"Your fanfic doesn't need to be good" is a good motto in isolation, but I think it's a bit of a double-edged sword.
On one hand, it is a reminder to the self that all people have a desire to create and that you should not let your creativity be hampered by self-criticism. It helps ward away the insidious voice that tells you that something that doesn't meet your impossibly high bar is not worth your time or worth sharing with others. It is a reiteration that creative outlets should be fun, and that you shouldn't be spending your entire time hand-wringing that it's not good enough and you are, thus, a failure.
That being said...
I think there are a lot of times this sentiment is repeated not as a reminder to create in spite of your own inner critic, but as a mask for the actual underlying feeling: that you desperately do want your writing to be good, and you want others to think it's good too.
The problem is that that belief - that your fic should be good - is so hard to not be seen as inherently shameful or embarrassing.
There is, of course, the stigma against fanfiction. It's probably the most widely accepted it's ever been right now and online communities are obviously wildly enthusiastic, but I'm going to guess most of you don't tell your families and coworkers that you write fic. Maybe not even your irl friends. Right? Because there is still the cultural stigma of the derivative nature, that it is not transformative but rather leeching off of someone else's genius, that fandom itself is embarrassing, that if you were a better writer - a real writer - you'd write something fully original. So saying your fic doesn't need to be good is in part a defense against that feeling that what you're doing will inevitably be lesser-than, and there's no point trying to improve something so doomed.
There is also the fact that in many cultures - I'd go as far as to say most cultures - it is looked down upon to think too highly of yourself. Tall poppy syndrome and all that. Admitting that you want your fic to be good, that it's important and even critical for you to think your fic is good, is embarrassing. At best, it reveals a vulnerability about yourself, and at worst shows you are prideful. Admitting you want it to be good is admitting you take it seriously, and admitting you take your fanfic seriously brings us back to point one about fanfic being seeing as lesser-than.
But here's the thing. We all want our stuff to be good. No amount of telling yourself you don't care about it is going to actually make you not care. The brain doesn't work like that. So continue to remind yourself that quality should not come at the expense of enjoyment, but also make sure you're not saying "my fanfic doesn't need to be good because admitting I want it to be good is shameful." Make sure what you're actually saying is this:
"The quality of your fanfic holds no moral weight, but it's ok to treat it as a serious creative endeavor."
Working on back grounds, lighting, and any excuse to draw Lucanis Dellamorte without a shirt. đ„° There's also something so fun about drawing a character that has styled hair in a situation where they can let it down.
you look like the kinda girl who'd open up ms paint back in the day select the spray paint tool and click and hold to watch it slowly turn into a perfect circle
Both are relatively evenly matched when it comes to skill. Illario has a slight advantage due to being a bit taller and stronger. But Mira is more focused and determined.
They are both very competitive and will cheat. đ€Ł
So, with both, Lucanis and Illario Week over - so sad they are over đ - I have time again to focus on my other fics.
Chapter 8 for "When the world ends" is now on AO3.
After surviving the joining, Naeva meets another familiar face and is assigned her first mission. And a Partner to work with.
A small peek under the cut, the full chapter is on AO3.
The next two days are spent in an almost quiet routine: In the mornings, Teia comes by my room - the one I woke up in after the Joining - to pick me up for breakfast. Later, she returns with scissors and manages to even out the hacked strands of my hair into something resembling a proper haircut. Nothing fancy, but no longer looking like some animal chewed it off. Somehow, I already miss the wild look; it fitted the new me better.
Then I get to see another part of the ship I am unfamiliar with - though I'd probably still get lost because this thing is a maze. Every hallway looks the same to me.
When rounding another corner to an unfamiliar hallway - new or just already forgotten? - I almost bump my nose against a massive figure suddenly appearing before me. I stumble back, but hands catch my shoulders.
"Rook!"
I can't reply. I don't even have time to recognize the voice before I am crushed into a bear hug.
"Ow, ow, ow," I groan as armor grinds against my bones.
Then I am released, though still kept steady, the hands gentler this time. "Sorry, Rook."
"Taash?" I wheeze.
