#it's just sometimes some stuff between em dashes are in a very different tone

[durzarya]

Currently reading Harrow the ninth (I'm on chapter 8 so like not that far in lol) but is Gideon looking through/narrating through Harrow?

[alexanderwales]

Epistolary Novels and the Modern Age

"Epistolary" is one of those words that I always feel awkward about, because it's a rare word describing a rare thing, which means that I have to say "an epistolary novel, one composed mostly of letters between characters", but then I feel as though this might be redundant and insulting, like the person I'm talking to just wants me to get on with it, because of course they know what an epistolary novel is, and the fact that I have clarified it for them is insulting.

Anyway, I have a particular love of writing letters, and so have a particular love of epistolary novels. I think it would be great if they made a comeback.

We talk to people online, and they have a profile picture, and maybe the occasional photo that reveals their physical form, but text is mostly how you get to know them. You get to understand their grammar, the clusters of concepts they're drawn to, their affection for the em-dash and parentheticals of all kinds, the way they'll resurrect a conversation from days before, which shows that it was on their mind. You read the pauses in their discord messages for meaning. You somehow divine their tone from whether a sentence has a period or not.

And then there's something magical that happens if you meet them in person: you get to learn them all over again. Their mind is the same, that hasn't changed, but all the grammar is suddenly different. They talk with their hands, or have long pauses looking up at the ceiling while they think about things, or are quick with a joke in a way that you would not at all have expected. Maybe you had some sense that they were always stoically typing away at their computer with a cup of tea beside them when you read their responses, but in person they smile and nod a lot, grinning as they listen to whatever you're saying.

I think the thing that I've read that comes closest to interrogating this is @nostalgebraist's The Northen Caves, which holds a place in my heart for the way it talks about this weird divide, and the way it nails differences in how people talk online.

Of course I want to write an epistolary novel, and secondarily, a modern epistolary novel that's about email and discords and tumblr and whatever. I want to write All the Novels. It feels like there's something to say about how we relate to each other. But unlike a letter, which comes in and is read all at once, the online stuff is pervasive, and I don't think that a simple transcript would be enough — wouldn't catch all of the anxiety of waiting on the three little dots to resolve into words, or the feeling of typing something in and deleting it.

I'm at a convention right now, and have met a bunch of people whose stuff I've read, and people who have read my stuff, and sometimes, people I've interacted with online. Sometimes I know them well enough to know their textual quirks and tics, the energy that they bring to a blog post, and it's set my mind whirling with ideas about how I can harness this dissonance for novel-writing purposes. And sometimes it goes the other way, meeting a person at a campfire, wondering vaguely what their deal is, and then reading through a dozen of their most insightful blog posts, which give a very different view of who they are.

I don't know form either of these novels will take, whether the idea of people being different in different environments has something to say about anything. There's meat here though: I can smell it.

(There's a tumblr post going around about wet drip narrators who were only in novels of the 18th century because of a demand that there be a diegetic reason for the text to exist, and this is one of the reasons that epistolary novels saw a rise in readership — the letters exist, so it's easy for the reader to suspend their disbelief of how they could come to be holding this text.)

[potatoesandsunshine]

Campaign 2 Wrap Up: Anna Potatoesandsunshine Edition

Seemed like it would be fun to go through all the fan content I made for this campaign and try to find at least one thing I like about each thing! Kind of like looking back through a photo album. Under the cut because as it turns out, I wrote kind of a lot! (As in, 21 fics and 3 playlists kind of a lot!)

the sea, once it casts its spell (fjord speculation, what’s up with all this ocean stuff?? the fic)

The first thing I wrote for c2, wayyy in the beginning of things. We had no idea about Uk’otoa or Avantika or anyone at this point, it was pure ocean vibes for my favorite warlock. I really like how hard I leaned in on the “the ocean follows Fjord to land” idea.

so many things will fill my life (but only one will do) (post-campaign cali/jester fluff, written the night of the cali episode and so sweet it could rot your teeth)

This one is just good. I just did good with this one. I’m one of those people who hates their own work the night of posting and then when looking back at it goes, “Wow, this is great.” My favorite thing is the little gifts sent along with the letters! Cali was so fun and cute :)

when the dust does roam (Beau study up to Episode 42, 2k words of Beau poking at the idea of grief)

Best thing I did in this fic was have Caleb-through-Frumpkin bugging Beau about getting some sleep. They really... they’re siblings, your honor. 

“  “Fuck off, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Beau picks the bird up and sets him in the hood of her own cloak, out of reach of any weasels or startled monks in the morning. It’d suck to have to tell Caleb that his Frumpkin got eaten by Sprinkle.” C’mon guys, let’s do the sibling dance.

keep your swords out by your sides (the idea for this was, What If Fjord Has Nightmares From Uk’otoa Every Night and just doesn’t remember them)

Assigning everybody a word Uk’otoa had said for each nightmare in this was a challenge; I went into it knowing I wanted Caleb for Learn and Caduceus for Consume and had to guess the rest - for an angry eye snake Uk’otoa didn’t give us a ton of quotes. 

“ He reaches over and runs a hand along the wall of the ship. From his touch, mushrooms begin sprouting.” Caduceus starting to decompose the Mistake in the middle of cooking was maybe the best moment in this story for me. Like, yeah. Yeah. Ok you funky little grave cleric.

strange but not a stranger (Caleb & Jester, in the immediate aftermath of Caleb’s charm in Episode 55)

the first of my “the Mighty Nein won’t have these conversations with each other in canon so they have to be had in fic” ideas that turned into a full-fledged story. I still had not discovered the em dash at this point, so the formatting of this makes me cringe a little bit, but this fic was really about The Emotions Of Being Out Of Control which turned out to be a very big Thing for the Mighty Nein.

now this story was when swords were humble (fake academia mixed with a Yasha study)

Honestly I’m still obsessed with the AU I made here where Yasha was just awakening every sword she used without knowing it?? Why did I use that here only?? That might come back. But the best part about this fic is the citations; me at my most in-joke and ridiculous.

through the teeth of this tempest (Written in the immediate aftermath of Episode 69, Yasha internally trying to break Obann’s control over the course of a month.)

The most “I wrote this to cope with canon” fic out of all of them. I was crying writing this, I was so upset that Yasha was gone ugh just remembering it. Still waiting for past me to discover the em dash, I genuinely don’t know why I didn’t know how to do it and I’ve thought about going back and editing all of these but I’m just Not Gonna Do All That. Anyway, I really like how Yasha catches lightning with her sword in this. We all really manifested that happening.

nothing more than what the losers settle for (Time travel, a series of oneshots where each member of the m9 sans Caduceus went back to a different point in the timeline and murdered Trent Ikithon)

This was my longest fic for c2, so I’m mostly just glad it got finished. This happened somewhere around the time Matt released that set of notes that mentioned Trent in more detail and I hated him so much I just had to write him dying six times. That speaks for itself.

Revolutionary!Fjord was also a good turn. He could pull it off, I think.

we’re gonna show ‘em a thing, or two, or three (Jester growing up fluff!)

