Do Not Trust Medical Advice From Random Tumblr Blogs, Especially On How To Perform Surgery On Yourself.

Percy: my dad's such a dick such a deadbeat I hate him

Poseidon: can you tell my kid I love him and I'm very sorry and also save his life

Poseidon: but don't tell him he can breathe underwater except very cryptically

Poseidon: yell at him to breathe a few times

Poseidon: that ought to work

@wondersammy I too want to be squished like a marshmallow

weighted blanket isn't enough i need to be squashed beneath a precariously piled mound of mattresses like the pea that said fuck you to the princess

🎶 there is power in a union 🎶

@wondersammy 👀

The Making of Contempt

Is anyone tired of hearing me talk about this yet?

TOO BAD.

Ahem.

To talk of my pride and joy, I must first speak of Shame and Denial.

No. Really. They're 2 fics called Shame and Denial.

Shame has been one of my favorite fanfics for many, many years. Rarely, if ever, have I seen its like. A torrid teacher/student affair of which Harry is deeply ashamed. He's embarrassed by Severus. He is humiliated thinking of what his peers will think and say.

To me, this is quite human, and so real considering Harry's age in the story (a teenager), Severus' reputation (not good), and their history (really not good.)

In many stories, Harry is the Boy Wonder. He is the paragon of all that is good and righteous. His moral compass never fails. Not Harry Potter's! (And y'all are really expecting too much from a deeply traumatized child, let me tell you.)

No shame, btw (ba-dum-tsst.) I understand why people see the appeal in a model hero. I just don't myself. I deeply craved more of this messed up Harry. The one who doesn't always think and feel and do the right thing. The one who is selfish, sometimes. And cruel, sometimes. One who can really hurt someone he cares about, even if he doesn't mean to.

And the angst potential, c'mon!!

Then we get to Denial. Here, Harry is desperate. Here, Harry wants to love Ginny, and make his life work the way it should. Here, Harry is confused. In denial, even. (I am hilarious, aren't I?) (Oh so clever, Self, excellent work.) Harry doesn't really understand himself. He makes mistakes. Life is a bit of a jumbled mess, and so is he. Again, Harry hurts people he cares about. And he goes to Severus not with the purest or most selfless of intentions. Here Harry is again focused on himself, and his own wants and needs. Severus isn't his first choice, not at first.

And Severus, well...in both of these stories, Severus takes what he can get.

The pattern you may see is my undying devotion to deeply flawed, tragically human characters. I've seen enough characters at their best; to really know someone, you have to see their worst alongside it. I don't often see odes to the darkest, dirtiest parts of human nature. But to me, to love something, you must love all of it.

For better, or worse.

I love these characters (Harry and Severus) so much, and their relationship so much (my beloved OTP, my precious Snarry); I have explored them in many scenarios. And what I always feel like I never have enough of is digging into the depths of them. Digging into the gutters of their hearts and minds. Digging up blood and bones as much as heart and soul.

And thus....Contempt.

The first inklings of this story came to me long ago. Maybe the day I read Shame for the first time. That was so long ago, I can't quite recall. But that fic planted within me a burning need for more. I longed for more stories like it; more of the characterizations and the dynamic it provided me.

It was quite vague at first. Harry is ashamed of Severus; Harry hurts Severus; Harry, imperfect in heart and mind; Severus is mean and ugly, and I must be unforgiving with it. Then, the details came. Student/teacher affair. Severus' appearance. The scene in Severus' quarters. The stripping. The desperate kiss. Harry trying so hard to keep in mind all of Severus' faults, and the full catalogue of them only reinforces to Harry how madly in love he is.

There is more to the story. I've been dreaming of it for quite a long time. I know how the whole story plays out, really; beginning to end. Their end, mind you, not the story's end.

The past couple of years I've felt more called to this story, but I kept putting it off. I always had other projects, and this project...This project was the project. I was a bit scared of it, I think. Intimidated by the depth of it, and intimidated by my love of it. It would have to be perfect. And I didn't know what I would do with myself if I couldn't pull it off.

Then...Snarry-a-Thon 2022. I decided to self-prompt. And my self-prompt would be the story of my soul, at last. I figured I would need an external source to really give me the push I needed. Besides, I always wanted to participate in Snarry-a-Thon at least once.

To put it mildly, writing for Thon was hell. H e l l. My poor, dear friends had to listen to me whine near daily.

Oddly, the end came to me first. I was in the shower when it happened. The very last paragraph fully formed. I had figured out where, exactly, to end the story. The perfect open ending that I'm oh so fond of. Let me tell you, I leapt from the shower and ran out into the living room, naked and dripping wet, to grab my phone and type it up immediately. I was not losing that train of thought for anything on Planet Earth.

