#i wrote this twice because i lost the first draft

[deanstead]

With Spencer

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N deals with the wave of anxiety that hits her after Spencer's conference

Word Count: 900+

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, anxiety, insecurities

A/N: Had to get this out of my head so I wrote this on a whim, then it sat in my drafts because I was worried it sucked (still am) but @halsteadlover once again threatened to kick my ass (because that's how we communicate love) so I'm posting this. Please do not shoot me if it sucks lol.

SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

You stood off to the side of the spacious conference hall, quietly watching as people approached him after his spotlight presentation.

You’d have been able to spot him anywhere he was standing even if the place was twice as crowded as it was now.

There seemed to be something that had drawn you to him almost automatically since the first time you met, and he seemed to emit a glow that only you could see.

Spencer raised his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours effortlessly, and he smiled softly at you before his attention was drawn back to the person next to him.

You couldn’t help the small smile that flit across your face, accompanied by the familiar flutter in your gut that only Spencer managed to make you feel.

At the same time, a darker swirl of insecurity seemed to rise up to meet the innocent butterfly flitting around in your stomach.

It wasn’t new. This feeling of being inadequate next to Spencer, the feeling that he was made for greater things and that maybe somehow you were holding him back. It was totally irrational but the thought still greeted you once in a while. Sometimes it reared its head when he made a joke that you didn’t totally get or when he started rambling and you lost him halfway. But even if that wasn’t it, personally watching him stand up in front of an entire conference hall and deliver facts and research you didn’t fully grasp would definitely do it.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, lost in your thoughts while trying to keep the dark swirl of anxiety as controlled as possible.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect to take so long.”

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you smiled back at him, although the look in his eyes told you that he knew something was up.

Spencer didn’t ask, merely smiling as he let you lead the way out of the hall and to the car.

It was about halfway through the car ride back that you realized you’d been a little too quiet. But that realization was too late.

“You okay?” Spencer asked quietly.

You looked up into his hazel eyes and tried a smile.

Spencer didn’t say anything, his eyes flicking back to the road before he made a deviation in his route and you raised your eyebrows.

“Caffeine replenish.” He said quietly, as if he could read your mind.

You watched Spencer as he stood at the counter, letting the intrusive thought of ‘maybe coming with him wasn’t such a great idea’ creep into your head.

When Spencer had asked if you wanted to come, all you’d thought about had been how happy you were that he wanted you there, and about how you’d take any extra time you could spend with Spencer before work whisked him away again.

You wondered if you would still have come if you’d known how you would be feeling now. Yet, something told you that you would have. Nothing would have deterred you from time with Spencer.

That thought was merely reinforced when Spencer slid into the seat opposite you, armed with your favorite coffee order.

After a short silence, Spencer broke it. "You okay?"

You nodded, then you shrugged realizing how futile it was to try to hide your emotions from your profiler boyfriend who was sitting opposite you.

You looked back down at your coffee, and sighed.

“You were amazing today, Spence. Really amazing.”

Spencer smiled back at you, the shy smile that seemed to be reserved just for you and you felt your heart flutter once again.

“You are amazing. And I just… well, I’m not.”

Spencer blinked back at you.

“Actually, recent studies have shown that couples are indeed more likely to be similar than different, but it also shows that other than similarities, complementary skills and features are just as important…” He paused mid-sentence. “I’m rambling again, right?”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“What I’m saying is, you are amazing.” Spencer concluded.

Now, it was your turn to blink back at him.

“You have no idea. I can explain a lot of things, Y/N. But I can’t explain this. I can’t explain why we fit together like the last two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t seem likely but are actually the only two pieces that are supposed to be together. We just are.”

You ran your finger across the rim of your mug and Spencer reached out for your hand, taking it and playing gently with your fingers, almost like a habit.

“We are meant to be, crazy as that sounds coming from me.” Spencer laughed as he said it.

You let out a small chuckle.

“So don’t…” Spencer said, his voice dropping lower just slightly as his voice trailed off.

You glanced up now, unable to miss the crack of slight insecurity in his voice and you realized he was just as scared as you were.

Spencer smiled. "See? Similarity."

Sliding your hand out of his grasp momentarily, you made your way to sit by him in the small corner booth, sitting as close as you could before you slipped your hand back into his.

“I could never.” You whispered, in response to the sentence Spencer hadn't been able to bring himself to finish.

Spencer didn’t answer, just leaned toward you, taking your face gently in his hands as he pressed his lips against yours, almost like he was sealing a deal. You smiled against his touch, pulling closer to him, before you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck.

The dark swirl was still there in the pit of your stomach, although it was slightly muted, but somehow but it didn’t matter because Spencer was here as well.

And as long as you had Spencer, the dark swirl had nothing on you.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

The Boys

***My weird head-canons about the boys. Don’t judge me, I know I’m weird. 🤪***

Aiello

-Most definitely a cat person.

-Played baseball since he was a kid and considered going pro but then decided against it.

-Wants to get married but the girls think he’s not husband material despite being pretty good looking.

-A great artist but thinks its not a masculine trait (whatever that means), so he doesn’t do it often or really tell anyone about it.

-A giant momma’s boy. He cried when saying goodbye to her the day he got shipped out and wrote her letters at least once a week. Probably cried at least once while he was gone because he missed her.

-Missed his mom’s cooking to the point that he’d dream about it then wake up starving.

-The youngest of four kids and the only boy. His sisters tortured him with dress up and dolls when he was a kid.

-Not sure if he wants kids of his own but is willing to be the cool uncle.

-Once caught the stove on fire by accident and pretended he found it like that. His parents still have no idea.

-Got hit in the back of the head with an aluminum baseball bat once, cracked his head open, and had to get stitches. His hair still doesn’t grow in that spot but he manages to cover it up.

Stiles

-Definitely somewhere on the autism spectrum. Special interests: philosophy, ancient Greece, Edgar Allen Poe, and of course photography.

-Mom was a single mom majority of his childhood so he is decidedly a momma’s boy. Also very much a feminist.

-He’s got a raging sweet tooth. If it has sugar, he most likely loves it. Especially if its cake.

-Doesn’t really drink because, “I like to be in charge of my mental faculties at all times.”

-So very, very awkward with girls. He tries talking to one, says something he doesn’t realize is creepy and/or weird and scares her off. He still hasn’t had a girlfriend at the age of 22.

-His little sister tries to help him but she thinks he’s a lost cause and is doomed to a life of singleness.

-Once he realized he was most likely getting drafted into WW2 he started researching military tactics because “you can never be too prepared”

-Loved ‘The Hobbit’ as a kid. He’s owned several copies of it over the years because he reads it at least twice a month and they just keep falling apart.

-He was thrilled when Tolkien published ‘Lord of the Rings’ and read it in a weekend.

-Still has his childhood teddy bear and keeps it on his bookshelf. Sometimes he pulls it down to sit in the armchair with him while he reads.

Zussman

-He’d definitely live off of hotdogs and mac n cheese if you let him.

- He was an only child until he was 12 when his parents unexpectedly had his baby sister. He wasn’t excited at first but doted on her constantly once she was born.

-According to her, he’s her best friend. He’d never admit to it at the risk of being called a sissy, but he feels the same way.

-She bawled in his arms the day he left and said she wanted to go with him. He somehow held it together, but after he got on the train he started crying too.

-Whenever he wanted to give up and die while he was a POW he’d think of how she’d feel if he wasn’t there to braid her hair anymore or take her on their “Leah and Robbie dates” and that gave him the strength he needed to push on just one more day.

-Yes he learned how to braid her hair because she wanted him to do it one day and he was upset that he didn’t know how.

-Once he got home, his family refused to let him out of their sights.

-Plays pranks on his family. Sometimes Leah helps, but most of the time its just him booby trapping something and their parents setting them off.

- ‘Robert Cohen Zussman’ said in a very annoyed and somewhat angry tone is very often heard in that house. Along with “What on earth possessed you to do that?” and “What is wrong with you?”

-Although once they realize how close they were to losing him they don’t really mind it as much.

Daniels

-Loves barbecue.

-Enlisted to fight rather than get drafted because either way he was gonna have to go fight and it may as well be on his own terms.

