#you get better at the details over time - the plotting and the flow and the cutting of extraneous things

[writeblrfantasy]

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

[catzunnyuan]

(jiuyuan) Omegaverse AU where SY is born into PIDW like airplane. He's still tasked with making the story better and filling in plot holes which means... He has to go to CQM.

SQH clocks him as a transmigrator during disciple selection and is way too excited about it. SQQ immediately pulls rank and takes SY on as his own.

SY can't risk getting kicked out and losing all of his points, so he does the bare minimum of playing nice guy his new shizun.

SJ meanwhile likes the cut of SY's jib. He's vicious, angry, full of resentment but most importantly, playing just enough by the rules. This is a child with the potential to deal with the snakes they call martial siblings. There's no resemblance to SQH, but SQQ still suspects SY is a bastard or other relative, especially given how much the rat*hovers*, invading QJP with all manner of excuses.

SY has a grudge against MF and the system doesn't complain about SY acting on it. Soon the other disciples lose most of their respect for MF - especially since while SY clearly hates MF he's kind and gentle with everyone else

The final nail on MF's coffin is when SY reports to SQQ that MF gave him a faulty cultivation manual and proceeds to present the manual SQQ personally delivered into SY's hands.

The audacity of this child. SJ didn't realize he could still feel delight!

The next selection NYY is brought in and SY starts growling and posturing whenever SQQ so much as looks at her. He knows he's in an omegaverse variant world, but it hasn't really hit him that he will soon be afflicted by a second gender himself.

SY is made head disciple but told in no uncertain terms that if he presents qianyuan he's getting kicked off the mountain

SY isn't surprised but he does complain massively to the system.

SQQ then starts piling sy with work and quickly realizes sy is a maths genius and starts using SY's work to lord over various other peaks.

SQH gets a nice gift for pointing the boy out

Unfortunately this means SY spends a lot of time around sqq and starts... Noticing things. Call him crazy but two years on he's actually convinced sqq is an omega, not the beta he pretends to be. The next time he takes paperwork to An Ding and confirmed Airplane who says only "wait you didn't know? I thought it was obvious from his whole... Everything."

Then LBH gets chosen in selection and even though SY's not that much older than him, he still goes full weird and codependent parent.

SQQ is furious that his heir has suddenly gone off the deep end and forgotten that the world is cold and you must be colder still to survive.

He beats SY at the barest pretense but this brings the idiot unmistakable *relief*. He still tries it many more times before finally turning the whip on the problem: LBH

SY presents instantly, not going through a month-long physical, mental and hormonal transition. No, there's no time, he has to protect LBH NOW and he tries to rip out SQQ's throat with his teeth. He fails miserably and after being beaten unconscious SQQ has MF dump SY on BZP.

(YQY is very sorely tempted to take SY for himself bc Xiao-Jiu clearly loves the boy and might regret it later, but he reasons taking SY in would just make sqq hate them both more.)

SY is not suited for BZP. But he can use the raids on qjp to check on LBH and make sure he's okay. (Airplane is devastated he still can't conscript cucumber bro)

LQG is very confused to find BZP running smoothly with formal classes when he returns but he doesn't care enough to investigate before preparing to enter the lingxi caves. SY approaches and tells LQG that now isn't a good time to enter the caves for secluded meditation bc sqq will be there and disturb the qi flow

LQG is pissed bc he scheduled this time first, but he knows if he complains YQY will just say there's no problem with them both secluding at the same time. But before he can get too upset about it, this wiry disciple of his hands over a mission scroll detailing a rampaging yao. The damage is enough LQG is intrigued so he sends sy off to inform the sect leader he'll take the mission.

Blah blah demon invasion, SY jumps in front of LBH to block the poison but sqq moisturized and in his lane after secluded meditation and uninjured from the lack of fight with LQG easily prevents disaster and then kicks shl off the mountain with the help of the array he'd been setting up the entire time the matches were going on. SY realizes that definitely happened in PIDW but LBH was too untrained to realize what he was seeing.

SY then starts his Abyss training program with LBH. For this, he leans into learning BZP techniques just to teach to LBH.

At the IAC, when things go to hell, sy sends LBH away from where the abyss will open, planning to fight the rhino-python and, if necessary, go to hell himself. He doesn't realize the abyss location was "where LBH is" rather than a spot on a map. He arrives in time to find sqq SEVERELY injured from fighting MBJ and LBH already gone into the abyss.

SY stares brokenly at the shards of zhengyang before helping sqq with his wounds.

They're bad enough sqq has lost control of his hormones and pheromones and they're running rampant through his body after decades of suppression. There's no pretending he's not an omega now.

SJ has blood dripping from his mouth, at least one lung is punctured.

"I had to do it."

"I don't care what you have to say"

"you marked that beast as your own kit, but where were you?"

SY just continues applying medicine

"I know why you let him ruin you. A heavenly demon. If I hadn't sent him into the abyss, he'd already be murdered by these so-called righteous cultivators."

SJ grabs him by the collar and forces SY to meet his gaze, as unfocused as it is. SQQ'S face is red and suffering the weight of denied instincts and cycles.

"I saved your brat and where were you?"

SY comes to many conclusions in a single instant

1. SQQ may not be in heat but he's definitely not in his right mind

2. They have both been blasting their pheromones out of control the whole time

3. SQQ has clearly done whatever the opposite of "emotionality washing your hands of SY" is

4. SY's body is very, very much on the same page.

HELLO SYSTEM WHAT HE'S NOT THE PROTAGONIST OF TOXIC DOOMED DANMEI????