I really like how I did Jester & Artagan in this, even though he barely appears. Someone better at songwriting than me please write the Dragon Song. Em dash makes an appearance here but the formatting is still wrong. I Am Once Again Asking For Proper Use Of The Em Dash.

the best things (happen while you’re dancing) (Mid-Episode 97 Divergence, Jester taking the reins at the party + hints of jester/beau/yasha bc i still love my girls so much)

Jester’s a little out of character in this, but not wildly so, and it was for the purposes of a Trapped By Societal Convention plot that I wanted her to mastermind so I think it was fine in the end. I’m still fascinated by the way she unbalanced Ludinus Da’leth in basically every interaction they had, and while their scene feels pretty cliche in this... the cliches are there for a reason. They’re so fun to write.

Em dash my beloved, there you are.

plus thirty-one varieties of sacramental wine (The Galavant crossover that truly nobody asked for, Beau + the monks)

Yeah, this one’s just fun. Not much more to say about it. Critical Role and Galavant are both fantasy, but they’re honestly pretty different in tone, and it was fun to write Beau dropped into a comedy musical.

oh we were sea-bound and aimless at best (Purely angst, a What If The Fjord & Orly Resurrections Didn’t Work fic)

Made myself care about Marius with this one, y’all. What more can I say? Beau having to go from first mate to captain was just... deliciously painful, because she would.

lost my shape trying to act casual (Beau & Yasha during travelercon, another mid-episode fic, this time of 104)

Yasha comforting Beau, who feels guilty for not feeling guilty... That Mighty Nein wasn’t lying, Mind Control and Autonomy can be themes. Another in the  “the Mighty Nein won’t have these conversations with each other in canon so they have to be had in fic” tank. They really just... didn’t open up to each other for a long time, which made sense, but I wanted them to.

so long as you don’t mind a little dying (Beau & Caduceus, sometime in the peace talks arc)

Keeping with the Mighty Nein Please Talk To Each Other theme, I feel like I did a pretty good job with the late-night conversation energy of this fic. This was at a time when I was looking at Caduceus, can opener in hand, ready to make this firbolg open up about his feelings. Beau in this is prickly and confrontational but only in service of her friend’s well-being.

amber light, bending (Eiselcross speculation, Widofjord and all the messiness therein)

THE widofjord fic of my two widofjord fics. The blueprint. The better one. Finally I got the dynamic figured out. I maintain that the tower is an absolute expression of Caleb’s love for his friends. The way that neither of them have the braincell in this fic... yeah this one is just good.

and a blade between them (Widofjord happening... sometime.)

Okay so this is not as good as amber light and I will never be able to look at it and like it as much, but it was still fun to write. Anyway, the intimacy of shaving someone else. That is good. The tag “if they didn’t want me to think about the blood pact they shouldn’t have made the blood pact” is the most useful takeaway from this fic and is the driving force behind the Fjord/Jester/Caleb fic I’m working on now, so it wasn’t a waste of time or anything.

feel the ground beneath my feet turn into the sky (Post-Campaign Astrid-retires-to-Nicodranas, Astrid/Jester)

This is another one where I’m like “Yeah, this is just good.” Packed full of Wizard Fashion, Artagan making an appearance to rope Astrid into having a happier future, and the power of Going To The Seaside. Good for you, fic-Astrid.

spend your days biting your own neck (Role-reversal where Beau is the one mind-controlled this time and Yasha is the one chasing after her, set very early in the Tomb Takers arc)

So much of this fic is about not saying things aloud - Beau’s POV spends a good chunk on body language and Yasha writes multiple letters on paper and in her own head - but devotion bleeding through anyway because there’s nowhere else for it to go. The two of them go tumbling over a cliff together at the end but Yasha has wings, ugh. Yeah this was a good one.

and blow the dry leaves from the tree (Somewhere before the beauyasha date but otherwise timeline-nonspecific Nicodranas, Yasha & Yeza become friends)

Yasha & Yeza making pancakes together when neither of them know how to do so... is good. This fic is very much about grief sneaking in, but it’s even more about finding someone to share the moment with you. I think these two have more in common than we think.

oh, lend a mending hand (Caleb & Caduceus during Beau’s tombstone meditation in Episode 130)

I wrote this entire fic as an excuse for Caleb and Caduceus to hug and it does what it says on the tin. Got em.

it’s about the passing of measures (Beauyasha at the end of Episode 134, Aeor speculation)

This fic got extremely sidetracked because I rediscovered the marble machine during it and I do not apologize for that. I still really like the idea that Aeor as a whole, not just the Cognouza, is somewhat-alive. Too much magic and too much death for it to be anything else, in my mind. And I’m a sap for hurt/comfort.

the blumentrio playlist nobody asked for

If I think too much about how deep in each other these three people are I will cry. Made myself a soundtrack for those tears. 

the caleb playlist nobody asked for

what if this angsty wizard had a playlist of songs that mostly just... make me want to dance? that question was answered here.

the caduceus playlist nobody asked for

songs about home, leaving home, dying, changing, becoming someone new, coming home and finding it’s changed... this to me is caduceus.

yeah... this campaign has been fun!! I probably won’t stop making things about it; I still write about Vox Machina, for crying out loud, but... it feels good to lay it all out like this. It’s been a long few years, and it’s wild to be seeing the end of it now.

[luminousbeansarewe]

wandering stars

ch 18: what’s taken away

pairings: none || rating: teen || characters: original characters, original clone trooper characters, b’arin apma, shaak ti

tags: um, combat? i guess?

chapter list

tagged: @yourbitchystudentartist​ @vultures-and-scavengers​ @tupdidtherightthing​ (message me or reply if you’d like to be tagged!)

*************************************************

Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 21BBY

    Behind her helmet, Sol Tannor’s eyes flickered between points of data on the heads-up display on her visor. Live rounds whizzed overhead, a strange precipitation she’d grown nearly desensitized to. Crouching behind cover, she and Grip surveyed the data they had. 

    “I think that turret’s mobile,” the clone said, his voice crisp through the commlink in her ears. The full kit for commandos was new, shiny, and much more enjoyable to drill in than the old practice suits they’d had up until very recently. “The blasts are coming in at shifting angles.”

    “You’d think,” came Twofer’s voice from where he, Swift, and Stone were all crouched behind more cover nearby, “they’d give us a few mortars for the final kriffing test, seeing as we’ll have them in the field.”

    “You just like blowing shit up,” Sol muttered, and it would normally have been in better humor. But something just wasn’t right— and hadn’t been for a while. She felt like her awareness was dulled ever since she’d accepted the chip that Nala Se and the Kaminoans had made; while it had cut her pain down a great deal, which was a relief so profound she couldn’t describe it… something else was off. She felt a little outside her own body, and her sense of incoming fire had all but vanished. Her muscles always felt a little slow. And sometimes, even her emotions seemed blunted. Not bottled up, which was a default state she had finally begun to let go of. Just as though there wasn’t as much of them as before. That should’ve been a relief, too, maybe. But it wasn’t. 

    “I think we should use a V-form, but two of us can split off and come at them from both sides,” Swift suggested. “Let’s not overcomplicate things.”

