Ég bulla bara

Welcome to my writing blog! I mostly write Hetalia fanfiction, but sometimes I'll post about my original works. I'm always open for requests, so feel free to send some!

[lilmisslibra]

Hello! This isn't a request or anything, but it's been a while since you posted! I wanted to check in on you! :) How are you doing?

Thanks, that’s very sweet of you! I’m in classes now, so I don’t have the energy to write creatively these days, but hopefully sometime soon I’ll scrounge up the mental capacity for something!

[lilmisslibra]

are you ever going to continue the pickpocket au? it was totally my favorite of your works, personally

Thanks, I really really liked that au too! I’m probably not going to continue it, though, since I have very little knowledge on law or organized crime and no real plans for where the story was going. But who knows, I might be hit with inspiration one of these days ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[lilmisslibra]

Are you still doing requests? 👀

If so,,,,perhaps a denorice where Iceland either

-Attempts cross-dressing (androgynous crossdresser gang gang (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧)

-or has a bad day (aka a comfort fluff fic)

It's whichever you'd prefer writing really 👉👈 (I'm sorry I don't like asking for things but it seemed like a good idea rjcnrbybrjcjy)

I’m finally on winter break, so if I recover my mental capacity I will try to write a nice comfort fluff fic!

[lilmisslibra]

I got so excited when I saw your blog come up! :D I've totally loved your fics ever since I found tragedy of youth! And I adore your denorice! Never met anyone else who ships it and your fics of them are some of my favorites! :D

Aww thank you! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so it’s nice to hear that people still enjoy my fics. Hopefully once this semester is over, I’ll have the mental capacity to write again.

I made it my mission years ago to populate the world with happy healthy DenNorIce, and then I ended up throwing a bunch of angst in there 😅

[apolloandhyac1nthus]

It’s been slow going recently, but at least it’s something.

[safarimama-deactivated-deactiva]

Asks for fanfiction writers

What is your preferred place to write (notebook, laptop, cellphone, etc.)?

When did you start writing?

What is your favorite thing to write?

Fluff or angst?

How would you describe your style?

Where do you usually find inspiration?

Do you listen to music to help you write?

What’s the biggest “challenge” for you as a writer?

Where do you usually go to write (bedroom, living room, etc.)?

Can you give us a sneak peek on your current WIP?

How many stories have you written so far?

What’s your favorite thing that you ever wrote?

How many chapters does your longest series has?

What’s your favorite character/person to write for?

“OCs” or “Reader” inserts?

Can you tell us anything about your current WIP?

How long was the longest fic you ever wrote?

What fandoms do you write for?

What is/ are your favorite fandom author/authors?

Have you ever written an AU?

What’s your favorite AU trope?

A fanfiction cliché you can’t help but love?

For how long have you been a fandom writer?

Have you ever had an idea for story and forgot about it?

What do you do to motivate yourself to write?

How did you find out you like to write?

Are there any writers (fanfiction writers or not) that have inspired you to start writing?

What’s your favorite fandom to write for?

Describe your style in three words.

What would you say it’s the most “famous” fic you’ve ever written?

Blurbs or drabbles?

Have you ever written smut?

How long does it usually take for you to write?

What’s your favorite font to use when writing?

Which do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics?

How do you keep yourself inspired?

Have you ever written something you didn’t like but posted anyways?

What is your “strong suit” as a writer?

What’s your favorite trope?

How many likes do your fics usually get?

Have you ever used a prompt?

What is your weakness as a writer?

Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you wrote?

Have you ever done a collab with other writer?

One thing you love about fanfiction.

What’s your favorite emotion to cause on your readers?

What’s your favorite thing about writing?

Do you post your writing in any other platforms?

What app/apps do you use to write (word, notepad, etc.)?

One thing you don’t like about fanfiction.

Least favorite trope?

Favorite words to use when writing?

Least favorite words?

Do you usually like what you write?

[aritany]

[writingwinterridge-deactivated2]

Sometimes, writer’s block is just not allowing yourself to write poorly. Give yourself that freedom. 