He decides to ignore all of that and instead get sqq to the healers. As they're staggering along, LQG shows up and immediately gets into a pissing match with SQQ over which of them has SY as an alpha and SY didn't even know LQG was an omega, let alone any of THAT and decides he's not going to deal with it and orders his shizun to get someone to collect the shards of zhengyang

-

Afterward, sqq acts like nothing happened until SY is officially guaned at which point he makes it clear that he believes SY to be his little alpha who needs to be a good boy and come home

At which point his sexuality crisis actually abates a little bc sqq is an omega, he's an alpha. That's basically a straight couple, nothing gay going on there.

LQG tells him he doesn't have to go and makes an offer of his own which sy responds to with "don't be ridiculous, you're my teacher"

(by this point one of the haha masters explained where SY came from and his tenure as head disciple of qjp so LQG is just left speechless at this bizarre leap of logic)

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - two

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader x sorta canon!rafe; doesn't exactly follow the real plot line but...it does?; am i turning this into a series? maybe.

word count: 6k...

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again, as if it had never happened. It couldn't have happened; it must have been a figment of your overactive imagination. 

There was no way in hell you would have let Rafe Cameron have you on top of a dining table, living up to the derogatory "dirty pogue" nickname. You were better than that. You knew better.

Despite that...You found it impossible to look at him for the next forty-eight hours. In fact, facing yourself in the mirror became a challenge, so much so that you refused his help in tending to your wound. Self-sufficiency had long been your norm. Growing up with Luke meant mastering the art of tending to your bruises from a young age. 

Initially, there was clearly tension between you and Rafe.

Every time your paths crossed, it dragged you back to that regretful moment—the feeling of his hands, the memory of his presence inside you—but there were bigger things at stake, and so, you pushed the nagging feelings aside, focusing on one thing only: getting out.

You and Rafe didn’t mix, oil and water, two stubborn bastards with heavy emotional baggage. Sometimes it was tricky to work together, but other days, it flowed so easily it gave you whiplash. 

In the time that followed, you both worked tirelessly to plan your getaway, meticulously plotting every detail to ensure success and not another round of bullets.

Your job was to sit around and act innocent, while Rafe had to ensure you had a way out and enough money to pay someone off. Avoiding Ward was easy enough since he spent most of his time in Guadalupe.

Rafe scoffed; his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the small, weather-beaten boat skeptically. "I'm not getting into that piece of shit. No fucking way," he declared, voice dripping with disdain.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frustration growing in your chest.

He was so fucking insufferable. 

"Oh, so you've got a better suggestion?"

He shot you a glare, but you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes caught the shimmer of the clear night sky, "I do," he retorted, gesturing towards a sleek motorboat moored nearby. "That one looks like it might get us somewhere without sinking halfway."

You followed his gaze, your entire face scrunching up as you took in the sight of the motorboat. It was certainly more modern and well-maintained than the rusty old dinghy you had been eyeing, but something about it made you uneasy.

"Hell no?” you hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. "It seems a bit...too much. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves."

Rafe rolled his eyes, "C'mon,” he scoffed, "This isn't the time to be playing it safe. We need to get out of here, and that boat is our best chance."

You bit your lip, torn between your instincts and Rafe's seemingly reckless impulsiveness.

On one hand, you didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but on the other hand, you knew that time was running out and you needed to act fast. Ward was coming back to the island soon enough and if he dragged Rafe away with him…you were a lost cause.

There was no third chance. 

“What about the guards?” your voice dropped to a whisper as you glanced around nervously. The last thing you needed was someone overhearing your plans.

“I’ve got it covered,” Your skepticism must have shown on your face because he stepped closer, lowering his voice, “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I’m not about to let us get caught. I’ve been dealing with Ward’s security my whole life. I know how to slip past them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, “Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, isn’t it always?” he replied, dismissively waving a hand, “Just try not to get shot this time.”

"You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?"

"Keep your voice down."

The sleek motorboat gleamed in the fading light, its potential for escape glinting like a promise of freedom. 

As night fell, you both moved with practiced stealth, with a reluctant nod, you followed him towards the sleek motorboat. The docks were eerily quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hulls of the boats. Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept a lookout for any sign of the guards.

Rafe moved with the confidence that you envied, quickly untying the boat and preparing it for departure. You glanced around nervously, half-expecting to hear the shout of a guard at any moment. Every shadow seemed like a threat, every noise a potential alarm.

“Hurry up,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder.

“Calm the fuck down,” Rafe muttered, though he did quicken his pace. “We’re almost ready.”

Your anxiety spiked. This was it. No turning back.

Rafe started the engine, the low rumble sounding like a roar in the silent night. You winced, half-expecting the noise to draw attention. The sound was louder than you expected. But luck seemed to be on your side.

“C’mon,” He whispered, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of trouble, “Get in.”

You climbed aboard, your hands shaking as you settled into the seat. 

“Go!” you urged, glancing back at the docks nervously.

Rafe didn’t need to be told twice. The boat lurched forward, cutting through the water with surprising speed. As the island receded into the distance, you felt a little hope. For the first time in months, freedom was within your reach.

As he guided the boat out of the harbor, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

“See? I told you it’d be fine,” Rafe said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“Just keep your eyes on the water,” you retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right.

He adjusted the throttle, the boat picking up speed. "Relax, Maybank. Enjoy the ride," he said, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You shot him a withering look, gripping the edge of your seat. "Just focus on getting us out of here in one piece.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Frankly, I don’t care what you think you know. Just keep us moving.”

Rafe's hands tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing. The silence between you was a common thing, the hum of the engine the only sound cutting through the night. The coastline was a distant memory now, the open water vast and foreboding. You kept scanning the horizon, every wave hiding a potential threat.

"You're acting like we're about to get ambushed by pirates," Rafe finally said, his tone lighter but still edged with that irritation.

"Better safe than sorry," you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Rafe let out a sharp laugh. "Always so paranoid. That's what gets you in trouble."

You whipped your head around to glare at him.

