you immediately called out for him. "Harry, where are you?"

It took him a few seconds to answer. "I'm on my way."

"What?"

"I think."

"What?"

Harry breathed in the microphone. You could tell he was shivering a little. It was freezing outside and apparently he was bare-armed. "I'm on my way to make sure."

You got up and started searching for your other shoe. Quickly slipping into your coat, you hopped down the stairs again. "Harry, you don't even know where I live."

You grabbed the keys of your bike and quickly left your house as you quickly sent Tobias a text that Harry picked up your call.

"I don't?" Harry slurred his words a little. You could tell he was tired. And drunk.

You told him to send you his location, and as you rode on your bike you kept him on the phone. Making sure to continuously tell him to stay put.

When you found him, he was sitting with his back against someone's porch. He had his eyes closed and held his phone to his ear. You ended the call, sent another quick message to Tobias that you found him and then got off your bike.

"There you are."

He looked up with big eyes, a little more awake at the sudden closeness of your voice.

"Ah, I found you!" He said excitedly, but very tiredly. He climbed clumsily to his feet.

You chuckled, shook your face left and right and took off your coat. Holding it out to him, you watched him reject your offer.

"You are going to take my coat and put it on Harry. You've been outside for far too long and it's fucking freezing."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm wearing my liquor jacket just fine."

You huffed softly and walked up to him, shoving his left arm into your jacket before helping him put it on. He let you.

"Can you balance on the back of my bike or are you gonna fall?" You asked him.

He looked from you to the bike. "I can ride, you can sit."

Although you wanted to say no, you quickly considered that it would probably be easier for him to cycle for 10 minutes rather than it would be to balance for 10.

"Fine, let's go."

❄

Finally arriving at your place, you took Harry inside. Helping him take off his jacket, you brushed your hand against his arms and felt how frozen his skin had gotten.

"Let's get you in the shower."

He frowned at you and just looked at you for a couple of seconds. "You're gonna get me in the shower?" You didn't know if you saw it just right, but you could've sworn he was smirking a little.

Unsure of what he meant, you just nodded. "You need to warm up."

He walked after you up the stairs, followed you until you were both in the tiny bathroom. You started taking out some towels from under the sink and pushed the shower curtain aside. Turning on the water, you turned to him.

"Just make sure you don't turn the water more than lukewarm. Your body has got to warm up very slowly."

He still hadn't said much, but just looked at you. He seemed more awake than when you'd found him outside, even a little more sober now.

"What?" You finally asked him.

"Well." He murmured, "What about you? You also need to warm up."

You waved it away, almost automatically. "I'm fine." You held your hand under the water, checking if it was warmed enough. You groaned as you felt it was still as ice as cold. "You're fucking kidding me." You cursed and turned up the heat all the way. Still, you felt no change in temperature.

"No warm water?" Harry asked from behind you.

You sighed and shook your head. Turning off the water, you then dried your now even-colder hands on the towel you had laid out for Harry. "Should've known it. This fucking building runs out of warm water so quickly it's ridiculous. Sorry."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay."

"I do have a heated blanket- If it has enough battery-" You were already walking out of the bathroom, now searching your closet for the blanket. Also quickly grabbing your biggest sweater and pair of joggers, you threw them on your bed. "I hope these fit."

Harry didn't mind changing in the bathroom, but just started taking off his clothes right in front of you. He didn't even fully seem to realise he was doing this, or he just simply didn't care.

You quietly watched as he tried to fit in your clothes, and only let out a frustrated groan when you saw there was no way he was going to fit in them.

So a little later, there the two of you were. In your bed, of course- You had a tiny apartment in London with an even tinier couch where no one would be able to sleep on. Harry lay under your heated blanket nearly naked. You sat next to him in your joggers and sweater.

"The blanket's really nice." Harry whispered with his eyes closed. He was all cuddled up under them and wore a small and content smile on his face. His cheeks were still pink from the cold.

"Good." You chuckled and got into bed. Keeping the small bedside lamp on for just a little longer, you lay down properly and closed your eyes.

Suddenly you heard and felt Harry moving. Just as you were about to ask if everything was okay, you felt the heated blanket over your body. Harry had turned the one-person blanket sideways, so that you were now sharing it with him.

"Oh, it is really nice." You whispered and heard Harry chuckle.

After laying there like that for another ten to fifteen minutes, you turned to turn of the light. Harry seemed to have fallen already asleep, but still you quietly wished him a good night's rest.

You yourself couldn't really fall asleep. After the stress of finding Harry and getting him to warm up had settled down, you finally started to realise you were actually sharing a bed with him. Your stomach twisted into a thousand excited knots and you couldn't help but try to think of what could've happened.

And then the blanket turned cold.

"Fuck." You cursed quietly.

Harry seemed to respond to your voice rather than to the blanket turning off. He shuffled himself a little over the bed towards you and then pushed his arm over your body. Shivers ran down your spine at the warmth that came off his body. He had warmed up so much quicker than you.

The sudden intimacy caught you off guard, but somehow it didn't freak you out. Maybe it was just the alcohol that had left some traces, but the arm over your body felt rather comforting. Almost homely. You didn't even think about possible consequences as you pushed your legs against his and moaned quietly at his heat.

"Is this okay?" He suddenly murmured.

You backed a little into his arms. "Yeah. You're really warm."

He nodded, his eyes still closed as he held you just a little tighter.

His soft breaths soothed you. You listened to them as you felt his heart beat against your back until finally, both of you drifted off to sleep.

[sinon36]

Echoes of Salvation: The Deal (Part I). Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab reader  (Zombie AU)

Part II

The story starts after the dash.

Warnings: some gore, some mistakes, some bad writing (eh… we all have to start somewhere), not proof read, some independent woman surviving on her own without the need of help from men (cause I like self reliant women and people in general, they are a great inspiration to us all, really).

Disclaimer:

Dear readers,

Please be kind. This is my first fanfiction ever that I wrote and posted, so please be kind and overlook any potential inaccuracies, mistakes, grammatical errors as I’m not a professional writer and also English isn’t my native tongue. Though I have studied British English I am sure I haven’t really managed to accurately portray the British way of speaking, so please, feel free to point out anything that might poke you in the eye while reading this.

Also, I would like to tell you that this fan-fic is the love child of my obsession with our favourite masked man Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, and my love for anything zombie apocalypse or world-ending alternate universe or actual universe. Tbh If I wasn’t a poor student I would probably be a prepper, just like Frank from HBO’s TLoU. Most likely will be. I’m a little weird like that, you’ll see more in the future.