[themissingmarvel]

Hard same.

[caffeinatedflumadiddlebutmerlin]

My mind when it is time to write: Tired. Hungry. Video games. Tumblr. Not this. Stop it. No.

My mind when it is time to do the job I am being paid to do: W R I T E ! Before the ideas seep away and you are left with no motivation or inspiration!!! You only have seconds!!!!

[bluecoloreddreams]

I feel like there needs to be an author alignment chart

Chaotic Evil is writing on your phone in the dark with no glasses on (me)

[bluecoloreddreams]

[copperbadge]

This is notepad.exe erasure

[libraford]

Chaotic feral: handwriting your first draft in unlined sketchbooks with doodles in the margins.

[aletheiawriting]

Ways to find a plot when you have characters and a setting

… but only characters and a setting. 

You have a world. A universe. A setting. Good! Describe what happens in it normally - describe your main character(s)’s daily life. Now, what would destabilize this routine completely? If many things could, write them all down. Pick your favourite idea(s). Plots are born from change: everything was going normally… until it wasn’t.

Make a list with all the goals/motivations of your main characters. Can the plot revolve around your characters going after these goals? 

Which goals are more important? Focus on those. 

Are different characters’ goals in conflict with each other? Conflict is usually what propels a story forward. 

What could go wrong in your character’s pursuit of their goal? Make it go wrong.

If you don’t know your characters’ goals, go back to the drawing board; they probably need more development.

If there’s not enough conflict of different motivations, make a new character who creates conflict!

How do you want your main character to have changed by the end of the story? Do you want them to be less selfish? To have come to terms with a part of themself? To have learned something new? Write down ideas that could accomplish this change. 

If you can’t think of any way your character could be changed (read: improved) by the end of the story, go back to the drawing board. They might be “too perfect”.

Notes: 

The change that triggers your plot can be anything. It doesn’t have to be the start of an epic war that will bring forth the apocalypse, it can be your character meeting a new person who shakes things up in their life, or anything you want!

Motivations can be anything. It doesn’t have to be something grand - if your character’s motivation is to just live a quiet life, you can still come up with a plot that will get in the way of that goal! 

Character development can be anything, as well - you don’t need a cliché moral to the story; your character doesn’t even need to change in a good way, if that’s not what you want for your story!

This is what I’ve found works for me, but if you try it and it doesn’t, or if it sounds way too sententious and strict for you - that’s okay! Take it with a grain of salt! Maybe you think your characters are just fine and don’t need more developing even in the situations in which I recommended you “go back to the drawing board”, or maybe you have better ways of coming up with a plot. That’s fine, the writing process can be very personal!

[tsukithewolf]

“Hey I love your story! Is it okay if I draw-“ 

YES. PLEASE, GOD, YES, DRAW IT. DRAW IT AND SHOW ME. I WILL BEG YOU FOR IT.

[fandomsficsandfeels-deactivated]

This is an author’s dream 😭

[lilmisslibra]

Durch den Spiegel seh ich dich besser

Day 5 of @historical-hetaliaweek: “mirror.” This is set in...let’s say around 1859/60. TW for mentions of eating disorder.

Austria watched the girl through the mirror. Her floor-length hair, currently being tended to by two maids, nearly hid her small frame. Kaiserin Elisabeth, or Sisi as many called her, was on one of her diets again. No one understood why the young girl, and she was indeed quite young, twirled and flipped herself around on those bars every day, as if she were a soldier in training, but Austria was more worried about her eating habits. He had heard from the cooks that this time, she refused everything but meat juice. He couldn’t understand it. Humans had to eat. He had seen humans die of starvation, but she was an empress who could have anything she wished for.

“How was Esterházy?” he asked, hiding his worry behind a polite smile. Sisi was spending more and more of her time in Hungary, and the people there adored her, unlike the Austrian people. But then again, Austrians, especially the Viennese, rarely liked anyone.

“Your wife is quite upset with you,” Sisi responded indignantly, wrinkling her nose at him through the mirror.