    “There’s an air turret, too, though,” Sol reminded him. “Can we get two head on, two flanking, and one for cover? Swift, can you take it out?” 

    A helmeted head popped up over a crate nearby, then vanished just before a targeted plasma blast could hit it. “Yeah, I think so. Can’t waste a second, though. Might pop up just behind everyone else, if you’re willing to draw its fire.” 

    “These things are too fast. It’s kind of ridiculous that we don’t have any ordnance,” Twofer said. “I mean, really. Nothing but Deeces? And vibroblades— lot of kriffing good they’ll do.” 

    “We’ve got what we’ve got,” Sol said, “and we’ve got each other. Let’s nail this, boys.” 

    For all her feeling very strange lately, Sol had managed to step into her own in a way that the clones had noticed. And, given the success they’d seen in spite of increasingly difficult training, they respected it. On Swift’s call, they sprang up and dodged blaster fire, forming exactly as they’d discussed. Swift’s first shot sent the high turret sputtering. 

    “Atta boy Swift!” Grip called as he fired at one of the moving ground turrets.

    “On your six, Cronos,” Swift replied, following his teammates as they pushed forward. At that moment, as a trail of fire followed close on Towfer’s heels, Stone suddenly crashed into the moving turret from behind, crushing its top portion with his bodyweight and just shy of thirty kilos of armor. 

    “Shit, Stone! You really got it!” Swift laughed. 

    “I noticed they seem to respond to weapons fire before movement,” the larger clone said, chuckling. In this way, the commandos-in-training managed to dodge and weave their way through the Citadel program, outsmarting every gun and droid they came across, hot-wiring a doorway under fire, and finally reaching the last room where the blinking rod that was their final goalpost was up atop a little terraced pyramid… with a mess of airborne blaster droids between them and it. 

    “Stealth part’s over, squad!” Sol shouted. “Time to bum-rush them and take cover!”

    “Seriously? No grenades for this?” Twofer was beyond just complaining now, as their fire battered into the floating droids before they ducked beneath nearby crates. “That seems rigged, somehow. On top of no way to do rapid entry back at that doorway, which ruined our time—”

    “Can it, Twofer!” Swift was beyond worrying about it, though he would’ve agreed that the sheer risk level and lack of standard equipment going in was starting to feel a little suspect. “Now we know what to do if we ever run out!” 

    “Always looking on the bright side, vod,” Stone murmured before he sprang up, took out a droid, and ducked again. 

    “Twofer wouldn’t let us run out if he could help it,” Sol added, eliciting a chuckle from more than one comm. If she wasn’t quite feeling the usual flush of joy at their camaraderie, she could at least help them feel it. “I’m pushing the line up. Anybody wanna ride with?” 

    “Hell yeah!” As she ducked forward around the crate, firing at the hanging droids, Grip and Swift joined her in a dash up to the next nearest stack. 

    “Hey, wait for us!” Twofer and Stone came next. They both managed to take out a droid. Sol held in her distant worry that she’d barely managed half the targets she usually dropped. And her knee was, inexplicably, starting to hurt. A sharp, stabbing pain shot up from it in flashes with every step.

    Suddenly, she looked up and realized a half-second too late that one of the droids had come around behind them with an almost baffling amount of stealth and was taking a shot at Swift. Before she could shout, the blast seared into his shoulder, and he let out a strangled yelp before he pointed his blaster at it and dropped it then and there. 

    “Swift!” she shouted, cursing her reaction time, cursing everything. It was like her bones were made of lead. 

    “I’m okay,” he growled, clutching his shoulder. “I still got a left arm.”

    “You’re our cover fire now, unless we’re really screwed later,” she informed him. “Keep that sniper arm working, verd.” 

    “Got it.” Sometimes he still pushed back on her, stubborn as he was, but thankfully this was not one of those times. “You should push up, we’re halfway there.” 

    “Are they supposed to do that?” Grip murmured, eyeing the sputtering, toasted droid on the floor.

    “Most droids aren’t that smart,” Twofer replied, an edge creeping into his tone. “And something in our HUDs should’ve spotted it if we didn’t. I don’t like it.” 

    “We’re commandos,” Stone said. “We’re meant to be pushed hard. Joke’s on them, right?” 

    “Yeah.” Grip’s grin was back, she could hear it. “Let’s waste ‘em and clear this thing. Wanna rush ‘em all the way home?” 

    “Quick ‘n dirty will get you shot, Grip. You in a hurry?” Sol wasn’t feeling like watching any more of her teammates get wounded that day. 

    “There’s only three left,” Twofer pointed out. “With Swift covering, we might just get them all in one go.” 

    Sol didn’t like it. These droids were fast. Faster than she could remember them ever being. If she was honest, the fact that the boys were starting to suspect just how unusually disadvantaged they were came as a relief. She hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just in her head, along with everything else that felt different. 

    “Humor me and only push up halfway, please,” she said. “Let’s take them in two, and double our chances.” 

    “Fair enough. On three.” Grip’s fingers counted, and all but Swift leapt out to rush up to the line of cover that was more or less halfway to the pyramid.

    One droid hit the ground. Twofer groaned, clearly disappointed. “I hate this. This is reg stuff, not commando stuff. We’re supposed to sabotage things, not tackle lines.” 

    “Surely at some point we’ll have to do both,” Stone said, eternally practical. “Let’s not waste time.”

    “On three again.” Once more, Grip counted. The last two droids dropped, but not before one managed to singe Twofer’s boot. 

    “Kriff!” he barked, jumping and then holding the injured foot up off the ground. “Somebody get that kriffing blinker!” 

    Sol took that as a sign that he’d be just fine, and turned to sprint up the pyramid steps. Needless to say, more little turrets slid out of the structure itself, pinging laser cannon at the cadets. 

    “Osi'kyr!” she exclaimed, managing to step hard on one of the barrels just as it emerged beneath her foot. The laser it had meant to shoot got stuck behind the bent metal, and a little explosion rattled its insides. “Now, this is getting on my nerves.”

    “Just now?” Twofer asked dryly. But she was at the top, taking two huge strides towards the little control panel to slap the button and turn the whole exercise off. A buzzer rang, muffled by the noise suppression sensor inside her helmet, and she caught her breath as the turrets below retracted. 

    “Yeah!” came shouts below as the boys raised their rifles and fists. “Well done, Sol!” Beneath her helmet, she smiled hugely. 

    “Yes, very well done.” The voice was behind her— and before she could turn, something slammed into her back and knocked her forward onto the blinker pole and its control panel, pushing the wind from her lungs. She clattered to the side and rolled onto her back, gasping for air. 

    Above her stood B’arin Apma, holding a WESTAR-35 blaster pistol so she could see down the barrel. Instinct and adrenaline kicking in like they never had in any battle sim, she jerked her head to the side to avoid the first shot and swung her leg around to swipe at his. She was almost shocked that it worked, and Apma clattered to the floor in a percussion of armor. 

    A commotion had arisen below, shouts of dismay and disbelief. 

    “Sarge! What are you doing?” screamed Swift as he moved forward from his position. 

