The Disabled Tyrant's Pet Fish Fan-Fic

The Disabled Tyrant's Pet Fish Fan-Fic

She stood before the throne room doors, twice her height and adorned with golden dragons. To most, they were a symbol of the power of the emperor.  To her, it represented everything she hated about being the daughter of royalty: the pressure, the expectations, and the endless procedures and niceties.

When the guards started giving her sidelong glances, she knew she had dallied too long. She had a reputation for wandering, for being a little weird, and for garnering the wrong kind of attention for her family. She didn't want to lay any more of that at her parents' feet, not with what she was about to do.

She made her way into the throne room proper, the wealth of the emperor obvious. Perhaps it was her wandering that had sensitized her to it, but it all felt gaudy compared to the lives most of her father's subjects led. Her father had instituted many reforms in his time, and her older brother, who was first in line for the throne, seemed to have even more in mind. Still, they both insisted on keeping the throne room immaculately clean and heavily decorated. They'd both say it was, "just for show," but they sure seemed to enjoy their part in the play.

"Welcome, son!" her dad boomed, his arms open wide and his smile wider, his silk robes spreading like the wings of a hawk.  His father offered a smile and nod of his own; years of experience with his muteness confirmed to her that he was happy to see her.

Her heart broke a little to be called son, but that's why she was here. She would live her truth no matter the cost. She bowed deeply before her parents, awaiting their assent to proceed.

"What are you doing, little treasure?" her dad asked, a quizzical expression on his face. "You know those formalities aren't necessary with us."

She stood ram-rod straight, her face taut. Her vision bounced back and forth between her dad and her father, concern slowly creeping onto their faces.

"What's the matter, little trea-" her dad began, before he was interrupted.

”I'm not your son," she said, the words spilling out of her like an icy waterfall dousing a steadfast monk. "I'm your daughter, and I'd rather be torn limb from limb by tigers than pretend otherwise for another day!" She took a step forward while saying this, striking a fighting stance to both help her feel more powerful and to help her keep her balance.

Her parents looked at each other for a moment, her father's expression flashing between a few she'd never seen before. Her dad interpreted them just as quickly, nodding along with a grave expression. In a few moments, they both turned to her, standing from their thrones and running toward her to scoop her up into a hug.

"My daughter, my daughter, my loveliest daughter!" her dad cried out, hugging her close. Her father offered a similar sentiment, though was less hands-on in his approach.

"You-," she said, stammering, "you're not mad? You're not going to banish me?" she said, tears prickling at the edge of her eyes.

"Why would we?" her dad asked, relinquishing the hug and dancing around her in celebration.

"What good am I to you if I can’t be a general or politician, or bureaucrat like my older brothers?" she practically wailed.

"Why can't you?" her father's look said, his eyes narrowed.

“I won’t accept your pity because I’m adopted,” she blurted out, her expression hardening. 

"Adopted?" her dad asked, a little dumbfounded. "Where on earth did you get that idea?" She was incredulous.

"I'm not the royal physician," she said, surprised she had to provide basic sexual education to her own parents, "but even I know two men can't have children."

"Ah, I see the confusion!" her dad said, looking at her father with an intense blush. "I'm not a man, exactly. I'm a fish!" With that, he pulled back his long silk sleeve and revealed patches of black and gold scales. "You were too, when you were born," he said with a self-assured nod. She had no words for this, no such memories, either.

"I-, I-," she stammered, caught off guard by this revelation. Her father put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"You are, and always will be our child," her dad said, the remnants of the blush still on his face. "You are of our body and blood, and nothing will change that." 

"How could I possibly believe that?" she blurted out, tears falling freely.

"I can believe enough for the both of us!" her dad declared. "Also, may I?" he said, gesturing to her own sleeve.

"Yes?" she said, unsure what he was asking. He rolled up her sleeve until he found a dry spot she'd been seeing the royal physician about. The ointments and herbal remedies he'd provided had been useless so far. Her father pulled something off of her, like plucking a hair but larger.

