#I'm brainstorming really hard on this AU for the past few week

[soba-riri]

He makes a beeline to the open office just down the hall, nodding to employees as he passes. He peeks into the room, catching sight of her at her desk, stewing over the paperwork there.

Her blonde hair, carefully braided to keep it in place, is the same as always, but judging by how she’s rubbing her temples, she probably has been spending far too long at her desk. It makes him feel bad about what he’s going to present her. But duty calls.

He raps his knuckles on the doorframe, catching her attention. “Romeo Command, or should I say Colonel Forester.” Keith returns the smiles Muri gives him. “You know staring at those papers eight hours straight wouldn’t give you the answers when you’re tired, right?”

“And I recall telling you that I’m not a Colonel anymore, Greenwood.” She pushes the paper aside and leans back against her chair. “But you’re right. What’s the reason for your visit?”

Keith lowers himself into a seat, shrugging. “Can’t I visit to check in on you?”

She smiles, slightly amused. “I appreciate that. But I also see that you brought something.”

He sighs and hands her file. “You’re right. As much as I want this to be a casual meeting, there’s trouble. We detected a disruption.”

Muri frowns as she flips through the file. “It’s not someone from our time, correct?”

“No. There’s no reason why someone from our time would go so far back to mess with it.”

“Some people can’t be contained by logic.” She mutters. Spreading out the documents on the table, she quickly skims through them. “What are the casualties?”

“Six men.” Keith replies. “However, it’s recent, so the fissure in time hasn’t…” He waves a hand in the air aimlessly. “Caught up yet.”

Time is an extremely complex thing to grasp. It’s better for everyone’s sanity to not assume they can understand something older than the universe itself. The base line is, if someone messes with time, the damage can be subtle to catastrophic depending on who gets affected.

Muri grimaces, understanding his implications. “Right. Are there any men available to deploy?”

Keith blows out a heavy breath. “None that are knowledgeable in this area of history. And while I say we got time; we don’t have enough time to cram 1800s history into someone’s brain.”

“Right,” Muri repeats and rubs her temples. He feels terrible for dropping this on her. He makes a mental note to grab her some coffee and food later. Suddenly, she straightens and reaches into her drawer to pull out a spare phone. “It looks like we have to use Faraday.”

“Oh boy.” He grins teasingly. Time to do good on that coffee and food.

[tennessoui]

Hi miss Kit! So um, I'm not the anon who had the idea about the Pokemon obikin AU but I saw that you're still looking for a prompt so I did some brainstorming?

Obviously Anakin is aiming to be a Pokemon Master which is why he'll have to fight the elite four eventually. Which is not an easy task despite what the games might imply! So what if, despite breezing through the gyms before, beating Team Rocket and having a team that is powerful and adores him, he still fails his first attempt at the league.

I remember Prof Oak telling your rival after you beat him in gen 1 that he lost to you because he doesn't love his Pokemon enough which is bullsh*t!! But must surely be a cutting remark.

So ofc he goes to caretaker!Obi-Wan afterwards because he is a former Pokemon trainer so how has he dealt with loss before? Does Anakin really not love his team enough? Bonus points if Obi has challenged the league before (and won??)

I just realized that this is way too angsty for the Pokemon universe >.< everything is nice and soft here

alright!!!!!! finally!!! here is that pokémon au, a bastardization of this prompt and @sinhalbutnoangst 's prompt "24: Right before a passionate/first kiss & 16: “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.” For a Pokémon AU !!!"

I hope y'all both enjoy or at least find parts to be happy about!!!

(fair warning i don't know a lot about pokémon so who knows how accurate this is at ALL)

(3.3k)

(i've linked each pokémon name with their pokedex picture just so everyone knows what they look like. no need to read the descriptions or anything)(god knows i didn't half the time)

Obi-Wan is in the water, tending to a shy gyarados a trainer had left behind as a Magikarp a few months ago, when on the shore his flareon raises its muzzle and barks loudly. That’s her signal that someone’s arrived at the Daycare center proper. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, as he strokes his hand down the gyarados' side.

“I always tell them to call ahead,” he mutters as the pokemon nudges closer for more attention. “Why do they never call ahead?”

Gyarados knocks him hard in the arm. It’s clear she wants more pats, but business calls.

“Would you mind terribly taking me back to shore, dear?” Obi-Wan asks politely. It’d be faster than swimming all the way there, and it would strengthen the Pokémon's connection with humans.