(Yes, my partner was Most Pleased by the view.) (Also: yes, I was very embarrassed once the madness loosened its grip on me and I realized what a scene I'd caused.) (And: yeah I did go back to finish my shower.)

The beginning was a little harder, but not by much. I got myself swept up in Harry's rage and humiliation and thus was born: One day, he’s going to hex Snape’s giant nose off of his stupid face. He’ll rip the nasty, greasy hair right out of his head.

Maybe it's not the nicest mental image, but it's interesting, no?

I found that Harry's awareness of his feelings spooked him; amped everything up to 110%. That boy is a total mess. Confused, guilty, ashamed, angry, relieved, overjoyed; torn between hate and love and terrible longing. Love doesn't cure him, doesn't fix him, doesn't uplift him. Love is terrifying. And awful. And much too much.

Perhaps you can see what gave me such trouble. Harry, my POV character, is a mess. How am I, the writer, meant to easily navigate said mess?? His heart in shambles, his mind in knots; what on earth was I meant to do? But I felt like such a failure for not unwinding it all so quickly and easily; a failure for all the trouble it gave me. This story had been heavy on my heart and mind for years and years. Shouldn't I have it all figured out?

It wasn't only that, of course. The intensity of the emotion was overwhelming. I'm quite an emotional person, easily swept up by passions and terrors. Many times I sat, paralyzed by the depth of feeling. When your heart is full to bursting or breaking, how are you meant to think of words at all, let alone put them down?

Every word was hard won, and ripped from flesh and bone. I pried it from my soul with teeth and nails. It was an agonizing process.

This feels quite dramatic and embarrassing to say out loud, but I really was quite distraught. Caught up, and seemingly useless for it.

Then: the word count.

Oh boy, the word count.

My friends can tell you about my word count and I. Foolish me thinking I could manage this whole story in a few thousand words. (Spoiler: I did not. It's 20,400 words.)

I specialize in ficlets, okay? I've written many a short fic in my time! I know how to pack a punch in very few words. But this? This story was not content with a few thousand words. It demanded more and more from me.

And, really...how was I meant to do Harry's mindset any justice in fewer words?

The story needed to be longer, yet it overwhelmed me. And I feared it was too many words. That the story was dragging. That readers would be bored. That it rambled too long. But I couldn't hack off more words and maintain the integrity of this story. Contempt needed to be what it ended up being, regardless of all my fretting.

I battled my own perfectionism. My own messy emotions. The mess that was Harry. The bitterness that was Severus. The twisted, misshapen shackles of their love. The deadline. The word count. The immense pressure and vulnerability in telling this story. The fear that it would appeal to no one; that all the messy, flawed characterizations would turn people off. That people would actively hate the story that I loved so much.

Writing is so deeply personal. Sharing it is more so. And I've never felt such horror sharing a work as I did in sharing Contempt.

That story is my pride and joy. I don't know that I've written anything better. And I feel so incredibly accomplished that I successfully told that story. It really is so very special to me.

And every bit of kindness left on that fic means the world to me, truly. To everyone who's read it and left me kudos and comments, from the bottom of my heart I thank you. I know I've replied to every comment, but let me say it again: thank you. It really means more than you know.

This fic was a great labor of love. I could not be more pleased with the outcome. It was worth all of the hair pulling and banging my head into walls. The fact that so many people have seen my vision and it spoke to them is just...truly, truly indescribably wonderful.

Thus: why I can't shut up about this fic. How am I meant to shut up about something I love so much????

if anyone near putin wants to be really funny for the ides of march... just saying

thinking about that time I was at some kind of diversity and inclusion thing that involved discussion in small groups and one straight girl said she really wanted to be a good ally but sometimes there were some things she just didn’t know and was too afraid to ask for fear of accidentally being offensive. and as the only queer person in this 4-5 person group I said well go ahead and ask me, I don’t care if you accidentally use the wrong term right now or whatever, it’s better to talk about it and learn something, I love talking about queerness and I’ll answer the best I can. and she just looked so nervous and in the end wound up refusing to ask for fear of causing offense. and it wasn’t just the group setting, I’ve known straight people to act similarly even when it’s just one on one

and just. you guys. this is what purity culture and the “if you don’t know something you were never a real ally in fact you’re a bigot in fact you’re worse than bigots because you pretended not to be one” attitude does. how can our allies be allies if they’re scared to talk to us? to ask questions, to make mistakes, to learn? can we please bring back the idea of “in good faith”? there’s way more to say here about identity politics and virtue signaling and acting like language is more important than action but I’m too tired for that right now

please feel free to add to the discussion (regardless of if you’re queer or not), I would love to hear about people’s experiences with this and if others feel differently about it

I hope every writer who sees this writes LOADS the next few months. Like freetime opens up, no writers block, the ability to focus, etc etc you're able to write loads & make lots of progress <3

Happy D E M O N y'all <3