"See?" he said, presenting a scale to her. "Similar in color to mine, but with a different pattern and texture.  Your brothers are the same.”  She had no choice but to sit on the throne room floor, stunned. At least the cool stone was helping her calm her racing thoughts.

“You think that’s proof enough!” she exclaimed, less question and more accusation.  Pointing at her dad, she added, “I’m not some dumb kid, and I won’t let you pass off a skin condition as magic!”  Her father sighed, and her dad lifted up his hands, shrugging his shoulders.

“I guess it can’t be helped,” her dad said, “plus, it’s been a while since I’ve had a good swim!”  ‘He grabbed his daughter’s hand as he finished that thought, and took her to a room right off the main throne room.  “You probably weren’t old enough to remember this, but your father remodeled the gardens that used to surround the throne room into a magnificent aquarium for us.”  For her part, she remembered lazy afternoons with her dad playing by the aquarium, but nothing about being a fish. 

“I hope this goes without saying, but this is a family secret, not to leave this room.  Do you understand, daughter of mine?” her dad asked, the playfulness all but absent from his face.  His hands rested on the neckline of his robes, as though he was ready to cast them aside. 

“I understand,” she said.  Without another word, her dad wriggled free from his clothing, changing before her eyes into the largest koi fish she had ever seen.  He landed in the aquarium with a splash, disappearing under the water for some time before resurfacing a little while later and using his mouth to blast water at his daughter to get her attention.  While no words escaped after, she could see the spark of intelligence in his eyes; this was, undoubtedly, her father.  A moment later, the koi had transformed again into a merman, human from the bellybutton up.  “Is this how you,” she asked, the trepidation obvious in her voice, “you know?”  She trailed off without finishing her thought.

“Some things are meant to stay secret!” her dad yelped, diving back into the water so he was only visible from the eyes up.  After the blush faded from his face, he resurfaced, saying, “may I have a towel, my love?”  Her father was ready with one as her dad exited the aquarium with a powerful flick of his tail; his airtime meant his feet had returned by the time he landed.  Thankfully, father’s experience with this maneuver also meant he knew just where to stand to cover dad up.

"As I said," her dad began, gills retreating from his neck and water splashing out of his mouth, "you are of our body and our blood."

She stood, frozen, for what felt like an eternity as the implications of everything she had seen ran through her mind.  Magic was real.  She was magic, too.  She is, by all accounts, part fish.  Perhaps she could transform like her dad had a moment ago.  Her mind raced, her coming out falling further and further into the back of her mind.

“My treas-” her dad began, placing a hand on her shoulder after he had finished drying off.

“Does this mean I can also get pregnant?” she said, looking at her parents with an expression somewhere between hopeful and pleading.  Her father responded simply by raising both eyebrows.  Her dad turned more beet red then she’d ever seen him. 

“Let’s discuss that when you’re older!” he declared, looking ready to faint from the gravity of the question. 

“But Dad,” she protested, “I’m 17!”  Her dad did momentarily faint at this; only the embrace of her father’s arms kept him from collapsing onto the floor. 

“Can we discuss this after we update your wardrobe, beloved daughter?” her dad asked weakly, barely conscious, his face still a record-setting red.  She let out a belly laugh, probably the heartiest she’d had in years.  She looked between her parents before pulling them both into the deepest hug she had given them since childhood. Today, she received the greatest gift any parent can bestow on their child: not just acceptance, but affirmation.

“As long as you promise, Dad.  Oh, and you have to teach me how to change like you did, too!”

---

Author's notes:

Given the queerness of the original work, I thought it'd be interesting if one of the kids also ended up being trans.

I consider this work to be a one-shot and at present I have no intention of adding to it.

Mu Tianchi (the emperor) gives big "I too am in this episode" vibes in this fic. I did my best, okay?

practical writing advice

part 2

avoid writing in bed if you can. writing in bed is the mind-killer. writing in bed is the little death that brings obliteration. you may think "but i can write AND be cozy" you will get sleepy so fast. 98% of the time when i try to get a nighttime writing session done in bed i go to sleep. maybe 70% of the time if it's an afternoon writing session. also it fucking kills your wrists.

