#i JUST figured out how to find drafts so let me just.... process and stuff and i'll try to slide some stuff out to people in day or two

[greatseedling]

so i went on a little trip to see my family and tumblr changed on me pls bare with me!! i am lost, i am confusion.

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[skulkingfoxes]

A post-mortem of "Good Morning, Rose"

A few weeks ago, I posted my addition to the comic anthology GLIMM*R, a short comic called "Good Morning, Rose".

The reaction to it has been so uplifting and exciting. It really seemed to struck a cord with people, which, really, the best thing for me to hear as a creator. I absolutely love writing and making short comics, you can do much with so little, explore such interesting stories. The feedback I've gotten has been very heartwarming! It makes me want to explore short stories even more!

But, first, I want to talk about some of my feelings and about the process of making "Good Morning, Rose". This got a bit long, so you'll have to indulge me a bit. You should also read the comic first before reading this. Don't worry, it's only 8 pages.

Now the preamble is out of the way, lets go back to the beginning.

The idea of "Good Morning, Rose" was a nugget in my brain for a long time! Originally it was actually from the Dreamwalker's point of view, where she was a faceless entity who had a long term relationship with Rose and was trying to figure out how to explain that their relationships only were in Rose's dreams. It was a story about seeing, accepting, and loving each other truly and fully, and the trials and tribulations of getting there. Also a cute girl with an ancient eldrich being is always fun to explore.

A lot of it was too convoluted, emotionally and storywise. It also required to get into what the Dreamwalker actually was, which I ended up really not liking. So, ultimately, the idea didn't work, and I put it down. I ended up going to do my short comic Twigs instead.

When I was invited into the wlw anthology GLIMM*R and was told that the theme was "dreams", I decided to take another stab at the concept. This time, I inverted the pov, it's now Rose's story. And instead of a long term relationship, it was about the powerful first feeling of a perfect (maybe even too perfect?) first date.

One of the hardest thing to write in romance is getting readers to care about the relationship in the first place. To have the readers believe in the character's feeling, to be invested in their romance. This is even harder to do when you only have 8 pages to do it. Focusing it around a first date helped a lot in that case. There I'm not trying to sell that these two character will love each other forever and forever, just the fluttering first butterflies of realizing you're developing feeling for someone. It's why I leave it so open-ended about whether the two of them meet again at the end of the comic, or even if it was real in the first place. It's just not the point of the story.

That's something important about writing short stories, I find. You really have to hone in on an idea, on a thought. Take a simple idea and try to find all of the interesting layers. It's too easy to try to stuff a short story with too many ideas that ultimately go unfulfilled. In fact, the first draft of the comic, at the time called "Dream Date", there was a big problem with this and the pacing.

Here, take a look at the first stab at the roughs:

(BTW, there is something so fun about roughs for me lol. The art is so kinetic and loose, all about just getting the story across)/

As you can see, a lot of the ideas and imagery made to the final version of the comic. But both the initial readers and I agreed that the beginning and end were good, but the middle was messy and slowed things down. You can also see that I got stuck in the same problem I did when I first conceived of the story, it's bogged down trying to understand the Dreamwalker in a way that actually hurts the story. You simply dont have any room for bad pacing a short comic like this. I need to focus more on the character's and their emotions and exploring their actual relationship rather than blandly trying to explain the situation. A friend also suggested that I should hone in on the fluid dream-like aspects of the first couple of pages, especially since it's so fun to explore in the medium of comics. So I got to work gutting it out and trying again with the new, much stronger imo, direction.

Also there were some issues with the page format that needed changes for printing, thus the final spread had to be split up. Which is a shame, but oh well, it still works. I also honed in a lot more on Rose and her insecurities. I ended up putting a lot of myself into Rose. I'm glad readers seems to able to relate to her.

After figuring out the the story and the pacing, I went and, well, made the comic. Once you've done as many comic pages I have at this point, once you figure out a process, the actual drawing is fairly straightforward. Eventually, after thinking, and drawing, and toiling, and revising, and thinking hard about my life choices, I come out of the other end of the tunnel with a comic. One that I ended up really liking. One that other people ended up liking, which is always crazy to me.

I got a lot of interesting reactions to the comic. One demographic thinking it was sweet, wanting more of it (always a flattering thought), and enjoying the romance. Other remarking on the bittersweetness of it all, finding your soulmate in a dream, maybe never to see them again if they were even real in the first place. There were a lot of people remarking how they had a similar dream, one where they met someone they seemed totally and completely convinced that they were real and told the dreamer so, until the dreamer woke up. There was one person who asked if I had met the dreamwalker myself. Alas, my dreams are not this romantic and straightforward.

But all of us can hold hands, nod at each other, united by one universally true statement: big eldritch lady hot.

There's a lot of little bits I can talk about, like how Rose's dress is actively modeled after selkie dresses because I think they're cute, or some other trials and tribulations. But I think I've finished all I have had to say. I hope you enjoyed this and will stick around for my future projects! I definitely want to explore more short stories in the next year, especially as I am illustrating big graphic novels for my day job and don't have the time or energy for huge projects.

Till then, thank you so much! Happy holidays and have a good new year!

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 7 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, violence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 7: At Ease, Soldier.

Salem, unaware of your presence, had closed the gates. Inevitably, you had to climb a tree and jump out, tearing the train of your gorgeous dress in the process.

The castle was deathly silent. You easily escaped the night patrol, having known all the insider stuff. You had your heels in your hand; your make-up had run down your face—you must look like salt-and-burn material, you were sure.

In a few minutes, you turned the curve after the hallway beyond the stairs. Your room was the highest one in the Western Tower; that was how the castle had been partitioned after the New Law.

All you cared about right now was sleep. You would deal with the mayhem in the morning. Media would probably be there; ready to turn your every word into the year's scandal; brodcasting your shameful dealing of the Governor to the Continents across the world.

Your plans of sleep went to crap when you noticed the figure sitting at the foot of your door, his head thrown back as if he'd fallen asleep, his hands curled in his lap, and his legs were upside-down Vs.

You paused before him.

The minscule moonlight was streaming in from the window at the end of the hallway, lighting your door, and in that process, Dean. He seemed peaceful; his mouth opened slightly, and he was drooling from the corner. He was in shades of black and white, his dirty blond hair silver on one side and appearing black on the other.

You hadn't observed his well-fitted suit before: velvet green jacket, black pants and black vest with a white undershirt and Italian leather dress shoes. He even had a cute little bow up to his adam's apple, designed intricately with refined gold lines to define his status. In the sombre shades, his dark clothes fell prey to the onyx night—almost disappearing into the walls, but standing out all the same.

Peaceful.

So taken with his beauty, that you realised belatedly why he must be here.

To fire you, of course. Your image of him soured; he couldn't have waited till the morning, could he?

You wondered how much he would notice if you pushed the door open and let him spill inside the threshold of your room. If he was a heavy-enough sleeper, he probably wouldn't notice your moving him back out and closing the door to his back.

He snorted in his sleep, as if mocking you even unconscious. He moved to rest his knees down, trying to cross his legs in a more comfortable manner, you assumed.

Before you could move out of the way, his foot bumped into yours.

It wouldn't have been a big deal, had that not woken him up.

Definitely a light-sleeper, you frowned at his rousing face, shooting a longing glance to the door. So much for sleep.

'Y/N,' his voice crackled with hoarseness. Weirdly, warmth spread in your chest.

It was soon replaced by fear as the man drew to his full height. Without your heels, you came to his chest. You contemplated putting them back on, just to feel better about yourself.

You overruled that plan, and barged in through your door, ignoring him when he opened his mouth, presumably to scold you.

'Where have you been?' his voice was lacking the annoyance you expected. It was soft.

He's pitying me. That was worse.

You threw your heels at the foot of your bed a little petulantly.

'No need for small talk,' you said sharply, on to business. Your hands crossed as you flipped around to face him. The effect must've been diminished with your ruined make-up.

'What do you want, Mr Winchester?'

You didn't expect him to turn a bit pink. He veered his gaze away, his hand going up to scratch his neck - as if he was embarrassed.

'Selina told me not to bother,' he cleared his throat. 'Said you would need space, but, uh, I wanted to check on you,' he shrugged.

'I'm fine, Mr Winchester,' you said, though the clenching of your heart eased at the prospect of not facing expulsion in the same night.

'Good, good,' he shuffled awkwardly. 'Well, good.'

His concern touched you a little. It reminded you of how he saved your career once. While he was quite dislikable, he also had several redeemable qualities . . . More than perhaps you did—he was checking up on you despite you screwing up the chance he gave you on a silver platter, after all.

'Thank you,' you said. Stern and soft. Their weight settled heavily between the two of you. 'For everything.'

His expression mellowed with a brilliant smile—it put the arrogant moon to shame. At least he didn't look like he wanted to run anymore.

'You say that like it's goodbye,' Dean joked, trying to lighten the intensified mood. He expected a smartass retort his way but his intended effect was met with a flinch.

'You should leave,' you were abruptly formal. It gave him a whiplash.

'Did I say something wrong?'

'We can talk about my removal in the morning,' you stated.

'What removal?'

'Is it not enough that I'm being banned; do you want me to narrate it?' your English accent wrapped around the words so that it made them far sharper.

His brows crunched. 'Banned? Where from?'

You were incredulous, yet curious.

'This,' you waved your arms between the two of you. 'I-I crossed a line! I beat a Governor—'

'Who assaulted you.'

'You have no proof!'

Why am I arguing?

But you were right. You failed.

Dean strode with long steps until he was a foot away. His calloused hand brushed up your shoulder, and you tensed. Your instincts itched to punch him too, but your mind caught up to his actions. His rough fingers traced your arm with an unexpected delicacy.

'What's this then?'

You calmed your fight-or-flight enough to follow his fingers. Bruises marred your skin blue in the shape of fingerprints.

Huh.

You hadn't even felt them forming. Sure enough, even your other arm had it.

'I don't understand,' you whispered in dismayal. 'What do you want from me?'

'What?'

'You're being nice to me,' you said it like an explanation, raising your eyes to meet his. 'You hate me,' you pointed out. 'You had a good chance to ban me, but you aren't taking it. You're a Firstborn, people'll believe you blindly. Why would invest your faith in someone you can't tolerate?' You were at a loss with this man, why would he do you a favour if not to flaunt it in your face; if not to blackmail?

His lips pressed thinner, his hand dropped from yours.

'That man was a sleazebag, Y/N,' he declared the obvious. 'And I don't hate you.'

'I got you arrested,' you persisted. 'And you're still helping me. Clearly, you want something.' Your hands went up to cross again.

He'd never been more exaggerated with you. He hadn't known he could be.

'You should've stopped at nice,' he snapped. Everytime he took a step forward with you, he took ten steps back. He didn't know why he bothered at this point.

He turned to leave you alone; next time, he would listen to Selina.

He was halfway out when you muttered it so low that he was almost sure his hearing was fooling him.

'I'm sorry,' you garbled out like it was hard for you.

He turned to make sure it was sincere.

Your hands fidgeted, but at least they weren't crossed before you anymore like a goddamn shield.