To close this little rant, I hope you’ll enjoy it, even if it’s short, I would really like to continue this if you deem it worth it enough. This will probably be a slow-burn kind of romance: 1. because I’m a sucker for the kind of slow-burn strangers/enemies to lovers fanfics, and 2. because it’s more realistic, let’s calm the whore-y instincts and be reasonable people that don’t climb masked 6-feet-tall strangers like trees.

With everything said I do not own the Call of Duty character Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley (*whispers*Though I wish I did*) BUT I do own this piece of fanfic. Please don’t steal it. Repost it but please do give credit to other people’s work. You may notice some similarities to other fanfics, cause duh, I also read a lot of that, (isn’t that one of the incipient stages to becoming a fanfic writer?), but I would really like to give a shout out to the fanfic author that really inspired me to put fingers to keyboard and a fanfic into Tumblr, please, *drum rolls* a round of applause for @nsharks with her lovely fanfic ‘Bleeding Blue’. She’s really wonderful and you should really check her out.

Have fun reading and don’t forget to leave a comment or a heart. I wouldn’t mind suggestions of what to name Simons’ daughter. That would really make my day 😊

P.S. Sorry to all the fishing loving people out there, what I said was based on my impression of the fishing experience and should be taken with a grain of salt.

            Yours truly <3

Synopsis:

It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.

You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.

One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.                     

-

The sky is cloudy above but some sunbeams break through to warm the crisp air this fine early spring morning. It’s a good time for fishing now that the water is warmer, they come closer to the bank in search of food. It’s a boring task after you arrange all your tools and launch the line in the water. It’s a game of waiting and watching for any small tugs or movement of the neon-coloured fishing line. You picked up fishing after a couple of months into moving here, when everything was a mess and so many repairs and renovations had to be made around the house. The guy from the tutorials you used to watch on YouTube talked about the calmness and relaxation fishing brought to him. Maybe you weren’t cut out to stand all day on shore and gawk like an idiot for hours at the thin plastic line submerged in the lake water. But you cannot deny the proud feeling catching a fish brought to you when the line finally went taught.

You try and ward off the boredom and instead try to focus on the warmth that spring brings after months of endless cold. The birds are singing in trees, preparing nests for future offspring, and the lake is calm, with bubbles on the surface indicating the abundance of fish. Life is good. Bellamy enjoys sunbathing next to you rolling in a patch of grass. Everything is peaceful. Nothing really happens here anyway. You close your eyes basking in the good feeling that overtakes you.

A branch snapping behind you wakes you from the meditation you have fallen into. You raise and turn from where you are crouched over your equipment. You come face to face with a strange figure.         

‘Show me yer hands’ he tells you in a thick British accent, eyes focused on you and handgun aimed at your chest. He wears all black and a haunting white skull mask. He is tall, at least 6 feet tall, body poised to kill. In his other arm, you can see a little girl hugging his neck.

You slowly raise your hands. At your foot, Bellamy growls baring her teeth at the stranger sensing danger. You shush her grabbing her by the caller to keep her from attacking the armed man. You stand still watching in apprehension as the man studies you. You look at the ground where you left your backpack and your hatchet.

‘Don’t even think about it’ comes the gruff order. You nod trying to convey that you understand the situation. ‘There’s nothing in that bag worth a bullet’ you tell him in an even tone despite fear creeping down your spine. He hums in agreement. ‘And if you wanted to kill me you would’ve done it by now.’ He watches you like a hawk its prey. ‘So…’ you pause carefully measuring your words, ‘what it is that you want from me?’ he gestures you to take a few steps back and you drag Bellamy by her collar.

He kicks at the backpack spilling the contents. A bottle of water and a half-eaten sandwich, a hunting knife, and a rectangular box in which you keep the hooks, lures, fishing lines, and other small fishing equipment. He turns his gaze back at you and nods toward your dog. ‘Put a muzzle on it or I’ll shoot it’. your blood runs cold at the thought of losing your sole companion. You scramble to untie the scarf you keep tied around your wrist that you use to wipe away sweat from your forehead. You wrap the piece of cloth around the dog’s snout tight enough to not slip away. Next, the dark-clad man tells you to pack your fishing gear and collect your backpack, with one hand keeping it outstretched to the side and the other one grabbing at Bellamy’s collar guiding her forward. ‘Move. Eyes forward. Any sudden moves and I drop you.’

He walks a couple paces behind you. For how big he is you can barely hear him walk on the path. You can feel his gaze burning in the back of your head and the gun pointed at your back. As you start down the path you can make out the roof of your small house. Once you get at the gate you stop. ‘open it’ he instructs. ‘The key is in my right pocket’ you say slowly gesturing to said pocket. ‘Mhm,’ you hear him grunt. You slowly release Bellamy and fish for the key in your jacket’s pocket. You slowly take it out and put it in the keyhole turning it and opening the gate.

The familiar sight of your front garden does nothing to appease you in this situation. Bushes full of colourful flowers hug the narrow path toward the house. The wind catcher hung above your porch clinks melodically as a gust of warm wind catches on it. you take a few more steps on the stone path before you and you hear the gate closing behind you. What once was your safe space now traps you in with a stranger ready to shoot you or worse.

‘Tie the dog to that pole’ he orders you again. On your right, there is a small pole stuck in the ground. He throws a roll of paracord next to you. You don’t move at first. You had never tied Bellamy down before. You can’t even remember when you last put a leash on her. She likes to roam free and run around. The click of the gun behind you tells you that you have no choice. You drop the backpack and start to drag her to the pole. She tries to resist but you shush her and urge her to move. Once you finish tying her you turn towards the stranger. He nods towards the house and you start walking hands raised on either side of your head. Once you open the door he urges you inside.

‘Where do you keep the medicine?’ he grumbles urgently. ’Bathroom.’ you nod to the right of your living room. ‘Go get it!’ you don’t wait around you spring toward the white door. After a couple of minutes grabbing most of what you keep in the over-sink cabinet you emerge hands filled with gauze of all sizes and different bottled pills. You return to find the man placing the girl on the couch. She appears to be asleep. You almost forgot about her. She looks about 8-years-old. Brown hair is chopped short in a pixie cut. She’s wearing blue-washed jeans and a dark green hoodie that’s too big on her.

You watch as he peels the hoodie from her limp body. Underneath she wears a striped t-shirt, but what catches your attention is her left upper arm. Red stained gauze is wrapped around. You are still in your approach keeping a safe distance. ‘Was she bit?’ the words rush out in apprehension. From where he kneels next to her his eyes snap at you. ‘No’ he denies the implication of your words. ‘Put that on the table and go sit by the door’ You do as you're told eyes darting between the girl and the man. You drop everything on the coffee table and go sit by the entrance door hugging your knees. You watch as he works on bandaging the kid. Your eyes are glued to the girl’s arm.