-Is practically married to his grill in the summer. Hazel jokes that he loves it more than her and that he should leave her for it.

-Terrified of clowns. No idea why. They just freak him out.

-Was once dive-bombed and chased by an angry raccoon while Aiello, Stiles, and Zussman were visiting. Zuss had to shoo it away with the broom. After he finished laughing that is.

[tryslora]

learning sentence level editing

It’s no secret that I hate editing.

I’ve told this story before: When I was in high school, I had an English teacher who told us on our first day of sophomore honors English that she would not give an A for a first draft. She had a rigorous outlining/drafting process that she was determined to teach us. Me, I had undiagnosed ADHD and was a dyed-in-the-wool pantser. So I resolved on that first day that by the end of my time with her, I would get an A on a first draft.

My final essay of junior year AP English (yes, same teacher two years in a row), I wrote about Victorian morals and literature. I read it aloud. I got an A. I only ever wrote one draft.

What that taught me was how to write very technically clean drafts, something that has stayed with me for almost four decades now. Which is great!

What it did not teach me was how to be patient enough to properly edit. And I have never really learned. In fact, that is one of my ADHD sticking points (yes, I know, that’s obvious from my reaction to her statement in the story above). I often feel that a large part of the reason I have never made it as a writer—have never broken into tradpub—is because I do not have the patience to not only write, but then create an outline from the draft, then rewrite, then do it all over again and fiddle with each sentence until it’s perfect.

I’m learning, but I’ll admit, I’m still not there, and I’m not sure I ever will be where novels are concerned. 

But right this moment, I’m feeling very accomplished and proud of myself. I had a short story that every time I worked on it, it grew. Every time I cut it, it felt like it lost its heart and like the taste of the words stopped feeling like mine. My voice disappeared.

I had finally worked out a version of it that was just under 7500 words long, and I thought it was decent. It got no traction, and I was frustrated. I put it up for critique on SFFOWW (a critique group site) while I was active there a year and a half ago. It was chosen for an Editor’s Choice review, and the first half of it got some great comments. Which I promptly had to ignore because I was dealing with other editing problems.

I returned to it recently, because I saw a call I wanted to send it to. The problem was, the call was for stories under 6k, and I wasn’t sure I could cut this story again and still retain its punch. But hey. The biggest feedback I got was about how I handled my descriptions and dialog, and the amount of repetition that slipped into my words. So I absorbed that, and I dug into the story, and I started ripping it apart.

I didn’t edit it, exactly, nor did I completely rewrite it. I printed it. I read it twice. Then I placed it on the desk and went a few paragraphs at a time and started with a blank file and filled it in. Some pieces went in verbatim. Most of it changed. Huge chunks disappeared, and a few new things appeared. Some of it got rearranged. The wordiness disappeared.

Here’s an example…

Before:

"You get one hour," Lana says softly. "One hour with him, and then you're leaving him behind. You're taking your fate and you're setting him free."

After:

"One hour," Lana says. "Then take your fate with you and set him free."

The new version of the story came in under 6k. I did it, and the best part is, I don’t hate it. In fact, this was sentence level revision of a style I had never done before. The closest I’ve come to it is editing flash fiction to be under very tiny wordcounts (or drabbles of exactly 100 words, which gods, those take me longer than writing a short fic!).

I’m not sure I could’ve done this without the editing I did for Into the Split over the last many months. I had to dig into that in ways I have never edited a novel before, and it prepared me to dig even more deeply into this short story.

I’m learning. I guess you can teach old dogs some new tricks.

[sarahwroteathing]

Dear Sam (2)

[Sam Wilson x Reader]

Word Count: 1615

Summary: You begin drafting your letter to Sam, and old memories resurface.

Warnings: Discussion of grief

A/N: Surpriiiiiiiiise. I once again kool-aid man my way back to my blog to post a thing. Any and all gratitude for my sudden reappearance can be directed to @indominusregina I am here to bum you out on your birthday, like a true friend. Love you, bestie

Part One

There were false starts, many of them, written in a notebook you kept in your nightstand drawer. The handwriting on each varied slightly, reflecting the emotional state of each version of yourself that risked putting pen to paper. 

The first try came out jagged. Awkward. A handwriting reminiscent of high school note taking, messy and vaguely frantic, with half transformed letters sprinkled throughout, where your hand tried and almost failed to keep up with the ever shifting message in your brain. 

Dear Sam, 

The comma started too high, an aborted beginning of a second m. Sammy, you’d almost written, before dismissing it as out of character. You’d only ever called him that in moments primed for a smile. Through a pout, syllables drawn out, dramatic and mostly insincere, in a half-hatched ploy to get your way. Or in a falsely scandalized tone, clutching at invisible pearls you’d never owned, to make him roll his eyes or double down on whatever flirtation he’d been throwing your way. Sometimes in profoundly giddy joy, the kind that sent you running to meet him in the entryway like an excitable child, throwing your arms around him and not even thinking twice about the pure, eager love you were displaying for him. 

In any case, not appropriate for now, for a form so thoroughly divorced from its proper contexts.

All I can think about is how I have no idea how to write this letter. How much better you would be at this. You were always good with emotion, with explaining things kindly and firmly, with making yourself understood. I think I got better with you, but I still feel underqualified to write something as important as this. But the point is, I’m the only one who can write it. So I’m going to try anyway. In case it helps. Because there’s a whole lot I don’t understand, but one thing I do know is that you’d want me to get better and to move on if I could. You were annoyingly unselfish that way.

You threw down your pen, a shaky exhale escaping your lungs with an urgency, like you’d been holding it for too long. Maybe you had been. It felt as though every word you wrote only made it to the paper by being ripped free from your heart. It hurts. It’s stupid, senseless. A letter written by you, for you, addressed to a man who will never read it. It doesn’t matter. But it still manages to fucking hurt. 

You clench your jaw, pick up your pen again. 

But I don’t know how to move on, Sam. I don’t know how to let you go. It shouldn’t be this hard. You’ve been gone so long that I…

You took a sharp breath, eyes burning, as you forced out the words.

I sometimes forget to miss you. And I feel like I must be the worst person alive every time. Because you deserve more than that. You deserve every tear I can shed, every second of every sleepless hour, every stolen breath, every pound of grief I can shoulder. You deserve everything. And I get so mixed up in my head about it, how I can go so long sometimes without remembering you’re really gone and then get dragged under again like I’ve just lost you for the very first time. It doesn’t make sense. I wish I could make it make sense. I wish you were here to explain it to me. I wish you were here. 

You scrubbed your hands over your face, pushed yourself restlessly to your feet. 

One lap of your apartment. 

Deep breath. 

A second lap. 

You grabbed your pen and notebook from the desk, flopped down on your bed with them, staring blankly at the small jewelry dish on your nightstand for several minutes. A leather bracelet, the name of a town you’d never been to artfully etched on the surface. A delicate chain with a small gold charm in the shape of a wing. A watch, way too bulky for your own wrist, that you’d insisted on wearing every day for almost a year. An Idaho state quarter dated 2007. 

Do you remember the night we met? In that dive bar down the street from my old apartment. It was as far from the height of romance as you could possibly get, but you made it work for you anyway. You and Steve and Natasha were sitting in the back booth, a few steps from the jukebox thats simple existence charmed me to pieces.

I remember how disappointed I was when my pockets came up short. I’m not sure whether it was my proximity or my colorful words that first drew your attention. But there you were. My knight in soft leather with a hand full of quarters shining red from the neon beer sign over your shoulder.

“How much you short by?” 

“Fifty cents,” you answered with a rueful laugh, eyes flickering between his handsome face and the handful of change. 

“Well, I happen to have fifty cents, and I’m happy to give it to you if I get veto power on your song choice.”

The corner of your mouth drifted up into a half smile despite your best efforts at his mildly flirtatious but matter-of-fact tone.

“I don’t take gifts with strings attached,” you said challengingly.  

“Alright, alright. Worth a shot. Can I at least stick around to see what you pick?”

The compromise we came up with: you picked a letter, I picked a number. And I don’t think it was a test exactly, but when I picked the Marvin Gaye song, the way your eyes lit up and the smile you gave me left no doubt that I’d passed with flying colors.