'I don't understand human interactions,' you admitted.

He was just glad you realised it, he was starting to think you didn't have that self-awareness.

'But I'm a master-manipulator.'

'You've never been able to manipulate me,' he said. You gave him a look that told him not to test your intelligence.

'I haven't tried,' you confessed.

You realised the cavernous depths of your truth when you said it out loud, even to yourself, for the first time. Come to think of it, you subconsciously chose what people would bear the brunt of your stoicity. The only reason you've been resisting Dean is because you somehow know you can't - or won't - hurt him. You didn't have to resist your family because you loved them, and you didn't have to manipulate them because they would only want good things for and from you. And it scared the bejesus out of you to think of how you've been resisting Dean the hardest - he's the only person outside of your family who you . . . No. You're being silly; you can't care about this stranger.

And yet, the facts were undeniable.

'Why not?' he faced you fully again.

You were frustrated with that question yourself. How nuts would he think you were when you said that an invisible force was seemingly compelling you - giving you a reason to be honest and open with him without wanting to. You wanted to hate him so, so much, but an unseen link was making it impossible.

'I don't know,' you carefully put. 'It's like . . . there is something stopping me from . . . from lying to you.' You huffed then, 'Too bad for you - I'm so much more pleasant when I'm manipulative.'

It made him snort. You shared a truthful smile with the man. An understanding blossomed, and the comfort level rose to what it had been back the first day you'd met him.

'I don't want anything from you,' he said, candidly, trying to be sweet.

Your shoulders fell in disappointment. 'I know.'

Your attitude bewildered him.

'Do you want me to want something?' he asked. This was where he would expect you to lash out and hide again. But as it looked, you were fighting what came natural to you. You were fighting against your resistance, you were fighting to be honest.

'I, uh, well,' you struggled to get it out. 'I don't want you to . . . take advantage of me. You know. But, uh, well, I - okay, I wouldn't mind getting on a case!'

He tilted his head to the side.

'I thought you believed Leaders didn't work cases,' he said. He had been trying to make you comfortable by not letting you on one, by not saddling you on cases with himself, by allowing you to have an option to go to the light ones with whoever you liked. You had seemed disgruntled when Sebastian told you about it originally, and based on his best friend's advice, he'd decided to let you sit it out unless absolutely necessary.

'Well,' you frowned. 'Yeah. But you hunt.'

He raised a brow. 'It's not a competition.'

You got slightly defensive again. 'I know. I just . . . ,' you bit your lip, drawing his attention to them for a second. 'I just feel useless,' you finally huffed out. 'I want to help! However you'll accept it. We share a Leadership now, it isn't about you and I anymore - it's us. We can share the load of cases, divide it between us.'

He considered you for a long moment.

As it was, he felt like he didn't have enough cases without the Leviathans to keep him out of the palace that he found suffocating; he didn't want people to die, but he did want monsters to kill; the castle was too Leaderly, too formal for his tastes; like Hell he would split cases with you. But since he shared a Leadership with you . . . .

'Fine,' he announced. 'We leave in the morning.'

'W-We?'

He shrugged non-chalantly, but your hesitation slightly stung. 'Unless you don't want to.'

'No!' you said quickly. 'I mean, yes! I mean, I wouldn't mind. I mean - you'd be an amazing partner - I'll learn lots.'

He had to bite his lip now, to supress a smile.

This might be why he bothered with you; she's adorable.

'Mr Winchester,' you added, slightly flushed, trying to save your dignity.

'Good night,' he half-smirked, shutting the door after himself.

You were left mumbling the platitude back to no one, claret in face.

Your knuckles tapped on the see-through surface, the window droned down.

'What?' he asked. He had a to-go coffee cup in his hand, another one lying in a carrying container on the seat beside him.

'Where's the other car?'

You were all ready. Dressed to impress in your finest hunting attire, if not the most comfortable; with a camping back-pack snug against you.

'It's just us,' he corrected.

'Oh.'

That didn't make you exactly queasy; it was a new feeling you couldn't put your finger on. It was like a mixture of excitement and cold feet.

'Get in,' he ordered.

You did so, belting yourself to the seat. Dean let his car roar, heading it into the forest, beyond the palace gates. It reminded you of freedom; it felt like ages since you'd left the palace, you didn't realise how cooped up you had been.

There was rock music playing pleasantly in the background. You liked cars, long drives, and speed in general. It was the only mode of transport that didn't make you paranoid about your survival.

'I'm surprised you don't take Sebastian everywhere,' you said.

He countered: 'Do you take Boa everywhere?'

'I stay in the castle most of the times,' you said dully. 'You roam.'

'Were you this sheltered back in America?' he turned it on you again. 'I would think you've been on lots of cases.' He took on a teasing tone, 'Thirty vampires and whatnot.'

You smiled at him with an admonishing edge. 'I wasn't a Leader back then.'

'Wait,' he processed that. 'Are you more afraid of people than monsters?'

'We're the most high-ranking officers in the world. And there's only twelve positions. Competition kills, Mr Winchester,' you said. 'Last night was case in point.'

Dean's face twisted with fury; he was glad you'd hit the man where the sun don't shine; if you hadn't taken care of yourself, Dean would've been forced torture the man with his bare hands—his anger hadn't forgiven Neel Simone as easily as you did.

But that wasn't the point.

He managed to rein his temper, taking a few minutes to breathe it out.

'The statistics would suggest we have higher chances of dying by the other factions, Y/N,' he retorted when he was ready. He was hoping that if he took your name enough, you would melt enough to extend him the same courtesy.

'Them, I'm equipped to handle,' you clarified, picking off like you didn't even notice the long pause in between. 'Monsters, Demons, Angels? I get. People are not my cup of tea.'

How English.

You may have not been educated about the tree stuff, but the British routine, you had down-pat. It served to amuse Dean greatly.

'I can attest to that,' he laughed - couldn't help it. A hearty sound it was; made you smile.

'Amusing,' you tried to be snide. But your mood was too good.

'Nah, you take the fun out of stuff,' he playfully claimed. You narrowed your gaze at him, but he wasn't afraid of you to retract the statement; he did notice your analytical attitude though.

'Right there,' he said, waving towards your crunched brows. 'See? You're always overthinking. I shall be more worried that your face will be stuck in that arrangement forever.'

You would disagree but who were you kidding?

'It pays off,' you dryly remarked.

'At what cost?' he scoffed. 'Look at it my way. If anyone, we would be prepared for anything. We would be quick on our toes.'

'I guess,' you said. 'But I wasn't ready for trees,' you commented, doubting what he said.

'And you learnt a large part of it in a month and a half,' he eased you. 'You're better than most, darling.'

There was that nickname again. You wanted to request him to stop calling you that, but you were afraid he would take offense and it would dampen the good mood the older Winchester had going . . .

Okay, fine, you inwardly huffed. Maybe I like it a little. No one had used a nickname for you before; it was a unique experience—all sweet and intimate.

But it's not professional, came the argumentative whine.

'I just mean, a couple of apocalypses won't kill us, you know,' he continued jokingly.

'If Mr Singer doesn't change the way he thinks, a prophecy would be enough,' you rolled your eyes.

'Aw, you know him,' he said, as if he did. 'Just taking precautions. He means well.'

You realised his reverence for the aged man so you didn't ruffle those feathers. You wondered if he knew all the other Leaders close-handedly as well.

Instead, 'Can I ask you something?'

He inclined his head as if he were waiting.

'Where do your ancestors come from?'

Dean raised a brow at the sudden switch of topics. Then again, your brain could barely lay still on one.

'America,' he responded. 'Both sides. Secondborns.'

'Oh. So your paternal side came to Europe, and your maternal side went to Asia?'

If Firstborn Leaders were given claim over the land that their fathers ruled on, then Papa Winchester must've been a European. While the mother would've been from Asia which gave Sam, the Secondborn, a right to that throne.

Just like your mother was from Europe, making you an heir to it, after the Firstborns and all, that was.

'Actually, it was reverse,' Dean said, throwing off your calculations. You stared at him like he was a puzzle. He shifted in his seat, feeling the need to explain.

'I had the claim to Asia,' he started, 'but I gave it up.'

There must have been a buffering sign on your forehead that prompted Dean to explain more.

'Sam got Asia, Cole got Europe with Gordon. All was well.'

'But you've fought Amara,' you told him. Was it all a lie?

His dark smile made you wonder what links you were missing.

'Out of Leadership,' he said.

What the fuck?

'You just solved one of world's largest problems forever, because what? You were bored?' you tried and failed not to sound like you were talking to a misbehaving teenager.

He gave you a grumpy look. 'I gave up my Leadership because . . . I had the Mark Of Cain.'

You were aware of that from the lore. It set back your shoulders into the seats, and uncontrollably, your eyes darted to his right arm.

'It's gone now,' he sighed. 'It was the key to Amara's jail.'

You knew Amara had been a modern problem. But your family often kept you out of loop unless absolutely necessary. For the recent-most years, you didn't know any political facts of the world because your mother thought it best if you were to learn them on your own - part of your training it was. Communication is the best way, she said, we all need to learn to communicate.

'So you were cleaning up your mess,' you phrased.

Dean flinched, but you didn't notice.

'Huh. All that disappointment, such a waste,' thinking of how angry your mother had been, thinking Dean saved all those people out of sheer goodwill.

'What do you mean?'

You didn't trust him with your mother's opinions. What if you got her into trouble?

You just shook your head. 'Nothing at all.'

'No, come on, I want to hear that,' he pushed.

Your expression pinched with denial. 'There's nothing for you to know,' you warned him.

He eyes flashed with his own anger; he'd found another limit of you. He exhaled through his nose. The conversation tapered as a result.

It wasn't until miles had been crossed when you opened your mouth again.

'How'd you become a Leader then?' you asked, your curiosity far greater than the tension between the two of you.

He frowned at your audacity. He wanted to petily strike a deal that he would give an answer for an answer.

Somehow, he knew he wouldn't win that argument.

Maybe if he gave you another inch, you would be willing to open up.

'I defeated her. Lots of casualities,' his throat tightened around the last word. "Casualties" was a loose word for how much loss he had been responsible for.

I'm poison, his heart spit at him. He could still see the gravestones . . . .

'I remember,' you nodded. You had been happy then that no family member of yours had been harmed. Then again, the Darkness had seemed to concentrate her fury on Asia more. It made sense why now - her arch-nemesis was there.

You realised Dean wasn't speaking.

His eyes were on the road, but they were also far away. His hands were tightened severely on the wheel. His bottom lip was quivering.

'Mr Winchester?' you called him. He didn't seem to hear you.

You hesitated, but then you placed a hand on his shoulder.

'Hey,' you said. 'Mr Winchester, are you okay?'

He came back to himself, blinking more. He removed your hand from his shoulder as if it creeped him out; it made you pink with embarrassment, you folded your hands in your lap gently.

He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, he was robotic, answering just for the sake of it. 'I was made Leader here, after Cole was killed during . . . .'

You didn't remember a Cole. He mustn't have been an extraordinary Leader; you felt a passing of sympathy for the forgotten man.