STRETCH before writing. stretch as many parts of your body as possible ESPECIALLY YOUR WRISTS! i have chronic tendonitis in both of my arms from not doing this and it is manageable but it is Not Fun!

plug your phone in on the other side of the room. better yet, plug it in and leave it in another room. better yet, power it off and leave it in another room. "i'll just check one quick thing" do not underestimate the power of the doomscroll.

do a warmup. look up writing prompts (i like one-word prompts or prompts that focus on a general theme as it's easier to integrate into my writing style), set a timer for fifteen minutes, or ten, or five, and go ham. make it shitty or incomprehensible, as long as you make it. create a dump document for all your warmups. i currently have two novels in the works that started as one of these fifteen minute little warmups.

pick your background noise ahead of time if you use it, and look for something long. i listen to 3-hour-long silent hill ambient mixes on youtube dot com.

take breaks. around every 45 minutes, as i'm noticing myself begin to lose focus, i get up, grab a drink, get my blood flowing, and give myself some space to breathe.

sometimes i sit down to write and i think "every atom in my body is averse to doing this right now. i would rather dance barefoot on a bed of nails than open my laptop and start typing." and you know what i do? i go do something else instead. don't force it! it will become a chore.

that being said! write as often as possible. try to write every day. try to write at the same time. don't beat yourself up if you can’t, BUT the more often you write, the more often you'll want to write.

if you're stuck on a scene or a page or a chapter, go back to the last place where you felt like you knew what you were doing and start writing from there. keep a copy of your other writing in case you want to reuse it or refer back!

i don't know if this is something that will be helpful for other people but i start mentally preparing myself for my writing session a few hours ahead of time. i will say to myself, "today, at this time, i'm gonna sit down and write that scene where mina walks out on her book club, and it's going to be awesome and i'm looking forward to it." then, by the time i actually begin, i basically have the whole thing written out in my head and can just put it down to paper. it's a good way to at least kickstart the session !

ok thanks bye

TEEN HORSE GIRL MOVIE WHERE THE HORSE DIES AN HOUR IN AND THE SECOND HALF IS THE GIRL LEARNING OCCULT SCIENCE TO REANIMATE IT SO SHE CAN WIN THE BIG DERBY

One of my favourite questions for figuring out a character’s motivations is which qualities they most fear being assigned to them. Are they afraid (consciously or unconsciously) of being seen as stupid? Ungrateful? Weak? Incompetent? Lazy? Cowardly? Intimidating? Like they actually care? etc.

It’s such a fun way to explore into who they are, why they do what they do, what they don’t do out of fear, and how they might be affected by the events of the story. And I love when characters have negative motivations—trying to avoid something (in this case, being seen a particular way) as much as they’re trying to achieve a goal.

Do you happen to have a tag for the more mechanical aspects of writing?

Hello, I'm not dead! I'm just on a very tight writing deadline and accidentally let the queue die. Argh. I promise to get posts up and running soon.

Anyway, tags! You can find our tags on this page (some things are haphazardly arranged, but they're all there). Ones that might help are:

Grammar

Words

Language

Sentence Structure

Style

POV

Narrative

Edit: If it's not loading, make sure the URL says https://fixyourwritinghabits.com/tagged/ <- insert the tag you want at the end.

*taps mic*

Fuck NaNoWriMo

It's always been a shit way to write a book. Slamming through fifty thousand words in a month leads to burnout and a garbage draft you'll spend more time unfucking than if you'd actually just paced yourself.

I'm proposing Novel Outline November

Start with your idea on November 1st.

Write something for your novel every day. The only unacceptable amount is 0.

Attempt to complete the plot in 50K words. Stick with that as a limiting factor so you focus on what's most important to your story.

When it's done it's done! Everyone is a winner!

You will

Develop good writing habits

Challenge yourself to write long form

Create a base that can be expanded into commercial fiction (70-100K) or genre fiction (100-110K)

Happy writing!