Chapter Text
i've baited you
next chapter is 100k words. i'm finishing this fic in two chapters. each 100k words. yes, i have ascended. yes, i have been busy with the book. also busy inventing a new system of time where hours are based on how long it takes me to get through a single paragraph without rewriting it 43 times. spoiler: we are now in the 37th hour of tuesday. sleep is a myth perpetuated by the mattress industry
you cant stop me from rhyming ive got perfect timing im down in wyoming flying in the
you cant stop me from rhyming
ive got perfect timing
im down in wyoming
flying in the gloaming
brain cells roaming
plot bunnies foaming
word doc’s open, grammar's moaning
i've got metaphors stacked,
syntax cracked,
characters emotionally smacked,
one lost an eyeand still came back
what is structure but a social constraint
this fic’s got five timelines, and none are quaint
flashbacks in italics, unreliable POVs—
there’s a prophecy, a pie, and a sentient set of keys
chapter titles? cryptic at best
“Chapter Seventeen: Regret in a Vest”
subtext so dense it’s collapsing stars
an AU within an AU set entirely in cars
do i edit? no.
i simply shed my mortal coil
enter a fugue state
and let the angst boil
a plot twist appears every third page
a betrayal, a kiss, a mage in a cage
is this coherent? probably not
but you’ll cry anyway, because trauma’s the plot
so yes, 100k per chapter, i’m divine
fuelled by spite and discount wine
no outline, no plan, just vibes and doom
catch me live-streaming pain from my living room
keep your craft books, your pacing guides,
i’ve got adverbs and emotional whiplash rides
you ask when the fic will be done? never fear—
i’ll finish it sometime in the 89th hour of this very weird year.
sorry got carried away there anyways you may ask, "why not split the chapters?" to which i reply: because then it wouldn't be funny. and as we all know, the pinnacle of literature is the slow, creeping horror of your scroll bar turning into a microbe on the edge of extinction.
i have built a word fortress. a textual siege engine. you will need literary crampons and an ice axe to scale this. sherpas have turned back. helicopters have crashed. i write now not for humans, but for the future archaeologists who will reconstruct our civilization and wonder why we used 12,000 words to describe one lingering glance and an emotional metaphor involving soup.
but yes. the fic is nearly done. just two more 100k chapters. and then an epilogue. which is, naturally, a novella. i originally planned for it to be se-mi and mg coin teabagging namgyu and thanos's grave, yes that was the real plan for the epilogue, ask anyone, but sadly i killed them off because there was literally no logical way for them to continue living.
i DONT. LIKE. THANGYU ANYMORE. I NEVER LIEKD IT. small secret, i never liked thangyu. i was never in the fandom. i just saw an author seem super happy and proud about their thangyu fic on tiktok, and then i commetned "i'm gonna write a 200k word fic and outdo you" and so the fic was born and now i must finish it because i am nothing if not A: criminally liable. B: morally bankrupt. C: tragically consistent.
so here i am. 190k words deep in a narrative i do not understand, about characters i never cared about, living lives i did not craft but merely inherited like some kind of cursed heirloom. i google basic lore every ten minutes like a middle manager trying to bluff their way through a quarterly report.
do i know what thanos's real name is? no. do i know their tragic backstory? debatable. do i know how mg coin's real name without checking my notes? not once. not ever. but do i persist? absolutely. because i made a petty vow in a comment section in the beginning of the year.
every word is an act of spite. every update a love letter to the art of passive aggression. the readers think i’m deeply invested. i am-- but only in finishing before that original author does. i don't know who they are. but they will feel my presence, like a cold draft in a warm house. yk, i hope they're reading this fic. i hope they're reading this right now. hey, you, if youre reading this ITS ME. I LEFT THAT COMMENT. I HAVE A SCREENSHOT OF IT. HAVE YOU BEEN ENJOYING THE FIC, HM? i hope every carefully crafted metaphor tastes slightly off, like milk one day past its expiration. i hope you wonder why this fic feels unhinged, why the emotional beats hit just a bit too hard, like someone punching through drywall. that's me. that's my signature. thats what you get for being happy
every angst-riddled chapter is a brick in the cathedral of my vendetta. people say “write for yourself.” I write against you. i have introduced subplots i don’t remember inventing. characters are emotionally developing in ways i did not authorize. one of them cried last chapter. i cried too, but only because i realized i had to write an emotionally resonant flashback and it was already 9:47am.
the readers say things like “you really get Thangyu.” do I? or am I just holding together the illusion with psychosis?
my writing skills have improved massively. probably because of my mello fic. who knwos. not me. i dont know. who knows... not me
you guys are so fucking loyal dude. creamncheese, read my fucking mello fic and stop playing genshin you fucking creature i will chew my foot off and make you watch like when jesus turned water into wine and someone immediately started fondling him. Creamncheese, I know you're out there, avoiding eye contact with the Google Doc like it owes you money. you absolute cryptid. you semi-sentient tumbleweed of procrastination. stop mainlining gacha pulls and read the fucking fic before i start rhyming again and no one wants that
i have made precisely two friends out of this fic, which is weird, but yes. *throws hands in air* oh wowsers
love you guys. i mean it.