“No, your family got me in trouble. In case you’ve forgotten.”

His face hardened, the easy bravado slipping for just a moment, “Huh, right. ‘Cause your friends are such fucking saints.”

“At least they’re not murder—”

You cut yourself off before you said it, but the damage was done anyways. Rafe's jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching again as he ground his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond verbally, but the anger you could feel radiating from him was answer enough to you.

He turned his attention back to the horizon, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles were white. The boat's engine roared louder as he increased the speed, the vessel slicing through the water with renewed urgency.

The waves splashed higher, and the night air became colder, but Rafe didn't seem to notice. His focus was absolute. Yeah, he was pissed.

What could you possibly say? Apologize?

There was no way in hell you were apologizing to him. Not after everything his father had put you through. If anyone owed an apology, it was him. And you knew you'd see the world end before Rafe Cameron ever uttered those words.

It was infuriating. There he was taking a step forward, leaving his loyalty to Ward behind and he still refused to show remorse if not between four walls with you. Never out in the open, never too loud.

You sat in silence, each lost in your thoughts, the weight of the past not letting you calm down the way you really wanted to. It was done.

And although you wished things had been differently, they weren’t. 

Despite the chill in the air, sweat prickled at the back of your neck, tension coiling in your muscles. The night stretched on, like it was never ending, you hated every minute of it.

After what felt like an eternity, light appeared on the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn. You breathed a sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

The worst was over, for now at least.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, “We’re almost there. Keep an eye out for any patrol boats," he instructed, his voice curt and businesslike.

He was all focus still, that calculating side that had always unnerved you. 

You nodded, scanning the waters diligently. The further you went, the more the reality of your situation sank in. You were out there, in the middle of nowhere, relying on a Cameron to get you to safety. The irony was almost laughable.

“Where are we heading?" you asked, breaking the silence. Your voice was softer, dulled by the exhaustion.

"We'll head south, find somewhere to lay low for a while. I've got contacts who owe me favors."

“Uh? We’re not going back to The Outer Banks?”

He shook his head, attention fixed on the horizon. “No. Not unless you want to get killed.”

The Outer Banks, once your home, now felt like a trap waiting to snap shut. You should’ve figured Ward would send someone after you the minute he figured you were gone. A loose end.

Shills ran down your body as you remembered your close encounter with death. 

"Your contacts won’t sell us out?"

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "They know better than to cross me. Criminal, remember?”

You sighed, ready to jump into the water if it meant a little space from the unbearable atmosphere. Despite everything, you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of guilt from what you’d almost said before.

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Listen,” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. He glanced at you, his expression guarded, but you continued, “I don’t care, okay? Not right now. What matters is that you’re here, not with him.”

Rafe's face softened slightly; the hard edges of his demeanor were momentarily blunted by your words. He looked away, his jaw working as if he were chewing over something in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more subdued than before.

“If you say so.”

As you drew nearer to the shore, details of the island began to come into focus. Lush greenery blanketed the landscape, punctuated by towering palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was oddly like the place you’d been stuck in for months, but this time, there was no sense of dread in you. The boat slowed as Rafe expertly maneuvered it into a small cove, sheltered from prying threats by rocky outcrops and overhanging foliage. With a soft thud, the vessel came to a stop, the engine sputtering into silence.

Once he was done, he stepped onto the water, knees deep as the sandy shore still lay a little ahead.  

You blinked in confusion as he turned to you, his arms open wide in a gesture that left you momentarily perplexed. The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat, its surface reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your brow furrowing in bemusement as you eyed his outstretched arms.

“Helping you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his simple gesture of assistance. It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, a faint blush tinged your cheeks at your slowness.

In all fairness, you weren’t used to this side of Rafe. You’d only seen it a few times and it was…something else entirely.

“Right.”

As Rafe's hand brushed against your waist while helping you out of the boat, your skin prickled in goosebumps. Traitor.

You quickly brushed off the sensation, chalking it up to nerves from the situation. With a grateful nod, you stepped onto the sandy shore, feeling the warm grains shift beneath your feet. The island stretched out before you, its landscape dotted with lush vegetation and towering trees. It was larger than you had expected, much bigger than Ward’s private hell.

"We should find a place to sleep,” you said, turning to Rafe as you scanned the horizon for any signs of civilization.

He nodded in agreement, his gaze following yours as he surveyed the landscape. "Let's head towards the center of the island. There should be some motels.”

With a shared nod, you set off along the sandy shore, the waves crashing against the beach providing a rhythmic backdrop to your footsteps.

As you walked, an uneasy feeling crept over you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling, maybe it was just the paranoia that had become like second nature to you over the past year.

After a while, you noticed a winding path leading into the dense foliage of the island's interior. Without a word, you and Rafe followed it, venturing deeper into the heart of the island.

The sounds of civilization faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, you emerged into a clearing. Before you stood a beat up motel, its faded paint and weather-beaten facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.

"This should do," you said, nodding towards the building, "I guess."

“Yeah. Good for a night or two, my contact won’t be here till then.”

As you entered the motel lobby, the air was thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Rafe followed closely behind you, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the dimly lit room. You approached the front desk, where a bored-looking clerk sat slouched behind the counter, flipping through a magazine with half-hearted interest.

"Hi there," Rafe said, flashing a charming smile as he leaned casually against the counter. "My wife and I are looking for a room for the night."

His what?

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly hid your reaction, playing along with his impromptu act. It was obvious it wasn't the first time Rafe had pulled a stunt like this, and you had to admit, he had a talent for getting what he wanted.

To pretend and lie his way out.

The clerk glanced up from his magazine, peeking over the two of you with mild curiosity. "Sure thing," he said, his tone disinterested. "How many nights?"