Even though you lived so far out into the wilderness you saw pictures on the internet of bites from the infected. You read the posts of the survivors and heard the news broadcast on all channels. Then everything went quiet. The cable didn’t work and your phone had no signal. You knew shit hit the fan and that it was serious. Then, a few weeks later you saw your closest neighbour, Neil, an elderly farmer who lived about half a mile further up the river’s bank, growling and stumbling trying to catch Bellamy who was running scared towards you. You tried to talk him out of the trance-like state but to no avail. He kept stalking towards you, ready to take a bite out of you. You tried to tell him to keep his distance and warned him that you would protect yourself. The rest was a blur. You faintly remember grabbing the hatchet that you used to cut down logs for your stove. And then the struggle with the man, Bellamy barking, you crying out pleas for him to stop. In the cacophony of noises, you hit him with the blade right in the neck. The next thing you knew, your neighbour lay in a pool of dark blood hatchet still. It took you a while to register what you have done. You just killed a man. You couldn’t forget the way he lay there, on the gravel, hands stretched outwards bloodshot eyes staring emptily at the sky. That was the first time you encountered an infected. You distinctly remember the fear and adrenaline that took hold of you. The feelings that gripped your heart so tight and that made you take a life take over you as you watch the little girl, possibly infected, unconscious but on her way to the same madness that turned Neil into a savage monster all those years ago.                                                 

'She's feverish. You got meds or something to bring the fever down?' his question brings down from your rising panic at the thought of being stuck inside with a possible infected. ‘There should be some anti-inflammatory pills and some antibiotics. They are out of date but they could still work.' He grabs hold of the med kit you brought. He sorts through the drugs checking the expiration dates. When he comes across the antibiotics, he studies the pack carefully, his eyes darting back and forth from the label to the girl. 'How much can I give her?' he asks with a hint of concern his stern facade crumbling slightly.

You look at him unsure what to say. Those pills have been bought before the start of the outbreak. You doubt expired drugs have any effect anymore. You refrain from saying that though. He is stressed, he might take his anger on you. ‘She’s a kid, you mumble, so, about half of each.’ He carefully considers his next action. ‘She’ll need water to take them, you add from down the floor. And some food…’ He nods in understanding. ‘May I?’ you don’t know why you offer this stranger help. First, he disturbs you from catching dinner, next, he threatens to kill you and your dog, now he takes over your house and medicine. But you can recognize the desperation in his look, the way he fumbles with the packaging. He is a parent trying to save his kid. Even though you don’t have any of your own you recognize the parental instincts, the same ones you exert on Bellamy.

He looks at you unsure of what to do. He surrenders in defeat and nods at you to go on. You rise to your full height, which doesn’t add up to much compared to him. You walk past them all the way to the back of the living room where you disappear behind a white door. After a couple minutes, you reemerge from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of steaming vegetable soup you made this morning. You slowly approach the couch watching him for any sign that you might cross a line. Instead of any aggression he takes a step back and allows you to go closer to the girl. You place the bowl and the glass on the coffee table and kneel next to the couch.

The girl opens her eyes and looks at you with distrust. Like father like daughter… you think to yourself. But you try to smile at her try to reassure her. ‘I brought you some soup, love’ you say in your most sincere and kind voice. ‘You must eat a little and then take some pills that will make you feel better’. You try to persuade her. She stares at you for a minute then at the man. They are suspicious of you and they have all the reason to be. You are a stranger to them as much as they are to you. Funny you are in the position to try and win their trust in your own home. You take the spoon you brought for her and dip it in the bowl. You take a spoonful and hover it close to your face blowing a little over it and then you swallow it. You can’t help the little moan of appreciation for your own cooking skills. ‘See? It’s good.’ You look at her with a small smile.

You don’t know where this came from; you blame it on the 6-foot-tall armored stranger whose stare drives daggers at the back of your head and your desire to keep your head on your shoulders and all your blood in your body. You don’t outright hate kids but you were never good around them. With a sigh, she sits upright and takes the spoon from you. She eats slowly. You keep watching her. She is a pretty kid. She has blue eyes and freckles on her small button nose. You wonder if she looks anything like the man behind you. She is pale and sweat collects on her little forehead most likely from her fever. She eats half of the soup you brought her and then turns her gaze towards the man. He hands her the two halves of the pills. She takes them in her small hand and grabs the glass. She hesitates. ‘It’s okay’ you reassure her and with a nod, she puts the half tablets on her tongue following up with large gulps from the glass. She scrunches her little nose in disgust at the chalky taste. ‘Atta girl’ you hear him utter from behind you. ‘Now lay down and rest.' he says to the girl in a stern yet gentle voice. He watches her nod and lie back on the couch her eyes half-lidded. He sighs, 'Good for now. ' he mutters under his breath. His eyes are fixed on her as he gestures to you. 'Come with me.' You rise from the floor and follow him outside the front door.

He leads you outside. When you cross the threshold, he takes a deep breath and a look of relief washes over his stern features. He gestures for you to sit on the front porch with him. 'We need to talk...' 'Yeah' you say crossing your arms defensively over your chest and standing as far away as the length of your porch allows. you take a moment to study him as he fixes you with a cold stare. You notice the many pockets on his vest and belt. A patch on his chest reads S.A.S. He's ex-military, you muse. His uniform makes much more sense now. But the mask still unnerves you.

He leans against one of the wooden porch support beams right hand hovering on the pistol holster. You think it's an act to intimidate you, to remind you that he is still armed and ready to strike you down in your own home.  You stare at him a little defiantly. You’ll be damned before you let this weirdo intimidate you on your turf. He studies you from head to boots and back up. You sigh and square your shoulders showing him you are not afraid of him. ‘I’ve been watching you.’ He tells you in a matter-of-fact tone. You try to suppress the surprise on your face. You look down at his boots avoiding his icy gaze.

He’s been stalking you, and the realization dawns on you. You didn’t even notice his presence around the house. Stupid, you think to yourself, I’m growing complacent. But not even Bellamy caught his smell and she usually barks when someone or something comes close to the house. But earlier at the lake, he took you both by surprise. He’s good at keeping his presence concealed, you have to give it to him. You nod to yourself in understanding. He probably knows the layout of your house by now, he knows you are alone, and he waited for you to be outside and ambush you. You start imagining all the horrible things he could have done to you. But no, he instead approached you, gun pointed at you, nevertheless, when he could have already killed you and taken over your house by now. You hum and make eye contact with him.

‘Why keep me alive then?’ you ask him without beating around the bush. You study his mannerisms trying to catch something, anything to prove you he’s human. But he’s as unreadable as a statue. His gaze remains fixed on you, unblinking and stoic. You feel him studying you, taking in every detail of your person. He seems intent on reading into your every move.

