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💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?
All the ones I haven't finished.
Ashes, Carrion, and Dust or Viewer Discretion Advised.
Ashes, Carrion because of the research that went into it - what happens when the battle is over, and only the dead remain, and how various countries determine what happens to them. The United Nations has instruction manuals you can download for "stuff like so you've stumbled on a mass grave, here's how not to screw it up for our forensic teams!", some of which I reused for They Also Serve Who Watch And Wait. Then trying to figure out how Yoda must have felt, having lost over 90% of the strike team, having felt them die, all bright and shining and people he'd known since childhood and then nothing.
Knowing that it was only the beginning of the war.
Viewer Discretion Advised because making propaganda set pieces out of dead and dismembered Jedi children seemed far too plausible for Palpatine, who was an expert at manipulating the news networks.
By then, too, Fox as I write him is heavily influenced by the Sith ascendancy as well, and his intrinsic decency and care for his men is tainted - he's trying, but he's no longer got much to try with so he's trying to distance himself from his own feelings as much as he can.
Plus, you know, the dead children themselves.
⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?
Varies wildly. Sometimes it's like pulling teeth, sometimes it just pours out like the words have pressure in my brain. Depends how much worldbuilding I'm doing and how much I need to refer to previous stuff for consistency's sake.
I was just writing something I'd been hoping to finish for half a year now when a complete story popped into my head so I had to get that out of my head and into a document before I could get back to the original. Which is finished now, thank fuck.
🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?
On the strategy table, high in orbit, their task force been one half of a classic pincer movement, sweeping the Sep forces in front of them until they met up with Commander Njime’s people, rolling across the country in a thunderous wave, to push the occupying CIS forces so their backs were to the coast and the capital city. It hadn't been a bad plan, or so Morwen understood the lack of urgent communiques from Marshal Commander Bacara. Even Umbattzo and her unshakeable belief that all will be as the Force wills it hadn't countenanced an amphibious attack on the city. But the green welcome of the plains concealed a disastrous morass of defilades, minefields, droid cysts and - worse - they'd been unable to attain air superiority. Their combined advance had lost momentum. Stalled. Halted - and they were retreating. Back across the plains, falling back and further back and always, always with the matchless discipline of clone troops.
Morwen herself was running on the Force and fumes. In better times she'd lost entire hours lying on the sunlit ground, letting her awareness diffuse into the bustle of tiny lives. Now it seemed she spent most of the retreat throwing herself off the side of a juggernaut to lie in the churned, poisoned earth, coaxing it into defensive contours, bringing up the burned out hulks of armour just so, doglegs and baffles and chevrons, language she'd never had to know, and making it stack itself in parapets behind. She’d apologised endlessly to nothing and everything as she did so, uprooting trees and filling in burrows, hot tears rolling down her cheeks inside her helmet with the useless ruin of it all. Gotten up, and kept moving until she needed to do it again, ditch and parapet and traverse, until the valley narrowed to a front the clones could hold. Stacked gabions made a wall across it, metres high; she'd tried to keep as much of the soil in situ as possible, in the hope that when they were gone the fragile ecology of the mountain valley could recover.