"One for now," Rafe replied smoothly, reaching into his pocket to produce a wad of cash that you hadn't even realized he had. It was a substantial amount, more than enough to cover the cost of survival for at least two weeks. 

The clerk took the cash without comment, handing Rafe a key with a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Room 203," he said, gesturing towards a staircase in the corner of the lobby. "Upstairs, second door on the left."

"Thanks," Rafe said, pocketing the key with a nod of gratitude. He turned to you; his expression unreadable. "Let’s go, baby.”

Baby?

He must've been out of his goddamn mind. His hand found yours, rough fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. You glanced at him, confused, but he simply squeezed your hand reassuringly, focused on the hallway.

When you reached the door to room, he released your hand with a reluctant sigh. That always happened with him, there was always something new you couldn’t pinpoint, but eventually got used to. The charming, panty-dropping posture was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual brooding demeanor as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a modest but comfortable-looking room.

“After you.”

You swallowed your surprise at his manners and stepped into the room, grateful for the relative privacy it offered. Rafe followed close behind, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It was sparsely furnished, with a queen-sized bed dominating the space and a small television mounted on the wall opposite. A worn armchair sat in the corner, and a narrow window offered a glimpse of the night sky outside.

"It’s a fucking dump,” Rafe said, his tone light but with an underlying note of exhaustion. "But it'll do for now."

You sank onto the edge of the bed, resting the mattress. “Better than my room back home.”

“Really?”

"Don't act so surprised. We're not exactly living in luxury over there."

You could see the realization click on Rafe's face as if he’d forgotten your background, “Didn’t think it was that bad for you.”

"Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving," you replied, "But let's save up the pity for later. I'm more interested in asking you why the fuck you got just one room with one bed."

“I can sleep on the floor, relaaax.”

You shot him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Seriously? You'd actually sleep on the floor?"

He shrugged, "Why not? It's not like I haven't slept in worse places."

You didn’t want to delve into that.

Instead, you only stared at him for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity in his expression. To your surprise, you found none.

Moments like these reminded you that he was human, and you hated it.

“Okay.”

With a weary sigh, you rose from the bed and began to remove your shoes, the events of the day finally catching up with you. Exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you down like an unbearable weight.

Rafe watched you for a moment before turning away to rummage through spare sheets and pillows, preparing a makeshift bed. There was no time to change clothes; you had left the little you had behind.

As you slipped beneath the covers and closed your eyes, you couldn't ignore the possibility that this was only the calm before the storm. It felt too easy.

You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled onto the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible, “Don’t fucking snore, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckled softly, the rare sound carrying through the darkness of the room. "Wouldn't dream of it, Maybank.”

Hours later, you woke suddenly, your heart pounding in your chest, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you lay there in the darkness, disoriented and trying to make sense of your surroundings. Then, you heard it—a low, murmured voice coming from the other side of the room. Turning towards the source of the sound, you saw Rafe lying on the makeshift bed on the floor, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. 

He was tossing and turning restlessly, his brow furrowed as he muttered incomprehensible words under his breath. The sight of him trapped in a nightmare weirdly stirred something protective within you. Despite everything, despite the walls he put up, you didn’t like to see him in pain. It felt so familiar, and for a second you were back home, in your room, rocking yourself back and forth after waking up in hysterical screams.

Moving quietly, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room to kneel beside him. Gently, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

"Rafe," you whispered softly, trying to rouse him from his slumber. "Hey, wake up."

In the next second, you were gasping for breath as Rafe's hands closed around your throat in a vice-like grip. Shock and fear nearly knocked you out instantly but your body instinctively started against his hold as you struggled to break free.

Muscle memory and all.

"R-Rafe!" you gasped, your voice coming out in a strangled whisper as you clawed at his hands, desperate for him to let go. But he was so lost in the grip of his nightmare, his grip unyielding as he continued to squeeze, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Panic took over you as the world started to blur around the edges, darkness creeping into your vision while your lungs burned for air. Frantically, you tried to call out to him again, to wake him from whatever hellish nightmare held him in its grasp, but your voice was little more than a choked rasp.

“Rafe!"

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure around your throat disappeared, leaving you gasping and wheezing for breath as you collapsed against the bed.

Blinking away the tears that pricked at your eyes, you looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his hands shaking as he stared at you with wide, horrified eyes.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling, "Shit, shit. I didn't mean to—I didn't know—"

His words were choked off by a strangled sob as he buried his face in his hands, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

It was a startling thing to witness , seeing the usually composed and confident Rafe Cameron reduced to this, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see. For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of what to do or say.

But then, instinct kicked in again,and you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He practically dragged you into his lap, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He only shook his head, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face where your neck and shoulder met, his entire body wracked with tremors. All you could do was hold him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

Eventually, his sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as he clung to you like a lifeline. 

You held him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, “Better?”

Rafe nodded against your shoulder; his breathing still ragged but gradually steadying. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft sound of your heartbeat. "Yeah, I think so."

You remained silent, holding him close as he slowly calmed down. The weight of his body against yours was oddly comforting, grounding you and pushing back the memories of his violent outburst just moments before.

After a while, Rafe pulled away slightly, his eyes red-rimmed but clear as he looked up at you "I didn't mean to hurt—”

You reached out and brushed a stray lock of his blonde hair from his sweaty forehead.

“I know," you whispered softly, “It was just a nightmare. I have them too.”

You didn’t know why you offered him that solace.

"You do?"

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see it in the dim light. 

"Yeah," you admitted, "They’re pretty bad too.”

There was a brief pause, filled only with the sound of your quiet breathing and the distant hum of the night outside.

Then, Rafe spoke again, "What do you dream about?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But something in Rafe's earnest expression told you to be honest, to let down your guard just this once,

“Luke. You?”

Rafe's immediate reaction was defensive, hands pulling away from your body, “Doesn't matter."

