Imagining a story in your head:
Writing down the story:
I hate when this shit happens…
Me, three seconds after posting a 1k fic: I wonder if anyone has read my fic yet c:
It's always
"When will fanfic writers update their stories?"
And never
"Does this fanfic writer have adequate enrichment to engage in writing behaviours?"
Fanfiction writers (Scriptor fictus) are intelligent animals who need plenty of enrichment as well as encouragement! If they're stuck in poor conditions (e.g. have studies, work, have to actually write to have something written) then they require the proper enrichment to engage in more healthy behaviours, like writing. Remember, due to poor breeding and socialisation, over half of all fanfic writers suffer from low self confidence and executive dysfunction so take care of them!
“I have an unfinished wip and I’m motivated”
*open gdocs and review the words ive made*
“Okay, I am now unmotivated” *closes gdocs*
He didn’t expect this to be his end. Red dotting the ground beneath him as he numbly watches the next drop fall. And the next. And every one after that. Until a glimmering pool has collected in the dust and filth. The torches hung on the wall flicker in the rippling red, reminding him of the way a well-polished ruby would put on a show with only a mere ribbon of light.
He was cocky. Too damn cocky. He should've known. Should've expected it really. As soon as everything starts to go too well, it all comes crashing down again.
But still… he had hoped. Hoped that after all the time, all the effort and the pain and the fear, that he made something of his gutter-born life.
But no- it ends as it begins for him. As a struggle. Strung on a razor wire trap. Body dangling in the metal like a fish on a hook. Only shock keeping him alive.
The ruby red spreads a little further and dancing stars leap across his vision.
He wants to shake off the numbness, the unfeeling, he wants to be angry. All the life he has lived and he wants more. There is still so much life to live and more yet to steal. He wants. And thats killing him more than his broken body.
But now. To put aside all the glisting gems and gleaming gold, he would take back what the Reaper has stolen.
It won’t be long now.
A red threaded smile weakly spreads. It was not a good life per say. But it was interesting. Fun once he found his way. Despite it all, he wont let himself regret a moment.
So let that be that then. He has lived. Now he shall die. Where once red coloured his vision, now only black.
Now.
I like to write fics sometimes. I'm on ao3 too with the same name :)
160 posts