'Where does your family come from?' Dean's voice was thick, and he was just glad you didn't notice - or, if you did, you didn't point it out.

'America, on my father's side. Seth took over,' you stated. 'Europe on my mother's. I'm an heir.'

Dean knew that all, of course. He'd been in this Leadership business half a decade before you came about.

'Did you always want to be a Leader?' he asked.

'Of course,' you said within a heartbeat. Without any thought. No doubts or qualms.

'Why?' he wondered.

You considered him; there was no reason to your wishes; but of course you would be a Leader, or a wife, what other option would a woman have in this world? You chose one of those two.

'Why didn't you want to become one?' you flipped the tables. If anyone would have a unique answer, it would be Dean.

'I asked first.'

You rolled your eyes. 'Fine. It's all I've ever known, done, or thought of.' You seemed proud of that exclamation.

Dean felt a surge of pity eventhough he'd sort of known that. But to hear it from you, coupled with your happiness regarding it, just made it more sad.

'Did you never think about a family?' he hinted.

You gagged. 'I hate marriages.'

That was new information.

'Why?' he frowned.

'You wouldn't understand.'

'Try me,' he persisted.

'It's like using a man,' you sighed.

'What now?'

'Come on,' you urged him to reach the epiphany. 'Whoever I marry, my mother will want a Leader or a high-ranking official, at the least. I'll be using the poor bastard.'

Dean didn't point out that you completely ignored the fact that men use women for their means all the time. He wondered if you saw the irony of not wanting to use men, when your own mother would throw you under the bus if it fitted her needs. Your mother would sell you to immoral men.

'Isn't that what you want?' Dean asked before he could stop himself. 'To be a Leader all your life?' Better to marry a good man and live than marry a dog and die everyday, in that case. If you wanted to be a Leader - this is the reality.

You looked offended. 'Of course not!' you said. 'I want to pave way into our history on my own. Not by piggy-backing credit off of my husband,' you said the last word like it was an insult. 'I'd rather be a good Temp than a bad wife. And if they like my work, maybe I'll be permanent - but all on my own!'

So, you wouldn't marry a man because you'd be hurting him by "leeching" off of him, but did you even consider, through any of this, about yourself? Did you think about protecting yourself in this?

You were selfless in unexpected places; Dean secretly admired you for it even if it angered him inexplicably.

You were unknowingly fighting your mother's ideologies - everything your mother stood for, and you didn't even realise it. At the same time, you were isolating yourself, hurting yourself in the process.

'And you won't marry for love?' he shot at you.

You grimaced. 'Love? Have you met me?'

'Right,' he smiled mildly for that one, albeit, it was with sarcasm.

'Don't tell me you want love?' you teased him by making that word sound breathy and sultry. It made his face warm.

'Are you done?' he rolled his eyes, even if your snickers were infectious. He didn't think he'd heard you laugh after that first night; somehow, you broke his anger.

'Well, but, be honest. Marriage: nay or yay?' you seemed curious enough.

He shrugged, his countenance giving nothing away. 'At one point, I dreamt of it.'

'What changed?' you pried. Then, you gasped - 'Wait, did you have a girl in mind?!'

He gave you a perceptive glance. 'You're having too much fun,' he noted. You didn't seem to gauge his series of serious thoughts at all.

'I thought I was no fun,' the fact seemed to make you guffaw.

'What's so hilarious?' he levied you with his glare.

You tried to cover your mouth but the sounds escaped still, muffled for your efforts. 'Nothing,' you chuckled, 'It's just - you're so . . . taciturn.'

He arched a brow, Explain.

You gestured at him in answer. 'Just, you. You're so hard to read!'

'Is that an insult?' He wasn't sure with you either; you gave him an equally hard time, though he wouldn't admit it. Like right now, you had switched topics faster than made sense.

'Compliment,' you amended. 'You're, like, you're special. And you're frustrating. All at once. I don't understand you.'

'Do you try?' he offered.

You huffed. 'You're just very human. With emotions. You, and your best friend,' you made your face. 'Probably your family, too.'

He didn't know what to do with all of that as you simpered down into your thoughts, looking out the window. He'd seen this happening before: you would stop in the middle of a conversation, forgetting that you were saying something, and look somewhere beyond, pensively.

It gave Dean time to understand you; it was like you weren't thinking of yourself as human. He didn't know how to interact with that.

Just like that, it was silent for the rest of the ride.

Crocottas; a few of them had invaded a small house on the outskirts of a town. It had went unnocticed until recently because it started getting greedy for food. While it had preyed on two-three human souls a year, it was now having a fattening meal of fifteen over three months (maybe it expanded the family). Mostly travelers who were unfortunate enough to hear the monster moan in the voice of a loved one. The Governor asked Dean for help because they had their hands full.

Your research localized the monster. Dean's brawn and practice got you a watchtower a little ways away from the abandoned hut. You were keeping an eye on the house with a shared binoculars - trying to establish the house as a monster's lair and not someone caught in the crossfire. You had insisted on labouring to make the hammocks, where you both could sit or nap.

'You are taking forever,' Dean growled, watching you work alone on the sleeping arrangements. You were halfway through one, and Dean had various ways to make the process ramp up - if only you were open to suggestions.

'Patience is a virtue,' you said in a clipped tone. The combination of the humid atmosphere and the mosquitoes wasn't making this a pleasant experience for either of you. You had slathered enough repalent on your skin but the buzzing of the insects still bothered your keen hearing. Dean's whining wasn't going to uplift your mood.

'Guess who doesn't give a fuck about patience,' he muttered testily, his eyes glued to the instrument of sight.

'Chill out; your knees won't give out until I'm done, old man,' you snapped.

It drew Dean away from his duty long enough to stare at your audacity - who knew you had such a sassy mouth? Surely, no diplomacy of yours was bleeding through right then.

'Old man?' Dean fixated. 'I'm thirty, dude.'

'Yes, and that's five years older than me,' you were smug.

He rolled his eyes. 'I'd like to see you climb a tree faster than me.'

'I'd kick your ass,' you said in amateur confidence.

'Yeah, right. Just because you can swing your own weight now, doesn't make you Tarzan.'

'Who's Tarzan?' your nose scrunched.

He scoffed. 'Don't tell me you haven't watched fucking Disney - what loveless world did you grow up in?'

It was your turn to be exasperated. You ducked under your loose construction for the hammock and snatched the binoculars from his hand.

'Don't be so overdramatic,' you chided. 'Just because I don't like television, or music, doesn't make me an outcast.'

'Maybe you should look up the word, you bookworm,' he made a face at you: a withering glare and a twisted mouth, as if he were watching an alien that disturbed him.

In your periphery, you noticed a movement that prompted your device to your eyes.

'Looks like a normal establishment,' you noted. 'A woman. Middle-aged. Just drew the curtains.'

'Crocottas can shapeshift,' he said.

You nodded. 'Agreed. It's also filthy in there,' you frowned. 'Crocottas like that.'

Dean shrugged, 'True. But you would be surprised by how many humans like that too.'

Fair point.

'Let's give it a day to show it's true colours,' you said. 'We'll discuss ourselves as bait tomorrow.'

'Who made you the boss?' Dean scoffed, even if he liked your plan.

'Oh,' his annoyance seemed to have a different effect on you. Your hands folded before your body, an irritated apology written in your eyes. 'I'm sorry,' you said, fake again. Tense and stiffened, 'Did you have another plan?'

He groaned, 'No. Would you stop treating me like that?' He pushed past you to work on the hammock, his hands agile and quick in wrapping the rope around the tree-trunk.

'Like what?' your lips only etched down deeper.

'Like I'm your frigging boss or something,' Dean said. 'We're equals - you said that yourself.'

'But you're my superior.'

'I'm not.'

'You're a Firstborn, Mr Winchester. And a man. You surpass me by natural advantages.'

'Well, I'm choosing not to use them,' Dean said, slapping the hammer into a nail hard.

You crossed your arms. 'Why so?'

'It's just not me,' Dean's explaination was simple enough. 'Look, you're my colleague. And we're gonna fucking bicker. Don't mean you should duck back into that corporate shell.'

'Seems fairly reasonable,' you contemplated him. 'Also, seems unlike any guy I've met.'

'I'm not any guy,' he said, proud of himself.

He was giving you evidences of that every step of the way. It was you who had a hard time believing him. Because if he was right, then he was infinitely easy to like and care about and that would just be stupid on your part.

Meanwhile, he had finished your hour's worth of job in minutes. He dusted his hands as a show off his brilliance, a smug smile creeping up on his face as he stepped back from the hammocks.

'All right, shut up,' your formality seemed to melt away once more.

Someone yelled your name.

You shot up from your half-dozzing state to full awareness only to be thrown off the hammock and off the watchtower platform altogether. Your hands grasped the edge in time and you pulled with all your might, coming up to a waiting fist that bruised your jaw. You endured it with a grunt and headbutted the monster in it's stomach, simultaneously pulling your legs up.

You landed another kick to a female teen on the edge of the platform - she didn't have the benefit of upper body strength or reflexes to survive like you did. You didn't wait to watch her splatter to the ground two hundred feet below when the guy who had punched you came to take you in a chokehold with an enraged shout.

Half your body was hanging off the edge as you wrangled with the man stemming your flow of air. One hand went in keeping him away from feeding on your soul while the other was discreetly reaching your dagger around the waist.

He landed a surprise blow to your nose and you could feel your nostrils collect blood. It further made breathing harder.

Seeing no other option, you pretended to lose control, your hand limping down to your side. Your other hand was tightly grasped around your weapon

His fingers around you loosened and he threw his head back to let his monstrous teeth descend. Your mouth opened in correspondence, and a white glow transferred from you, connecting the predator with you in a disgustingly intimate way as he began feeding on you.

It took your body a minute to overcome the shock but your mind was screaming against the walls of your head, making it pound. Everything went extremely hazy, you functioned on sheer experience and willpower.

You didn't realise your actions until your blade plunged down into the monster and the blood came down spraying, most of it on your face and some of it in your mouth. You gagged convulsively, squeezing your eyes shut.

Weakly, you shoved the body off of you, and then overturned on the platform to hurl over the side.

When two hands tried to grab you from behind, you threw a misplaced thrust of your weak elbow backwards; it almost made you topple off the platform again. But a gentle hand caught your hand. Another smoothed down your back, soothing you. Two arms with tempered strength pinned you to your place so you wouldn't topple over again. You couldn't hear the words of comfort over the noise of bile exiting your body, but now you were vaguely aware of Dean Winchester taking care of you.

The insects were too much for you to stay in contact with for long. Collecting the bodies, you both made a small pyre in a clearing a little far away and burned them. You called the next village for cleaners to take care of the house the Crocottas had infested.

At that same village, you and Dean freshened up. Brushing your teeth rarely felt as good as it did that day. You also took a long shower to feel the filth of the monsters wash off your body.

When you exited the bathroom of the local motel, you saw Dean munching on room service. He only bothered to look up when you stole a french fry from his plate.

And then he swallowed, his scold dying on his tongue.