    “Sol, he can’t hear me, I’m on the squad channel,” Grip said. The helmets were soundproofed, so the external speakers could be turned off to let the soldiers speak between themselves. She was hauling herself upright, pain pulsing out from somewhere deep inside her chest with every inhale. “What the hell is going on? Is this supposed to be a joke?”

    “That’s it!” Apma was laughing, scrambling up almost in unison with her. “There’s that Mando spark!” 

    “Are you out of your mind?” Sol was baffled, horrified— though, maybe after his little attempt at a pep talk a month ago, she shouldn’t have been. 

    “Go right so I can take a clear shot at him!” Swift’s voice came through the comm in her ear. She blinked several times, letting the HUD slip her into the private channel. 

    “No, Swift, his armor’s beskar. It’s blast resistant. Don’t bother.”

    “What the kriff are you gonna do, then?” 

    As if in answer, she took a nearly point-blank shot at the sergeant’s pistol hand with a flick of her wrist. Finally, she thought, her reflexes were starting to make sense again— for how long, though? The WESTAR jerked out of Apma’s grip to the floor, tumbling down the pyramid steps and throwing sparks like rain around it as it went. But as soon as it was gone, he’d jerked his other one— of course he had two, she thought— from its left-side holster and aimed it at her. They both stood still, barrels trained on one another.

    “I challenge you to best me, Sol Tannor. No weapons. Hand-to-hand only.” His voice, even from under his T-visor helmet, was almost maniacal. “This is the way.”

    Suddenly, it made sense. Apma was here to prove something to her, something about her Mandalorian blood, as though he could inspire loyalty in her by making her fight the traditional duel of their— his people. 

    Her father’s belief that such an ideology rendered them all fools in the end rang in her ears.

    “Fine,” she said, blinking her speakers back on, voice surprisingly even. “But no harm will be done to these men. Just you and me.”

    “Of course. But they cannot help you, either.”

    “That’s fine, too.”

    “Now, wait just a minute—”

    “Stand down,” she cut Twofer off. Blinking her way into the squad channel again, she added, “Wait for my signal.” 

    She wasn’t a Mandalorian, after all. 

    Holding up her hands, she placed her Deece on the ground. Apma followed suit, and they descended the pyramid to a relatively open space below. 

    “I’m gonna try and get a signal out somehow,” Grip said. “There’s gotta be a way to get security in here. No kriffing way this is protocol.”

    “Be careful,” she urged him as she and Apma crouched and began to circle one another. Never more than now had she felt the sense of drag on her movements, though her anger was starting to bubble up, finally. And every step, every breath was painful. But that, even at such intense levels, was easier to cope with than the feeling that she was moving underwater. 

    Apma sprang first, which she’d anticipated. She ducked away from him, resuming their stand-off. When he lunged again, she feinted and rammed her shoulder plate into his and pushed him aside, sending them both spinning. But the man was a seasoned Mando, and he was barely shaken by the spin, rounding on her with all his strength and knocking her onto her back with his palms against her chest plate. He was trying to come down on top of her and get her into a hold. Even as she grit her teeth and felt a new pain stabbing her lungs next to the other one, she kicked upward with her plastoid boots and sent him flying over and behind her. 

    “Ouch,” came the low voice of Twofer over the comm. “That had to hurt.” 

    By the time she was on her feet again, Apma had managed the same. He was matching her at least, but with the strange disadvantage she’d so recently acquired she knew she’d flag sooner than later. They danced around each other, each dodging the other’s strikes. It was wildly hard to accomplish anything through his armor, and she knew she was better off wearing him out than anything else. On the next lunge, he landed a kick to her stomach plate with his armored knee, knocking the wind out of her again despite not knocking her off her feet. 

    “Okay, that’s enough!” Swift had finally lost his patience, and took all of one step before Grip lunged out to grab his shoulder and stop him— and a sudden burst of plasma caught Grip right in his solar plexus. Sol’s eyes flew wide open, his gurgling howl ringing in her ears as she spotted yet another blaster in Apma’s hand. 

    “Hut’tuun!” she snarled, hauling with all the fury and strength she had left into the Mandalorian’s torso. This time, the blood-red eruption of her anger seemed to propel her forward. Another shot rang out, but it flew harmlessly towards the ceiling as she knocked him over and strained her pained knee into the gap between his left cuisse and his crotch plate. Her right arm was braced across his chest, and the hidden vibroblade sprang from her left gauntlet to sizzle less than an inch away from his neck beneath his helmet. She almost didn’t hear the boys shouting, or Stone come up behind her to slam his foot onto Apma’s knee with a grisly crunch and point a blaster at his head. Finally an alarm was sounding, blaring through the room and the halls beyond it. Distant shouts rang out, and the doors of the training hall slid open. 

    “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” she hissed to Apma. “If Grip dies, I will kill you. Promise.” 

    “You broke the code,” he breathed, straining back fruitlessly from the blade that was so close it was warming his skin. She could hear the blackened fury, the burn of his defeat in his voice. 

    “Shabuir,” she spat, “I told you already. I’m not one of you. You should have listened.”

    “A great pity, Sol Tannor. You now have powerful enemies.” 

    Her golden eyes might’ve borne holes in his helmet, had a cluster of clone sentinels and Shaak Ti herself not arrived at that moment. 

    “What happened here?” the Jedi demanded. 

    “Oh, Sarge just got it into his head to attack Cadet Sol at the end of our run,” Stone told her evenly. “But you’ll have to ask him about that.” White armor moved around them, troopers taking hold of the man’s arms and tugging as though to signal that they had it from here. Retracting her blade, Sol slid off Apma and onto the floor, power draining fast from her body. Stone hung near her. 

    “Let’s get you all to medical before we do anything else,” Shaak said as she watched them drag the Mandalorian away, cuffing him in spite of his clearly broken leg. “And I’m sorry, cadets. This has never happened before.”

    “S’alright,” Sol murmured, reaching shaking hands up to tug her helmet off her head and suck in cool air. “Is Grip okay?” 

    “Your teammate is already on his way to the med bay,” Shaak assured her. Nodding, Sol made to stand up. She was nearly on the ground again when Stone’s large hands caught her under her arms.

    “Easy there, little’un,” he said gently. “You need a ride?” 

    “Don’t pick me up,” Sol told him between gasps, voice straining against the pain in her chest. She knew at least three of her ribs were dislocated or broken or both, and folding her torso might slip one right into her lungs. Which was the last thing she needed, after today. “Help me walk.” 

    Swift was on her other side in seconds, supporting her with his unwounded arm. By the time they made it to medical, Sol’s vision was starting to blur. 

    “Hang on,” Stone warned her. “Up y’go.” And she was lifted up and laid ever so carefully down onto a bed. Finally, she saw the pinched face and massive eyes of a Kaminoan doctor.

    “Get Nala Se,” Sol rasped out between labored breaths.

    “Excuse me?” asked the doctor, as if she misunderstood. 

    “Get Nala Se and tell her I want this thing in my neck out by the time I wake up. I won’t last a day in the field like this.” 

    “Oh, my—!” 