On the shore, Flareon bounds around in a circle, tail flickering back and forth. It must be someone she recognizes the scent of. A regular then. That means Obi-Wan can take his time getting back to the counter to greet them, but he probably shouldn’t show up dripping wet in only a pair of swim trunks.

Luckily, Gyarados gives him a lift, bellowing mournfully to be left alone again when Obi-Wan alights onto the sand. When her trainer comes back to pick it up, Obi-Wan has half a mind to offer to buy her from them. No one who actually cares about their pokemon would leave a magikarp to become a gyarados under the care and instruction of someone else.

But becoming known as the Daycare Runner who gets attached to Pokémon and tries to keep them is perhaps a serious threat to his business as a whole. And he’s already done that too many times.

No, the best thing to do is to wait for the trainer to come back and sit them down to give them a serious talk about their Pokémon’s emotional needs. They’re probably young. Most trainers are these days. On some level you have to be in order to have the energy to travel as much as you do, to sleep on the ground more nights than not.

Yes, they’re probably young, and more focused on gym battles than their Pokémons’ growth and happiness. It happens sometimes with tunnel vision like that. Too many advertisements for the Pokémon League, the Elite Four, the Gym badges. Obi-Wan had been the same way when he was a kid.

He gathers his clothes from the shoreline and slips on his shoes. Flareon tries to help dry him out by wrapping herself repeatedly around his ankles and cooing out gusts of warm air, but all it does is create a new and unusual tripping hazard.

Especially when she suddenly perks up, about halfway to the building and jumps forward into a run. Obi-Wan stares after her, confused, clothes held in a slackened grip until he sees a very familiar growlithe running fult tilt from around the building. It hops the fence with practiced ease that makes Obi-Wan inwardly despair at the lesson it’s unwittingly teaching all of the other Pokémon.

But he can’t deny the way his heart thuds when he realizes what its presence means. His flareon, embarrassingly enough, seems to be thinking along the same lines, as she bounds up to the growlithe and starts winding between his legs instead, rubbing her head over every part of black and orange fur she can reach.

Obi-Wan sighs and shucks on his buttoned shirt, shaking out the water from his hair. He doesn’t even really bother with pants, seeing as his wet swim trunks go almost to his knees.

It’s Anakin. Anakin’s here. Anakin hasn’t been here for four months when he left in the midst of a shouting match. Obi-Wan has been trying--unsuccessfully--to put Anakin out of his mind. And now Anakin’s growlithe is prancing towards him like it’s a special present to see him at all.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pausing in buttoning up his shirt so he can pet at the growlithe’s--what does Anakin call him again?--muzzle. For a second, the Pokémon nuzzles back, scenting his face and neck as territorial Pokémon are wont to do, before it moves quickly forward and grabs Obi-Wan by the shirt, swinging him up onto its back.

Out of shock and a latent survival instinct, Obi-Wan drops the rest of his clothes and clings to the Pokémon’s back. “Shit!” is on the tip of his tongue the entire two minutes it takes to bound back to the fence, over it and through the welcome doors of his own Daycare.

Anakin is standing, back to the entrance, furiously tapping the bell on the desk, looking somehow both desperate and bored.

Growlithe barks once, twice, and shakes himself hard enough that Obi-Wan knows to let go before he gets rolled over upon.

It’s not the most graceful entrance he would have chosen after going months without seeing Anakin, to land on his back, partially dressed and smelling like the sea at the Pokémon trainer’s feet.

Anakin at least has the wherewithal to be both surprised and immediately worried. “Obi-Wan!” he yelps, turning around immediately upon his growlithe’s bark of victory.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan says dryly sitting up from his sprawl and combing a nervous hand through his hair.

“Where are your clothes?” Anakin asks shrilly, turning a very interesting shade of magenta and looking quickly away from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan couldn’t be more different, what with the way he looks at Anakin as if he’s starved for the sight of him. It’s been several long months since they last saw each other. The fight had been...awful, to say the least. Anakin had accused him of not really wanting him to succeed. Obi-Wan had accused him of the same tunnel vision he diagnoses most young adults to have.

Neither had been true. Obi-Wan hadn’t even meant it, but he’d been mad. He’d been mad that Anakin hadn’t even thought to listen to him more than a Gym Leader he’d just defeated.