His eyes trailed down from your pink one-sided off-shoulder t-shirt that touched your navel but left some space until your light blue ripped jeans began. You completed the ensemble with ankle-length heeled boots. You wore a long overcoat in public spaces, buttoned from top to bottom for Dean to have seen what was underneath any other time; he hadn't thought you were capable of dressing as casually as this.

When you flipped your hair right after towel-drying them, his gaze snapped up to you once again. Warm water had made your cheeks flush, and your wry hair did something to Dean; he wanted to see if he could smooth those unruly curls out with his fingers.

'Your turn,' you said, folding the towel neatly over your arm, never the one to be untidy.

'What?' Dean's voice was a little coarse.

'The shower,' you said, unbeknownst to his attraction for you. 'I left hot water for you.'

'T-Thanks,' he cleared his throat. 'I left some shrimp for you.'

You smiled, taking away the lid from the other covered plate, sure enough, half of the dish remained. You took the chair opposite Dean's and started digging in.

Dean shut the bathroom door behind himself and lightly groaned. He also mentally chided himself for checking you out of all people - what was he thinking?

He climbed into the shower - he just needed to get laid at some point. He could not be attracted to you. Yes, that must be it - it had just been time.

Outside, you had pulled up your phone. You were surprised to find no calls - as if no one had needed you while you were hunting. But you forced yourself to cheer up because you are hunting. That's what's most important.

And you would have to keep doing it if you wanted to make a name for yourself. No one should think you were living on the Leadership money like a leech.

'Uh, Dean?' you called to the closed bathroom door.

'Ye-Yeah?'

Was it you, or was his voice shaky?

The shower could've distorted it, you decided.

'Where are we going next?' you wondered.

'Uh, I don't know.'

'Oh,' you said. 'Because I thought if you'd not gotten a page, I could probably sift through the news and find us something,' you explained enthusiastically. 'What do you think?'

'Uh, can you - um, not talk to me in the shower?'

It instantly made you turn to the colour of beetroot.

'Oh, yeah!' you said, awkwardly. 'My apologies!'

'It's just . . . weird,' he defended.

'Of course!' you said, kicking yourself for not realising it earlier. 'Why don't I take a stroll while I'm on it, huh?'

You didn't wait for his answer and hastily escaped the room.

God, I'm such an idiot, you let your head thump on the closed front door of your temporarily shared room.

It was two more cases before the end of the week when you two started heading back for the castle. It was seven in the evening and you had just entered a five-star motel room to clean up and "hit the hay", as Dean put it.

'I'm just saying we don't need Leader discount,' you told Dean. 'They're sucking up to us! If anything, we should have discounts proportionate to incomes.'

'And that's why you paid for the next ten rooms in case some needful villagers stop by,' Dean said, side-eyeing you as he placed his bag on the bag counter between the main door and a wardrobe.

'I'm going to keep track of that, you know,' you said, like a business woman.

'I believe you,' he chuckled. 'Say, why don't you issue an order about it?'

You were appeased with that idea. 'I'll get right on it!' you were already removing your phone and heading for the balcony.

'Does that mean I get first shower?' he asked.

'Knock yourself out!'

An hour later, you'd taken that shower, and finished your calls and all those formalities. A continent-wide rule for hotels - check! You felt utterly impressed with the idea; and it would not have been possible if you hadn't been hunting and seeing your Continent yourself.

When you raised your head, it was to Dean's form lazily propped against his pillows and yours that he stole from your bed. He was on his stomach, intently watching the fifty-five inch television.

Three times, you had shared a room with this man now, all with twin beds. Out of the week, these were the only three nights where you both hadn't bunked in hammocks. And all three times, he'd asked for a room with a television.

You didn't understand his obsession.

These shows were being streamed especially from the alternate universes because the concepts of acting, sets and movies was quite foreign to about ninety percent of this world. The other ten percent was rich people like you, and half of you guys chose to not waste time; so.

The figures moving on the screen disinterested you, yet Dean watched them like a luxury he highly appreciated. His expressions changed with the flex of emotions the characters demonstrated.

You were more ensnared with his face than the inanimate box of stories.

You hadn't realised how much you liked watching him until this trip you took with him.

You observed him more sincerely than most people. You knew what he looked like better than most people you met, and that fact had taken you by surprise this week.

You didn't know Selina's eye colour, but you knew Dean's was green. You didn't know how the Griffith twins liked their hair but Dean's was cropped into straight badass strands that suited his gorgeous dirty-blond colour. You didn't know where your Governors' faces curved and flattened even when you'd spent hours learning them from their files, yet you knew Dean had a sharp-angled jaw, a straight perfect nose, bow-shaped full lips, and perfectly arching eyebrows; he didn't even have a fucking photo on his file. For God's sake, you knew his arrogantly confident gait and his handsome body atop the pinnacle of his bow-shaped legs. You usually realised his movement in your periphery even when you weren't paying attention to him.

You knew about him without even trying.

It tolled alarm bells in your mind.

Since when did you compliment the most random-ass things about a person you didn't even like?

'You'll wear a hole in my face if you keep staring, darling,' Dean smirked, his eyes religiously never straying from the flatscreen. But he was aware of you, as you were him.

You blushed hotly. That was another setback with Dean, he made you fucking blush. You always felt shy around him when he said and did things like that.

'What are you watching?'

Mercifully, he took your bait to switch topics.

'The Walking Dead,' he glanced at you. 'You mustn't have seen it.'

'Got it in one,' you said.

He uncharacteristically paused the show, turning on his right side to face you better on the bed away from the door. Another quirk of his was to always sleep on whatever side that was closer to the door.

'I still can't believe you don't like this. Or music.'

'It's not like it's a crime,' you shrugged.

It tickled him, 'You're so wrong.'

'I just don't understand what you see in them,' you gestured at the screen.

He got up then. His black shirt loose over his frame, and his black shorts displaying his legs that were currently tangled with his sheets. You had to force your eyes to his face, but your tongue licked your bottom lip unconsciously.

'Okay, forget the television,' he posed. 'Why not music? I've seen you dance.'

'At parties,' you clarified. 'When I don't have an option. It's always so rigid, so . . . annoying,' you said. 'People touching you,' you frowned.

'Haven't you ever danced with someone you like?'

'Sure,' you said. 'Always do, don't I? It's customary to dance with your date and family.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Outside family or whatever platonic date you bring.'

He had your cornered.

'. . . No?'

His eyes narrowed at you. 'You are hetrosexual, right? Or am I wrong?'

Your arms reflexively crossed over your body. 'That's personal.'

'You can tell me,' he assured.

You scoffed, 'Will you be comfortable telling me?'

'Sure,' he replied nonplussed. 'I'm straight,' he winked, just to fuck with you. 'Your turn.'

Heat licked your neck. 'So am I,' you gritted out.

The smile that lit up his face didn't make much sense to you. You were too busy trying not to hide your burning face anyway, lest it gave your emotions away. As is, you weren't able to look him in the eye.

To your dismay, it was only getting worse.

'So you've never danced with a guy you like?'

'I have!'

'It can't be your father, brother, or from your team.'

You glowered at his seriously curious face. '. . . I haven't.'

Why were you getting this third-degree again?

'All right,' he grinned then. 'So you're the hit-'em-and-quit-'em kinda girl?'

His inquiry was met with a blank stare. Slowly, the mirth was wiped off his face.

'You have had one-night-stands, right?'

'Mr Winchester!' you just about shrieked. 'That's preposterous!'

When his cheeks flamed, it settled you a little. But not enough to let him off the hook without a warning.

'You might want to stop talking about my personal life lest you want me to storm out and find another room!'

His eyes widened as you fumed. But he surrendered by resuming his show.

Despite the voices of the television, the awkward silence between the two of you was defeaning. You were stiff and ramrod straight on your bed, and he didn't know what to do with his limbs at all, shifting in his seat with discomfiture.

You groaned audibly when he paused the show again, a few minutes later.

'I'm sorry - it's just, was I the first guy to kiss you?' he asked, his cheeks consisted of red tints as bright as healthy apples.

'Do you want me to walk out?' you hissed.

'Come on, please?' he levied you with a pleading look that you struggled to defy. Your plans to walk out of the room and slam the door in his face seemed silly and uncalled for when his eyes took that sheen of a puppy-dog's.

Curses!

Reluctantly and regrettably, your voice came out softly. 'First person.'

You said that so low that Dean was half-sure he misheard it. He would've asked you to repeat it if you hadn't looked so embarrassed - as if wishing for a natural calamity just so you didn't have to talk to him anymore.

'First . . . person?' Dean confirmed. Your head inclined as if in a nod.

It made Dean's heart clench for you, at the same time as it did a weird happy dance. It made his urge to hold you strong - both out of pain and possessiveness.

As the reality of your words set in, his anger also slowly took form. No one before him had been affectionate enough to kiss you on your forehead?

Now that was preposterous.

He would've called a bluff had he not known you enough to know your truths from your lies.

Once again, he didn't know how to interact with this. It was like you were calling yourself a non-human all over again; and that would actually make sense because it appeared as if you'd never been treated like one.

'I'm going for some air,' you said abruptly. Only you knew how you were controlling your urge to fan your face.

Dean didn't have words to stop you even if he wanted to pull you into his arms and show you how loveable you are - or well, you can be when you're not being a freaking pain in the ass.

But his senses weren't computing fast enough, and he registered the soft shutting of the door.

He cringed at his inability to comfort you and fell face-down on the heap of pillows.

'I'm an asshole,' was muffled.

You had to take a few deep breaths before you could unlock the door. Your phone said it was two in the morning, so you had given Dean plenty of time to fall asleep. It had also been enough time for you to gather yourself without his unavoidable charm to corrupt your feelings.

While you tip-toed in the dark, ready to dive into your bed and get your four hours, hoping that that conversation would be locked in a box in both your heads - Dean sensed you.

His hand hit the switch on the lamp and threw light on your form. You froze like a thief caught. You pouted longingly for your bed.

'Hey,' Dean said softly, as if talking to a baby deer that could hoof away.

You sighed, 'Hello.'

'Look, I'm sorry,' Dean sat up. 'I shouldn't have pried - it's just unbelievable.'

You huffed, 'That's not a good apology.'

'I've told you I think you're beautiful,' Dean argued his case. 'It's just unbelievable that you wouldn't leave a trail of heartbroken men.'

Your brain confused your lips: should you smile or frown with that?

'I'm just not that kind of a woman,' you stated, walking towards him to stand between the two beds. 'And I don't like intrusive questions.'

Even seated, he reached between your chest and your abdomen.

'I think,' he raised a hand that made you tense. His fingers brushed a strand of your hair back behind your ear, leaving a line of tingling on your cheek and butterflies in your stomach. 'You're wrong,' he quirked up a half-smile, 'about being that kind of a woman.'

Your mouth was slightly open in astonishment and speechlessness.

He dropped his hand and retrived your pillow, thrusting it gently into your hands. He plopped down into his bed.

'Sorry if I crossed a line,' he muttered, not sounding sorry at all.