"Jup," they say, looking me over. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. But Teia told me you're here, and I wanted to see for myself. Where were you?"
It takes me a moment to catch my breath before I can reply.
"Teia didn't say?" I ask, then watch them shake their head. My eyes are drawn to a series of beads tied to their left horn, each a different color. Taash notices it.
"It's an old Rivaini tradition, keeping a piece of jewelry for dead friends and family." Their hand reaches up, the fingers brushing over each bead. The first one is deep purple.
"That one's Lucanis." I don't know how they can tell without seeing it, but I nod. "This one is for Harding." Their voice cracks a little as they touch the bright orange bead. Then an icy blue one. "Neve." Then they get to the next bead - it's beautiful, pale violett with white flecks. "And you."Â
Thank you for the boop (tag), @theantivancandlehop đ
Sorter
Saw and did this yesterday without posting it, but since I also failed to save my Ranking, here it is fresh right after my breakfast and therefore in a much better mood than yesterday evening. đ€Ł Might have influenced some of my choices. (Spoiler: Oghren is still dead last)
And, to no ones surprise, my husbands are leading the field.đ
I only played Awakening once or twice and I couldn't for the life of me remember if I actually liked the companions or not, so some might have received an unfair or even kinder treatment than they deserved.
Giving out boops to @theadventurer42 , @handsignals , @cimmanombagel and @thiaphine đ
My poor Veil Jumper Rook wouldn't think anything by pineapple on pizza and just try and eat it.
Lucanis would probably sense from a mile away the cullinary crime that is happening and swoop in. He'd try to gently convince her to drop the plate and step aside, while she has no idea what is going on. đ€Ł
"But...I am still hungry."
"I will feed you something proper, mi amor, just come away from here."
Some deeply unsettled servant will hastily throw the pizza monstrosity away.
Over a freshly baked pizza topped with anything Rook wants (aside from pineapple and similarly offensive items), Lucanis will kindly explain everything.
She still won't understand. Food is food, but since it upsets her husband, she'll just have the pineapple as dessert. đ
Reblog this if you would not only accept, but welcome fan art, moodboards, etc. of your fics
All of these used to be so common for people to show their appreciation of different fics and authors, and I think itâs a shame people donât do it anymore. I love seeing fan work for my fics!!
This chapter wasn't planned this way. I don't even know where I wanted to go with it, but whatever it was Illario seemed to have different plans. đ
@illarioappreciation @lustaniasaxon
Read the full chapter under the cut or on AO3.
The sun was rising over the small island in the Rialto Bay, the first golden rays sneakily finding their way through windblown curtains and brushing their warm fingers over Illario's face.
He groaned, still half asleep and caught in the most pleasant dream of the woman in his arms. Replaying the night before. A heated rush of flushed skin and whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to him.
At the edge of his conscience, he could feel her stretch then brush a kiss to his lips. Her mirror in his dream did the same.
"Morning, mi corazón," she murmured, gently prying him from sleep. "Time to face the new day."
He tightened his arms around her. "Just a little longer, amore. Please."
Deft fingers found his ribs and gently poked him. "You always need a little longer."
"And you never grant it to me." One eye cracked open and playfully glared at her from under his lashes. "Evil woman."
"Someone has to make sure you sit at your desk some time before noon." Mira slipped from his embrace. Hair falling unbound around her bare shoulders as she walked across the room to pick up her clothes. "The work isn't going to do itself."
"I'll have you know that I am a very hard worker. It is hardly my fault when there are so many distractions around."
"Distractions?" she asked innocently, shifting her stance just so he could appreciate everything she had to offer. "And who or what, Señor lay-abed, would be distracting you?"
"There is this woman," he crooned, watching her dress. "She holds my heart, and yet she is unbearably cruel."
Mira chuckled as she sat at the edge of their bed, too clothed for his opinion, and braided her hair. "How so?"
"She tempts me with her mere presence. Lingers close by when I try to concentrate, yet denies me the comfort of her touch."
"Should I make her leave?"
"No!" Illario cried theatrically, reaching for her hand and pressing it to his chest. "Then I would not be able to focus at all, my eyes searching for her. Imagining where she should have gone."