“Yes, I’m sure she is.”

The girl saw herself in the plight of the Hungarian people, and she championed their cause whenever she could. Franz Joseph, the doting husband that he was, was likely to give in to her demands one of these days. It was dangerous for the empire, but it was hard to explain that to someone who felt trapped under similar circumstances.

Hofburg was no place for a free-spirited girl like her, and it took a toll on her health. She hadn’t received a warm welcome from many in the palace, save her husband, and the loss of her first child had devastated her. Austria discreetly assessed her condition through the mirror. It needed to be replaced; it was clearly misshapen, warping the lovely girl who was never meant to be an empress into a gaunt, melancholy version of herself.

Yes, it was just the mirror.

[lilmisslibra]

ICGV Ægir vs Peter Scott

Day four of @historical-hetaliaweek: “seaside.” Set during the Second Cod Wars, namely September 5, 1972, around 10:40 am.

“What’s going on?” Iceland asked as he entered the captain’s quarters. 

“That trawler won’t give us their name or number,” answered Guðmundur Kjærnested. “They refuse to move out of our waters.”

“And you’re sure it’s an English ship?”

“See for yourself.” Guðmundur gestured to the radio, so Iceland flipped it on and spoke into the microphone. 

“Hello, this is the Coast Guard. You are in Icelandic waters. Please identify yourselves.”

“Sorry, egg snacker achy Icelandic,” came the staticky response, followed by muffled laughter. 

Iceland scowled, and Guðmundur threw up his hands in resignation. 

“You are in Icelandic waters,” the nation repeated into the microphone, as loudly and clearly as he could. “Leave now, or we will be forced to take action against your vessel.”

There was no response, but trombones began to blast through the radio. Iceland didn’t recognize the tune, but it sounded English enough to him. He ground his teeth, letting a few choice words slip out under his breath. He was slowly trying to reclaim his fishing territory, and England fought ferociously against it. England, who had industries other than fishing to keep his economy afloat. England, who still thought the whole world belonged to him. It reminded Iceland of someone he hadn’t spoken with in nearly 30 years. The thought just made him angrier. He might be young and small country, but his territory still ought to be respected! Well, he had won the last time he went head-to-head with England over fishing rights, so he knew how to deal with errant trawlers by now.

“Well they’re certainly not Icelandic,” he told Guðmundur. “Only one thing to do: get the net cutters.”

He turned the radio up to savor the sound of angry English fishermen and their colorful curses. It sounded a lot nicer than whatever pompous military march they had played before.

[lilmisslibra]

New Iceland

Here is day three of @historical-hetaliaweek, and the prompt is “up in ashes,” so of course I had to set this just after the eruption of Askja in 1875.

Iceland’s heart was breaking. His people were leaving, abandoning him for a better life across the ocean. It hurt in a way he had never quite felt before, not when his various caretakers had abandoned them, not even all the times he had watched his population suffer. He couldn’t blame them, though, he was still coughing up ash, and the crops and livestock were dying. If they stayed, they would surely die, too, and he didn’t want his people to die. But he had seen them through every bloody chapter of their history, from shipwrecks to famines to civil wars and witch trials, and now they were giving up on him for a more hospitable environment. He cursed his land, cursed the molten lava it was built on, and even cursed the icy wind that whipped across the island. He wished more than anything that he could provide for his people, heal the damage that Askja had done.

Some of his people, the ones who knew what he was, had confronted him, asking why he had not warned them of the eruption beforehand. How could he explain that he could hardly concentrate on one oncoming eruption when he was made entirely of active volcanoes? All he could do was hang his head in shame and apologize and cough up more ash. All he ever felt was a constant volatility, a rumbling movement deep within himself. Perhaps his land was too dangerous for anyone to live on. Perhaps he was just a powder keg, waiting to explode.

He tried to reassure himself that his people would be happy in Canada. He had never met the personification of the country, but he had a couple of very distant memories of a settlement called Vinland. He had no ideas about this place called Manitoba, but he knew it was far inland, away from the Atlantic. Away from him. And it was very likely that he would never see them again. He could only hope that they would always remember him, because he would never forget them.