In an even tone, he answers, 'Because you’re not a threat.’ His response catches you off guard, ego a little bruised at that, but you can’t argue with his logic. If he wanted to, he could have killed you by now, that’s for sure. You remain silent for a moment, processing his response. ‘But that doesn’t mean I trust you.’ He adds kicking off the beam and taking a step closer to you. He looks down at you tilting his head a little like a bird of prey watching a mouse, waiting for it to give chase and make the hunt more fun. You don’t give in to the urge to run inside and hide in your bedroom. Instead, you take a step towards him and look up at him ‘Because you need me’ you speak quietly. You can imagine a raised brow under that mask. You smile in triumph; even though he acts tough he needs help and all the intimidating façade was in a desperate attempt to get it.

‘I get it’ you continue having him figured out. ‘Your kid is sick and out there dangers are lurking at every turn. You need a place to stay until she gets better.’ You finish voicing your theory on why he’s really here having this conversation with you. His eyes closed in defeat. Gotcha, you smile even more widely at your deduction. ‘You can stay, you say as you turn and walk down the three steps of your porch heading towards the gate. ‘On one condition, you add stopping in your track. You turn fully towards him and he watches you curiously as if you’d have any power to demand him anything. ‘No harm comes to me or my dog’ you say remembering his earlier threats of him offing you both. ‘Do we have a deal?’ it’s not unreasonable, though it irks you that you have to bargain for your safety with a stranger. ‘Deal.’ He says in his usual gruff voice nodding to you in sign of respect for your demand.

‘Good’ you say as you stalk off towards where Bellamy lays muzzled and tied like a prisoner of war. You free her and she jumps at you happy to be in your proximity. She must have been worried sick here all alone. Poor thing. You then go to the gate and slide the too-large bolts meant to keep any unwanted guests outside. Or inside in your case. ‘And to think nothing interesting ever happens around her, right, Bell?’ your rhetorical question is met with a bark of agreement.

[luulapants]

Stop Being Weird About Indians

Let’s talk about virtue signalling when talking about American Indians and how it’s doing more harm than good. I saw a take that writing about Kaia, an indigenous character in Supernatural, in fanfiction is a cancel-able offense because the way she’s depicted in the show is problematic. I’ve heard similar things about the skinwalkers in Teen Wolf - I’ve also heard that you shouldn’t even type the word “skinwalkers” because it’s offensive, which... I’m not gonna go into all the details, but that’s a gross misunderstanding of the belief around the word, and also the actual word the belief is about - you won’t believe this - isn’t an English word.

Anyway.

The topic of indigenous oppression in the US is complicated, but one of the fundamental issues, which actual indigenous activists (not just keyboard warriors) constantly talk about, is the way indigenous people are ignored and erased from the story. It’s called “The Terminal Narrative.” Text books talk about indigenous people like they’re a relic of the past, like they’re all dead and gone. (Do you know how weird it is for Indian children on reservations to read a US history book that implies they don’t exist?) Human rights abuses and social issues on reservations are left out of the conversation or skimmed over as if they’re too obscure to be fully understood, or like they impact so few people, it doesn’t really matter.

Policing wording is not activism. Sharing call-out posts isn’t activism. You are not doing anything to help anyone. You’re not funding, volunteering, calling politicians, or doing any actual work to better the lives of indigenous Americans. (Before anyone calls hypocrite, I do work with an indigenous rights group IRL.) When someone scolds another person online over using a word that isn’t PC, 99% of the time it’s clear they don’t actually care - they derive a sense of moral superiority from knowing the “correct” way to speak. And they don’t care about the chilling effect it has on speech overall. This naturally leads to one of the most toxic elements of liberal conversations about race: that you must have the conversation perfectly or not at all. And that’s the impact it has. People just stop talking about it for fear of being wrong.

Can you see how, in a society where indigenous oppression is actively facilitated by silence and erasure, making people afraid to speak about Indians is one of the worst things you could possibly do?

It’s become standard fare for Indian Studies books to start with a disclaimer explaining that “Indian” actually isn’t an offensive word and is the word that most indigenous people use for themselves. The disclaimer isn’t because it’s new or radical information. It’s because white Americans are so goddamn weird about virtual signaling about ~The Native Americans~ that they would condemn a much-needed book of scholarship on native issues just for using a word that they thought was offensive.

Native people aren’t a monolith. You’ll find Indians that insist you need to spell it NDN or that XYZ is offensive. Production companies can pay a native person to come tell them they’re allowed to write about something most people from their tribe would find offensive. Fact of the matter is, a lot of Indians are not experts on like... heritage culture. If they grew up on a rez, they can tell you about rez culture, but they’re not all Indian Studies scholars, the same way not all Irish people are experts on Celtic paganism. Not all Indians are experts on indigenous politics, the same way not all Americans are experts on American politics. And it goes without saying that a GODAWFUL amount of the people lecturing on acceptable ways to interact with indigenous characters are not only uninformed about indigenous issues (I saw one post where someone clearly linked the first thing that came up when they googled “Native American drug addiction”) but are also not indigenous themselves.

And, yes, the vast majority of depictions of Indians in American media are problematic in one way or another, but saying that the solution is to erase indigenous characters from fandom entirely (because they’re all problematic) is the absolute WORST conclusion to reach. Fix the characters if you care that much! Give the Teen Wolf skinwalkers names! And an iPad! Let Kaia be the master of her own destiny! Let her bitch Dean out for pointing that gun in her face! Let her live happily ever after with her girlfriend! What the hell is fandom for if not fixing the issues we see in canon? Why are we allowed to reclaim and rewrite problematic queer characters but not problematic native characters? Who is that serving? Because it sure as hell isn’t serving Indians.

Anyone that tells you it’s better to ignore Indians than say the wrong thing about them is, knowingly or not, actively promoting a terminal narrative and the continuation of indigenous genocide.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

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[karenandhenwilson]

Fandom and Ships

In the last couple of weeks, we have seen the number of fics in the Bucktommy tag skyrocket. Which is pretty exciting and amazing and a clear sign of how very excited the fandom is about this development. But of course there is also backlash, mostly from people who suddenly see their preferred ship in danger. (Honestly, when has a canon ship ever stopped fandom from shipping the people involved with other people instead?)

It's expected that some Buddie fans are disappointed. It's also expected that they would lash out (though, I had hoped people could for once remember there are adults and just because everyone is anonymous in online spaces doesn't mean there aren't people sitting behind those keyboards getting hurt by baseless accusation of racism and other things). I should probably not be surprised they are now also using the low engagement we have always seen with Henren as a weapon.

So, let's talk about fandom and ships.