    Before she caught the rest of the Kaminoan’s surprised reply, a curtain of darkness fell and swallowed her. 

[toast-the-unknowing]

hi! I just wanted to say that I really, really love your writing, and I was wondering if you ever outline? And if so, how do you go about doing that? And I'm curious about your writing process in general (if that's a good way of putting it?). in any case, thanks so much for sharing what you write. It's really an absolute joy to read! :)

Hi and thank you! The short answer to this question is no, I don't outline. I've tried three-act structure and flashcards and Scrivener and whiteboards and a dozen other things and it just doesn't work for me. It forces me into making decisions I'm not ready to make yet, while delaying me from working on the parts that I am excited about, which 1. kills my desire to actually do any work and 2. delays my learning the things that I really do need to know about the story. But I also don't just write beginning to middle to end (honestly I can't believe anyone on earth does that besides, like, Spiders Georg). To the extent that I have a process it can be summed up as "I write the parts of the story that I know at the time that I know them, and they teach me what the next part of the story is."

The extremely long answer to this question is behind the cut, because like any good self-centered world-destroying Millennial I love talking about myself, and I love hearing people talk about writing, so maybe someone else does, too.

The beginning of a story tends to be like a cartoon character running off the edge of a cliff and building a bridge under them as they go. I open up a document and just start typing thoughts out as fast as I can. Some of the words that come out at this point make it all the way through the process to the final draft, but a lot of them don't, and I never commit myself at this point to typing usable words. I mostly end up with stuff like this:

flashforward: comes across opal somehow -- hunting or otherwise in the woods/wilds -- and she's this half-feral child, slowly builds up trust with her -- convinces her to come live in his house -- she's clearly cautious, but over the day settles in, and crawls into bed at night and falls right asleep, like she's not afraid of anything -- the next morning, dawn, wakes up and knows there's someone in the house, moving about, goes for opal's room and she's not there, runs out to the main rooms and there's a strange man standing there -- you won't find the girl -- what the fuck did you do to her -- I've taken her. as we agreed I would -- ronan finally recognizes him as the strange witch boy from so many years ago -- give her back -- I'm afraid that isn't possible. goodbye -- leaves and when Ronan follows him out the door he's nowhere in sight

Sometimes at this stage I'm jumping around in the document --  I'll have a thought about something I want to happen later in the story, so I'll put that in and then jump back to the earlier part -- but sometimes it's coming at me more or less in order, or there's so much I'm trying to get down at once I might as well just go in order. Also, a lot of the stuff I know about a story at this stage is related to the set up/concept/inciting incident/premise. So, in Careful the Tale You Tell, I jotted out about 800 words of Ronan making the deal with Adam, and meeting Opal, and Adam taking Opal, and Ronan trying to take Opal back, and then literally the only thing I had after that for the entire rest of the story was:

the two of them start living together, taking care of opal together, etc.

During/after/immediately before the "get down initial thoughts as fast as possible" stage, I write either the first scene or one near the beginning (if the opening moment is eluding me, which it sometimes does). The very early stuff, being a lot clearer in my head, tends to be a lot easier to write in full actual real paragraphs with real sentences and punctuation and dialogue tags and a minimum of placeholders. I find it helpful going forward to have that springboard -- a scene, or even just part of a scene, that looks like what I want the story to look like.

And then the process is "the same but more". Read back over what I have already. Admire how clever I am. Despair of what a hack I am. Realize an additional detail about a scene I only have two sentences for. Realize that that scene needs to happen in an entirely different part of the story. Move it. Think of one thing that's going to happen in one scene I didn't know existed yet. Come up with a funny bit of dialogue for the end of the fic.

With a lot of stories I hit a point, about a quarter to a third of the way through, where I realize what the story is actually about. That's tremendously helpful in knowing what to put in those nebulous holes in between "X happens and then Y happens." So with Careful, the key was realizing the story was about two things: it was about three sad loners who all choose each other, but also specifically it was about the way that two of those loners were profoundly misunderstanding each other, and how they had to stop telling themselves fake stories about each other and see what was really happening. That cleared up a lot of things about the story for me. For one thing, that's what told me I needed a four-part story from two POVs. And it let me fill in a bunch of scenes in answer to that dreaded question of "ugh what do I PUT on this BLANK WHITE PAGE with its CRUEL MOCKING CURSOR." I needed scenes of Adam thinking Ronan was a bad father, and I needed scenes that could be taken as justification of that opinion, and I needed scenes of him realizing Ronan isn't like his own parents. And I needed scenes of Ronan thinking of Adam as this uncaring vengeful other, and then I needed scenes that totally destroyed that image. And then because Adam is just the saddest sad loner ever I needed scenes where he's telling himself this new fake story where he denies the extent to which Ronan and Opal have already chosen him, and then I needed scenes that would make it impossible for him to continue in that denial.

This is maybe an example of why all the traditional outlining I was shamed into doing in film school fails me. None of this points to the shit with Ronan's mom being cursed and his dad being killed by an evil witch (except that I had notes to myself about a scene where Ronan finds out Niall tried to sell Declan to the witch -- but that was a product of one of those "I DON'T KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS EXACTLY BUT IT'S AWESOME AND I WANT TO WRITE IT SO I'M GOING TO JOT IT DOWN IN AN EMPTY SPACE IN THE DOCUMENT" moments). In as much as those are "plot" elements they might be the sort of thing you're supposed to decide while you're still at the "write one sentence on one flashcard" stage. For me that entire aspect of the plot only came to me when I had something like 50% of the story written, and the specific details and beats of it I figured out and incorporated gradually along the way, because that wasn't the important or interesting part of the story to me. It sure wasn't the thing I wanted to shape my entire story around. I don't think I could have shaped the story around that.

At this stage of a story I sometimes write in nice beautiful paragraphs, particularly if it's a scene that develops really quickly from "hm maybe something like X happens" to "oh FUCK YEAH I'm going to make X happen." The storm scene in Careful came on like that -- I left the occasional placeholder and it needed edits and I rewrote some stuff, but if I had live-streamed my screen while I was writing it, you would have gone "yeah, that looks like a story."

More often, though, my writing looks like that flash-forward paragraph above. A mix of dialogue, and action that I'm sure of, and action that I only have a vague idea of, and shit that I don't know yet but I know that stopping to figure it out is only going to keep me from writing the parts that I do know. This is because 1. I can get stuff out faster writing these pseudo-paragraphs, and I really just want to get as much stuff on the page as possible in any given writing session; 2. weird messy half-written paragraphs are easier to edit, move, change, rewrite, or make my peace with deleting entirely, than big beautiful paragraphs with clever turns of phrase that I spent hours on.

Often those moments that I skip, I either know enough about them to be getting on with, or they're trivial in the scheme of things. Sometimes I skip a detail and find out later that I was wrong about what it was going to be or how important it was going to be, and now I have to change parts of the story that I thought I knew. But that's often a gift, because the new version is more detailed, or more interesting, or more relevant to what the story is actually about.