And I remember being so instantly enamored with you, with that beautiful smile and those eyes that promised a safe kind of trouble, that I stopped noticing anything else. My best friend’s song request blasting through the speakers, the sticky floors, the taste of the tequila sunrise you bought me with a promise that there would be no strings attached. And there weren’t any, of course. But I remember wishing there would be if it meant a chance of seeing you again.

And I remember the way I made my move on you, when you pressed two more quarters into my hand so I could pick my own song without interference. I remember you hooking your finger on the back belt loop of my jeans so we wouldn’t get separated on our way back to the jukebox and the way I was glad you were behind me so you couldn't see how much that made me smile. 

You barely hesitated, keying in your selection as soon as the quarters rattled home. You’d seen the song the first time, while Sam had been examining the catalog. 

It started only a few seconds later, and you turned with a satisfied little smile, watching Sam as he tilted his head, squinting slightly as he tried to identify the opening notes. 

When the first line hit, that smile was back, wide and charming and playful. 

“The night we met I knew I needed you so.”

“Okay,” he laughed, taking a half step closer, leaning his shoulder against the wall right beside you. “Hittin on me now, huh?” 

“Presumptuous,” you said mildly, not moving away. “Maybe I’m just very passionate about the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.” 

“That’s still sounding like a line to me.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall with a teasing smile. It put you much closer, your faces only inches apart. 

“You planning on doing something about it?”

I was bolder that night than I ever had been. You had that effect on me. Made me brave, confident. Joyful. You made me so fucking happy, Sam. Right from the beginning. I was never as unapologetically and ecstatically myself as when I was with you. I don’t know how to do that without you, how to be that person again. I don’t know if I ever can. I miss her too. The version of me who walked through life beside you, who could call you anytime just to hear your voice. Who could hear “Be My Baby” and come running, follow the sound to where you were waiting with your phone held up and a goofy little grin that felt like it was all mine, get bundled up in your arms and plied with kisses until I was breathless and giggling. 

Now it just hurts. I can’t bring myself to delete the song from my playlists, but every time it comes on, I can’t help but cry. And now when I’m breathless, it’s not in that fun, giddy way. It’s more dangerous. Like choking. Like drowning. And I’m so tired, Sam. I want to stop. I want to keep all the memories I have of you, the sound of your laugh, the smell of your skin, the way my hand fit in yours. But I don’t want this pain. And I’m not sure anymore if I can have one without the other. That terrifies me.

So I guess what all this means is that I’m trying to let you go, and it’s not supposed to be against my will, but that’s how it feels anyway. I’m scared of letting you go the way I’m scared of almost everything these days. 

What if I forget you? What if I don’t? I honestly can’t tell you what would feel worse. But no matter what… 

You know I will adore you till eternity. 

Even when you’re not here to sing it with me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

I love you.

---------------------

Sound off! Who's not dead?

Would love to hear your thoughts, my loves. This story is truly a living organism with drastically changing drafts.

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @orangespocks

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 2

A fox passing through the woods on business of his own vs Tinfang Warble

A fox passing through the woods on business of his own:

A fox who found Frodo, Sam and Pippin asleep under a tree and was puzzled by this.

Yeah sure why NOT switch PoV to a (arguably) non-sentient creature for like a paragraph with no bearing on the actual plot besides the comment that it never realized that the plot was happening??

It shows up for one page for no reason.  It's great.

Listen, that fox is absolutely a borbo. Confused? Funny? Has enough to be memorable but little enough to write a shitload of fanfiction about? Someone I have actually written about? Twice? (they aren't on ao3 though) clear boorbo

Look, people have observed before, correctly, that one of the things that sets The Lord of the Rings apart is that Tolkien will tell us things about the well-being of minor characters, like that the hobbits’ ponies that they lost in Bree were okay and went to live with Tom Bombadil. Tolkien is the kind of writer who will switch the POV to a fox who happens to pass by the hobbits on the first night of their journey to Rivendell, because the story isn’t just about the main characters, nor is it just about the endurance of realms like Rohan and Gondor. It’s about every living thing in Middle-earth, and for Frodo it’s especially about the Shire, the home of simplicity and good food and community and gardens and foxes. That’s what he takes up the Ring to save, and the fact that he takes it up with that motivation, not personal greatness or heroism, is what enables him to get as far as Mount Doom. Gandalf lays this idea out to Denethor when Denethor claims the fate of Gondor as a goal above all else: “For my part, I shall not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come.” The Quest of the Ring is not simply about Men and Elves and Hobbits; it is about ponies, and the trees of Fangorn, and tiny sun-star flowers in the grass, and yes, a fox on business of his own who never finds out anything more about the three hobbits he once saw sleeping under a tree, but lives and thrives because of what they did.

Tinfang Warble:

A half-fay from early drafts of the legendarium noted to be one of the greatest musicians of the Elves.

how are you going to vote against a guy whose honest to god name is tinfang warble

He’s named in the Lay of Leithian (HoME 3) as “Tinfang Gelion who still the moon / enchants on summer nights of June”. He’s mentioned alongside Daeron and Maglor as the three greatest Elvish bards, but unlike Daeron and Maglor (Maglor is best known for laments, the Leithian describes Daeron’s music as ‘music for breaking up the heart’, and both disappear tragically), Tinfang seems like the kind of musician you’d invite to parties. Also, ‘enchants the moon’ recalls Frodo’s extended cat-and-the-fiddle song at Bree, so maybe when Bilbo wrote that he was inspired by some existing elvish tale about a party where Tinfang really did call down Tilion and get him sloshed?

Round 2 masterpost

[esmealux]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag @mulderscully ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

My profile says 56, but considering 32 of those are one-shots that have been gathered in Feels Like Home, I feel like the real answer is 24.

What's your total ao3 word count? 457K - but again, 32 of my works count twice, some of them three times (those that are both in LWTD and FLH), so the actual number is less. Feels Like Home is 223K words though, so more than that 💀

What fandoms do you write for?

Just Lucifer (but I have been toying with the idea of writing something for RWRB, if inspiration should spark at some point)

Top five fics by kudos:

Living with the Devil (isn't always Hell on Earth)

Feels Like Home

Mummy's Workplace: The Guided Tour

Take Me With You

Spouses Without Benefits

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! The nice ones, at least. I don't respond to Chloe or Eve hate 😇

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, I don't know, maybe Going Through Hell? I think it ends on a hopeful note though. I generally end angst on a hopeful note. Or write plain fluff. I do have a drabble in my drafts that is very angsty and does not end with hope though (Sox can confirm that).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't feel like I've written a fic with an ending yet 💀 I mean, there was Living with the Devil but it technically isn't finished because it continues in Feels Like Home. But Feels Like Home will definitely end happily.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, no. I felt rather unpopular when I introduced Eve in Feels Like Home though. And people aren't shy of hating on Eve and Chloe as characters, meanwhile Lucifer is always just a "poor baby" or a "silly man." I've had people comment that they like me and Sox' version of Chloe in Feels Like Home more than they like her on the show, which I guess is supposed to be a compliment? But I don't think I want that kind of compliment from people who think Chloe is a bitch on the show tbh...

Do you write smut?

Yes. Very much so.

Craziest crossover:

I've never written a cross-over.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not in this fandom, no. At least not as far as I know.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have, actually. Someone translated Rejected at the Pearly Gates to Russian, but I lost the link ☹️

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Hahaha yeah. I have (:

Like 90% of what I've written since I met Sox has been co-written.

All time favorite ship?

Deckerstar, my one and only.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've got a Copenhagen AU sketched out that I reeaaallyyy want to write, but I have to finish Feels Like Home before I fully throw myself into that project. Also, I'm not sure many people but me would want to read it lol

What are your writing strengths?

Hmm, I think I'm good at writing dialogue? And understanding the psychology of the characters and their relationships.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Having English as my foreign language 🙃 No, but seriously Not Knowing Words is the most frustrating part of writing for me. And not just not knowing the words, but also not knowing how to string them together.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Depends on the language. Naturally, I could write as much Danish dialogue in as I'd like, but very, very few would understand it. I could do German too, with a bit of help from a dictionary. And I've watched enough Norwegian and Swedish TV to be able to write dialogue in those as well. I have written Lucifer dirty-talking in French, but I barely wrote any of that myself; a kind soul translated it for me. Generally, I think it's fun to incorporate other languages!