He flicked the lights back off which gave you motivation to find your legs again. You lowered yourself into your bed, facing away from the Older Winchester, feeling your heart rate accelerate for inexplicable reasons. It didn't help that your pillow now had his intoxicating scent all over it. And instead of shoving it away like you probably should've, you snuggled closer into it, hugging it with one hand, while the other brushed your head, remembering the time when his lips touched you there.

It was weird how his presence made you feel least like a soldier you were born-to-be, and it wasn't because you had stopped doing your duty. Somehow you were hunting and protecting while still feeling like this!

So girly. So normal. So real!

As the tow of darkness took over you, you couldn't help but let your heart flutter in Dean Winchester's name.

A/N: They're both like tortoises, huh? Slowly peeking out of their shells 🙃. Fun fact - "Tortoises mate when they're not hibernating. During courtship, the male tortoise bobs his head at the female, nips at her front legs, and then mounts her." Dunno, found it funny from when I looked tortoises up 😂.

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

[tulpagenic-help]

do you have any forming tips, besides repetition? I wanted to form a tulpa for a few years, but the only tips I have ever got his repetition and I have managed to form anything as of yet (to be fair, I did take a break to actually maybe plan out some tulpamates properly before I go to forming, but any tips would be great)

i'm a little confused about what you may mean by "repetition", but i guess it's about active forcing? you can try passive one. but if you spent a few years on that, you probably already know/tried. so, more uncommon tips from me:

first of all, focus on giving them autonomy, not a finished personality. they'll finish themselves from a draft, they just need a chance of free will and creativity. that's what develops them the best

form a routine. are you creating a friend? a lover? a queerplatonic partner? a sibling? someone else? think about how you usually interact with said people in your life, what activities you like, how do you spend time together with them. and now imply it into your tulpamancy.

you have to make forcing process feel like a fun thing instead of "nooo i have to do this boring stuff". let it be fun, quirky, interesting for you!

find what is the best and less-energy-consuming communication method for you. i struggled with low social battery for many years until i discovered pluralkit and then simply plural — for having textual chats with my willomates. it works so much better for me than talking out loud or even in my head. i love typing <D so i encourage you to experiment!

let them try a lot of new things. games, shows, fandoms, hobbies, music artists, you name it. even if you're just in process of formation, take any kind of feeling as an answer. i promise, you're not parroting and not "taking away their free will". if your intuition annoyingly pokes at you to tell you your tulpa loves this band, they probably really do. learn to trust your gut

encourage them to speak at random times. it's like imagining for them that they start talking, but letting them decide what exactly to say. but be careful with their personality, maybe they will hate the need to constantly answer your "hey, say something" calls. i'm lucky, i have such a yapper :"D

that's pretty much all that comes to my mind, feel free to ask for more tips or details! i'll try to figure something out if these don't work for you

[batbirdies]

I'd love to hear about Red Hood and Matches

Thank you, you bless me with this ask. I saved this one for last because this WIP means so much to me lmao. This is like, my next planned long fic at this point that im desperate to actually write but feel incredibly overwhelmed by because its not really like other stuff I've written.

The basic premise is that Matches Malone never existed before Jason died, he was a creation of Bruce's made to help him connect with the less fortunate and especially the homeless in Gotham after Jason died. So when Red Hood shows on the scene, he doesn't know who Matches is. Bruce uses this identity to try to get the scoop on Red Hood because the homeless and people in the drug trade etc are a lot more likely to talk to him than they are to Batman.

This puts Matches on Red Hoods radar. He starts feeling suspicious, thinking this Matches guy is maybe working for Black Mask. They have a number of confrontations, neither knowing who the other is. Eventually Bruce figures it out, but Jason still doesn't know. Thus follows Bruce trying desperately to figure out what happened to Jason, how he ended up here, like this, alive, obviously traumatized, clearly having spent time with the league of assassins, older, and so so angry.

My goal was to keep to comics canon as closely as possible within the limits of this obvious twist. I have done a lot of research trying to get my head wrapped around all the different comics events that happened right near each other, one after the other, including Block buster, followed shortly by Identity Crisis and Jack Drake's death, then War Games and Stephanie's death, then Under the Red Hood (and then after, Cass's "villain" arch). This fic would start up sticking pretty close to the events in UTRH, but I did stick to Tim being around at the manor instead of in Bludhaven (though he heads to sanfran to stay at Titan’s tower pretty early in the fic), and Cass is currently missing (ran away), being searched for by Bruce and Dick but with little hope of finding her if she doesn't want to be found.

every single one of Bruce's kid's is having an in process or building meltdown in this lmao, and he only has two hands ok.

I have a full 40k words of draft written up but if you're familiar with my writing you know that's not that much lmao. This fic would be a monster. Probably longer than clearly calm at 250k.

My "draft" is super rough so don't expect anything polished but please have a snippet of one of Matches and Red Hoods first encounters (snippet is 1200 ish words and it’s very rough don’t expect anything polished):

It’s on his way back to the safe house with the box of pizza in hand that red Hood shows.

He’s just walking down the sidewalk minding his business when a shiny red helmet catches his eye down an alleyway. Matches glances out of the corner of his eye, doesn’t look directly or slow down, and see’s him standing there with arms crossed.

He keeps going.

two alleys over the red helmet steps in front of him and they nearly collide chest to chest.

“Real funny,” Red hood’s mechanical voice hisses. “I know you saw me back there.”

“I try not to invite trouble if I can avoid it.”

Hood cocks his head to the side like he’s amused. “Interesting, I’d think butting in to a crime lord’s business was not the way to do that.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been butting in per se… just observing.”

“Right,” He doesn’t sound amused.

“What is it you needed from me?” Matches finally asks, glancing around them. the street is suddenly empty and Bruce isn’t surprised. Gothamites are smart, and potentially, Bruce realizes, this is what Red Hood was trying to avoid - scaring people off.

“Our man left the clinic early,” Hood growls.

Matches blinks, cursing internally but not letting it show.

“and what does that mean for you?”

“It means—“ and then he cuts off, rolling his shoulders and looking off to the side. “It means I don’t know if they guy’s ok.”

“Aaaaand—?”

“And — you have connections there. They know you. they let you see him before…”

“You want me to take you back?” Matches raises an eyebrow.

“…no,” Hood finally says, after some internal debate. “I want you to go check on him. Update me. You take me back in they won’t like it. Might not trust you as much anymore.”

Bruce schools his surprise. “Probably true… why’s this so important to you?”

“You ask a lot of questions for a guy who’s still on my shit list.”

Matches snorts, shuffles the pizza around and says, “Alright, I’ll go check on him. You expecting this to happen right this second or—“

Hood looks down at his pizza and says “let’s drop off your pizza first.” He says snidely.

So Hood wants to see his place. Alright. Nothing suspicious to see right that moment so Bruce nods his agreement and then they start walking down the sidewalk back towards his building.

And just like when he was driving him to the clinic it strikes him as vaguely humorous. Bruce holding a pizza, walking side by side with Red Hood the newest crime lord in the city, known for decapitation and having rules for his dealers, like they’re about to go share a pie together.

He could get information this way. It was the casual conversations when people put their guard down.

“You like Marino’s?” Matches asks, keeping his voice light.

Hood glances at the pizza and grunts. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh you should check it out. They’ve been around for decades.”

“I’m not much on pizza.” He sounds sarcastic and Matches pretends to be shocked.

“What? You lactose intolerant or something?”

“Ha, no.” Is the flat reply.

“Well what then?” Matches prods, gauging that they have maybe five more minutes of walking before they reach his apartment building.

Hood is quiet for long enough that Matches thinks he won’t answer, either caught on to the casual draw for information or was not going to entertain the lax mood of the interaction. But then he says, “Nothing compares to Sartoni’s. I haven’t been to a place that I cared much for outside of them.”

“Didn’t they shut down?” Matches raises his eyebrows.

“Sure did, when I was twelve,” Hood admits, shaking his head. “Nothing’s ever come close since then.”

“I remember liking that place yeah,” Matches agrees. “Turned out to be a mob cover didn’t they?” Bruce was pretty sure he’d put the place out of business, Batman having arrested the member of the Maroni gang that normally ran it.

“Sure did. The fronts always have the best food,” the mechanized voice is almost wistful and Matches forces a casual laugh.

“Hey maybe you should open a restaurant.”

The helmet makes a shocked static noise and Buce thinks he might have snorted.

“Yeah, it’s on my list.”

They lapse into silence then, as the building comes into view a few block down. And then something pings in Bruce’s head, loud as can be.

“12 years old huh? That’s young to peak on pizza… “

Hood stiffens suddenly realizing the information he’s given away, and Bruce doesn’t have to think about it, the math is calculating in his head before he can stop it.

“Sartoni’s… they closed down in… what-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Hood snaps, hands clenching to fists at his sides, just above the two visible guns at his hips.

It was six years ago.. That case was six years ago.

Red Hood was 12 years old six years ago.

Bruce can’t quite wrap his head around it. Young, sure, eighteen was not even an adult, it was a teenager.

“Just get to your damn apartment.” Hood snaps, He’s angry now, because he knows that Matches could easily calculate his age if he only knew when Sartoni’s closed.

And he does.

Bruce’s mouth is dry, worn leather shoes heavy with each step. He reaches the apartment building and fumbles to enter a keycode on the main door with the pizza in his arms. Red Hood opens it for him and gestures in with a curt wave of his arm.

The hallway feels narrow, with hood just behind Matches all the way down.

“Hurry up,” Hood snaps when he nearly yanks the pizza out of his hands when they reach his apartment, so he can pull his keys out and unlock the door.

Hood makes no show of pretending not to look around. He sets the pizza on the rickety dining table and waltzes in, head turning back and forth as he walks through, checks the bathroom, the bedroom, the linen closet . Bruce will have to check for bugs later.

“This place is a shithole,” he says when he reenters the main room, arms crossed over his chest.

Matches watches him, the tension in his shoulders, the stiffness in his entire body, the shallow breathing.

“someone told me you were young, but I didn’t expect a—“

“shut the hell up.” Hood pounds across the linoleum of his kitchen floor and Matches backs up, Bruce is very aware that he’s unarmed and wearing nothing but a minimal padding under his shirt. and Bruce thinks, it’s true, it isn’t any kind of misdirect or joke, because the kid realizes he’s given the information away.

“christ, it’s true.” He backs into his front door with a bump as Hood edges even closer. “You’re just a damn kid.” He sounds as incredulous as he feels and Hood suddenly slams him against the door.

“I’m no kid,” he snarls, the words becoming mangled through the distorter, as his forearm shoves roughly over Bruce’s throat.

“Yeah, real mature of you.” Matches chokes out.

“You’ll watch your damn mouth, if you know what’s good for you.”

Matches doesn’t speak then, just levels the shiny, impassive helmet with a long stare. Hood’s chest rises and falls rapidly, and then abruptly he steps back, removing his arm from Match’s throat.

“If you tell a soul, I’ll kill you.” His voice is much steadier when he says it, but Bruce can see the way he shakes out his shoulders subtly, the careful readjusting of his posture.

“Like they’d believe me anyway,” Matches says as he rubs at his throat.

Hood scoffs behind the helmet and moves toward the door.