I also leave myself notes like this:

[ronan starting to notice his feelings and be really stupid about it??? or leave that more for part 4]

These can function as "I know I need a scene here that does X but that's all I know" or it can literally be "I need a scene here and I don't know what it has to do but there needs to be SOMETHING". Sometimes these comments are just character/tone/theme notes to remind me of how a scene is supposed to function within the larger story, so I don’t write a really cute wonderful scene and then realize it makes no sense for the characters at this point in their arc to be behaving that way.

At this point writing a story is a mix of four things:

come up with things to fill the gaps in the story, even if it's just [A SHORT SCENE OF THEM ALL DOING SOMETHING TOGETHER -- AT ONE POINT RONAN TOUCHES ADAM WHEN HE DOESN'T REALLY HAVE TO

take those one sentence scene descriptors and turn them into those big blocky ugly nonsense paragraphs with no capitalization and too many em-dashes

take those big blocky ugly nonsense paragraphs and turn them into readable paragraphs -- this is a really great thing to do on days when I feel tired/sick/stuck/depressed/like a fraud/hungover/uncreative, because I can tell myself "all you have to do is turn half-sentences into complete sentences, this is basically seventh-grade English homework, you can do that." Sometimes doing that gets gears turning in my brain and I can do a LOT of this kind of writing, or I can move up to doing writing that involves more decision-making and connection-building and character-understanding. Sometimes it doesn't, and all I achieve for the entire day is turning one fake paragraph into one real paragraph. Which still means I have a real paragraph where I didn't before.

reread and refine and tweak the readable paragraphs to get to a place where I'm happy with them

Then there comes another milestone moment -- about 90% of the way through a story, I become thoroughly convinced that it's disgusting irredeemable garbage. This step sucks, and the only real cure for it is to go "yup, but I'm writing it anyway, so let's at least make it finished, complete garbage." The alternative isn't "realize the story ISN'T garbage and then keep writing with a renewed sense of self-worth!" The alternative is that the story dies, and that's how I end up with a hundred unfinished WIPs that quietly pass into obscurity. I think this might be the real reason that Raven Cycle is the fandom I've posted the most complete fics in, despite having been in other fandoms longer -- sure, these characters spark a lot of ideas for me, and I'm a better writer than I used to be, and I understand my process better (instead of trying to write the way I think I SHOULD write), but honestly the most important thing is that I figured out how to go "maybe this does suck, but I'm still going to finish it."

The thing that I've found the most helpful with making that push is to find the one thing in the story that I really, really like, and remind myself that if I don't finish the story then no one gets to see that one scene, that one moment, that one PHRASE that's actually good, and wouldn't that be sad? With Careful that was the storm scene -- I would tell myself, "okay you keep saying that the pacing is awful and the first chapter is boring and this story is a waste of everyone's time, buuuuuut if you don't finish it, then no one will ever read the storm scene." Sometimes the story's existence is sufficient motivation. The Pokemon AU gave me the worst case of writerly-self-loathing I've had in years, but I just kept telling myself "yeah but don't you want to make people laugh in disbelief about the fact that you wrote a Pokemon AU?" And that makes my insecurities go pout in the corner like a sulky child where they shut up long enough for me to sneak the last 10% of the story in there.

(Once a story is done and posted, I'm able to look at it with more compassion, perspective, and nuance.)

"The last 10% of the story" doesn't necessarily mean "the last ten pages of the story". The last bit that gets finished is usually somewhere in the middle, although occasionally I do just write until I don't know what else to write and then slap some kind of closing line on it. (Usually that happens with stories I write very quickly; the florist!Henry fic was like that.) There's generally a lot of places spread throughout the fic where I left things unfinished -- sometimes as little as one detail, sometimes as much as an entire scene. I think with Careful the last scene I finished was the one where Adam tells the guy how to find his lost money. When I'd first drafted that bit it felt like homework -- I knew the story needed examples of people doing business with the witch, but, ugh, I couldn't make myself care about them. But I had managed to eke out some of those weird blocky [bracketed] paragraphs, so I kept building on those bit by bit. It also helped to keep in mind the real purpose of the scene. It's not about someone doing business with the witch, or even about Adam's habit of casually tossing out details he has no way of knowing (though I was happy to add that in to presage the conversation about how he knows Opal's name and age). The scene is about Ronan seeing Adam as otherworldly. So I got to add in those little details about Adam smashing the glass, and Opal and the visitor being surprised, and Ronan not being surprised -- which is really the most interesting part of that scene.

Then I do a word search for brackets, "Shine" and/or "Toast", and any other placeholder characters I use, to make sure every detail is filled in and none of my notes to myself like [nb shine check this is true] make it to publishing. I upload to AO3, save as draft, replace all my single asterisks with italics html, realize I've used too much italics, take half my italics out, proofread, publish, catch three-or-thirty typos I didn't catch before I published, fix those, catch another three-or-thirty typos, and decide to leave them in for authenticity/because perfect is the enemy of good/because I'm too damn lazy.

That's essentially the longest version of my process. Sometimes I write a story very quickly and so it skips some of these stages.

"A story I write very quickly" is not the same thing as "a short story." see you somewhere, some place, some time was gestating, in one form or another, for about sixteen months, and it put me through aaaaaaall the same heartache as its longer brethren.

[fierywizardmonarchived]

The meeting pt 2

Don reaches for one of Chester’s hand, holding it “You're a fucking--” giving up mid-sentence, he turns over and starts running, dragging Chester along “where's the nearest exit?!”

Chester looks around the tavern “I'd say the nearest is to the left, sharp turn so watch out… also if you didn't like ‘em, dunno why you stopped me from beating the data outta them”

“Okay, first of all, you're out of your mind. Second of all, you're out of your fucking mind, we have to get out before they--”

“Listen I'm not outta my mind, that was the only way out the restroom, you idiot. I had to do something to give us a way out!”

Sounds of plates crashing and some commotion and the tank-looking digimon getting up and DemiDevimon screaming something about a "get him"

They reach a side door and slam it open only to be noticed by three Knightmons at the front entrance. Don mutters under his breath “... oh for fuck's sake”

Chester raises an eyebrow towards the Knightmons “Are those knightmon for me or you?” all the while his hand that's free is slowly going to his match stick on his side.

“Of course they're--” he stops, blinking, then looks at Chester “... why would they be after you?”

“No reason.” he says as he rips his hand away from Donovan's grip and then winds up his matchstick, scrapping it roughly against the floor of the tavern making it catch fire and throws the powerful flame streak hurtling at the knightmon.

Don stays motionless for a moment of silence due to sheer shock, then sighs “...great, talk about a commotion. And I was hoping to reach the East port quietly. Uuugh…” he reaches inside his coat, taking out a Tommy gun and aiming at the MechaNorimon, who was finally making their way to the duo“I'll distract the Mecha - assholemon, you make a nice sturdy firewall between us and the knights so we can escape from this mess. Got it?”

“Sure, got it.” he shoves him roughly before taking the other match with his hand scraping them on the floor and taking another strike making a blazing wall of heat “AND HOW DO YA THINK YOU'RE GONNA GO QUIETLY WHEN THERE'S THREE KNIGHTMON RIGHT THERE. YA AIN'T!”