First fandom you wrote in?

Twilight. When I was 10 😅

Favorite fic you've written?

Feels Like Home, my beloved.

tagging @my-crazy-awesome-sox, @superlc529, @moonatoms, @mightbeawriter, @wendeckerstart and anyone else who wants to do it!

[oh-stars]

20 questions for fic writers

@lady-lostmind thanks for the tag 💜

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

44, but 7 pieces are art or collabs I did art for! 

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,464,862

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently only Stranger Things, but I still have Marvel WIPs and a few Spider-Man stories I want to write but haven’t had the time for. 

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Man That I Could Be

No One is Perfect, Not Even a Superhero

The Harrington Brood

you carved the space for my sadness to be seen for once (hold on to me)

Double Feature Disaster

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Sometimes! I get really overwhelmed and can’t respond. I made a point to respond to all of the comments on Brood and it was a lot, so I’ve made a conscious decision not to. I also have a really hard time not spoiling things or teasing something too hard, so it's best for me not to respond. But I read each one at least twice and I like to take a beat to read them again when I’m blocked. They make my day :) 

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Our Future (and really its the end for the whole The 'Til the End of the Line series) 

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Either The Man That I Could Be or The Harrington Brood I think. 

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Normally, no. My latest fic has gotten the most negativity out of everything I’ve written, but even then it’s not necessarily hate either. I delete the especially negative ones, but even those I think could be interpreted differently depending on tone.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Have I written smut? Yes. Do I like writing smut? No. I try not to, honestly. I do fade to black scenes or reference it, but I feel like all my smut is clunky and meh so I try to avoid it when possible. The few in The Man That I Could Be felt necessary and even then I didn’t fully explore those storylines the way I wanted to because I’m not great with smut. 

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope! 

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a few times! 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I love co-writing fics! It’s a great way to collaborate and push yourself. @sparkstarthetrashcan and I have a few fics we co-wrote for the @spiderversebigbang way back when and it was such a delight! 

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Stucky, I think they’re timeless. Steddie is getting pretty close to that, though. 

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

In Case You Don’t Live Forever, it's the only WIP I have that’s fully drafted out and plotted that I actively want to come back to. I just lost the headspace of the characters so I haven’t had a chance to dive back in. 

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I can capture characters really well, especially when they’re my own. I think Brood really showed that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Smut for one, and maybe action scenes. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think its tricky. Younger me has definitely dabbled, especially with Marvel fics, but I wouldn’t do it now. 

19. First fandom you wrote for?

One Direction (and I think I have scrubbed all of them off my wattpad thank youuu) 

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? There’s something special about all my fics, I think. But right now, I would say its a tie between you carved the space for my sadness to be seen for once (hold on to me) and All it Takes is Faith, Trust, and a Dream (with The Man That I Could Be as an honorable mention). Each of these served a purpose and fulfilled something different, but hold is probably the fic I’ve always wanted to write and my Disney fic is just something I look back on fondly.

If anyone wants to do this, I invite you to! Otherwise, I'm tagging the following with absolutely zero pressure to do this: @sparkstar-trash @medusapelagia @englishpaperpieced @skjachukson @cranberrymoons @graham-cracker-guillotine @slavicviking

[disco-tea]

20 questions for fic writers

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

23, but I have more/older stories on other sites

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

237,183

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, mainly btvs and I have an unfinished Arcane fic dying in my drafts

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Hiraeth (TF)

where the shadow ends (BTVS)

Brother Let Me Be Your Shelter (TUA)

the broken gates of kingdom come (BTVS)

skin like the sky at dusk (LOKI)

5. Do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I used to respond to nearly every single comment but rip I have been letting it slip lately 😭

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably I’ll Be Home For Christmas (If Only In My Dreams). It’s a Christmas story about Five Hargreeves stuck in the apocalypse

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Honestly probably The Art of Dying believe it or not 😂

8. Do you get hate on any fics?

I know for a fact I have gotten hate on fics but I straight up don’t remember it because I delete hate and then forget about it/block it out lmao

9. Do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Nope. The closest I’ve gotten was a non explicit “pan to the fireplace” sort of scene

10. Do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

Nope

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Though I have written stories and then seen somebody else post a fic in the same fandom that was eerily similar to a scene I wrote.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I wrote this Jason Todd fic when I was a teenager called Just Another Robin and it’s been translated twice!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not. I’ve thought about it, but I’m probably too much of a weirdo to successfully collaborate with

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

It changes depending on what I’m fixating on tbh 😭

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There’s like….nobody on this site who knows what I’m talking about but um. I got this fic called Hiraeth a lot of people really like. And I really do want to finish but it’s been so long and I’ve lost the muse/motivation for it. I’m really holding out that one of these days I’ll get a supernatural rush of inspiration and crank out like one final chapter for it

16. What are your writing strengths?

People say I do a good job at writing emotions

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Honestly probably that I’m too attached to my style and too sensitive about certain critiques. Which is why I’ll probably never want to write professionally because for me it’s more of an artistic expression

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think it’s good as long as it’s limited and you make sure it’s accurate and the reader knows what is going on anyway. My approach was that it should always be explained clearly later on or be an inconsequential fun little Easter egg for the reader to look up later

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Oh my gosh. My first fic was Supernatural 🫣

20. Favorite fic you've written?

where the shadow ends I think is my magnum opus at this point in my life. It’s novel length. It’s very emotional and important to me and really had a lot of real life feelings poured into it. It was so strangely woven into my life at the time I wrote it. It’s cathartic. It’s real. It’s a piece of my soul put on paper tbh. And that banner…oh my gosh. It was perfect and I’ll cherish it probably for the rest of my life

A runner up would be this multimedia fic I wrote during the pandemic and it was a fic told through a combo of text messages, pictures, videos, and chapter writing. I’m still v proud of it even though it’s very hard to share anywhere because of the format

[circle-bircle]

purging a bunch of stuff from my drive... gosh there are still a lot of things i want to write but it's hard to tell what's there when some of my file names are "gh384t90g8h" or "2" as i look through the drive i will put in this readmore any cool ideas i come across (mostly ff some fe and gbf and will sort them by fandom if ur into it)

please know i am deleting all of these drafts as i go along so if you want me to post snippets of what i have tell me in like 3 days before they are permanently deleted

fic titled "virgin in the dynamo" where i make vigorous reference to henry adams in my ff2 emperor redemption fic... well ok then!

doc called "BACK ON MY BULLSHIT" is an isekai for ff2. i've written a few of those but i haven't liked how any of them have turned out. idea for another day

more emperor fics; i have some where y/n gets fired as a servant, some reverse isekai drafts, and i have about a good long chunk of drafting for another vampire au where (spoiler alert) the emperor is not a nice guy and murders a bunch of people in the first chapter. the drafts are still there but i just don't know where to take the fic in the last stretch.

another emperor fic but this time it's an arranged marriage au (y/n is a noble of altair and i take the book canon and shake it vigorously)

edward chris von muir reverse isekai - i remember writing this. some really bad irl stuff happened and edward was the character i wrote a fuckton of to cheer me up. i'd still like to write it properly. in another fic i wrote an arranged marriage au and i still think i could write it and it'd be fun

doc titled "k"; rewrite of an old fic with zidane & kuja with the in veno veritas vibes... i'd like to post it but it's not done so it won't get posted

i write a 210 fic in firion's pov where tidus gets lost and firion comes to help him. hehe!

more tidus ideas; one of them was where y/n was a nurse taking care of tidus, another idea that i still might write where y/n is a total stalker of tidus and makes him love them... i still want to write that.

seymour fic with another isekai... circle be creative sometimes smh!

some gorefic of ravus nox fleuret... i really don't talk about ffxv but ravus is one of my favs i think he's so cool

"2" is a fe15 gray high school au. it's goofy i guess

more kurth ideas; i wrote a dreamsharing fic with him as well as a timeloop? i could have SWORN i published the timeloop fic but i don't think i did. i got 4k words into the draft. whatever, down the trash it goes!

doc titled "UNKIE JANNIE" where janaff takes care of a wounded shinon...

i've written a janaff/reader and a janaff/reader/ulki but not an ulki/reader. none of the ideas i have have been any good though and i still feel like they're not cute enough.