You felt stupid for asking him such a personal thing.

He wasn't like you.

“Do you want to sleep in bed with me? It might be better than the floor."

"I'm fine on the floor. Don't worry about me."

But you weren't about to let him off the hook that easily.

With a sigh, you reached out and gently grasped his arm, turning him to face you again, "Rafe," you said, voice borderline pleading, “Just sleep on the bed. Okay?"

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the bed, but with a reluctant sigh, he nodded. 

"Okay, okay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fine."

With that, he rose from the floor and cautiously joined you on the bed. You shifted slightly to make room for him, and as he settled beside you.

“Don’t snore.”

“Not more than you do.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of fitful sleep and restless dreams, but somehow, with Rafe by your side, it felt bearable.

When morning finally came, you awoke to find he was already gone, his side of the bed cold, no traces of his presence, and a messy scribbled note left behind on the bedside table.

"Picking up food and clothes, brb. Don't open the door."

You felt relieved that he hadn't disappeared without a word and was instead putting in the effort to rely on you.

Deep down, you knew he had left as soon as he woke up, probably sprinting out of the room to avoid waking you and having any awkward confrontations about last night. It was going to be a long day, especially if he was determined to hide his emotions. You knew the old, bad Rafe Cameron would make a reappearance.

You got up from the bed and stretched. You needed a shower. You stank. It had been two days since you had washed yourself properly, and the thought of having gone to sleep in such a state made you want to hurl.

You’d have to ask for another set of fresh sheets if you stayed another night.

As you stepped into the bathroom, the warm water cascading over your skin felt like a dream, washing away the previous night. The steam filled the small space, enveloping you like a comforting embrace as you took your time, allowing the water to ease the knots of stress from your muscles. You focused on washing away the dirt and grime, letting the familiar routine ground you.

Yet, even as you lathered soap onto your skin, your mind couldn't help but drift back to Rafe, to the way he had clung to you in the darkness.

Another reminder that despite his tough exterior, he was just as human as any of you, with fears and insecurities that ran deep. And it terrified you, because up until last month Rafe Cameron was not capable of emotions to you, only violence. 

You stepped out of the shower, the steam still lingering in the air and with a towel wrapped snugly around your body, you stepped back into the main room of the motel, feeling refreshed.

“Huh, good morning to you too.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, “Fuck!”

Rafe stood there, leaning against the doorway, something similar to a playful smirk at the corners of his lips as he watched your startled reaction.

His arms were laden with bags of groceries and a few articles of clothing.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to make sure you were alive in there."

You stared at him incredulously, “Turn around!”

He scoffed, walking into the room as he closed the door with his foot, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He said it so casually, it irked you. As if you two hadn’t been purposely ignoring that night ever happened. You shot him a withering glare, snatching a towel from the nearby chair and aiming at his face, full force.

"That's not the point, Cameron," you grumbled, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “And you didn’t see shit. I was dressed.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, catching the towel with ease before tossing it back to you "What's the matter, Maybank? You shy all of a sudden?"

“Will you shut up?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening as he leaned against the nearest wall.

There was no point in getting into a pointless argument with him, especially not when you had more important things to worry about. Instead, you focused on drying yourself off and getting dressed in the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

As you emerged again, fully dressed and composed, Rafe had already begun unpacking the bags of groceries, laying out an assortment of food on the small table in the corner of the room.

The sight of the makeshift spread made your stomach growl in anticipation, reminding you just how long it had been since your last meal.

“Hungry?” Rafe asked, glancing up from where he was arranging the food.

You nodded eagerly, making your way over to the table and helping yourself to a plate of fruit and plain toast.

As you ate, Rafe filled you in on his plans for the day. It was strange, hearing him talk so casually, without insults, without fear, or threats. For so long, you had seen him as nothing more than a spoiled, entitled rich kid, content to go through life on his family’s wealth and influence.

But ever since that night, you couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of respect for him. He wasn’t Ward.

When he finished speaking, you glanced up from your plate, “Sounds like a plan. Is your contact here, yet?”

“Nah, only tomorrow.”

“Great. So, we’re on our own for now?”

“Yeah, you and me, Pretty Maybank.”

"Hey," you began, your tone light as you tried to sound casual, "I've been curious—why do you call me 'Pretty Maybank'? Is there a story behind it?"

Rafe's gaze flicked up from where he was picking at his food. He seemed taken aback by your question as if he hadn't expected you to bring it up.

He shrugged, "I don't know," he admitted his voice casual but tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Just seemed fitting, I guess."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "Fitting? How so?"

Rafe hesitated, elbows dropping to the table as he searched for the right words. "I don't know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "You just...are pretty, Maybank, everyone knows that.”

You felt like there was more to the story.

“Oh.”

He leaned back, now sat in the old chair, “Might start calling you snoring Maybank though.”

Your lips twitched, fighting back a smile, “You’re not funny. At all.”

“Sure.”

You tilted your head, studying him intently. He looked like a completely different person from last night, “Do you feel any better?” 

“About what?” He feigned innocence, avoiding your gaze, as his fingers started tapping nervously on the table. You knew what that meant. 

You leaned forward as you reached out to touch his hand gently. “Uh—Y'know, last night, your nightmare.”

“Don’t,” Rafe's abrupt change in demeanor catched you off guard, his walls shooting up in an instant, his tone laced with defensiveness.

You straightened up as you withdrew your hand, a wall of your own rising to match his. 

"It’s not important," he snapped,"Just drop it, okay?"

You recoiled at his harsh tone, the way he spoke down at you making you want to slap him across the room. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever demons haunted him in the night, and you knew better than to push him when he was like this.

But you were feeling inspired.

“Why do you always do that?” You blurted out, frustration taking over your mouth.