“Ever heard of stealth, or does your head shine way too brightly for you to even grasp the concept?” the bullets from Don’s gun start firing, muffling his own voice alongside the noises and screams. The bullets ricochet against the Mechanorimon's armor, giving the tank-looking digimon enough time to swing their long arm towards Don. Chester takes cover by a nearby table, flailing all the way when the bullets come back to his direction. Don, however, is unable to avoid the Mechanorimon’s attack, and the Astamon takes a hard hit on the side, crashing against the wall behind him.

“Yep. Escape time. Ow” the world dances around him and he struggles to get up, as Mechanorimon returns his arm back and is preparing to hit him again.

Chester stops for a moment before looking at the exit and grabbed don roughly, dragging him out the tavern “Come on, I know a way off the path that we can stay away a while!”

“Watch the scarf, watch the scarf!” Don scrambles to his feet to follow Chester, another arm from the Mecha slashing a table as they run past it and off the tavern “I can't believe I'm trusting you with this, but... lead the way. I guess”

Chester starts to run straight before dashing suddenly to his right and into the woods. Don takes the opportunity to fire another bullet hell behind them, stopping the knightmons in their tracks. Meanwhile, they keep moving, Chester making zigzags in his path before going left coming to a small clearing within the forest.

Chester then takes his hands off of Donovan's wrist and walks a bit away from him.

"Should have lost ‘em cause I doubt they could keep up with all that weight."

"they-- they're not... the fast types, yeah." he says between breaths "how come you know this area so well? Do..." another breath intake "Do you live around here?"

Chester just looks at Donovan and gives him a pat on the back before he answers "Yeah I live around the area, been so for a while now." He gives a shrug  "I go to that tavern pretty often, get kicked out sometimes hence why I've seen knightmon before."

Don lets out a sharp breath before adjusting his coat and scarf "good, maybe your recklessness and overall poor behavior can be used as a red herring. Just gotta buy a few digimons in the area so NeoDevimon doesn't come straight to this town" he gives out a long breath, straightening his back “By the way, I believe a different place to spend the night is needed now… any suggestions?”

Chester narrowed his eyes at the pompous digimon “NeoDevimon?” he questioned scratching at his head “How’d you get into shit with a type like that?” Chester then paused before he waved his hand to dismiss the question “I don’t really know to be honest with you, I have a SHELTER but I don’t know about housing two. We could try though.”

Don lifts his arms “I don’t have much of a choice at the moment, the choice I used to have is now on fire. Besides, I suppose I can tell you my story while we make our way to your place…” Donovan finally eyes the other digimon with a raised eyebrow “Wizardmon, you said? The one Wizardmon I’ve met was… quite a different type, not gonna lie”

The flame on top of his head seemed to resurge with life when he heard the choice being on fire now. Though he knew Donovan was blaming him he bit his tongue for now as a means to know more why he was in such deep trouble.

“Well, not all digimon are the same you know. Different lines of evolution, types, yadda yadda.” Chester then shrugged after the comment “Just how I am, Wizardmon is all about lightning and stuff, I’m just an eternal flame. It’s how it is.”

“Cute” he patted his coat and offered a gloved hand for a handshake “although I can’t quite disagree with that. Astamon, but I prefer the name Donovan. A proper, fitting name instead of the generic label it’s added onto us the moment we hatch. Not that I expect the likes of you to understand something like that”

Chester stared at the Astamon, taking out his blue match and leaned on it keeping eye contact the whole time. “Donovan, huh?” he repeated before tapping on his match for a moment with the fire on his hat calming down. “Yeah sure, assume I wouldn’t. Names Chester, actually.” Giving a smug sewed smile at the newly named Donovan.

“Chester?” Don gave him a puzzled expression, but by the looks of the digimon’s face it was unlikely he was going to get an explanation “alright, I guess I stand corrected. Bit of an odd name, though, if I do say so myself, but to each their own - may you show me the way to your ‘shelter’, Chester? Staying still while being pursued isn’t exactly a good idea” he looked around, the black mask that covered half his face nearly invisible in the darkness.

“Yeah, it’s not too far away, well for my standards. Don’t know about you.” he said keeping the smug attitude and straightening up as he put his match away. Readjusting his hat the flame reignited with a new goal in mind.

“Hopefully you can keep up with me.” Chester then took Donovan’s hand and started to guide him through the wooded area. To Donovan, it just looked like erratic movement and change in direction, though that could take someone off their trail this wasn’t ideal for escaping if they got lost.

Mid running he looked back at Donovan “How are ya doing there?”

“I’m fine.” he says between gritted teeth “my coat is just not suitable for this environment, my scarf keeps getting stuck in the bushes. Gods, it’s gonna take me days to pluck all the leaves…” he complains, but despite the whining he does his best to follow the Wizardmon’s pace - Chester’s hand was hot surrounding his, which was expected, but Don couldn’t help but remember how cold the last hand he held felt against his own glove.

Like she wasn’t alive at all…

“Are… we there yet” he asks, clearly out of breath again, in an attempt to push his thoughts away from that train of thought.

Chester though asked didn’t exactly keep his gaze at Don for too long obviously since he needed to pay attention to the path ahead. “Yeah we got through the thick of it.”  he said as they both found themselves outside the thicket and into just a lightly wooded area with a cliff side looking over the waters. He released Donovan's wrist and started to walk “Under the cliff is where I usually stay, not too comfortable but it does well enough.” he took a big inhale “Also as far as I know not many digimon can find this place.”

“I sure hope you’re right…” Don said after regaining his composure, his eyes very obviously judging the ‘shelter’, if one could call it that as it was mostly just the natural digibiodiversity doing the job there “it’s hard enough to hide with a living torch beside me…” after a pause, he added “and not gonna lie, this is indeed a pretty sad excuse for a home”

“I didn't ask for your opinion”

“How long have you been living here…?”

Chester shrugs

“A while. Didn't keep track of time”

“Gods… oh well” he adjusts his coat yet again after the run, a habit that seemed nearly automatic “we should be out of here the moment the digiSun rises. It will be tricky to get to the port without any problems along the way but I’m hoping for a better strategy than the one at the Inn” he had a clear critical tone while glancing at Chester “the people we are dealing with can’t be stopped with a simple fire”

“Who are those people anyway?”

The Astamon scratches the muzzle that makes up for his mask, eyes drifting.

“Old coworkers, so to speak” he finally says “we didn’t end our last contract in a good note, so now they want me to, uh, pay for the contract breach, so to speak”

“That’s a lot of so-to-speaks… how much do you owe them?”

“I cannot pay them back as of yet” Don continues, ignoring Chester altogether “that is why I need to reach the File Island while avoiding them and their network, which isn’t easy since they have eyes everywhere”

[hazuukashi]

900 Follow Forever~

Alright~ So I should really have finished writing this long ago. But I’m glad to have gotten 900 of you wonderful people following! With that being said, I’ve got a big plan that won’t be a follow forever at 1,000, so this should tie me over until then. You’ll have to wait and see!