"the ranch fic" where shinon fucks a bottle of ranch. nsfw but an ex-friend did it out of curiosity and then he told me not to tell anyone but then he aired my dirty laundry so i air his dirty laundry back.

more in lewd news for shinon/janaff i tried to write a motivation chapter 2 but i never could decide on what shinon was going to do. i had a couple ideas, like shinon and janaff meeting up and fucking or continuing their parasocial relationship. in my latest drafts of it shinon was going to doxx janaff and say the most egregious sort of stuff before going back to his NEET ways (now without a purpose because janaff would be disinterested) but i couldn't make it as sexy as the first chapter so i just didn't finish it

nordion vampireverse multichap fic titled "diarmuid chomps" where it's not actually about diarmuid at all and febail gets really sexy and saves y/n from the evil vampires... i wrote that fic twice but neither are any good. idea for another time

speaking about nordion vamps, doc titled "sex sex sex sex sex sex" where the vamps get down and dirty with y/n. OTL i want to post it but it's incompleted as FUCK so it won't see the light of day ever

kempf mermaid au i would have posted for mermay if i knew how to write it. but every draft i did just wasn't right and i think fe is too technologically historic(?) for what i want to happen so i might write it with some other fandom instead

found my resume! been lookin 4 that

a kyd wykkyd fic... i had a moment

did i ever post a grimnir fic about hanahaki? i've written it a couple times but i don't think i liked any one of the drafts i wrote. an idea for another day!

there's also a lobelia fic where the captain goes to try and find him a hobby that isn't death related. music didn't work and at the end of the draft djeeta is trying word searches and crossword puzzles. i guess miscellaneous stuff, i wrote more lobelia fluff that wasn't published soo

i feel like i kept up deleting stuff so there is not much else. but that's all!!!!

[squarebracket-trickster]

Happy STS! Since you're on the second draft of ur WIP, how was the progress of the first draft? What are some things you learned during it? What is something you would do differently for your next first draft?

It's so rare to see a writeblr going through revisions and i find your commentary very inspiring. One day i too will be telling myself to leave the sentence be for another draft LOLLL

Oooh I love this question so goddamn much!!! (well, ig it's sort of two? three? questions.) I had so much fun answering this<3333 It was an excellent chance at reflection.

How was the progress of the first draft?

(lol I did not intend for my answer to be this long but it just kept going. But I like the idea of being very transparent about the journey because I hear a lot of nice, summed up "one day I sat down and wrote a novel, the next month I had a manuscript and started querying" stories and I think that can be really invalidating for people for whom the journey isn't that smooth if that is the only narrative you hear.)

I think I came up with the story idea some time in 2019. It was one of those, "princess runs away from an arranged marriage but [redacted due to spoilers]" concepts but at the time I was worldbuilding for other things so I put it aside for later.

About a year later, when I had not made much progress on my other WIPs (due to not having enough worldbuilding ideas to carry a fantasy or sci-fi story and banging my head against a wall trying to think up something I was happy with), I decided, ah what the hell, I'll try this instead.

I picked it because it was a simple concept--an idea fit for a standalone novel on the shorter end, with a fairly small setting and requiring little worldbuilding. It seemed like it would be good practice before I seriously tackled my more ambitious WIPs.

It still took a while to actually get writing. I tried three or four times to make an outline--one was more than 8000 words--and ended up scrapping each of them because when I got to actually writing the scenes I had outlined I found them dry and soulless. I was just going through events that needed to happen but there was no emotion, no humour, no themes, nothing. I tried to write the first chapter once or twice but I started the story too early in the timeline and lost the momentum to keep going. Finally, I wrote a scene somewhere in the middle (the one where Sorin figures out Adris is a girl) and it was the first I was actually happy with. I had fun writing it and then reading it again, and it finally felt like there was some "life" behind the plot I had been failing to outline. I rewrote that scene in both first and third person, decided I liked 1st better, and tried to keep adding to it. Then I had about 3600 words. I wrote another scene near the end (when Isadred and Firnen meet; though I changed this later) and it gave me some direction to work towards.

Then I did not touch the project again for several months.

One day in November of 2021 (NaNoWriMo month but I hadn't heard of it yet) I decided to just go for it and put a bunch of time aside to write like crazy. I started from chapter one and had two rules, 1. Start chapter one as late into the story as possible, and 2. keep it going--don't edit (not even spelling unless it is absolutely critical for me to make sense of later), if I get stuck just jump ahead to the next scene I can write, and if I don't know what happens next just ramble about everything that can't happen until I figure out a situation where that does not apply.

It worked. Really well. The next things I knew (about three weeks in) I had roughly 48 000 words. Some days I was hitting 13-14 000 words per day. Then I took a break because uni and came back to it in April 2022. Same rules, same deal. Suddenly I had 112 572 words.

I got stuck on the ending. I wrote a few scenes but didn't like them. So I figured I would just call it a finished manuscript, put it aside for a while, and come back to it when the time was right.

About two months ago I thought up part of a better ending while in the shower and a few weeks ago, just before I started the second draft I figured out the rest. So I knew it was time and I went back to it.

What are some things you learned during it?

I had a lot of fun. I laughed a lot at the banter and dramatic irony, I highlighted my favourite lines to look back on later, and I left funny comments for myself in the margins. The weird part was that I was not expecting it to be fun at all. I see so much writing content about how hard writing is and how much writers hate it, especially first drafts, and I have done my share of banging my head against a wall (especially in my other WIPs) but, for me at least, it is one thing to get stuck on a plot point, but if I am finding every single new sentence to be a struggle to get down it is probably because my story has not come to life yet. I am writing too much from a place of "hit each plot point in my outline" and not enough from a place of "you know what would be fun/gut-wrenching/shocking/funny/clever/insightful?".

Believe it or not, the middle section was the most fun to write.

I have also come to believe ardently in these commonly touted morsels of advice:

if your story is losing momentum after only a few chapters you either don't know where you are going with it or you have started too far before the inciting incident.

Name your first draft draft zero, garbage draft, word vomit (or in my case, "idk what the FUCK this it looks pretty cool tho"), and just expect utter garbage.

Don't look back, just keep going. You know that thing in improv where they do the "yes, and..." exercise? Do that.

If you are stuck on what happens next, skip that scene and go to the next. There is a chance you may not even need the scene you were stuck on. Long time skips in the same chapter are allowed.

If you don't know what to write just sit down and start rambling. As long as you know what you are trying to write towards, eventually you'll end up there and you can cut the bloat later.

Know your climatic moment before you start--not your ending, but the big final showdown the story is building to. You don't have to know how it resolves (I didn't figure that out until like six weeks ago) but know who is in your final battle and where it takes place.

Don't research. Don't worldbuild. If you need a piece of information you don't have, write [insert type of medieval ship here] and move on.

What is something you would do differently for your next first draft?

I am honestly not sure on this one... I do wish I was a more skilled writer prose-wise because my first drafts would need a lot less editing later on if descriptive, poetic prose came as naturally to me as dialogue and emotional one-liners. But all I can really do for that is keep practicing.

The only other thing I wished I had done from the start was keep a journal, log, or blog of my progress, and save some of the funny comments and [somehow our two romantic leads have to sword fight their way out of a masquerade ball in this scene while dressed to the nines] notes-in-brackets I left in the draft but went back and deleted later once I actually filled out the scene. Hence the existence of this blog now.

One of these days I would also like to develop a proper writing schedule to make more consistent progress throughout the year (instead of the random sprints of activity followed by months of not touching it that I do now). But between the ADHD and the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome I don't know when that will happen.

[kenobireads]

Revenge Isn't Just for Sith

As promised, a chapter from the sequel to Attachments Aren't Just for Jedi!

Note: this isn't the first chapter. It has not gone through my final draft stage, so pardon any errors!