You needed some sense of security around him, and every single time you were close to getting it, he backed out.

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you “Not doing anything.”

"You always shut me out," You continued, words coming out in a rush as you struggled to articulate your feelings. "Every time. You say a few words, and then bamb, gone. We’re not friends, that’s fine. But I need to know you’re someone I can rely on, okay? You can’t be doing this. One moment you’re all trusting and the other…I don’t even know what the fuck you are. You can say no nicely, you don’t need to act like a dick.”

Rafe's jaw clenched, his expression turning steely as he locked onto your gaze, "I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Maybank," he retorted,"I'm protecting myself. And if you can't handle that, then maybe you're the one who needs to reevaluate things."

The words stung like a slap to the face.

You felt the color drain from your face.

"Protecting yourself?" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "From what, exactly? Me?"

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Keep your voice down.”

You shook your head, standing up from your seat. He'd said the same exact thing before you got on the boat and you were tired of being pushed aside like a toy.

“No, I fucking won’t. You’re the one who punched me on that ship, your guards were the ones who shot me, your father is the one who wants me dead,” your lips quirked in a small, humorless smile, “And you want to talk about protecting yourself?”

Rafe felt himself flinch, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly. There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy.

"You think I don't know that?" he growled, “You think I don't carry that guilt with me every single day?"

His words caught you off guard, the raw emotion in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face.

"You have no idea what it's like. To carry that weight, to know that everything you touch turns to shit.” His voice was probing, his eyes scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you want to run out the door.  “And you—Shit, you’re just searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as everyone’s made me out to be. Newsflash, I am."

You let out a groan, the sound scraping against your throat. "I’m trying to help you! Are you stupid? Oh my god.”

"I don't need your help!" he snapped, standing taller than you, "I don't need anyone's help. I've been doing just fine on my own."

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, "Fine? Is that what you call it? Living on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing who you can trust? That's not fine, Rafe. That's not living."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, “I don’t know how to live. I know how to serve, that’s it.” His grip on your wrist tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself, "I just...I can't."

Can't trust you, you think that's what he wanted to say.

“Right,” You swallowed, finding the carpet of the room suddenly all too interesting, “Good enough to fuck, not to trust.”

His grip loosened slightly, his hand falling away from your wrist as if burned, “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. Dirty pogue, remember?”

His breathing mirrored your own, both erratic, leaning in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against yours, “You think I’d risk my life for you if I believed that?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“You have no idea," he breathed, “Do you?”

"I don't understand you."

"Neither do I."

Without another word, he closed the distance between you in a single fluid motion. His hands found their way to your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His touch seemed to tingle between tenderness and roughness, with soft, gentle kisses blending seamlessly with fervent, desperate ones, as if he was unable to choose between cherishing the moment and giving in to his desires completely.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. It felt different from the first time you kissed. Less violent, less primal, more…intimate. Like he was trying to convey everything he couldn't put into words, everything he had been keeping bottled up inside, and you welcomed it. 

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can’t keep kissing me to avoid questions.”

"I know," he murmured, "It's just easier than talking."

You sighed, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his stubbled jawline, "It's wrong."

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching slightly at your words. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, and retreat into his shell. But then, to your surprise, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

"I know," he murmured against your lips,"But for now, can we just...be?"

You nodded, "Yeah," you whispered, "For now, we can just...be."

Neither of you knew what you were doing nor the consequences to come. 

[justheblueberry]

handbinding of A Study in Scarlette by kittebasu

There are people who want to live forever, and then there is Shinichi, who just wants to live a little longer than this.

this bind has been in my head since i first read the fic like, three years ago. i dreamed up so many ideas for it, for so long, and now it's finally done! the typeset was actually done in early 2022, back when i was still using google docs, but it went through a few iterations because i was just. so. fiddly. with every aspect of this book. it needed to be perfect (as close to perfect as i, an amateur bookbinder out of my depth, can get) and it had to be absolutely over the top, to reflect the insane amount of love and care that the author put into the fic itself.

the first time i read this fic, i barely knew what detective conan was, much less all of the intricate plot details; i was just along for the ride, but by the end i was completely invested. i went back and watched through the anime as well as a few movies (it took me six months) and then read the fic again. and then a few more times. kaishin and the world of dcmk has utterly gripped me. it's 100% this fic's fault and i love it so, so, much.

i went through a few iterations of visual designs and i'm really happy with the little details i managed to squeeze in.

the entire color scheme is based around red, because 1) it's a murder mystery, 2) for scarlette shinamoto (and the title of the fic as well as the original holmes novel it references), and 3) the irony of "lady red" actually being red. the secret fourth reason is that i think red/gold is a super sexy color combo.

i sewed the textblock with red thread to reference holmes' "scarlet thread of murder".

another detail i love is the five yen coin bookmark, it was one of my first ideas and it turned out even better than i thought.

i wanted the endpapers to evoke a sense of the white marbled floor of the ballroom, with the glow-in-the-dark kaitou kid caricature being the luminol on the floor, and the little pops of red looks like blood that's been mixed in. i lucked out in that the other side of the endpaper was like a lavender-purpley color, i like to think of it as a little wink wink nudge to the color of the actual Lady Red.

the chapter pages got a few reworkings, but i'm happy with the illustrations i ended up doing for each of them. the chapter titles are one of my favorite things about the fic, each one has so much meaning packed into it and flows so beautifully, and i wanted to put as much care into making them pop as possible.

the cover was a linocut carving i designed and carved, which i then printed onto the bookcloth, and ironed on htv on top.

i also threw in a couple of my drawings of my favorite scenes.

this is getting way too long, so i'll end it here. i'll have a separate post detailing the process every step of the way, if anyone wants to take a closer look. this fic is kind of directly responsible for getting me into fanbinding, so it's safe to say it altered the course of my life. i now spend way too much time (and money) looking at book stuff.