Palpatine had urged him to go straight to the League. Obi-Wan had thought it prudent to return home to his mother, give his Pokémon a break, work his way to the island of the Pokémon League naturally as a means of bonding with and further testing his Pokémon. He has no idea who Anakin ended up listening to. It’s been something that has haunted him for weeks.

“Out in the back,” Obi-Wan grunts, standing and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity under the Pokémon trainer’s wide-eyed stare. Anakin’s grown older in the past few months, his face sharper. What is he now, newly twenty-three? Halfway to twenty-four? “Your Growlithe was quite enthusiastic to bring me here as soon as possible.”

Anakin flushes and looks down at his feet. He looks tired, Obi-Wan decides. Like he’s walked the entire continent just to show up at his door.

“Sorry,” Anakin says sheepishly. “I had--”

“Him out and walking with you, I know,” Obi-Wan finishes with a fond shake of his head. He buttons the last necessary button on his shirt and sweeps past Anakin to stand behind his desk. “You always liked having one of them out with you. How’s your Jolteon?”

“Twilight?” Anakin asks, sounding surprised Obi-Wan even remembered he had a jolteon. He tries not to feel offended. It’s an unfortunate truth that Obi-Wan remembers almost everything about Anakin, the trainer that used to hang around his daycare as though he couldn’t bear to step more than fifty paces from his front door. “He’s fine. A bit angry with me, I think.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, furrowing his brow as he looks up at his guest. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Anakin is quiet for a few seconds, and his hands clench down on the edge of the counter-top. When he speaks, his voice wavers. “Obi-Wan...do you think my Pokémon love me? Like, do you think I am a good trainer?”

Obi-Wan stares at him. This isn’t a conversation he should have without pants on, he decides. He slowly puts his pen down. “What happened, Anakin?” he asks gently, reaching out and laying a hand on the arm Anakin still has resting against the counter.

“I lost,” his favorite trainer whispers, looking down. Growlithe--Resolute, that’s what Anakin had named him--noses into the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan is not jealous. “I challenged the Elite Four, and I lost in the second round.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightens completely involuntarily. He hates hearing that after their years-long friendship, the last few years where he’d thought perhaps they were on the verge of being something more, despite his reservations, Anakin had listened to Palpatine over him. Palpatine.

“Come around back here,” he instructs after a second’s thought. Somehow, still, after all these months, he thinks he knows what Anakin needs. “And release all of your Pokémon from their Pokéballs.”

“All of them?” Anakin asks, sounding so unsure Obi-Wan’s heart aches with the doubt of it all before he reigns that in. This isn’t about him.

This isn’t about him, but he can’t stop himself from asking, just once, “Yes. Do you trust me?”

Anakin’s fingers hesitate on the seal of his first Pokéball, and Obi-Wan’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah,” Anakin finally says gruffly, pressing the release. “Yeah, I do.”

His altaria pops out of her Pokéball with a trill and a flap of her cloud-shaped wings. He just catches a hint of the jolteon materialize into existence before he turns his back. “I’m going to put on proper clothes,” he tells Anakin over his shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure your Pokémon will remember half the ones here.”

And all of the ones Obi-Wan calls his own, he doesn’t add. Anakin should know. Anakin’s known them since he was fifteen years old and surly over the fact that his mother wouldn’t let him go out and hunt legendary Pokémon until he finished schooling.

He finds his abandoned clothes quickly, and shuffles into them. Flareon noses around him curiously, with more than a bit of excitement. She probably smells Anakin on him. The thought doesn’t warm his cheeks, but if it does, he’ll blame it on the sudden amount of heat she’s giving off.

He leaves his shirt as is and doesn’t even bother with the vest or tie. He’s not here to be Professor Kenobi. He’s here to be Obi-Wan, Anakin’s friend. That’s what Anakin needs from him right now. A friend.

He fixes his hair anyway in a mad bout of nerves, but no one, not even his mienshao or flareon, obsessed with appearances as they are, are paying enough attention to him in order to soothe his sudden insecurities.

More than anything, he wants to be back in the sea, surrounded by the gyarados’ coils. He doesn’t understand humans as much as he would like to, and he certainly doesn’t understand Anakin. Not anymore. Perhaps he never did.

His flareon bumps at his wrist with the crown of her head and he looks down with a sigh. “Someone’s excited, I see,” he murmurs wryly, smoothing down the stuck-up fur of her hair and chest mane. She purrs. “Not the most excited though,” he adds with a huff as he sees a blur of white and blue from the corner of his eyes as the female Meowstic who spends most of her time strolling the parameter of the Daycare abandons her position to dart towards the backdoors where a newly emerged navy male Meowstic stands waiting.