“Let’s just get going.”

—

Honestly there’s so many little bits of this one I’m already excited about I might post more snippets lmao

[justheblueberry]

the process of binding a study in scarlette:

SO. i had a Vision for this fic, right from the start. so many new things i wanted to do and almost no idea how to do it. but let's start from the beginning, shall we?

i usually don't do anywhere NEAR this amount of brainstorming and designing but the fic has so many motifs and details that i knew i wanted to fit in, so i had to draw it all out and piece everything together.

here are a few of my behind-the-scenes brainstorming notes:

this was the very first brainstorm i did, it was basically me flinging a bunch of cool book stuff i saw other people doing at the wall and seeing what stuck in my brain.

this was an idea for a cover which incorporated symbols for each of the chapters inside the branches, but i just wasn't fond of the execution of the draft. so i scrapped it, eventually settling on the silhouette cover for the final.

i had big dreams! and not much experience to back it up with ! so after finishing the typeset, i put it aside for a bit and did a couple other binds first.

this was my second brainstorm, i started to figure out the direction i wanted the illustrations to go in, no longer aimlessly tossing vibes around!

i did a lot of waffling about different versions of the back cover design. here's a couple that i scrapped!

over the summer, i decided to finally stop procrastinating and printed out the typeset (after making a few revisions to it). it's a Chonk. i pressed it some, which helped, but it definitely still had a lot of swell.

sewing with red thread.

endpapers cut, glued, and a glow in the dark paint test.

built a press...up til this point i'd just been stacking a bunch of thick books on top of my binds, but for this one i needed a lying press to sand my edges, so i finally caved. who needs tools? my edge painted book needs tools :(

sanding edges with power sander

so. this was my first time doing anything with edges, so i did a little test on a book i already had; it was a bit of a process trying to work out how much i should dilute it, and it took a bit of trial and error. doing the bottom edge first was the right call ^^;; it's the flakiest out of all the edges on the final bind. i'm really happy with the fore edge though, i got a really even and nice coat on it.

rounding, gluing and (an attempt at) backing

so. it was the day before i was moving. i had run out of time to procrastinate any more. the rounding was quite rushed and i barely backed it at all. there was also the fact that i don't have backing boards and was winging it with absolute unfounded confidence. it still turned out okay though so i got away with it!

dug out a 5 yen coin from who knows where for the bookmark. didn't have pliers with me yet so i had to close the crimp with a metal water bottle and arm strength. who needs tools right

endbands. i love sewing endbands, but man, for chonk fics it gets Long. i think they each took like 2-4 hours to do. i briefly considered learning double core endbands for this bind but decided against it as i barely just got a handle on regular ones. discovery: my ambitions have limits!

this was my finalized cover design. i had planned to do it all with htv, but last minute decided to do the silhouette as a linocut instead. i'd never done one before but i had the materials and the fearlessness that only a beginner (who does not know the limits of fear) can have; i think it turned out good :>

the final stretch!!!! it was at this point, when i realized that the size i'd carved the linocut at would be too wide for the half binding case i had planned. improvisation time. i decided to switch from a regular case binding to a three piece bradel. i have only done case bindings and stab bindings at this point...and with only mild panic and stubborn hubris to fuel me, i went for it. i had already attached an oxford hollow and cut my boards, but it probably wouldn't make too much of a difference! fuck around and find out!

cutting the cloth and adhering the htv. the summary on the back was HELL to weed, and some of the letters ended up crooked. i should've just printed it letterpress, but i was running out of patience.

i followed DAS bookbinding's tutorial on youtube of his in-boards three piece bradel and the part where i had to tuck in the spine cloth in between the hollow was definitely the trickiest, but it went okay in the end!

after attaching the boards and gluing down the endpapers i was finally done!!!! after months and months of the unfinished textblock guilting me from the corner of my room, it's finally finished! fancy pics coming soon!

i learned SO MUCH from this bind, sanding edges, painting edges, linocuts, multiple colors of htv, oxford hollows, and a whole new style of binding....yeah. it was a ride! thanks for reading to the end!

[chirpingfromthebox]

The Frost's Post-game Press Session from 1/4/2025 - NYC at MIN

The Minnesota Frost's post-game press session after their home game against the New York Sirens.

At the table were head coach Ken Klee, forward Taylor Heise [Minnesota's 1st round draft pick in season 1], and defender Claire Thompson [Minnesota's 1st round draft pick in season 2].

Transcription is under the break.

[a cold is currently in the process of kicking my ass, so please excuse me if I make more errors than usual.]

[video starts on the last two syllables on a reporter's question, so I'm not entirely sure what it was.]

KEN KLEE:

When it rains it pours I guess. You know, we just, rolled with it. Had to call Maddie [Rooney] from home and tell her to get here. It’s just one of those things. It's pro hockey: crazy stuff happens. But I liked- outside of giving up the first goal, I mean, I thought the first period we played really well. We had a lot of chances. We just gotta find a way to find the back of the net and then, to me, it’s a different game. But kudos to them, they did a good job of not letting us get on the board to get going. And that’s kind of how it went.

Reporter:

What happened to Nicole [Hensley]?

KEN KLEE:

Uh, a lower body injury in warm up apparently. We’re watching warm up and she left and all of a sudden I’m like, ‘That doesn’t look good. We better go see what’s happening.’ So hopefully it’s not too long term, but, again, we’ll talk to the doctors and stuff tomorrow. She’ll get treatment and kinda see how she is.

Reporter:

How much warning did you give Lucy [Morgan]?

KEN KLEE:

I think Lucy was all of a sudden looking around like, ‘Where’d Nicole go?’ I don’t think she knew either. So it’s kind of one of those things where she didn’t have a lot of time to think about it. Just get in there, do your job, and she did a pretty good job for us.

Reporter:

I think Maddie showed up at first [???] timeout.

KEN KLEE:

Yeah, see, you’re ahead of me. I didn’t even know. After the first period I’m like, ‘Is Maddie here yet?’ And they’re like, ‘Oh, yeah, she was on the bench.’ I was like, ‘OK. Cool.’

Reporter:

I mean, a little bit- last year you had four goaltenders in the organization. Now this kind of shorthanded situation pops up today. As far as like emergency situations, you know…

KEN KLEE:

Yeah, I dunno. I think [???] was going in next if we needed it. [everyone at table smirks]. So, yeah I’m not sure. So we’ll have to see how that goes. Hopefully Nicole’s not going to be too long. Maddie’s obviously getting healthy. You know, we made the decision to leave her home today, just because she has been sick and we had two goalies that were healthy at the time. So we- that was the right call then. Then obviously we had to call an audible and say, ‘Hey, drive here and get here when you get here.’

Reporter:

Is this the most shorthanded you feel like you’ve been the last couple games now?

[This question is hard to make out perfectly as someone is breathing heavily into a microphone for part of it. But it’s something like that.]

KEN KLEE:

Oh, 100%. I mean when you take out the number of forwards and D and- You know, we’ve got some long term injuries, some just sickness throughout the lineup, up and down, we didn’t face anything like this last year. But last game we still got 2 points which is good. And obviously today, I think, like I said, if we score in the first I think it’s a different hockey game.

Reporter:

Taylor [Heise], you’re back, but I mean, are you- how close to 100% are you? Are you still kind of dealing with the illness a little bit?

TAYLOR HEISE:

Yeah, I was sick. But regardless of that, like you just have to go out there and play for your teammates. Wasn’t my best. Come back the next game and figure it out.

Reporter:

Claire [Thompson], what was tough out there today? With, you know, players you have out or how [???]. What was difficult today? Was it just tough from the jump?

[I don’t know what is up with their mics today, but they are incredibly sensitive. Once again a combination of someone breathing and a rather ramshackle question make it too hard for me to accurately get down.]

CLAIRE THOMPSON:

Yeah, I mean, I think early on we had a lot of chances. Kudos to Schroeds [Corinne Schroeder], she played amazing. I think we believe in the people we have in this organization and in this locker room. I think that if we- like coach said, if we got one early on that’s a completely different game. I like the chances that we had and I like how we played and the chances we gave ourselves.

Reporter:

Ken, how does it look for Zum [Grace Zumwinkle]?

[For the record the reporter seemed to actually forget her name and another reporter had to supply it for him.]

KEN KLEE:

How does it look for Zum? I think she’s gonna be out for 2-3 weeks. But I know she talked with the doctors and that. So they were happy it wasn’t gonna be longer. So I think anytime a player leaves during a game you’re worried it could be a long term injury. Which we think it’ll be 2-3 weeks and hopefully she’ll heal up well and be back for us.

Reporter:

Upper body?

KEN KLEE:

Upper body. There you go. Upper body. I like it. I don’t know if you saw her walking around, that would narrow it down. But yeah, upper body.

Reporter:

Were you surprised that Britta [Curl-Salemme] was suspended?

KEN KLEE:

Yes and no. I mean, yes I was when it happened and we saw it after, but I know the league is really trying to set a precedent that if they deem it a dangerous play they’re gonna crack down on it. So you know, they’re setting the precedent. So that means they better, in my mind, they better be watching every game, watching every hit, watching every penalty. That’s basically the message that I’m giving the team is that they are gonna be watching. So in that regard obviously we want the game to be safe. We don’t want players to get injured. We don’t want risky type plays that could lead to injury.

Reporter:

Taylor, how were you and how are you feeling?

TAYLOR HEISE:

I wasn’t quite sure when I woke up this morning. I think it’s just, you look at the people on our team, there’s just a lot of sick people. If you put a microphone in there you would have heard a lot of coughing and sneezing. But I think, at the end of the day, you just go out there and play for your teammates. I’m gonna be fine. It’s an illness, it’s not something that’s gonna kill ya. So, drink a lot of water, eat, sleep, and I’ll be good for next game.

Reporter:

Claire, you got the December [Insert pharmaceutical sponsor here]-Star of the month. Any reaction to that?

CLAIRE THOMPSON:

I guess I’m pleased with my first month back of hockey. Or, second month? I don’t even know what month it is now. But yeah, it’s a testament to the people that I’m playing with. You don’t get assists without people putting the puck in the back of the net. So we have a lot of people doing their job and I’m grateful to be a part of it.

[End of video.]