“Agent Kallus,” Ar’alani said from the head of the small conference table when the door opened. “How is Lily?”

He sighed and plopped down into a chair with a nod to Eli, who looked up from the questis his nose was always buried in. It was no mystery why the admiral was asking about Lily first thing. The Vigilant had returned to Ascendancy space a week earlier, and Kallus and Lily received orders to join them for the next leg of the journey. Except, she has not left her room since boarding five days earlier. Actually, he wasn’t sure either of them have truly seen Lily in almost a month.

Without a doubt, Lily has achieved impressive things in the four months they’ve been in the Ascendancy. But since the syndic hearing, she has become reclusive. He didn’t think she was depressed, rather, it reminded him of the time she wrote the study on Palpatine and his insane religion. Lily had disappeared for three weeks; even Thrawn had seemed concerned.

Ironic, really, how the restless woman could become so focused on something, she ceased being restless altogether.  

“That bad?” Eli asked, still with the appearance of being prepared to look back at his device at any moment.

“On the surface, she’s fine.”

“And in reality?” Kallus wasn’t sure how to put it, but he gave it his best shot.

“Thrawn took care of her, and I think she’s struggling to find a routine because of it.” It was more than that. It was as if the only thing she knew how to do was work—so that’s all she did.

“You mean like, he tucked her in?” Ar’alani asked dryly. He gave her a matching look back. Kallus might be willing to get advice from the woman, but he wasn’t willing to mock Lily behind her back. That, he saved for teasing her to her face.

“He fed her. Anytime she was working with me at least, Thrawn ordered food brought to her. It irritated her at first, but I think it became her routine; she didn’t have to think about it.” Kallus ran a hand through his hair, something he seemed to do a lot lately. “I have a sneaking suspicion he helped manage her schedule as well. She double booked herself twice last week.” She worked like mad, but it was as if outside of work, she was lost.

“She has attention hyperactivity disfunction,” Eli said casually, focused on his questis once more. Kallus looked over at him, shock rolling through him. It would explain so much.

“How do you know?” Kallus had known Lily for almost a year now—how could he not know that? And, how was she so successful if it clearly impacted her? He’d looked up her net worth once when she first came to the Empire—it was multiple times more than Thrawn’s, which was quite high. The man seemed to spend very little money, and has been in an Admiral salary for a decade now, making his worth just over a million credits. Though it appeared Lily donated a huge amount of her money, she clearly worked her ass off. Large quantities of legally made credits were deposited into her account almost weekly—until Thrawn found her. Kallus didn’t understand how someone who needs help eating could achieve all that she had. He must ask her about it. Perhaps he could help.

“Thrawn sent her medical records with the other data.”

“What is that?” Ar’alani asked.

Eli scratched his head. “Ah, I had to look that up for her paperwork. There isn’t a diagnosis for your people. The closest disorder is based on attention; nothing is mentioned for hyperactivity. It’s called attention deficit disorder.”

“Ah, yes. Chiss usually grow out of that.”

“Yeah that’s what I read. It seems Lily was medicated up until she joined the military. My guess is, Thrawn simply tried to ease some of the symptoms. She just needs time to find her groove.”

Kallus’ questions were answered, perhaps. “Why did she stop medicating?”

Eli shook his head. “That wasn’t in her file, I’m afraid. Technically, the Empire doesn’t restrict the drug, though it is a stimulant, and most militaries don’t allow you to take them.” A stimulant? She was energetic enough.

“I suppose I’ll try to pay more attention,” Kallus mumbled, his hand on his chin. Maybe Lily just needed some reminders throughout the day.

“If Thrawn wanted you to take over for him, he would have said so.” Kallus gave the man a small, rueful smile. Thrawn did not exactly communicate well.

“Maybe. But my only purpose for being here is for Lily.”

Ar’alani raised her eyebrows. Yes, she understood why Thrawn had kept them together—and did not think it was so Kallus could be her secretary. “I don’t believe that is correct. Thrawn had a list of suggestions of what you would be good at doing here. His only request was that you two work together.”

The door slid open and Lily rushed in with notebooks filling her arms, her stomach beginning to round. Kallus stood, surprised to see her.

“You’re not going to fucking believe this,” she said in Basic before dropping the notebooks to the table. “I found them.”

“What?” Kallus asked, aware that she was practically buzzing with excitement. So excited she couldn’t be bothered to speak Cheunh.

“I found the Grysks,” she said as she began flipping through notebooks.

“How?” Ar’alani asked, her voice dark.

“I analyzed ancient maps,” she said—as if they haven’t had experts doing that for decades. She glanced up at Ar’alani, sensing her hesitation. “Your databases have been altered in the past. The maps aren’t complete,” she found a page and pushed the notebook to her. “This isn’t completely accurate, but I believe it is close. My father and I came across a map the same place we found the Chiss chains. He sold it, but I had drawn a copy. The copy was lost, but when I was in university, I tried to redraw it from memory. Of course, I transferred it to my master document years later.”

Kallus leaned over and looked at it. “And you cross referenced it,” he said distractedly.

“Yes.” She looked between the three, barely contained excitement on her face. “There is a point in space that has been largely considered empty of life. Asteroid fields, unlivable planets. A dangerous place to go.” Her eyes focused on Ar’alani’s, and she took a breath. “I think it’s a two thousand year old conspiracy.”

She set two notebooks in front of them. “These are from two separate maps. What do you notice?” Eli smiled to himself, feeling like he was with Thrawn again. A more manic, attractive Thrawn.  

“There are similarities. Are they of the same part of space?” Kallus asked before Ar’alani could answer.

“They’re the exact same sector.”

Kallus shook his head. “But they’re too different.” He looked back at her first drawing. Then his eyes widened. Lily grinned and pulled the two notebooks back and ripped the papers out, and held them up to the light, pressed together. Then she added a third paper.

“They’re all incomplete,” Ar’alani said quietly.

“Correct. But if you put them together, they look exactly like the map I found so long ago.”

“No Chiss would have altered our maps.”

“No, I doubt they would. They were altered before they fell into Chiss hands.”

“So we need to get scouts there,” Ar’alani muttered.

“No, I wouldn’t.” The fleet admiral’s eyes flashed up to hers.

“Why?” she challenged.

“If this has been occurring for thousands of years, they probably have plenty of safeguards. All nearby systems will be watched. Even if you used the sky-walkers, you’d probably have to do a twenty hour long jump to avoid any scouts.” Her face went a little distant, blinking fast as she had an idea.

“That isn’t possible,” Ar’alani said. “They would collapse from exhaustion.”

“Yes,” Lily muttered. “We cannot ask that of a child…”

“What are you thinking?” Kallus asked her, beginning to recognize the look. She stared at him for a moment, her face turning dubious.

“A Jedi could do it. They can use the Force to sustain themselves, essentially keeping themselves awake and alive without food or water.”

“Jedi?” Eli asked skeptically. They were gone.

“Yeah…” she said, still mumbling, lost in her mind. Her eyes flicked over to Ar’alani. “How do you contact Thrawn?”

“A communication device.”

“Is he the only contact you have in Lesser Space?”

“For the most part, yes.”

She let out a little huff and rolled it over in her mind. Thrawn likely wouldn’t be working with the Rebels yet, as long as he hadn’t altered their planned timeline too much. That meant he was not the best option to ask this of, but it was apparently her only option. “I need to speak with him.”

The admiral shook her head. “That isn’t how it works. You can send a message, but you will not be able to speak to him. It just isn’t possible.” Lily raised an eyebrow at her. If a message could be sent, so could a call. It was probably time to reveal more of her skillsets to her Chiss allies anyway.

“May I see the technology?”

“You’ll have to go to a communications triad if you plan to work with it, but Naile, we have expert engineers.”

“I understand Admiral, but if I may, I’d like to try.”

Eli raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You believe you can what, slice it?”

Lily gave him a guarded smile. “Perhaps.”

And, scene!

I might post another with one of Thrawn's early chapters, but I haven't decided yet! Hope you enjoyed this little teaser!

[dicktective]

[werner herzog in the mandelorian vc] eye would like to see 'CALIFORNIA HERE WE COME' 👀

bahahaha well it's written partly by myself and party by kat but i'll share some of what i wrote:

It starts with Robin. 