They collide and curl into each other, two halves of one whole brought back together.

Well, that’s as good as any sign to approach Anakin, who has decided to collapse on the soft grass of the enclosure. Other than the Meowstic, his freed Pokémon have curled around him. The jolteon, Artoo, rests by his head, while his charizard, Mustafar, brackets the length of his body with his own. The growlithe sits watchful at his feet, while a new, unfamiliar pancham curls up on his chest. Finally, his gallade sits cross-legged to his side.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawls before he can help himself, “It’s very obvious that your Pokémon don’t love you.”

Anakin bolts upright at the sound of his voice. The pancham growls at him, a baby noise that Obi-Wan didn’t necessarily think the species capable of.

The Pokémon trainer hushes it quickly with a stern, “Vader, no.”

Obi-Wan comes to sit cross-legged in front of the man. “You didn’t have a pancham last time,” he says easily. What he really wants to ask is much more complicated. He wants to know everything. He wants to know how Anakin changed. When. Why. He wants to know what’s still the same.

It’s always complicated when it comes to Anakin. It’s never been easy.

“He was injured when I found him,” Anakin admits, stroking the top of Vader’s head. “But a fighter. I think I was injured when I found him too.”

The man seems so lost in his own recollections that Obi-Wan hates to interrupt. Carefully, Anakin’s jolteon, Twilight, noses his hand. When he’s not pushed away, he jumps into Obi-Wan’s lap with a trill. Flareon lets out a hiss, but acquiesces when the jolteon licks at her snout, accepting her ownership of Obi-Wan.

“I had just lost,” Anakin says slowly. “I wanted to come back here, rent a Lapras and just ride until I saw the shoreline I knew was yours. But I didn’t know what you’d say to me. How mad you’d still be.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip. He wouldn’t have been mad. He’d been worried, from the second Anakin left his property. But how to tell the man that? Would the other even want to hear it? Would he think Obi-Wan was trying to infantilize him, to protect him?

“I didn’t want you to be right.” Anakin whispers, arms tightening around the Pokémon. “I didn’t want you to be right and say that I wasn’t ready. And then I was in the forest, walking home, and I found this guy. He’d been attacked by a bug pokémon who was probably a higher level. But he was so angry still. I...I wanted him on my team. I needed that fire back.”

Obi-Wan suddenly thinks that there’s much more distance between them than there should be. He wants to be hugging Anakin, to be kissing his temple. These were allowances they had given each other before the fight, things that Obi-Wan had squirreled away, close to his heart.

He wants them back.

“But I keep thinking about how the professor who gave me my first Pokémon told this guy I beat in my first battle that he lost because he didn’t love his Pokémon right, and I...I’m just worried that’s why I lost.” Anakin stares down at his pancham, who puts his paws on his cheeks and pats a few times.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He thinks it sounds too fond, too revealing, but Anakin looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’ve never known a trainer to love his Pokémon more, dear one.”

“Then why?” Anakin asks plaintively, scooting forward until their knees brush. “Why did I lose? The gym leader of Cinnabar Island told me I would win!”

Obi-Wan, quite maturely in his opinion, doesn’t mention the fact that the recently defeated Palpatine probably had ulterior motives for Anakin to challenge the league too quickly and then fail. “You weren’t ready, Anakin,” he says instead, placing his hand on the other’s knee and holding it even when the trainer jerks out of his grp. “Please, listen. It's about sheer time, training experience. It’s not about you or your relationship to your Pokémon. You have such an amazing, strong relationship with them! They love you. Anyone could tell. And you’re not lacking in skill either. I know your mind is sharp and ready for battle.”

Anakin looks at him teary-eyed. “I’ve been so worried that maybe they didn’t know I loved them,” he admits in a wavering voice.

Obi-Wan can’t resist moving impossibly closer to his trainer. “Oh, Anakin, of course they do. Pokémon don’t always express or interpret love the same way humans do, but they do have their own ways of showing it.”

“Like what?” Anakin sniffles, wiping at his wet eyes. If Obi-Wan had really been listening, he would have noticed the change in his tone. As it is, he continues immediately, too focused on trying to stop his trainer from crying to think of anything else.

