Update: WELP. IT HAPPENED.

Update: WELP. IT HAPPENED.

Apparently I'm writing a multi-chapter fanfic of characters from a novel that hasn't been published yet to work through That Trans Shit idk

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[Set in the universe of Community Witch - my queer polyamorous romance novel that I'm currently working on getting published.] Dee jumped as Corey dropped onto the couch beside them, having been too lost in thought to register that he had returned from his errand.

"So," he said ominously.

Dee looked at the sketchbook in their lap and winced at the blank page staring up at them. "Yes?"

Their partner patiently took the sketchbook and set it on the coffee table, forcing Dee to look up at him. "You're doing that thing again," he admonished gently. "Where you have a crisis and refuse to talk to anyone about it."

"I don't... I mean. It's not--"

Corey gave them a Look. "You do," he said irritably, tapping his chest in an oblique reminder of their magical bond. "And even just getting the edges of whatever it is you're worrying about is enough to give me a headache. So stop shutting me out and just... talk to me?"

Dee's resistance crumbled at the softness in his infuriatingly beautiful brown eyes. "Is Yulia...?"

"She'll be working outside for a while, but we could go upstairs if you like."

Dee nodded jerkily, the thought of being interrupted by the old woman who had essentially adopted them both still somehow completely overwhelming.

Corey's lips twitched into a smile as he abruptly slung them over his shoulder, lifting them effortlessly to carry them toward the stairs. Dee laughed despite themself and didn't bother to pretend, as they usually did, that they didn't enjoy it.

Once upstairs, he tossed them onto the bed before kicking the door behind him. However, when Dee stretched provocatively and batted their eyes flirtatiously, he just settled onto the bed next to them with a look that said he wasn't going to fall for their stalling tactics this time.

There was a long, horrible silence.

"This is the part where you say things," Corey finally prompted.

- - -

Dee felt as if they'd been pounded flat and hung out to dry by the time they were done crying. Once they'd cleaned themself up, they lay listlessly in Corey's arms, too physically miserable to really feel any of their emotions.

"So. Wanting to do more transition," Corey prompted. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Dee confessed. "I know that I want a dick, but I don't want surgery. Eighty percent satisfaction rate isn't high enough. And. I think I want top surgery. But I'm not sure." They paused to take a deep shuddering breath. "I'm not sure I want to give up what it feels like when you. Um. Touch them."

Corey made the thoughtful noise that Dee had long since learned to interpret as his "processing" sound. When he finally spoke, his tone was cautious. "You might not need surgery. I could... if you wanted, that is. Look into using magic?"

Dee blinked. "I thought you didn't--"

"I don't." He grimaced. "I mean, witchcraft doesn't work for that kind of thing. But I know some very highly placed fae who, as you may remember, owe me some pretty fucking big favors."

Dee couldn't help but goggle at him. "And you'd be willing to use them... for me?"

"I want you to be happy," Corey repeated earnestly. "Just." He smiled and brushed a stray hair away from their eye. "We're talking about fae, so the devil is very much in the details here. You'd need to take time to decide what you do and don't want."

Dee nodded. "I will. And." They picked anxiously at his shirt. "You'll still want to have sex with me? If that's what I want?"

"No surgery means no nerve damage, which means playing with your nipples will still be just as fun. Not to mention..." Corey smiled wolfishly. "Getting to figure out what makes you come all over again sounds pretty hot."

Dee laughed tremulously as the tight knot of anxiety inside them finally began to loosen. "I should have known you'd get hot and bothered about getting to do more research."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Corey shot back, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "There are so many questions that need answering. How will you feel about handjobs? Blowjobs? Do you still want me to fuck you, or would you rather fuck me?"

Dee's mouth went dry as they were hit with a sudden mental image of Corey moaning in pleasure as their cock slid into him - something they hadn't even known they wanted until he said it.

"See?" he said smugly, pulling them down into a long slow kiss. "Research is great."

tfw you're still working on a second draft of a novel and you have the almost undeniable urge to write fanfic of your own novel because you've got Some Trans Shit To Work Through

Me: I changed my mind. I'm not making Agamemnon my middle name.

Me: I'm going with Archaeopteryx instead

My husband: (puts his face in his hands)

My husband: (picks up his phone and sends the following)

Update:

tfw you're still working on a second draft of a novel and you have the almost undeniable urge to write fanfic of your own novel because you've got Some Trans Shit To Work Through

And fifty percent of the time the job isn't even fucking real

And the ones that are still had their job descriptions written by fucking AI

I hate job hunting because every time I open a description for a job the first five paragraphs are always meaningless “Scrimblo Industries is committed to synthesizing a dynamic approach to diversity and learning from–” drivel, and then at the bottom they tell you they will pay you in grass clippings and you STILL don’t know what the job is about

Date Prompts Masterpost

Romantic Fall Date Ideas

50 Cute Date Ideas

50 More Cute Date Ideas

Romantic Date Dialogue Prompts

Museum Date

Things to do at a carnival

Anniversary Dinner Prompts

Blind Date Prompts

Blind date after ONS Prompts

Date with a nice guy Prompts

Date gone wrong

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Update: my co-editors are providing moral support

Am I the only person who hates editing first drafts more than any other part of writing?

I'm 80% done with editing the first draft of this novel and I'm honestly, genuinely in hell. Forcing myself to finish feels like peeling my skin off.