Not that he was ever the sort of person to believe in like, fate, or God, or whatever, but every single action--every single moment up until this exact moment in time--started with her.

Beneath him, as his feet dangle knee deep in the depths of the cold morning surf, he tries not to feel overwhelmingly suffocated by this particular fact. Because he can’t hate Robin. He can’t. He knows that none of this is actually her fault--that he and he alone was in charge of the series of spurious, half-baked ideas that lead to this particular sequence of events--but god, why didn’t she try and stop him? 

Oh, right. 

She had. 

She had tried to tell him this was a dumb idea--just wait it out for another year, dingus’; we can move in with each other then--and Steve had looked her, scoffed with his eyebrows raised cheek achingly high, and let an incredulous: fuck that. 

So he bought a van. 

He put in his two weeks notice with his boss at Sears--the older woman was almost sad to see him go--said he had a way with the customers--and took out a bank draft.

He bought a van, packed it in a moment of ill-conceived anger directed vaguely towards his father, and spent two days driving to California. He got lost only once (or maybe twice), but when he showed up outside the dormitories of UCLA, unshowered and half asleep from two uncomfortable nights spent sleeping curled up on the floor behind the driver seat, Robin had nearly killed him. 

He had to listen to her rattle off a list of all the reasons why dumping half of his savings into a stupid van (a really, really ugly one, she added) to follow her halfway across the country was crazy! And also, Steve, where the heck do you think you’re going to stay? I already told you before I left you can’t crash at the dormitories and apartment prices in downtown L.A are crazy. 

“The van,” he had simply told her. As if this van was going to be the solution to all of his life's problems. 

“The van,” Robin had parroted. “The van with no mattress, no running water, and no way to cook a meal in it.”

Steve had just shrugged, but one of the first things he had done was go pick up a crappy mattress from one of the local Salvation Armys. 

And for a while it was fine. 

He spent a few days parked outside the dormitories and they would get lunch together, or sometimes hangout in the park near the campus library and there was even the occasional movie night when Robin's roommate was out visiting her boyfriend.

But then classes picked up and Robin got busy. The security guard at her dormitory complex told him politely if not firmly that because he wasn't a student at the university he couldn't keep parking there overnight. There was no place to shower and he couldn't keep sneaking into the building with Robin to wash his clothes without getting dirty looks.

Also eating a steady diet of gas station food--of bagged jerky and teeth-rottingly sweet snack cakes--was really starting to do a number on his stomach.

He didn't tell her his.

Instead, he went back to the same Goodwill where he had picked up the mattress and bought a surfboard. 

He smiled and told her half-truths about how amazing this all was. Of mornings spent at the beach and afternoons getting sun tans. Of all the sites he was seeing. The people he was meeting. Of this killer wave he hit the day before and God, Robin, you should have been there to see it. 

Robin always laughs and smirks and rolls her eyes when he talks about it all. About surfing at sunrise (she still doesn’t fully believe that it’s something he’s capable of, he believes), of the late afternoons spent sleeping on the beach, of the weird cat he sometimes gets to see when he’s grocery shopping in the gas station near the freeway. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Steve,” she had told him. “I’m glad this is working out.”

The water beneath his board swells in a sudden and unnatural crest and Steve’s fingers clamp down on its edges, steadying himself just to stay afloat. 

Then, he turns and looks to the beach. People are slowly arriving, slowly unpacking beach towels and folding metal chairs. There’s a kid with a ball and a family with a dog and a group of teenagers perched in a huddle near the sandy stairs leading to the boardwalk. Steve sighs and begins to paddle the board back towards shore. 

He woke up to another parking ticket. It was there, plastered in its disgustingly muted pink under the rubber edge of his van's windshield wiper. It’s another thing he won’t tell Robin. Another half-truth. 

Because a part of him really wanted this. A part of him had wanted her to be wrong. 

She isn’t though--and rarely has been. 

But again, Steve won’t tell her this. He can’t.

[qlala]

Hi, Q! As a big fan of your writing, I'm really curious about your nanowrimo process. Like in terms of what keeps you motivated/validated? Did you set some goal for yourself beforehand that you're trying to achieve (aside from the daily word count)?

I've tried it twice, the first time I was actually posting every day what I wrote the previous night. It wasn't my greatest work by any stretch of the imagination, but at least the process itself was fun, validating and interactive. I've enjoyed it a whole lot. And then the next year I decided that I would spend some actual time and thought on finessing what I wrote, instead of half-assedly editing it during my lunch break, and then I would post the whole thing after the fact. Well, guess what, this fic has never been finished, its 40000 words skeleton is buried in my drafts forever. I cannot even look at it, it makes me physically ill.

I really wanted to try again this year but there seems to be a mental block in my head I cannot break through. What keeps you going? Do you have a self-validation tip for this process that you could share?

first, let me let you in on a secret:

I have been trying to write this fic. for five years. and three NaNoWriMos jsldkjslkj

So I am not necessarily THE best person to give advice about staying motivated with writing projects. But I can say a few things that have been making this year work really, really well for me as opposed to previous years! And this answer got pretty long, but if even one part of it helps, I’ll consider it a success!

So the short answer: 1) making a detailed outline, 2) not editing in November, and 3) a healthy dose of external motivation. The longer answer:

Detailed Outline

If I’ve already lost you, please come back. I promise I hate outlines. I didn’t have an outline for this fic for five years. The outline was a hail mary throw, at least half motivated by panic that the show was going to end and no one would care about the fic by the time I posted it, and I did not expect it to work. But it changed absolutely everything about the writing process for me.

I didn’t realize until after I made myself stop typing scenes and start just figuring out the major beats in a notebook that up until then, what I’d been calling “writing” had actually been two things at once: writing, and planning. 

By figuring out the major plot beats, then making a scene-by-scene outline, I got to do all the planning ahead of time. I know which plot points I need to foreshadow and when; I know what’s going to coax the characters two steps forward, and what’s going to send them one step back; I know exactly what the antagonist’s next move is and when they’re going to make it. 

I thought I would miss that, and that I’d have no motivation to write once I knew everything that happened, but it turned out to be the opposite. Because by doing the planning ahead of time, I don’t have to multitask anymore, and I have so much more mental space to create. It’s like having all your paints mixed and your canvas primed before you even pick up a brush. You can just focus on the art. 

I love being able to pick any scene off my list, in any order, and just let myself have fun writing it. The extra time I have that I’d previously used for utilitarian things like “how does this lead into the next scene” can now be used for fun things like “how can I set this scene up to call back to something that happened the show?”

2. Stop editing

Because actually I lied, before. What I used to do, and what it sounds like you did, wasn’t just two things at once: it was three. Writing, planning, and editing. 

You know that little chant from Dune, where they’re like, “I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer”? That’s editing. Editing is the mind killer. By editing as you write, you’re like, reverse-validating yourself. You’re taking yourself out of the creative process to look for everything wrong with your writing and your story. 

It’s also a time suck, and NaNoWriMo is a sprint. Editing is what December is for. When you free yourself from both planning and editing—by planning before, and editing after—writing will feel a lot more internally rewarding. You’re just making. You can get it nice for other people to look at, later. The first draft is for you, and specifically the part of you that loves your story. Don’t let the rest of you nitpick it apart yet. 

3. External motivation

Here's the other thing: if I don’t update my word count on the NaNoWriMo website every day and keep my streak going, I will stop writing this fic. I wish I were joking.

Even with everything I just said, I need external motivators to actually get me to set a daily hard deadline of midnight to make myself carve time out of the day to write, and write fast. Missing a day last year and losing my streak was the nail in the coffin for that attempt (which had already been dying a slow, painful death, because I’d had no outline, and every day I was just adding another 1.6k of filler into the front half of act 2).

So I recommend using NaNo's website to keep a running word count and streak going, even better if you have add some buddies on there who will at least in theory be seeing whether you update every day or not. (You can add me, if you want! My username is fatherofthebride.)

I also definitely, definitely couldn’t be doing this without two great friends and beta readers, who endure some truly novel-length rants via text as I either talk through problem areas with them or send them excited recaps of a scene I just wrote and am really excited about.