There is no question that there has since season 2 always been the most engagement with Buddie content in this fandom as a whole. People saw the chemistry between Buck and Eddie and ran with it. Compared to that, the canon couples have all barely any content.

But if you look at any fandom at any point in time, there is a clear pattern between canon and fanon ships. There are only very few select fandoms where canon couples ever got a lot of engagement. Of the various fandoms I've been part of, I can only think of one at the top of my head.

I think the reasons are pretty simple. 

First of all, the fans get that couple on their screen pretty regularly. They don't have to wish and hope for it, don't have to search for the little details that will validate their headcanon. They don't have to go into fandom spaces to find content for that ship. They can just lean back without any kind of effort and enjoy this ship right on their screen.

And then second, those who do create fan content for those canon ships have to balance a very fine line. What of the canon facts will they dare to contradict to create their own content in fanfiction? (Fanart, videos, gif-sets are probably a little easier there.) Where and when do they deviate from canon? Is there even anything they feel is missing from canon that they want to see in fan work? Do they want to risk contradicting anything that will be established in canon later on? Usually, this conundrum leads mostly to short fics about missing scenes, but nothing truly epic. At least not as long as the there is new source material fairly regularly.

People creating content for purely fanon ships don't need to bother with most of those questions. Because they are deviating from canon anyway. It doesn't matter much then how far they go with that. Everything canon that comes later will just be dismissed with a shrug. Everything canon that happened previously and they don't like can be dismissed just as easily because they are already dismissing parts of it.

Then there is a clear divide between hetero, maleslash and femslash content, no matter if canon or fanon. There are probably people much better suited to get into the gritty little details about that. I'll just share some thoughts I have about any of those ships in this fandom because of my experience as a fanfiction author.

I've always been writing and telling stories. And I started writing fanfiction pretty early on, too, because I found a lot of freedom there in the content and relationships I could explore. Looking back, I've always mostly written maleslash. But I've also always had hetero and femslash pairs in my works. Have had works that focus solely on those pairs.

I know as a teenager I wrote mostly maleslash because I just got a lot of engagement for that. And back then that was a great motivator to publish my fanfiction. It's not my motivation to publish now anymore and it's never been my motivation to write at all. So there are some stories about hetero or femslash couples on my hard drive that I just never published back then.

For 9-1-1, I've been writing many of the ships there are. More than once I focused on characters who don't get much attention otherwise, not even in canon. I have some femslash stories published, most of them Henren. They don't get many klicks. And the comments I get are from friends I actively talk to very often who just read about anything I publish. Or from some very dedicated readers who I seem to have enamored enough with my writing that they'll follow me into pretty much any rabbit hole, I think.

I like Buck and Eddie a lot as characters. I adore Christopher. So, I enjoy creating for them a lot. But I also enjoy creating for the other characters and I'm scratching that itch regularly. But no matter the reason for why I write (because the stories are just in my head and the only way to get them out is to write them down), sharing what I create is more fun when I'm finding engagement over it. So, there are stories that are outlined or even fully written who I'll maybe never publish.

Where were all those Buddie fans in the past who now complain about the missing content for Henren? Where was their support for those who have written Henren all along only to be practically talking into a void? (Right, just as it was never about queer representation for some people, it was never about Henren either. No matter what they say now. They are just searching for the next thing the mob might be latch onto so they can pretend they are right.)

[peanuts80snerdgirl]

Lucy's Secrets

CHAPTER 1: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 

Charlie Brown's POINT OF VIEW

Not too long before Violet stole Lucy's diary, things had been doing pretty good for me and my friends. Besides the typical school routine, Baseball, in which our team had been making a decent showing as well as winning at least a couple of games ever since Heather Wold joined our team. By the way, Heather Wold and I are together now. 

But anyways, besides school as well as Baseball, there was the weekly hanging out at the Peanutstown Mall, especially playing arcade games at Sparky’s Arcade, making music with my band, Charlie Brown and The PEANUTS Gang, in which my band is a Pop, Rock, New Wave and Glam Rock band and I'm talking Bon Jovi, Whitesnake and Europe level of Glam Rock. 

As you might have guessed, I am the lead male singer of the band, Snoopy, my not so normal Beagle is lead guitar, Lucy is lead female singer along with Heather, but she's also our other lead electric guitarist as well as the keytarist, Linus is the bassist, Franklin is the drummer and Schroeder is of course not just plays piano, but also plays the keyboard and synthesizer. There are other members of the band, but that's just the main part of the band.

Lastly, Lucy had been seeing a Psychiatrist for a long while and her Psychiatrist had diagnosed her as being bipolar due to her chronic irritability, depressed episodes and delusions of grandeur and started taking medication for her bipolar disorder to help with her mood swings right away. In addition to that, she had been seeking counseling to help with her issues. That also explains why Lucy had a diary so she could write down her thoughts and feelings, which makes so much sense and me and my friends are happy she's getting the help she needs.

In addition, she even apologized for her past behavior, which was the first time since that New Year’s party she had and we forgave her because she was being honest about it.

Ever since then, she's only crabby over things that are worth being crabby about, such as the taste of New Coke, which I can't blame her because everyone who tried that DID NOT like it at all and shortly after, the original Coke came back under the name Coca-Cola Classic.

It's the thing that sets Lucy apart from other people like Violet, for example. She can be crabby when it's worth it as well as bossy, but I do know she can be as assertive and sassy as Dorothy and Sophia from the sitcom The Golden Girls and definitely as sassy as Gordon Shumway also known as ALF from the sitcom of the same name. She also does seem to have a sweet and kinder side as well and she can be caring of others, including her brothers, Linus and Rerun and she does care about me and does consider me a friend. 

Unfortunately, the same CANNOT be said for Violet because she hates me with every fiber of her body, especially since like I said, she only cares about herself and especially her Dad. I mean, she's pretty much a kid version of both Alexis Carrington, Joan Collins' character from the TV drama Dynasty, minus the British accent and Phyllis “Pizzazz” Gabor, the lead singer and guitarist of The Misfits from the cartoon Jem and The Holograms because of the fact that all three of them are snobby rich people. 

Anyways, only me and my friends knew about Lucy seeking help that she had been getting. 

UNTIL Violet stole her diary.

NEXT CHAPTER: “VIOLET GIVES RICH GIRLS A BAD NAME”

Fanfiction author's NOTE: the arcade, Sparky's Arcade is a shout-out to the lifelong nickname of PEANUTS creator, Charles M. Schulz, in which his lifelong nickname was Sparky.

For anyone curious about Lucy's New Year's party, please watch Snoopy Presents: For Auld Lang Syne.

I do not own PEANUTS. PEANUTS belongs to WildBrain. Copyright ©️ PEANUTS Worldwide LLC.