 In the meantime, for this follow forever, I’m gonna drop some compliments for some special people. My focus this time is on character and portrayals and giving compliments there rather than focusing on out of character relations. Because everybody needs compliments and validation on their writing every once in a while, right? These are, of course, in no particular order!

@ultimatetalentless: The way you play your dork is always amusing. There’s rarely a thread that I’ve seen of yours that felt even remotely out of character. Slightly too salty sometimes, I’ll admit, but it’s still so in character and realistic to the salthoge boy that I’m always amused to read your threads. Personally, I laugh every time he doesn’t play towards Leon’s egotism but they’re still best buds. It’s grounding and I laugh every time, I swear.

@detecaive: A wonderful Dweebhara. Despite getting off on a rocky start, somehow Leon and Saihara’s interactions have been grounding and realistic and I appreciate that. On top of that, your boy himself is realistic and the mindset you convey through your posts seems to fit his character quite nicely. I love reading ya stuff on my dash too <3

@bloodsplatteredmoon: An amazing doggo boy. You can write him in such a wide variety of situations, and I’ve personally been so glad to write with you all this time. Please remember how awesome you are, and your writing is both entertaining and knowledgeable in regards to your character. I’m impressed.

@the-taboo-king: You seem super knowledgeable about your character and it shines through what’s unspoken in your posts. His mannerisms and his thought process is super strong and it’s extremely in character, at least in my opinion. It’s also entertaining to hear his rather... Inappropriate and informal thoughts as well at times, and everything about your portrayal is rather awesome. Well done.

@bourbonwish: Awesome writing! I’m really glad to bother your boy. You do a character that had some backstory but such little time on screen so much justice. I enjoy seeing you play off of different people, and I also enjoy seeing you develop his relationship with Jin. It’s both cute and realistic and meaningful and it’s just awesome in general.

@anthrcpclcgy: A good snakeboy. Please do try to turn down his mad roasts. Aside from that, I laugh often when you play him and I’m really glad to see you finding some joy in writing him. Keep up the good work, since you’re doing so well and staying true to his petty instigating ways.

@nonludum: Again, thank you for giving Celestia some dimension in your writing. I’m really glad to see your posts on my dash and you interacting with others. Very little doesn’t impress me when you write and it’s super amazing when you stay true to her mind-fuckery. Keep it up!

@astralheart: I think you have a good thing in Kaito. You seem to understand his mindset and his potential relationships well. He’s goofy but also serious when he needs to be. His antics are very entertaining to read when they’re on my dash and it’s generally awesome to read.

@crossxskulled: A great Ryuji to be honest. I laugh at all the video game references, but what really impresses me is your tone and thought process for him, as even in the ‘meme-y’ replies, his voice is still super accurate and that’s an amazing feat to pull off. You seem to really understand your character and I’m always impressed by your posts. Awesome job, yo.

@withoutalignment: I’m going to be complimenting our recent thread and your soft smol. You’re getting his voice down quite well and I appreciate the one thread we’ve been doing together. It’s impressive how well Leon and he interacted and I’m super pleased by how easily their interaction came. I think that speaks to the quality of your portrayal here, so I’ma give you a smol thumb up!

@neuro-snarker: Awesome job writing a character that we don’t ever actually “hear”. He does have some canon material, but not enough, honestly. And I’m really shocked at how you’ve developed him into something very easy to understand and mess with and interact with. I always enjoy our threads together and you’re doing an amazing job with the surgeon.

@inabaleader: Great dork of a portrayal. We haven’t done much but I always laugh at the things we do. I think you get his tone down quite well and I absolutely look forward to doing more things with you. Antics will ensue, I swear!

@ofvaricty: GAAAAAAAAAAAY! No seriously, I do enjoy the muses I’ve seen you play and it’s really funny at how quirky some of them are, while also having the potential to be so serious and thoughtful. You’re an awesome dude, dude.

@chariodyne: Another awesome Blondie! You get his tone down super easily and it’s impressive. I appreciate the antics our boys get into and the sheer amusement that spawns from their stupidity and broing around. Love ya.

@fortunefucked: An amazing Komaeda. I love seeing him try to make friends and try to have some fun. You seem to understand his situation quite well and bring some clarity towards that entire situation as well as Komaeda’s potential feelings during that time in his life. I enjoy threading with you and look forward to seeing what’s coming up!

@lunalty: I know you haven’t been on Dweebshima lately, but god is he amazing and you know him so well. Our things we’ve done have been so entertaining and loveable and I absolutely love seeing Mishima get some awesome development. You do an amazing job with him and I look forward to doing anything and everything with him and you. Awesome job giving an underappreciated character some love.

@miishou: An amazing avocado boy! I love our bromance between our boys and it’s fucking amazing just how natural their relationship seemed to develop. You really get his thought process down pat and his easygoingness comes out in full force. I’m very impressed with your portrayal and love interacting with ya <3 Show me a ton more yo.

@lepuretta: Your love for your girl is super pronounced and I always love seeing people love their muses so much. Your girl is exciteable and bubbly and it’s really pertinent to the character. At least in our interactions, they’ve all been amazingly quirky but meaningful while maintaining an amount of enjoyability that just makes me laugh every time. You awesome~

@forgedhope: A good Kiibro. You get his tone very well and his relationships seem super natural from what I’ve read. Your posts are both sometimes quirky and sometimes meaningful and feels-y and I enjoy reading what you’ve got goin’ on all the time. Awesome brobot that Leon appreciates <3

@infinitemcses: While we haven’t done a ton of threads yet, all of your muses that I’ve interacted with have been fairly well written. They’ve all got their voices down quite well and even Teddie and Yosuke’s quirks are very noticeable and awesome. You deserve some praise yo. It ain’t easy to write multiple muses at once with the same amount of IC-ness as ya do.

@axesona: Awesome portrayals from what I’ve seen. Ya get their thought processes down fairly well and I’ve got no regrets in RPin’ with ya. All of the muses across your blogs are well written and you should be commended for writing them all so well. <3

And now this is the part of the Follow Forever post where I tag a bunch of people that I can’t exactly come up with words for. All of these people that I’m tagging below are worth the follow. I absolutely recommend if you’re reading this to take a look at the people below and perhaps follow ‘em. They’re all awesome people that deserve your attention!

@unboundmuses, @mvsendex, @mystxryious, @hopefilledmarshmallow, @ultimateheadmaster, @ultimate-impostxr, @chesskilled, @checkeredscarfs, @pannthxr, @robot-fxcker, @entwinedthreads, @veritaphobic, @inaried, @thedetectiveofinaba, @volleystolen, @needlepunk, @forgedtruth, @ishimru, @owda, @the-ultimate-maid, @rationalclover, @hell-howling, @zuchter, @suyoichan, @entcmon, @dafcnder

Otherwise, I love all of ya that I interact with and I look forward to reachin’ my 1 year comin’ up in a month and a bit! Hope to see all of you kickass people stickin’ around then. Anybody tagged on this absolutely feel free to reach out and I’ll throw ya a thread ANY time. And if you aren’t tagged on this, and we haven’t interacted much before, by all means hit me up too.