kittebasu, if, somehow, you see this and would like an author copy, i would be honored to make one and ship it to you; i would be overjoyed to gift you with any art i have the ability to make, because the fics you wrote have irreversibly altered my brain chemistry, and being able to give back in any capacity would be a dream. (thank you.)

a few postscripts:

i am not selling any copies of this fic. partially because i believe in the gift economy of fandom as well as firmly keeping fanbinding a hobby that will stay unmonetized, but also because it took me months (years, if we are counting when i first finished the typeset) to finish this and i do not have the strength.

however, if you are also a fan of this fic and would like a copy, i honestly, fervently, encourage you to give fanbinding a try! renegade publishing and its discord server are an absolutely wonderful and free resource. i knew nothing about bookbinding and had zero materials when i first started, but i've learned so much thanks to the lovely people there. if you're still apprehensive about getting started, i'd be willing to share my typeset of this fic as well as answer any questions about the making of this book if you DM me.

[tomomiisasleep]

notes on Harryanthe which I am crazy about, in HtN

this dumb little interaction just stuck with me. I mean they're almost always high-strung in the detailed plot, like in almost every one of the Ianthe-centered scenes one of them is in some kind of pain

but I know they have chill moments. mundane moments. petty arguments, like the one in the post scrips of the letter. And I so badly want to read those!!

anyways. I'm gonna start collecting scraps here.

you might have given Ianthe Tridentarius the pleasure of opening the note labelled Upon the death of Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Your only hope for that note was that it contained a single sentence along the lines of, Get what joy you can from my corpse, you devious bitch, but it was written by a previous self and you could not risk a guess.

Harrow: what if I didnt hate her and that makes me wanna have a lobotomy yeah that makes sense

Once, vilely, from Ianthe; she had ensconced you in fat and rolled you down the hallway out of danger, and still laughed whenever she thought about it.

ok this is just Ianthe being a little pest, but it also means that she talks about this and laughs in Harrow's face, which makes her a little bitch, but also like it means they often chat and Ianthe would be like: Yeah today I tried the theorem on apples again, but I tweaked it by directing the flow of thalergy from- hey Harry do u remember the time I saved your life hahahahahaha

The mockery you endured for needing her proximity was exquisitely painful, but humiliation was steadily becoming your existence whole and entire.

I want to know what exactly this mockery entails

It had been very nicely matched to the original until she had ceased using it altogether, and the difference was more pronounced each day. Unconscious of your critical eye, she scratched fretfully at the line until red hives appeared.

Ianthe squirming under Harrow's gaze for once

She was in a filthy mood, if she was wearing that thing, with her arm exposed.

Harrow has been keeping tabs on the state of her arm problem ever since she first woke up on the Erobos. Same as how Ianthe has been keeping tabs on the results of her lobotomy.

she said, blue eyed, those oily little freckles glittering almost pinkly above the dress. They reflected the red rims of her eyelids. You thought that she had been crying.

yeah stare at her eyelids Harrow, and sniff her discreetly all the time, sweat musk vetiver am I right (also have I expressed how crazy it drives me that she wears masculine perfume??????????? no well IT'S SO *faints*

You got better autopsies of her encounters with Beasts than you did from your own, as Augustine was wont to explain significantly more to her than either he or Mercy did to you.

Ugh why why why in this whole book I have not seen them talk shop with each other even once??? Except Harrow showing off after making the arm. Harrow has discussions with Pal all the time in GtN. clearly she trades notes on necromancy with Ianthe frequently. but no, gloss over Ianthe's intellect and just write her freak(fond) moments

You had once been fool enough to recommend that Ianthe take them down, at which point she had rustled up another from the bathroom and hung it in pride of place above an overpainted dresser.

love her

“Oh, heaps,” said Ianthe, who appeared not to have taken offence at your rejection. It was so impossible to tell, with Ianthe. “I made it. It’s vile.”

Maybe she really doesn't care about the rejection or even likes it, but "so impossible to tell" kinda hints that, well she might be hurt,maybe, there just isn't any proof

It was not a connection formed of any mutual admiration; if anything, the more you saw of Ianthe the less likely you were to mistake her for likeable. She made herself like an overdecorated cake: covered so thickly in icing and fondants and gums that it would take serious excavation to find any bread. As a necromancer she was a genius, though you thought she relied too much on shortcuts and circumventions. She had an exceptionally fine mind. She was not afraid of rigour.

If Harrow doesn't have the hots for her at least I do.

Honestly on my first read I took stuff like "not likeable" and "“Tell me to stop breathing,” she said. (“I have, on multiple occasions,” you said.)" at face value and actually thought Harrow genuinely hates her and is forced to interact with her because there's no one else. Which is true. But she's also very attracted to her and I kinda overlooked it at because I thought those feelings were mutually exclusive. And they're not. which I'm obsessed with.

Or she won't think Ianthe's beautiful and note details about how she dresses all the time.

Seriously Harrow's special fixation on "how Ianthe's clothes make her look" is hard to ignore.

for example:

The mother-of-pearl made Ianthe’s hair a lurid yellow and threw up all the mustard tints of her skin; her face was blotchy, and her eyes were sleepless pits. She looked like shit.

The skirts and waists were all beautifully cut for someone of a different height and body type than Ianthe possessed. They were tight where they should have been loose and loose where they should have been tight. They looked like her burial clothes, and she looked as though she had emerged fifty years after that burial.

she answered after a long, scuffling minute, with sleep in her eyes and her hair in dilute whey tangles over her neck and shoulders, wearing a bewildering short garment of violet chiffon.

The back was open, and you could see the fine dents of her spine—her bleached skin bluer and sweeter against the pallid gossamer—and the twin blades of her shoulder blades looked strangely nude and vulnerable to you.