She clicked her tongue in mock sympathy. "Well, we can't have that."
"Can I persuade you then to grant me another moment in bed, with you, amore?"
A flicker of her iron will and sense of duty sparked in her steel eyes, but was doused in the soft smile that followed.
"Only one."
She climbed back into bed and let him pull her against his side.
Content to have another moment, Illario closed his eyes and let his fingers play with one escaped curl by her face. "I have been thinking."
"Never a good idea."
He pinched her rear and muffled her indignant squawk with his lips.
"Let me rephrase it, then," he grunted, catching her hands when she went in for a playful attack. "I have been wondering about us. About our future."
"And where have your wonderings led you?"
"My cousin," he admitted. "He married the woman he loves; his family is growing."
Mira turned very still. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and cleared her throat. "And you now want this yourself." It wasn't a question.
Illario let go of her wrists to gather her in his arms once more. "In part. You know I am not fond of children - aside from the rare outlier."
The ghost of a smile pulled at Mira's lips. She knew how fond Illario had grown of his nephew. "Then what is it you want, Illario?"
"You, amore."
"You already have me."
He shook his head.
"No?" Mira raised a brow. Her voice shifted into that playful tone he loved so much, the one she only ever showed him. "We share a table. We share a bed. We share a bath, every now and then. I borrowed your shirts, and you borrowed my cloak for your scarecrows. What more of me could you want?"
Illario swallowed; he knew exactly what he wanted to ask her, but the words caught in his throat. The old fear of not being enough, not being the kind of man she would say yes to forever, wrapped itself around his neck like a strangling cord.
Mira's hand brushed along his chest, then cradled his jaw. "Talk to me, Illario. I usually have to tell you to shut up, so what got your tongue?"
"Fear," he said, truthfully.
Truth between us. And no one else. That had been the promise they had given each other that day in the pond, when their relationship finally settled into its current shape.
"And what are you afraid of, mi corazón?" Mira murmured. "Not me, I hope."
"No, not you. JustâŠ" His eyes pleaded with her to help him.
"I will not say no to you, Illario," Mira said calmly, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "But I need to hear the question."
He exhaled slowly. "You once said that my heart was safe with you. I have lent it to you, as you have lent me yours. But you know me," he chuckled nervously. "I am a greedy man. And I want your heart to be mine alone. Forever."
A slow smile spread on her lips before she replied.
"I promised to keep your heart safe. And I will do it, forever if that is what you want. But you know me, too, Illario. I am a very jealous woman. If my heart is to be yours forever, then yours will be mine."
He nodded. "Yes. It's yours."
A moment of silence.
"You still haven't asked," she reminded him.
Of course, he laughed, feeling the tightness in his chest ease and fall off. Of course, she'll make me actually say the words.
"Mira. Love of my life. Goddess of my sleepless hours. Tormentor of my dreams," he started, voice carrying like an actor on stage, his gestures wide. Then he took her hand, sober now, and more quietly he added. "Would you deign to give your hand in marriage to this unworthy man?"
Mira's eyes danced with humor. "Not to an unworthy man, certainly not. But to you? Yes, Illario, to you I would."
His heart skipped a beat, then another before it finally settled back into its usual rhythm.
"You said yes," he breathed.
Mira laughed softly.
"I believe I did."
"I had a speech prepared if you refused."
"I'm sure you did," she replied dryly.
"It was very dramatic."
Slowly, she sat up, then leaned down for another kiss. "You'll have to save it for another occasion. Your moment in bed is over."
He groaned and buried himself under her pillow. "There she is again, my lovely, cruel lady."
"And yours to torment you forever," Mira called over her shoulder as she walked out the door.
Forever.
Hidden under her pillow, surrounded by her scent, he grinned.
This is how Lucanis looks at Rook at the end of that cutscene, btw. To be fair, all the companions seem to have the same animation here, so they're all just so taken with Rook in this precious moment. However, in my completely unbiased opinion, based on facts and logic and almost two years of scientific research and observation, Lucanis is the most beautiful here (to me).
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