No, I'm not like that - but I have to vent. It's been on my heart since I started writing seriously and I don't want to bother those close to me so I'm externalizing here.
I’ve always loved writing. My laptop is filled with stories, each living its own life in abandoned folders. But I was always creating something from scratch, something entirely new. Maybe that’s why I could never finish a story? Writing fanfiction, though—that’s something else entirely. At least for me. It’s creating something new, but on someone else’s terms. This is my first fanfiction that I’ve thrown my whole heart and mind into.
I didn’t watch Arcane when it first came out. It wasn’t until last November, when my friend basically threatened to stop replying to my messages if I didn’t watch it, that I finally gave in. Lucky for her, I love her—so I did. And I fell. Completely. Now, not a day goes by without me thinking about it, analyzing, overanalyzing. I consume Arcane content like it’s my last breath. At this point, I don’t know how to exist without it.
And yet, something still felt missing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I envied artists who could simply draw whatever they wanted—create the expansion to the story they wished for. Two characters that aren’t canonically together? No problem, grab a pencil. And I envied that so much. Until it hit me. Wait a minute—I can write whatever I want.
That was both the worst and best decision of my life.
Crawlin’ Back to You was born on a day when I ignored my actual responsibilities and listened to music instead. I had nothing in my head except those words. And somehow, everything started shaping itself around them—twisting, shifting, taking form. My plans for the story changed more times than I can count. My characters took on lives of their own. I like to think I just gave them space to tell their own story, and I’m merely stalking them, taking notes, and getting frustrated when they do something stupid.
With each chapter, I dove deeper. Sometimes, even I didn’t know what the next one would bring. Maybe that’s for the best. After all, it’s their story—not mine.
Somewhere along the way, I heard something that stuck with me: my writing has improved. I hadn’t noticed when or how. I tried looking at my story through a reader’s eyes, and maybe I can see the signs—but to keep myself from getting too self-satisfied, I just write the way I feel. My sentences are different now, the narration flows better, and the dialogue feels more alive. I don’t know if I learned this or if I simply started writing with my own rhythm instead of following literary conventions. Maybe it finally hit me that this is fanfiction—I can do whatever I want. Breaking the rules of writing has never been this satisfying. And this is coming from a literature student.
Not every scene makes me proud. Some plotlines felt clumsy, messy, cheap. I twisted and turned everything on its head just to make sense of my own tangled ideas. And yet? I wouldn’t trade it for any ‘perfect’ story.
When I uploaded the first chapter, it was late at night, and I didn’t think much of it. The next morning, I woke up to numbers that shocked me so much I didn’t even need coffee. Over 100 views in just a few hours. Wait… people are actually reading this? And they like it? Oh my god, can I actually write?!
That was it. That was the moment I was done for.
Every comment makes me smile like an idiot because I know this story resonated with someone enough for them to leave a piece of themselves behind. The first time I got a comment saying, “You know what? I don’t like this part. I don’t get it,” I didn’t take it as criticism—I took it as an invitation to a conversation. I don’t just have readers who leave compliments. I have people who want to talk, who want to understand, who share their perspectives with me. I couldn’t have asked for better.
These comments let me see my own story in a different light. They make me notice things I hadn’t before. Over time, more and more of them came in. People started getting impatient for the next chapter. I thought it couldn’t get any better. But it did—because people started reaching out to me personally.
That… that was something I never even dreamed of when I started writing. It’s a completely different feeling when you know who you’re writing for. And yes, I know, “you should write for yourself.” But them… do I have fans?
There’s one part of writing this fanfiction that challenges me the most. I set the bar high for myself, and I don’t want to shy away from anything. The story is rated Explicit for a reason—it deals with violence, brutality, drugs, and politics. And I can write about all of that. But the hardest thing? Depicting the physical side of my characters’ relationship in a way that feels right.
It’s not about excessive poeticism, nor is it about turning it into pure erotica or romance—I wouldn’t even know how to write that. The hardest part is finding the balance: presenting it in a mature, meaningful way while keeping it right for the tone of the story. I don’t shy away from it, but I also don’t force it. I want these moments to feel natural, raw yet tasteful, and above all, integral to the characters and their dynamic.
What I write leans into tension, subtext, and the weight of unspoken things rather than explicit detail. And maybe that’s why it’s so difficult—I want these moments to carry impact beyond just physicality. The further into the story, the more advanced the relationship becomes, I know that I won't avoid - I don't want to avoid - scenes of closeness between them. Sometimes it takes me days to write one fragment because nothing sounds like it should.
This fanfiction has rewired something in my brain. Actually, it’s still doing it. Silco, as a character, follows me every single day. He’s the only character I can feel. The way he speaks, the way he moves—I hear the footsteps beside me, I can feel the texture of his clothes. Maybe it’s strange, but it helps so much.
Maybe it’s because this is a Silco x Reader story and I want to see myself in it. Who am I kidding—of course I do.
Sometimes, I don’t know whether I found this story or if it found me.
One thing’s for sure—I have no idea what I’ll do when it’s over.
What do you do when something you’ve poured your soul into finally reaches its end?