[crazy-ache]

Writing Fanfic Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @bonecarversbestie, this is so fun!

Describe your writing process from idea to posting/publishing

I usually think of an idea, brainstorm for a bit, plot out some thoughts, and then attempt writing. For the multichapter fics, I've learned my lesson and I try to outline chapters before committing to posting. But I usually write the chapter, edit, then post. For oneshots, I may be a bit more reckless and dive into writing before I finish outlining the idea.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

A bit of both. My plotting is usually one very vague sentence and then I'll pants the rest.

What do you listen to when you are writing?

I cannot write without music. I need the song to match the vibes of my chapter. And then I'll usually listen to it on repeat - like it's my theme song. I occasionally will listen to an album as well to match my writing environment. Right now my current vibes are the album "The Dichotomy" by David Kushner.

What’s your drink of choice(while writing)?

Coffee, water, wine, Ollipops? Haha. Could be anything, depends on time of day.

Promote yourself! What’s your favorite thing you’ve written?

This is a hard one. I'm going to say the most fun I've had writing (where the chapters just FLEW by naturally on the keyboard) was Animal Instincts. Long live Cat!Elain lol.

Share a fic of yours that you think is underrated/deserves more love.

I have put so much effort and actual brain power into ACOWAR (Elucien's Version) that I'll gladly promote it again LOL.

Do you have any advice for new writers?

I would say 1) Remember writing fanfiction should be fun not like a chore. So just lean in, let go of the judge on your shoulder, and let the words flow. 2) Find someone to talk to your fics about! Being able to discuss my ideas, my roadblocks, and have someone fangirl/cheer me on (and vice versa) has been so valuable to my writing experience this year.

What is a writing style/technique that others do really well that you'd like to get better at?

I would like to get better at action scenes - I do feel not so great when I have to write those haha.

Is there a character you were surprised you enjoyed writing as much as you did?

Eris and Rhysand. Both have been a lot of fun to write for different reasons. I like leaning into Rhysand's intimidating power. I like leaning into Eris' mask of cruelty. I also have a plan to explore some Nesta/Cassian soon so I am very excited for that 👀

Tagging some of my wonderful writer friends (no pressure of course):

@sad-scarred-sassy, @starsreminisce, @clarafae, @fortheloveofbanksy, @clockwork-ashes

[dark--whisperings]

✨✨✨✨🫱Care to share🫲✨✨✨✨

The message was sent to you because someone loved your writing and stories. ❤️

▪️What are your writing suggestions for newcomers, or what would you have liked to know when you first started?

▪️How do you write different personalities and perspectives? Could you explain how you came up with the manner you written your favorite or any character?

▪️What do you do when you have writer's block?

▪️How do you come up with new ideas and develop them?

▪️Any messages for your readers or fellow writers?

You are welcome to answer if you have the time and desire, or you can simply respond to the questions that come to mind.

💐Thank you for your work as a writer and as a member of this fandom!💐

OMG anon, what a sweet message! Absolutely made my day! I'm so glad that you liked my fics. ✨💖🥹✨💖🥹✨💖🥹 And wow, these are some great questions!

Extremely long response under the cut because I simply... have no chill LMAO.

What are your writing suggestions for newcomers, or what would you have liked to know when you first started?

It's so daunting to post your first fic for so many reasons, but just... go for it. Write what you want and fuck what anyone else thinks. Writing should be something that you do because it gives you joy, and you shouldn't cater the things you write to align with popular tropes (unless those are things you actually feel inspired to write). Guarantee that somewhere out there, you made someone's day with your fic, even if they didn't comment. Fanfiction and writing are about creativity and giving yourself permission to meet yourself where you are, whether that's being silly, escaping the shittiness of the world for a few hours, exploring something deeper and more vulnerable, revolting against canon, or whatever else.

Also on that vein, leave kudos, comments, and asks for your favourite authors! As much as we like to say that we write for ourselves, it also is immensely helpful to receive positive feedback. It doesn't need to be a hugely detailed comment... keyboard mashing and emoji flailing are just as important. As a writer (and reader!), support your fellow writers! Don't be afraid to interact with people you recognize on your socials... we're just seven monkeys in a trench coat on a good day, and typically love flailing about fandom with others. Being able to chat and create with other creators and fans online has been an incredible experience for me. (I'M STARING AT YOU MY MUTUALS 👀👀👀)

How do you write different personalities and perspectives? Could you explain how you came up with the manner you written your favorite or any character?

Oooh this is a fun one! I actually prefer to switch POVs in my writing, because I like to play with the concept of an unreliable narrator on both sides, and then switch abruptly give the reader insight into other characters perspective. I think it's a fun experience as a reader.

As far as characterizations, I think about the differences in how they might act, how they speak, their mannerisms, and right down to the differences in their vocabulary. For example, Anakin is more likely to be blunt and say exactly what's on his mind, whereas Obi-Wan is more likely to use more interesting words and gilded speech. Adding these pieces is usually part of my editing process to! I'll typically start by getting the plot and words on the page, and then edit the characterizations in later.

... and then, you know, sprinkle in some of my own head canon for the characters. Because 😇✨creative license✨😇.

What do you do when you have writer's block?

Writing sprints in a fandom server! Honestly, sometimes I'm stuck simply on principal, and sprinting gives me the motivation (because I'm the type of person who works better under pressure). If that doesn't work, I try switching to a different WIP or chatting with a friend about it (you'd be surprised how effective a simple conversation with your beta can be). And barring that... look for a beta project. I actually started out in fandom as a beta, and I find that a brief switch between writing and editing can kickstart the creative juices!

How do you come up with new ideas and develop them?

Music. Sometimes lyrics give me ideas for new project. But a lot of the time, it's the feel of certain songs that inspire ideas for new fic. Sometimes, I write from experience, or write about things I'd like to experience. In a lot of cases, writing is a very personal experience for me. I also very much enjoy participating in the fandom prompt festivals. There's just something about being inspired by a random prompt from a stranger and potentially making their day. 💟💟💟

Any messages for your readers or fellow writers?

Just that I love you all, adore the obikin fandom, and am incredibly grateful for the experience I've had so far. This has been the best fandom experience I've ever had (and I've been kicking around online for 15 years now). I wouldn't change it for anything, and it wouldn't be possible without the dedicated creators and lovely readers to cheer us on! 💗💗💗💗💗💗

Also if you feel inclined... drop me an anon ask with links to your favourite fics if you would like! Bonus points if it's a fic you wrote and are proud of. I want to read all the things, and maybe have a party in your comments!🫂🫂🫂

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

To the reader who has been leaving a comment on every new fic I've posted this year:

You are exactly the kind of reader us fanfic writers love. It's like having a personal cheer squad, okay? Your reactions are -chef kiss- and make me soooooooo happy!