[librarycards]

You're a perfectionist and have experience with both long and short form writing, so I figure you'll understand this question. How do you know when to *stop revising* when working on something that's longer than a page? Is there ever a point where the urge to revise stops, or do you find yourself having to step away or rely on the judgement of others who are supporting you in the writing process?

ooh, this is a great question! i'd say that it is a mix of the things you mentioned.

for me personally: typically, i write until the text is rhythmically sufficient to me (rhythm is SUPER important to me and flow just matters a lot, more, i think, to me than other fiction writers i've met). then i tend to put stuff away for a while so i can look back fresh - when i finish something, i'm often too irritated by it to submit/confirm it's ready right away, so i kinda let things simmer until i feel ready to initiate the submission process.

also, i don't often send things to people to beta read or give feedback - just not my thing. i've done it before, and it *can* be beneficial, but i try to trust my own judgement. when i send things out and get feedback/acceptances/rejections that indicate to me whether or not a story is ready.

here's the other thing, though, and the main thing that helps with the perfectionism:

it's impossible to revise until "perfect" given the subjectivity of "good writing", but it is possible to revise into "really good/enjoyable/etc" based on my own taste, because i have no interest in publishing work i wouldn't want to read myself.

then, if you practice discernment in your submission process, you can send work to a magazine/editor whose work you admire - i do this. (quality > quantity. don't submit to a shitty mag just because they'll accept you!)

with an editor, you may well be doing more revisions. but you're no longer revising on your own. you get a built in set of feedback-givers able to provide you a new take on your work; even if you don't take all of their advice, their feedback can provide a critical look into your own writing tendencies/quirks. i've learned so much about my writing with editors just being like "sooo....why did you do that".

as writers, we often think we're working alone. especially if, like me, we don't regularly share drafts with a group or partner. but writing is a collective act and is irrelevant without readers, readers who are capable of seeing areas for improvement and further inquiry that i simply can't see, no matter how "perfect" i try to make things.

ultimately, i consider my job to be making my work strong enough that i can submit it with confidence that it doesn't suck. but the work isn't "done" upon submission. it doesn't need to be perfect, because i know i'm sending it to someone - my agent, editors, publishers - that i trust to help me in good faith to make it better.

TL;DR: i've learned to set aside my perfectionism (to a degree, it's obvs easier said than done) because the process of publishing good work under my name does not end with me.

[elizmanderson]

2024 wrap-up, part 1

part two | part three | part four

[ABBA voice] here we go again, my my—

anyway, now that I've put that song in your head, let's look back at my year

writing

book stuff

as you may know, my second book, The Keeper of Lonely Spirits, releases in March 2025! so I spent much of this year editing, then editing some more, then line editing, then copy editing, then going over pass pages, then over more pass pages... the process never ends (until it's too late to make changes)

(artist: Xuan Loc Xuan)

if you find any typos in the final book come March, instead of being annoyed about them, you should recognize their determination and give them an award for MVT (most valuable typo) and a kiss on their lil typewritten forehead. because they made it not only through my own fifty six thousand rereads, but also through my agent, my editor, my copy editor, and my proofreader, and I think almost every single one of those people went through the book at least twice

anyway, The Keeper of Lonely Spirits is a cozy fantasy about an old man cursed with immortality who hunts ghosts rather than making mortal friends who will die one day. when the residents of an Ohio town beset by a vengeful spirit adopt him as their own, he must decide: leave to protect his heart, or stay to save their lives?

link to StoryGraph listing

link to signed preorders through my local indie

link to unsigned preorders through the publisher

I also received my first ever trade reviews, one of which was a starred review from Library Journal! trade reviews can convince booksellers and libraries to purchase the book, especially if positive, especially if starred. they look good on a book's resume

read the reviews here:

link to Library Journal review

link to Publishers Weekly review

short stories

because I was so busy with novel stuff, I only wrote one short story this year. part of one short story. back at the start of January.

you know what happened? I let it sit for a few days for reasons I no longer remember, and when I came back I couldn't remember quite where I was going with it a l a s

anyway it's a queer Cinderella-inspired short, and I'd love to magically figure out a direction for it afresh so I can finish it in 2025

in-progress stuff

...we still won't talk about how revising last year's cozy mystery is going, but in my defense (a) I've been on deadline for other things and (b) just nine chapters in I had already strayed so far from my scene list that I had to rethink the whole book, whoops

mostly, I've been working on the second book that this publisher bought, which has resulted in a very terrible first draft full of so many footnotes and brackets that I would almost call it a zero draft, except I can't bring myself to use that term*

(*for myself. y'all use it as much as you like, if you like it)

literally it was 79,000 words, 6,000 words of which were footnotes-to-self so as not to ruin my fancy WIP aesthetic (Blackadder and Perpetua ftw) with comments

anyway, then there was a marginally less terrible second draft, which is what my editor got (a respectable 98,000 words with zero footnotes and almost zero brackets)

THEN I was supposed to take a break and not think about the book again until my editor read it and got back to me...but instead I immediately wrote a brand new synopsis, sent it to her like "seriously you don't even have to read the version I already sent you bc it's gonna look so different," and then a couple weeks later whoops turned around started rewriting the whole story

which isn't going great bc I really DO need a break, I can TELL I need a break, but unfortunately when it comes to writing my brain is like "NO BREAK. ONLY WRITE >:[" which is Not Good. but I am trying to let myself casually poke at it instead of going hard and getting it done fast enough to send to my editor before she can even read the version she has lolol, so that's something

no-context spoilers for this WIP:

(tried finding the original post but could not, so screenshot from the internet it is)

that's it for part one! part two to follow is here! link to part two

[sleeplesslark]

Fic writing ask game!

9, 10, 16, 26, 27

Omg thank you!

This gets ramble-y fast so going under a cut

9. How did you get into Fanfic writing?

I'm going to give two answers. How I started posting fanfic vs writing, if that makes sense.

I started writing and posting fanfic because I have always been more "in" fanfic than original fiction spaces. Idk why but the attitudes around writing in fanfic spaces have always gelled more with me. I wrote a lot of shorter fics but couldn't really get into it the way I could with original. I liked the process of fanfic more though, not having to advertise and not looking to make money of stories.

I struggled to find a fandom that clicked with me. The closest was Alice in Borderland but even then it just didn't stick in a hyperfixation way, more a "this is easy and fun" way. Original fiction was my hyperfixation for years.

Then, Kabuto. I've never hyperfixated harder than on him and writing for him was the reason for it. I think the best way to put it is that I'd never wanted to commit to a fanfic the way I did original fiction before Loyalty's Price. It's wasn't just, "this is technically done and I don't have further interest" it was "I want to write this story and write it well". In a way that's probably the best thing that happened to me writing wise, I hadn't finished a draft in almost a decade before LP because I got very perfectionist about it needing to sell and be worth real money.

What got me into Kabuto was initially his english voice actor's work (which is odd for me since I usually don't notice that stuff). Then it spiraled into me looking for fic and while I was complaining with a friend that I was curious about an exploration of him and Naruto's bond, which there wasn't much fic of, the friend told me to write it and I said "idk he seems happy with orochimaru. Ig i can't see how it would happen" pretty much verbatim. It was something on he Every-Kabuto account during the sannin deadlock that had me rethink that postiob and inspired the set up to LP (which is why the account gets a shout-out in LP fics). From there just trying to figure out Kabuto's voice and the Naruto world led to more analysis of the characters and series which led to more fic ideas...and now i hope genuinely I never stop writing him. It's the happiest I've felt writing since I started.

19. Are there any ships or characters you'd like to write but haven't yet?

Naruto, Misumi, and Yoroi. Headcanon, but I tend to have Misumi and Yoroi as survivors of the Nine-tails' attack, and unlike many kids they kind of remember it. I think it'd be fun to have Naruto interact with these two who were directly impacted by the Nine-Tails but are more neutral about it. Yoroi and Naruto also share something with the backstory I gave Yoroi that would be fun to explore.

Kabuto and Iruka, in a teacher student capacity more than a romance, but I tried to set up something for them in LP but it hasn't panned out, not enough room to let Iruka and Kabuto talk really.

I'm enamored with the idea of Iruka taking this polite but underpreforming student under his wing, not knowing he's a spy, and kinda pseudo adopting him alongside Naruto. I think his friendly but hardass vibe would be fun to give Kabuto as a parental figure and teacher.

16. What do you struggle the most with while writing?

Depends on the fic. I'd say generally anything physical like combat or smut that requires knowing where characters are in relation to each other and exactly how they're moving without it making it read like a script.

Resonance, I struggle with character voice, I hadn't written Misumi or Narutos perspective before which was a challenge, and tone. I don't want it to be too dark (lol it may have passed that signpost). I like analyzing my own work so:

Loyalty's Price: not just rehashing canon, I feel like I do sometimes. Early on confidence was a big issue. I could tell in LP and LP Interlude there were times I was almost like "haha yeah this scenario is impossible Kakashi wouldn't let Kabuto on the team" and talking to those readers rather than the people who were there for the what if.

This One's for the Lonely : (childhood friends au) characterization. Idk how to make Kabuto come off as Kabuto sometimes without his greatest tragedy. And plot, trying to decide the details of how this changes canon.

Inverse: (prison au) plot. It's meant to be very character focused but it can be hard to direct scenes or decide how to get to the ending. Part of me wants to give it a plot anyway but I'm not sure yet.

Shiver/Lose Yourself in Pieces: wording.

Oto's finest: characterization, Kabuto Misumi and Yoroi are a hard relationship to nail down.

I also compare fics to each other too much. I am too much of a perfectionist to the point where it actually inhibits more than helps.

26. Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing or do you jump right in?

Idk if this means before I start the fic or before the writing session and ahh, it varies. Sometimes I write and rewrite a paragraph for 45 mins before I get going. I generally outline as I draft whether that be on the computer or on paper and edit to that outline.

27. Are any of your fics based on personal experience?

How Kabuto and later Yoroi experience anxiety and dread is how I do. I don't do much research so I use personal experience with mental health stuff like that. Kabuto finding out about Nonou is more akin to like, a phobia-type fear and the way he feels post Sasori’s death and Yoroi generally is more like what ocd does to me.

If anyone else wants to ask me things and get a long rambling answer, this is the game!

[bluecatwriter]

for the fanfic ask game: 12, 25, 51!

Thanks for the asks! :D

12. do you ever have trouble focusing on writing? how do you get around that? 

All the time! Usually I just let myself be distracted, since I do this for fun, after all. However, sometimes I really do want to buckle down and finish something, which I usually accomplish with the help of a timer (just write/edit for 10 minutes) or by the sheer stubbornness of wanting to get a fic done so I can put it out in the world.

25. what’s your revision or rewriting process like?

Ooh, I know I've answered this before, let me find it…

Depending on the length of the fic, I may edit as I go, but generally I like to get at least a whole chapter drafted before I start editing. Then I just read over it several times, looking for something different each time. There's no set rule to what gets covered in each sweep, but in general it looks something like this:

1st edit: does the story make sense, do I want to put the scenes/dialogue/action in this order, etc.? I make tons of notes to myself here, stuff like "Add more," "You mentioned this twice," "Make this longer," "More transition," "Contradicts earlier" or "More emotion."

2nd edit: attending to transitions of places that got switched around, addressing all the notes I made to myself.

3rd edit: looking at emotion, clarity, word choice, balance of dialogue/description/action

4th edit: oh crap I forgot to put in sound, smell, and touch again!

5th edit: overall flow, adding the HTML coding for Ao3, coming up with a title, figuring out the tags, proofreading

6th edit: final-ish read-through

7th edit: saving it as a draft on Ao3 and then reading it on my phone; the change in format helps me spot typos and generally get a different view of it.

Then publish!

Sometimes I do less editing than this, and sometimes more— editing is my favorite part of the writing process, after all!

51. share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

I have one that exists only in my head so far where Jonathan, stuck at Castle Dracula, realizes that his one and only pen is running out of ink, and he has to try to figure out where to find a pen in the castle and how to obtain it without the Count noticing. (I don't know the answer to his dilemma… guess I have to write it to figure it out!)