[lilmisslibra]

Here’s a little something from the Little Talks universe that’s been sitting in my notes for a few weeks now. This is set when Lukas was freshman in high school.

Lukas gripped the paper tightly, shaking slightly. 82%. His vision blurred until all he could see was that number. A B, how could he have gotten a B? And in Algebra of all things? Math was one of his best subjects, it was unfathomable that he could have gotten anything less than an A on a test.

He glanced cautiously around the room, keeping his face blank. “Oxenstierna,” he called to the boy in front of him. He didn’t know him that well, since they had gone to different middle schools, but he knew that Berwald also got top grades. The boy turned around, glaring at him silently, and Lukas frowned back.

“Hmm?” Berwald prompted.

“What did you get for number three?”

In lieu of a response, the boy showed him his test. Lukas only needed to glance at it to realize what his mistake had been: he had missed a negative. Stupid, so stupid. The one-millimeter-sized symbol had cost him an A. He readjusted his glasses, thinking of the consequences he’d face for this. Would it be a lecture about maintaining focus, a snide remark about finding him a tutor, or a passive-aggressive question of “how many B’s do you have now”? It was hard to predict his parents’ reactions, only that they’d have one. That’s why it was easier to focus and study and work until he achieved the perfection they demanded from him. Then, if he was lucky, they’d be proud of him. Well, they certainly wouldn’t be proud of a B...

“Thanks,” he muttered to his classmate.

His chest ached, and it was getting hard to breathe. The tips of his fingers were going numb.

“If anyone is unhappy with their grades, I’m giving out extra credit if you participate in the math competition on Saturday,” announced their teacher.

Lukas sat up a little straighter in his seat. At least he could assure his parents that he would make up for the lapse with extra credit. He took a deep breath. At least he had a plan now. After class, he went straight to the sign-up sheet.

“Didn’t think you’d need extra credit, Thomassen.”

Lukas whirled around to scowl at his classmate. “It’s none of your business, Oxenstierna.”

Berwald grabbed the test from his hands and scanned it before Lukas could snatch it back. “Not bad,” he said.

“Not good either,” he spat.

“Tough parents?”

“You could say that.”

Berwald grunted and turned around, heading for his next class, and Lukas glowered at his back. Not bad, indeed, who did he think he was?

He tried to put the test out of his mind for the rest of the day. He couldn’t let this slip mess up his focus in his other classes. He was like a juggler tossing porcelain plates; one misstep, and it would all come crashing down.

He sat by himself on the bus as usual, dug the test out of his bag, and started preparing his speech. I’m sorry, Mother and Father, but I’ll make up for it. It was a mistake, and I won’t make it again. I won’t let it affect my grade…

“Thomassen.” Lukas jumped as his thoughts were interrupted. Berwald was sitting next to him.

“Oxenstierna,” he acknowledged before looking out the window. He had to concentrate, figure out exactly what to say to appease his parents as quickly as possible.

His classmate suddenly snatched the test out of his hands once again. Lukas opened his mouth to protest, but Berwald held up one finger. He pulled two markers out of his backpack: a whiteout marker, and a fat, red correction marker. He leaned over the test, squinting in concentration, and after a minute or two gave it back to Lukas. The negative sign that he had missed was gone, as was the big red check next to problem number three. His test now proudly proclaimed 100% at the top, and you could hardly tell it had once said something different.

Lukas gaped at his classmate, who stared back silently.

Of course, these days teachers posted grades online for any parent to snoop through, but by the time Lukas’s parents would see his real grade, he would already have the extra credit from the math competition. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice it if it didn’t affect his grade. This forgery had bought him some time.

The bus came to a stop. “See you Saturday,” Berwald said, gathering his belongings and exiting. Lukas stared after him. Why had someone he barely knew done something so nice for him?

And why wouldn’t his heart stop pounding in his chest?