To anyone who reads fanfiction: please, for the love of fuck and all things you hold dear, leave a comment. I can be a single word, a keyboard smash, a line of emojis. That stuff feeds our motivation. It's our ambrosia, a feast for our soul, the air in our metaphorical lungs. You give us what we need to keep going. We genuinely do not care if you comment on a fic we wrote 10 years ago or yesterday. Seeing your comment gives us life. Fuck, we may even write something we know you'll enjoy because of what you commented on.

If you're inspired to create fanart of our fanfiction, please credit the artist, link back to the story, and send the artwork to the writer. Or at least send a link. We can add the artwork on AO3, and you will be credited for the work. I've not experienced that yet, but have commissioned artists (on the rare occasion where I can spend money on something folks call "frivolous"). Having a visual of what I've written fills me with so much joy. If you decide to gift me artwork, there is a 99.999999% chance I will end up crying because I'm so damn happy.

Thank you!!!

[clarafae]

Writing Fanfic Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @crazy-ache

Describe your writing process from idea to posting/publishing

I usually have an idea knocking around in my head for a while before I even touch a keyboard. For weeks my brain will just pick at this idea, turning it over and over until the only way to get it out of my head is to just sit down and write it.

Sometimes I'll start writing and the idea that seemed so spectacular in my head is actually quite mediocre on page and I'll shelve it. Sometimes I'll come back to them. Other times I'll dissect it for other fics.

If I'm on to a good thing then the words come really easy and I'll ride that wave for as long as I can.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Both. Most writers are a mix, I think. I like to plot my plot, and pants my relationships, if that makes sense.

My plot gets outlined at the beginning and it very much is a case of writing: This [thing] happens, and then that triggers [this event], and then this character responds [like this], etc. until I reach a point that I think would make a satisfying ending.

I like to build the relationships in the story blindly. The characters tell me how fast they want to progress, and how they talk to each other in one chapter will build the foundations for the next. I find that if I plan for the characters to kiss in a particular chapter, that it feels weirdly forced.

Sometimes the plot will progress too fast for my characters and I have to throw in a few filler chapters to bring their relationship to where I need it.

What do you listen to when you are writing?

Nothing. I have a rambunctious three-year-old and I need peace and quiet once she goes to bed.

What’s your drink of choice(while writing)?

I draft with wine and edit with coffee.

Promote yourself! What’s your favorite thing you’ve written?

Currently, Hand of Fate, but probably because it's my shiny new toy.

Share a fic of yours that you think is underrated/deserves more love.

I've actually been pleasantly surprised by how well my fanfics have been received. Springtide was the first time I've written fanfiction since my teen years writing Harry Potter fics on fanfiction.net

Do you have any advice for new writers?

I think storytelling is hard, but it can be made easy. Sometimes it's as simple as asking myself 'What's the most interesting thing that could happen next?' and then just writing that. Then, at the end of that scene, I ask myself that again, and I just follow that until I have an outline for a story.

Don't compare your first draft to someone else's final draft. And on that note, even the most well-written authors will have a first draft that looks like yours, they just go on to polish their writing far beyond what most people would.

Don't worry about writing blocks, just write [something interesting happens here] and move on. I often write [Lucien says something sassy] and then by the time I come to edit it I have to hope I have an idea of what he would say!

What is a writing style/technique that others do really well that you'd like to get better at?

Something I've been trying to do with Hand of Fate is slowing down my writing and letting my scenes breathe before moving onto the next scene. I've always been in a bit of a rush to move from one exciting event to the next and sometimes my fics move far too fast. Sooo much happened in Springtide it that it easily could have been twice the length. With HoF I've really tried to wring as much from each scene as I think I could without it dragging before moving on.

Is there a character you were surprised you enjoyed writing as much as you did?

Ianthe! I really leaned into her being as bitchy as possible and I had a wicked time with it. She initially was only supposed to create a bit of tension between Elain and Lucien, but I guess I accidentally created a full-on villain.

I would tag people but I don't really know anyone. So if you decide you want to write one, go ahead!

[creations-by-chaosfay]

I looooove my physical therapist!

I've improved enough she was able to make adjustments to my left hand. Ligaments and tendons on the top of my hand had been twisted all wrong, but my forearm hand wrist have been too much of a wreck to adjust anything in my hand. I'm now in significantly less pain!

I still can't do any sewing because pressing down on the ruler is BAD due to the fact I can't press it correctly. My joints are too wobbly and moves stuff all wrong. Getting some nonslip things made for rulers will improve things. The ones I've been using aren't good enough. I have the things I need on my list here:

Putting any weight on my wrist is also a BIG no. This includes clapping, pushing a shopping cart, and holding rulers down. I've also been instructed not to hold a game controller until after the next appt. The controllers aren't hEDS friendly, and twist my hand a bit. Even resting my hands on my lap makes no difference. I would love to game on my PC, but my chair is extremely uncomfortable. It's also 10 years old sooooo no surprise. Then there's the issues with my keyboard. Both the chair and keyboard I need are also on that list.

It looks like I may return to my sewing room by the end of February! We'll see how it goes over the next several weeks. This nearly four month break has been helping me not just physically but mentally as well. Burnout was getting too close after 10 months of constant work. This year, I'm tapping out at two hours a day, max 10 hours a week. With the new machine and frame setup, finishing quilts will be much easier and faster. After practice quilts. Oh, those will absolutely happening. Deeply discounted to account for the fact they are practice. Said quilts will be made with panels, so minimal piecing. By hand, maybe 20 hours of quilting. The new setting may cut that in half. Yay!

What I have been occupying myself in the meantime is Dragon Age. I've gotten through two playthroughs! Now I'm working on fanfiction. PT said I can type all I want so long as I do stretches they gave me, and every 15 minutes. Started the stretching last week, and WOW! Huge difference! If 90% canon DA fanfiction rated teen to explicit is your thing, head over to Chaosfay on AO3. There will be more DA fanart this year!!!

Quilts will happen when my hand is happy, but writing is my focus while I recover.

[skzoologist]

A special day

word count: ~0.5k

warnings: none

summary: Soft thoughts about Stray Kids.

a/n: It is/was my birthday (on the 27th), so I decided to write this. Because why not share some of my soft, silly thoughts with you all. Pure adoration fills me for them, I truly wish them happiness.

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life! ·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

The soft tickle of the sun woke me up, a groan leaving my lips once I realised I was torn away from an amusing dream. It had to do something with an animal? I already couldn’t recall, the action leaving me even more irritated.

Not wanting to wake up yet, I tossed and turned, like a broken machine. Yet, that uncomfortable pain in my back urged me to get out of bed and stretch immediately, so that was what I did, quite begrudgingly might I add. 