(Fanfic writer ask game here)

[sloppysequinz]

hiii glitz [cool new nickname for you]

i was wondering if you could speak on your writing process? all your stories are so good and as someone who veeery occasionally writes i'm curious how you go about doing it? thanks !

[definitly not drunk-girl shh]

Ok definitely not @drunk-girl! I've been dwelling on this ask for quite a while. I really appreciated the question a lot :) This answer ended up being kind of long so I put it under a read more for courtesy. Also I loooove the nickname glitz <3

So generally my writing process starts with a little seed of an idea. It could be a text post or a photo I see on here, something that happens across my mind while I'm out and about, it could be a suggestion from a friend. Baby's First House Party came from being in a town where I used to go to school and feeling nostalgic about house parties, Step-Mom came from a story with drunken wetting on here that I just found unexpectedly hot, Meet Cute came from memories of when I lived in a place with a screen door that had a view of my whole living room. The idea just has to spark some kind of interest in me. Sometimes I recognize it right away, sometimes it takes a little bit.

Then I usually spend some time fleshing it out, just in my mind. For me, this usually happens right when I'm falling asleep. I tend to daydream about horny stuff in bed anyway, so it kinda comes naturally. I just spend some time figuring out character dynamics, what the "core" scene or scenario I'm getting at, and to be crude, what turns me on. I follow the turn on down the rabbit hole and let it take the wheel. Sometimes I don't realize I have a good idea until I'm lying in bed fantasizing about something I hadn't thought about before. Sometimes I think I have a good idea, but if I cant generate organic fantasies about it, it won't make a good story.

Usually by the time I sit down to write, I have a good idea of what the characters are, the key thing I want to get to, and how I'm going to get there. For characters, I don't necessarily have names, but a general personality and archetype. When I say key "thing", that's usually whatever I find hottest in the imagined scenario that I want to frame in the center. For Step-mom, this was the scene of her drooling on the table and grabbing her own tits while pissing. For Meet Cute, this was Mel staring in awe as Yvette chugged a whole can of beer. For the first Mona and Lacy story, it was Lacy drunkenly begging Mona to drink while calling her mommy. I have a rough idea of how I'm getting those characters to that big scene.

Usually I just sit down and start writing from the beginning, describing the scene as I see it in my head and writing any dialogue I've thought of that seems hot or in character. Sometimes the characters will surprise me and say something I'm not expecting. Sometimes I have enough momentum to just write the whole thing from start to finish and be done, but not usually. Usually I'll write the opening, then I'll just jot down bullet points for the rest of the story. As an example, I pulled this from a draft of a sequel to Meet Cute that I'm still working on:

Yvette's a little forgetful but lets her in

Mel has brought more beer and a bucket of fried chicken

Yvette has two of the 12 beers left and half a pizza

Wants Mel's help to finish the pizza

"Come sit."

Once I have a rough outline of all the events I want to happen, I go back and slowly flesh them out. Depending on how much time I've spent dwelling on the idea, I may take some time here to workshop what works and what doesn't, what's hot and what isn't. Also, sometimes I start with the juice scene I want to get to, then do bullets for both before and after.

Once I've gotten it all written down, I save it as a draft and leave it alone. I come back a day or two later and proofread it. Once I'm done tinkering, I tag it and hit post (sometimes I realize there are typos or mistakes and I'll just edit the post if I have to).

In general though, the strength of my writing comes from the fact that I am a 30 year old woman who writes for my job. My work writing is a very different kind of writing (which makes this a fun break), but all the same, I have a LOT of practice. On top of that, I have multiple academic degrees that required a lot of writing to get. I also love to read and have read a lot of books. My advice if you're looking to get better at writing is just to do a LOT of it, and to read a lot of books. When I first got into intox kink at 21, I couldn't even figure out how to write down my fantasies, and now I just can't stop.

[dusty-tomes]

Writing Report #4

6.23.25 - 6.24.25

Welcome to the final update of RMDO!

✨ words written:4,571 💫 WIP total word count:30,473 🌙 mood: 🎉 🪐 notes:

As of yesterday I've officially hit 30k words in Project Hare and thus accomplished my Rough Draft Month goal! And everyone cheered!

As I mentioned in my last update things are busy for me this week and are going to get especially busy starting on Saturday, so I was glad to be able to finish early before all the craziness kicked in. Also, I wanted to do a last update a bit early before I forgot about Tumblr's existence for the duration of however long it takes life to settle down again.

So! How am I feeling? Well, really good! Since Project Hare is a novella and I'm terrible at estimating word counts I did kind of expect to finish it during RDMO, but the fact that it didn't fit into 30k words does not worry me. To my knowledge the upper limit for a novella is 40k words and I think I have a decent chance of fitting into that based on how much of the story I have left to write. Anyway I'm trying not to think about word count too much right now because that's more of a draft 3 kind of problem for me. I also have a feeling I'll be cutting quite a large chunk of words from the beginning of the story because I think I was meandering around a lot with my words when I first started writing. Trying to find the story's voice and figure out how to best go about scenes and all that kind of stuff. I'm quite happy with the way the drafting process has gone though. I think I have a really good foundation to build upon in future drafts.

With all that in mind, what's next? I'm going to take a little writing break, but I'm hoping to get back into it starting July 1st. It might be a bit slow going because I'm actually starting an internship in July, but I have a plan in place for when I'm going to fit in writing around that, so the goal is to finish the first draft of Project Hare in July. After that? I don't like to plan too far ahead in regards to my writing. I can be kind of chaotic when it comes to creative pursuits and I've found that giving in to the chaos and just letting my brain work on anything it wants to work on--even if that means keeping a million projects on the go at once--yields better results in the end. Will I go back to SunDove in July? Unlikely, but certainly possible. I do have a new WIP idea that I've been marinating in my brain juices recently, but who knows if I'll still be in the mood to work on it after I've finished Project Hare. Certainly not me.

Basically, I'm just along for the ride. Hope you'll join me! <3

If you want to know more about Project Hare you can read the wip intro here.

If you’ve read this far here’s an excerpt from the draft as a little treat :)

But she was too incoherent, Georgie's words too horribly lovely. She could only sob harder and cling to her favorite human for dear life.

[cinnamontails-ff]

Your writing is absolutely beautiful. ‘The Accountant’s Guide to Taking Down an Evil Vampire Lord’ reads so well. It’s one of my favorite fanfics of all time. I was wondering where you learned to write? Specifically if there are books or videos you could share that had a hand in teaching you. Your character development reads so effortlessly… heck, your story reads so effortlessly. I don’t struggle to stay with you while reading. Would you be willing to give a girl some tips?

First off, please know that your ask put the biggest, goofiest smile on my face ❤ When I first sat down to write "seriously" (i.e. with the intention for other people to see it), I read a number of writing craft books, but what stuck with me the most was "Save the Cat" by Jessica Brody and "Story Genius" by Lisa Cron. Both of them were immensely helpful in figuring out the overall structure of the type of story I like to read, as well as choosing a protagonist who would fit the narrative and actively drive it forward. I've been writing all my life, but it wasn't until I read "Save the Cat" that I ever made it past the 50% mark in a story, and I still return to it for guidance whenever I start a new project.

I also always recommend the Youtube channel of Brandon Sanderson. He's one of the most prolific fantasy authors of our time and whether or not you like his stories, his channel has so many incredible resources that are all free. Like a complete lecture series right here. Another storytelling Youtuber I really enjoy is Tim from "Hello Future Me".

Apart from that, I think the best advice is to read. Read things you like and read things you dislike and try to analyze what it is that does or doesn't work for you. Look at the way they set up a scene, how they progress their characters, and how they make dialogue flow. Take the things you know you love and try to put your own spin on them (My fic writing style is probably best described as "Terry Pratchett on a really horny day").

Don't forget that stories are subjective and that you can never make everyone happy. The goal is to find your niche and write for your audience. I have been asked why I don't make my OCs more conventionally attractive and / or emphasize their hotness. The answer is that there's plenty of stories like that out there - they're just not mine.

I would also like to stress that none of my fics are first drafts. My writing process is very iterative; I'll fast-draft stuff way before I even start posting a fic and then I work my through the draft later and edit as I go. So what you see is the result of a lot of effort and thought behind the scenes, not something I just churn out.

Thank you for reaching out with your love for the story and letting me ramble about my favorite thing! I hope this was somewhat helpful. Have a great day ❤

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Hello! I’been writing a play for a long time now. Started it on march 2022, hit a wall that I didn’t know how to move through and decided to give it a break, let it breathe. The thing is, I can really feel I have something special with it, special for me and for what it means to me, but it’s like I can’t even figure out WHY, and how to give form to it. It’s like an abstract thing inside my brain that I’m not sure how to bring to life in a logical way yet. Cut to 2023, for a short time now I’ve been trying to do it. Do the old trick of “just write even if it’s garbage, but write” and I don’t know how I feel about this. There are moments when I feel that I’m going somewhere, where it just flows. But from a technical and objective point of view I can see that it’s really discursive and nothing really HAPPENS. I fear that I will turn out with something too abstract and with little action, but at the same time, the play revolves around the theme of “being stuck” so that is a big part for it not involving a lot of action. Anyways, I don’t know how to feel and would very much appreciate some advice for this weird kind of blockage 😅🫶🏼

This is a hard part of the writing process to get over, because when you hit this wall, it's hard to see around it. Realistically, you know you have to push through this crappy draft version to get to anything concrete. In practice, though, that's hard to do, especially when you have this grand vision that you just can't get down on paper. Here are some ideas to try:

The sounding board of a second opinion. Often talking your writing woes out with someone will help you figure out how to solve them, even if what that person suggests isn't anything close to what you actually want to do. I went through this process with my writing group earlier this week - in explaining a vague idea for Nanowrimo, a fellow writer made a suggestion that wouldn't work for my story - but it did help me figure out a missing piece of the puzzle to get that concept into a working story. Talking to people about your story can help.

Rubber duck it. Finding people you can comfortably talk to about writing is much easier said than done. Sometimes you slog through alone, and when that's the case, pull out the rubber duck method. It works for coders, it works for engineers, and it can work for you. Slap your favorite figurine or stuffed animal down in front of you, and let yourself talk through the problem. It'll feel awkward, and it might be slow-going, but it can really help if you try. I have a plushie of Gritty who sees all and judges, but dang is he helpful in working out what to do.

Speaking of Nanowrimo... I know you're worried about writing a lot of stuff that won't work out in the long run, but sometimes that's how writing works. You need to push through it, and sometimes writing a lot of garbage is the only way to do it. Erin Morgenstern originally wrote THE NIGHT CIRCUS during Nanowrimo - but as she admits, 100k of that original work didn't even include the main character and never made it to the final version. You gotta be okay with writing garbage. You will find your way through it, even though it might seem like it's going nowhere.

Nanowrimo is coming up, and I recommend taking advantage of it to push yourself through. Find a local group, join a discord server, and give yourself permission to suck. You can push through this and find the story you're looking for.