“A fire-type Pokémon wil try to warm you if they think you’re cold, even if it means staying up all night to keep you in in its flame. And fighting-type Pokémon are capable of throwing a blanket over you if they think you need to rest. Psychic-types have been known to read their trainer’s emotions and either hug them or give them distance whenever they want. Ground- and bug-type have been known to bring berries to their trainers to get them something to eat, and electric--why are you looking at me like that?” Anakin’s nascent smirk grows bigger at this interruption and he cocks his head to the side as he studies Obi-Wan’s face. “And what does it say about a man who spends all of his time around Pokémon, that he would do those exact same things for me?”

Obi-Wan at least understands enough to scurry backwards a few paces, much to the jolteon in his lap’s distress, who jumps away with a huff.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he says quickly.

Anakin inches forward, setting the pancham, Vader, aside. He really has grown in the past few months. The loss of the League, the months apparently spent on the road, have aged him so that he’s both recognizable and something new and wild. “What if I knew of a man,” Anakin murmurs, falling to his palms as he closes the gap between them. “One who warmed me when I was cold, covered me when I was tired, hugged me when I was needy, and fed me when I was hungry? What would that mean, in terms of Pokémon?”

Obi-Wan swallows nervously. His entire body is bracketed by Anakin. Anakin, who seems to have discovered his most-guarded secret in their months apart. Anakin, who is hovering over him now with a dark look in his eyes. Finally something in Obi-Wan gives way. This is it. He will give Anakin everything he asks for. Everything he needs. He’s always tried to do this exact thing.

“I suppose that would mean he loved you,” he whispers, closing his eyes so he does not have to see Anakin’s recoil, Anakin’s disgust.

Anakin hums instead. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers, exhale hitting his lips. “Obi-Wan, open your eyes. There’s nothing to be scared of, beloved. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

At these words, Obi-Wan’s eyes jump open of their own accord. Anakin’s lips press down onto his in a movement just as sudden. He whimpers involuntarily and reaches up to clutch at the trainer’s hair, hold him to his mouth. Just as involuntarily, his lips part and Anakin’s tongue licks around the gap before darting inside. He moans. It’s shameful, the way he goes from scared to sucking on Anakin’s tongue as if he’ll die without the warm intrusion of it.

It hardly feels like the first time they’ve kissed. It feels like they’ve been kissing for years, like Anakin knows his mouth completely and utterly.

There are so many secrets left between them. Obi-Wan’s one unopened Pokéball, sitting on his belt. Anakin’s relationship with that last Gym leader. What he’s been doing these past few months. What Obi-Wan Kenobi made his fortune off of.

But none of it matters now. Not here at this moment. All that matters is showing Anakin that he’s been just as missed, just as wanted.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan rolls on top of his trainer and shoves his hands up inside Anakin’s shirt to trace along the muscles of his chest and back. This was his. His, his, his. He had come back to him. Everything else could wait.

[ltleflrt]

Because I regard you essentially as royalty in terms of Destiel fic, can you maybe give us a basic rundown on how to write a fic? Or a detailed one, if you want. Like, what is your process? How do you plan it out? How/when do you pick a title? Because I've tried before to write multi-chapter fics and I just end up giving up on it because I either took too long between updates because ya know life and forgot things or because I didn't plan enough and no longer know what I'm doing.

Hold on hold on hold on...

*walks away for a minute and muppet flails*

Okay, I’m back, and thank you for the sweet compliment! :D

So, my process; I have one!  I didn’t used to think so, because it felt chaotic and without form, but as I’ve started helping other people with their writing I’ve started to see a pattern in how I come up with stories and make them happen.

Obviously the first step is the The Idea.  I get them from all over the place.  I’m a daydreamer, so sometimes they just pop up out of the blue, and in a lot of cases they’re inspired by some other media.  A book, a fic, a movie, a song... I think that’s pretty common.  I also have a tendency of looking at my favorite tropes (and I mean REALLY LOOKING, by consuming any and all of it I can find lol) and thinking to myself, “how can I flip that upside down?”.  

Kiss the Baker was the result of reading all the Gay Panic Dean fics I could find and reading them until I started wondering if there would ever be a universe where Dean didn’t have a gay panic.  

The idea for Satin and Sawdust came from the fact that I’ve written two fics tagged “Dean Thinks He’s Heterosexual” and it made me wonder why I never see any Gay Panic Castiel fics.  