A few loud pops and a satisfied sigh later, I stood in the middle of the room, just trying to gather my bearings. Turning around, I found my phone, peacefully laying next to my fluffy pillow. Not hesitating, I bent down to grab it, notifications slowly popping up on the now lit up screen.

“It’s gonna be a long day.”

And it was, indeed.

I got back to that same room when the clock was almost ready to strike midnight, preparing for another day. Everything I carried with myself for the day was put away, new things added to the list I received as gifts. A sigh left me as I smiled at them, the fun of the day flashing before my eyes once again.

But no matter how fun it was, my now completely empty social batteries screamed to be charged back up again, thus I quickly got ready for bed and laid down with my laptop; headphones already sat on my head, as if they were molded to exist there. Previously opened tabs started loading in after I turned on the machine, my eyes quickly finding the tab I was searching for.

Music filled my ears, the volume borderline damaging, but I closed my eyes in bliss. It didn’t matter that I didn’t fully understand the lyrics, their pleasant voices soothed me without fail.

I took listening to my favourite songs of theirs as my gift, because that was all I could do. They lived worlds apart from us, the fans, and we could only hope to see them, their true selves without their masks; that what they showed us was real and they were happy.

But sometimes, I wished we could communicate with them somehow. That they would hear us.

“What a silly lil thought, that would never happen.” - I mumbled to myself with a smile, my fingers placed on the keyboard as I opened my document dedicated to them.

I could only pour my love and adoration into that silly fanfiction, hoping they had someone to turn to, to take care of them should they need it, just like in the words that left my heart; my personal ‘love’ letter to them.

[vesselandmoon]

XV- Jericho

-----------------------------------------------Sleep Token fanfiction exploring lore and a few things between. I will TW scenes/chapters as needed, if I miss something please DM me.

Please be aware that this story is 18+

Previous Chapter - Space Between Pt.9 - The Deal

Word count: 1061

-----------------------------------------------

Vessel sang the words he'd penned to paper while in the state of possession by Sleep, muttering them quietly, slowly, testing what sounded right.

He had allowed Sleep in so entirely the night before, despite his fears. His first possession was horrific, the second a void of nothing. The third was similar to the last. He was in an abyss of nothing but his own floating consciousness. Every once in awhile would be a faint melody, an idea of what Sleep was creating. Or more, what she was imaging. It would be up to him to take her words and craft them into music.

When he woke on the floor beside his keyboard, he realized there were several pages of scribbled notes scattered around him.

Sleep had written the song herself, gifted it to him but he had to admit that in that state of possession, he had tried to push away thoughts of what he might find upon regaining consciousness. Fears of what Sleep might do to Whisper while he wasn’t able to intervene.

But when he returned, Sleep was gone, and Whisper was felt but not seen. He knew she was lingering and yet she had left him alone.

At first, he considered whether or not it was possible for Sleep to harm Whisper in the real world but as far as he was concerned, there was no blood on the floor and Whisper was lurking about so there was nothing more to be worried about.

Vessel hummed to himself, mixing with the sounds of pen scratching on paper as he toyed with the piano keys until at last, he was prepared to play it through for the first time. Still raw, still unshaped, but slowly taking form. He could mold it as he chose, but there was a sense of reverence to the words Sleep gave him. This wasn't entirely himself; he knew that. Felt it in the very sinews that he was all too aware of in the moment. Sleep leaving his body felt strange and the aftereffects lasted longer than they had before.

It was worth Sleep’s blessing. Her gift.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the feeling, then began to play. Pause, write, try again. He eased through the lyrics, allowing them to connect with his mind and soul.

"You taste like new flesh, say my name again," escaped his lips the first time, eliciting the hint of a smile as the memory of time with Sleep trickled into his mind.

"Vessel," Whisper said from the shadows in the hallway.

Ignoring her, Vessel closed his eyes and continued, imagining the song as a link between himself and Sleep, a faint grin creeping in once more. Rising emotions in his chest sought to overwhelm him with the knowledge that Sleep showered him with love and raw passion he was not worthy of.

He couldn't recall the last time he felt so overjoyed at the same time of experiencing a pit of fear, sticky like tar, growing with the thought of Sleep realizing he was not worth the effort.

His smile faded as he unleashed emotion into the song, pouring his heart into the words as tears threatened to choke him. He couldn’t quite understand them, spinning his own interpretation into what Sleep had intended and yet he felt it was a connection between them. A way for her to let him know how she felt and how she had lived before.

"There's something in the way you lay. Enough to make the dead switch graves. You take your leave. You taste like new flesh. You taste like new flesh. You taste like new flesh, say my name again," he sang.

"Vessel," Whisper replied, louder than before though still quiet as the ticking clock. A tickling in his brain, distracting him just enough for him to stop playing. The reverberation of the piano filled the space and once it faded he stared into the void beyond the door.

"Leave me," he demanded flatly. She ruined the moment.

Whisper didn’t go. He could feel her. She stood just beyond his vision, the faintest shimmer against the pitch black. All he could clearly make out was a wide, fanged grin with glistening white teeth.

In the days since her deal with Sleep she had grown strong enough to regain more of her form. She was almost back to how she was before.

"You said I should call your name," she mused. “Though your true name is hidden from me, I know what you call yourself, so I assumed that was enough.”

"This isn't for you."

"And you believe it is for you?"

"Of course." He detested the way she questioned him. Questioned Sleep. Why must she always appear when he felt vulnerable? There was no mask, no masses for her to be lost in, no Sleep visitation that she could not attend.

"Sleep is boasting," she said, her form coming more into focus as she entered the room. “Dines on old encounters…” her voice faded away as she read the words. “Is she still eating them? Is that possible?”

Vessel shuddered when she peered at the lyrics scrawled and scratched, some scribbled and replaced.

“Eating them?” he asked.

Whisper’s fingertips lingered over the words as she read.

"Are you a demon?" he asked, unsure why the words slipped from his lips.

Whisper read the lyrics over and over, her unsettling smile fading as she did.

"I told you; I am you," she replied, then turned her face to him. "What is your name?"

"Vessel."

"That is what you are to her. That is what Sleep desires from you. What is your name?"

"Does it matter?"

"If I am to help you, I must know your name."

"I thought you wanted to consume me?" he said, unable to hide the hint of bitter disdain.

"I do. It is my desire, but I am patient. I only hope that by the time you trust me with such a task, you have not lost yourself entirely. The process would be more painful in that case, I think." A slight tilt to her head spoke of the thoughts of contemplation that he could feel buzzing in the air between them. "What is your name?"

Vessel closed the notebook, leaving her and the piano behind to disappear into the hallway. "It doesn't matter."