If external validation works for you, but daily posting of the new writing doesn’t, I really recommend grabbing someone to chat to about how the fic is going and share snippets with, and/or posting about how it’s going/posting teaser snippets of the WIP.

And that's the end of the numbered list! I hope there's something at least a little helpful somewhere in here and I also really hope I actually answered your question <3

[strawberry-dreamland]

I wrote a letter to our local mayor twice.

The first time was when I was nine years old, and my area had just experienced a hurricane. My family was fine, but we lost heating and electricity for a week, which was. Survivable, for sure. But it was November and freezing, and the shower water was coming cold, and the microwave didn't work. We were okay, but a lot of people weren't, and I would see them on the news. But I remember I hand-wrote it using my very best cursive (they used cursive on the Declaration of Independence, after all), asking him if he was alright? Did he know that we were alright? And what about the people who were less alright? And did he know that weather patterns are changing and that hurricanes were becoming more frequent, and that this was called climate change? I had read about it in a book, so I knew it was true. But did he know that there were things that they could do to help, to help houses from getting demolished by the sea? And I ended up listing out everything I knew, mainly about sand dunes and sea walls, and maybe you don't want to build houses so close to the edge of the beach (obviously, these aren't the only methods to battle rising waters, nor are they necessarily the most effective. but this is what I knew, from what my parents told me and what books I had to read. I didn't know how to google anything).

My mom helped me put the letter in an envelope, to put a seal, and to send it out. A couple weeks later, a response arrived, addressed to me from the mayor. I was ecstatic. I had just gotten a letter from the mayor. The letter thanked me for writing to him. Hurricanes are difficult, and the administration knew that, and since I cared about the environment, wouldn't it be nice to attend the annual Arbor Day event? Sincerely, the mayor.

Arbor day would be fun, I knew because I had gone last year, but what about my letter on the sand dunes? The sea walls? And not building houses where they could fall into the ocean? Did he read my letter? I was debating writing him a letter saying just that, but I had already exhausted myself with the first letter. Writing in nice cursive was hard, especially since I had just learned it.

The second time was when I was eleven. I was reading about how cars worked, and what the impact of cars were on the environment. I went to school everyday in a school bus, and then I started reading about the impact of school buses on the environment. Carpooling was good, but the buses are massive and old and not efficient. I decided this simply wouldn't do, and decided to draft a more energy efficient plan for getting kids to school. A more aerodynamic design would help, and moving away from strictly diesel would help, wouldn't it? and I was convinced that this plan was going to save the planet. So I wrote the mayor another letter, typed on my dad’s computer because I was older now and I knew by this point that all grownups typed things, and unlike last time, I wanted the mayor to take me seriously.

My mom helped me get a stamp and seal the envelope and write the right address on it, and we sent it out. A couple weeks letter the reply arrived. The letter thanked me for writing to him, and since I cared so much for the environment, did I know that there was an annual Arbor day event?

Honestly, I was crushed. I was hurt that, once again, my brilliant plan was barely even acknowledged. And of course, I knew about the annual Arbor Day event, I had been going every year since I was seven, and he already told me about it, anyhow! I think a part of my thought that he would remember me from my previous letter and acknowledge my upgrade to a typed letter, which is obviously a belief not grounded in anything. At that point, the only reasonable conclusion to me was that the mayor was some kind of fool who never took a critical reading class.

I never wrote him again, mentally dismissing him as a fool, but looking back, I wish I did. Even if it was to tell him that the response he wrote back was stupid.

fun fact about me: When I was 6 years old I sent so much hate mail to the president (the second Bush) that the mail carrier had to tell my mom I needed to stop before we got FBI’d

[erebusvincent]

In an interview with Fox and Friends last Wednesday, Trump likewise dismissed the argument that flag burning is a form of constitutionally protected expression. "You should get a one-year jail sentence if you do anything to desecrate the American flag," Trump said. "Now, people will say, 'Oh, it's unconstitutional.' Those are stupid people. Those are stupid people that say that."

Those "stupid people" include Justice William Brennan, who wrote the majority opinion in the 1989 case Texas v. Johnson, which rejected the prosecution of Gregory Lee Johnson for burning a U.S. flag during the 1984 Republican National Convention in Dallas. They also include Scalia, who joined that opinion along with Justices Anthony Kennedy, Thurgood Marshall, and Harry Blackmun.

Scalia took the same position in the 1990 case U.S. v. Eichman. That decision overturned the Flag Protection Act of 1989, which Congress passed in response to Johnson.

"We are aware that desecration of the flag is deeply offensive to many," Brennan said, again writing for the majority. "But the same might be said, for example, of virulent ethnic and religious epithets, vulgar repudiations of the draft, and scurrilous caricatures [all of which the Court had deemed protected by the First Amendment]. 'If there is a bedrock principle underlying the First Amendment, it is that the Government may not prohibit the expression of an idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or disagreeable.' Punishing desecration of the flag dilutes the very freedom that makes this emblem so revered, and worth revering."

Scalia later cited the flag-burning cases to illustrate how his textualist approach to constitutional interpretation sometimes led him to rule against his personal inclinations. "If it were up to me, I would put in jail every sandal-wearing, scruffy-bearded weirdo who burns the American flag," he said in a 2015 speech. "But I am not king."

Scalia's distinction between what the Constitution requires and what he might otherwise prefer probably would be lost on Trump, who seems to value freedom of speech only to the extent that it protects him and his allies.

[missholloween]

😍😔 for the writing ask game?

I AM SO SORRY I THOUGHT I POSTED THESE AND I JUST FOUND IT ON MY DRAFTS. I LIVE IN SHAME

😔 published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

I could've chosen anything from my curtwen week fics because I don't write them being happy.

However, I got so sad writing the first fic, A eulogy. Writing Curt's part actually made me tear up twice, something that totally got me by surprise.

These are the culprits:

Why did he think he could say goodbye? Curt had never been a wordsmith. He was a man of fleeting compliments, of chivalrous gestures and big acts of love. Words were difficult for him. They required precision, clarity; they demanded an honesty that he had always struggled with. Curt had never been able to put his feelings into words. Even at his partner’s funeral, he was incapable of sharing a few words. The widower stood in front of the building for hours. He remembered his smile and body, that he had grown to know more than his own. He remembered his quick wit and his sharp tongue; his piercing eyes and his beat-up hands that had accompanied him on many sleepless nights. Curt remembered all the missions they had served together, as well as a couple that would never be shared. He thought of all the stories that no one but them knew: stories of hotel rooms, of empty bars in long-lost towns and coded messages in made-up ciphers. He cried, and laughed, and wailed, and screamed. Again and again, he cursed the man who had taken those memories from him. Curt wasn’t able to look at his lover’s tomb during his quiet eulogy. He kept his head down, with eyes filled with tears. Every time he tried to speak, a wail came out. The only sentence he was able to finish was “I’m sorry”. He repeated it, over and over again, a quiet litany that would accompany him for years.

😍 published lines or a section of a fic that you loved writing?

I had two options in mind, and I've realized that both options are bantering. It truly is a love language <3 (and so so fun to write).

This is from a Lautski fic I wrote at the end of last year, Quick break. I love lautski, they make me so happy, and they're so fun (and easy) to write. The fic itself helped me get through my finals season, so I cherish it a lot <3

“Mister Handsome needs more time to get ready? I can wait if you need to…” Pete blushed, quickly putting his hands away from the camera. “No, no, I w- I was just… Taking some hair off my face, you know?” “Oh. Is that why you were so close to your cam?” “Yeah, to get all of them out of my way! I am precise in my craft.” Steph smiled fondly. “Hey.” Pete smiled back, lovestruck. “Hi.” “You look cute though. Casual really suits you. Maybe you could go for a look like this more often.” Pete chuckled and started to get up. “Oh, you mean a look like this?” He had moved away from the computer as much as he could, as his headphones were connected by a wire. The camera now showed Pete from his chest to his knees. “Do you think I should wear my old, oversized MarioKart pajamas to class?” “Why not!” “Do you want me to make a list, a presentation, an essay…?” “Okay, okay, fine. You’re right. Hatchetfield High is not ready for your lingerie.”