Anyway, ideas come from all over.  And they’re fleeting, so I write them all down.  I have a huge list.  Whenever one of those AU lists comes around on my dash I copy my favorites into my list.  It’s very long lol.  Which is good, because sometimes I’ll come up with an idea like “I want to see Cas be the one who thinks he’s het this time” and get stuck.  Like wtf do I do next?

Answer: I refer back to The List.  Because sometimes I can pick out several of those ideas and smush them together.  I took Carpenter!Dean, and Dean Loves Wearing Panties from the list, and scrolled down until I found Veterinarian AU, and I start trying to connect the dots.

Remember in writing classes in Jr High and High School we were taught to make those bubble charts?  You write something in a bubble, and then branch off bubbles around it?  I do that in my head.  I start making things connect.  I cross out things that won’t fit.  I have a special file for whatever story idea I’m working on and it looks vaguely like an outline because it’s that list of ideas with notes for ideas, or snippets of conversation.  If I chat about it with my friends (almost always @jupiterjames) I’ll copy/paste those conversations into that file.  I’ll list songs... anything that gives me a feel for what’s starting to form.  If I have any title ideas they’ll go in there too.

Speaking of titles, THEY’RE HARD.  I hate them.  Occasionally something will pop in my head before I even start working on the fic, and I swear that angels sing when that happens.  But for the most part I have to brainstorm and brainstorm, and get advise from friends, and I google quotes about themes I think my story will encompass.  It’s a struggle.  My least favorite part of the writing process next to connecting large plot points lol.  But I’ve gotta have a title before I post it, so I’ll have something by the time I’m done with the first chapter.  

Just for funsies, here’s my notes file for Satin and Sawdust.

Anywho, that’s all the developing stuff.  I don’t actually go into the notes file all that much afterwards.  When I have big gaps between chapters I will, plus I’ll re-read everything I’ve written already.  But I hold quite a bit of that junk in my head. If you’re having problems remembering, make the file!  Visit it often!

Believe it or not, at this point, the story is still pretty nebulous.  I’ll usually have several directions the story can take at different junctions, and I don’t think too hard about them until I get there.  I think about my stories in more detail a chapter at a time.  I focus on a single scene, or the small group of scenes that are related enough to put in a single chapter.  I zero in on those details and forget about what’s going to come afterwards.  

Breaking down the larger idea into smaller chunks is the only way I can work myself through a 100k+ beast without going mad.  And honestly, I still drive myself a little crazy.  I have to stop looking at the big picture, or I’ll give up just because the idea is too overwhelming.

Once I’ve got a chapter done, then I take a few days and I start considering the cloudy visions in my head and pluck out the scene I think needs to come next.  It usually takes me 2-4 days of contemplation before I’m ready to sit down and make words happen again.  Writing a 4k-8k chapter takes me 2-3 days.  So between the contemplation break and the actual writing, I take about a week.  

Life definitely gets in the way sometimes.  When I was in the middle of Addicted To You, I had reconstructive surgery on my face.  I was doped up on super strong pain meds and couldn’t wear my glasses for almost a month.  So obviously I took some time off, and I was SO MISERABLE (seriously, don’t break your face, it’s the worst) that I couldn’t even think about the story, much less writing.  When I felt well enough to get back to it I re-read what I had already twice, plus went over my notes file, plus I listened to all the dirty sex songs I could find to get my mind back into the groove for it.  It felt like doing homework, but it was the only way I could remember wtf I was doing.  I’m sure I lost some of my initial plans, but that’s normal with any story I work on.  And it turned out okay lol

And last of all, find someone who’ll let you ramble at them about your stories.  Someone who will genuinely pay attention, not just nod and smile.  I did a lot of writing on my own, but a lot of my Dragon Age and Mass Effect fics wouldn’t exist without @hot-elf being my sounding board and cheerleader.  And same goes for my Supernatural fics and @jupiterjames.  I would probably have written just a tiny fraction of my stories if it weren’t for them.  Chatting about my stories helps me develop my ideas, and keeps me motivated.  When I’m stressed I’ll send a chapter to JJ with just a request to Validate Me! and she always knows how to talk me out of my angst.  I will talk out my ideas with other people as well, but they’ve been the biggest influences on my writing, so THANKS LADIES I LOVE YOU! 

Writing Buddies Are The Best.  

Anyway, that’s about all I have to say about my process.  I hope it answered all your questions and gave you some ideas on how to work on your own stuff.  And if you ever have an idea you want to talk about, feel free to send me chat messages :D