Ianthe was training in her nightgown—a grisly floor-length concoction of pale golden lace that made her long, limber body look like a green-veined mummy

a lone wax figure in pale purple chiffon, tall and colourless—except in the greasy metal of her bone arm, which the lights rendered all the colours of the rainbow.

Ianthe rose soundlessly to her feet, and the long skirts of her nightgown—a brilliant ruffled canary-yellow silk that made her look like a formal lemon—rustled restively around her calves.

Note that Harrow focuses on Ianthe's clothes for how they shape Ianthe's appearance. in contrast:

she ignored your sister, whose pallid eyebrows had shot up so fast and so far that they were in danger of breaking the atmosphere. Mercymorn wore a long slip of peach-coloured silk, and her white Canaanite robe was tucked over her forearms and had slipped entirely off her slender, aggrieved shoulders. She had scraped her hair into a merciless and shining coil at the back of her head, and she had no eyes for either of you.

Obviously Mercy is SUPER HOT here, if Ianthe's reaction means anything. But Harrow only describes her clothing and not how she looks. Same with Augustine's party outfit.

With Ianthe, it's always: she's wearing ..., which makes her look gross. And I did not understand at first but now I know and feel stongly that Harrow is totally into her gross-hotness. well at least I am. the grosser she's described the hotter she is.

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Creating a Campaign Skeleton

Learning to be a better dungeonmaster was a protracted process. A younger me was often so stressed out by the desire to be a better artist that I'd have legitimately mauled a person if it would've revealed to me the wisdom I sought (with my hands or even an actual maul given the chance).

One of my biggest hurdles was the idea of a universal framework for d&d adventures, a guideline that would tell me if the things I was creating were on the right track. It was sorely needed, I loved the process of being creative but without an understanding of how my creative energy was best used I ended up sinking days, weeks, or even months worth of energy into projects that went nowhere. Worse yet, when I DID get a chance to put my ideas into practice at the table they'd frequently spiral out of control and crash, resulting in even more stress.

Over time I learned from these mistakes, I got better, and then I got good. I moved from conscious incompetence to competence, and I ended up having a run of absolutely stellar campaigns that were everything my younger self could have dreamed of: stable, enjoyable, meaningful, and most importantly an absolute delight to my players. Routinely I'd have people, including folks that'd only played with me a few times, mention that getting together to roll dice and listen to me babel on in silly voices was a highlight of their week.

It was as one of these campaigns began to wind down (three years! a satisfying conclusion on the horizon!) and I started looking for a followup scenario that I decided to study all my really successful campaigns and figure out what connected them. The end result was something I'd been looking for for nearly a decade, a reliable format that I could build campaigns around.

I want to preface this section with the understanding that while this information is laid out in a vaguely chronological fashion there's no guarantee that these ideas will occur to you in any particular order. Inspiration is a funny thing, and each idea flows into the others to make a cohesive whole. Due to foreshadowing and setup reasons you're also going to need a pretty solid idea about all of these when starting a campaign, though exact details will likely change/ can be vague up until the moment they're needed.

The Reason: Who are we and what are we doing?

Gives your players a solid background to build their characters around and give them a reason to travel together, rather than having to ad lib one on the spot. Likewise sets expectations of what the campaign is "about" that you can build on or subvert in time. The reason doesn't need to hold true for the entire game, just long enough to serve as a framing device. EG: The Witcher starts out as a "monster of the week" setup and then uses that framework to pivot into politics and prophecy once we've seen the premise play out.

The Pilot/Crashtest Adventure: What's first?

I’ve already written about these, but the general concept is to give your party a mostly contained first outing that doesn’t have any larger bearing on the plot so they can focus on learning how their characters play/building the party dynamic.  By the time the party's finished this first adventure they'll have already started putting down roots in the world: they'll have in jokes, npcs they've started to care about, an understanding of what's on the horizon, and an idea of where they want to go next.

The Central Gameplay Pillar: How does this all work?

It's important to have an idea what your campaign is going to be about in a mechanical sense in addition to its plot and themes. There is a difference between an adventure that has the party delve a dungeon, and a dungeoncrawling focused campaign. I like to lead with these outright during the campaign pitch so that players can know what they're getting into. Your playgroup will likely have strong opinions about what they like and dislike, even if they don't have the words to describe it, so you might need to explain the ideas for them.

The Hub: Where are we?

I think every good campaign has a hub, some kind of settlement that the party returns to between adventures to offload loot, pick up supplies, and sift through the latest gossip to look for the next questhook. Letting the party return to the same place lets them build up a relationship with it, clarifying the picture in their mind as new details are added and they grow more and more attached. It's possible to have multiple hubs over the course of a campaign, but I'd advise really only having one per arc to best concentrate your efforts. Fill up your hub with distractions and side adventures, shorter stories that the party can get tangled up in while the larger adventure slowly reveals itself. Returning to the same hub also means returning to a familiar and expanding cast of NPCs, which helps your party become more and more invested in the setting

The Main Event: What's going to happen?

Here we get to the meat of the issue, the big story you want to be telling using this campaign. To pull off the sick narrative kickflip you wish to perform, you're going to need to lay a lot of groundwork, seeding in details left and right as well as giving the party a chance to stumble across evidence of your schemes without ever realizing the whole thing. To do this, you're going to work in the building blocks of your big reveal/twist/pending disaster into the setting along with those side adventures from the hub. This will give your party an idea that something is going on, but with more pressing matters to take care of they're going to be distracted up until the moment you decide to pull the trigger.

The Setting: What's over there?

While things like genre and tone are definitely things you should have a handle on from the outset, I personally feel like the details of a setting are best constructed on an ad hoc basis, either in a direct response to something required by part of the narrative (be it side story or main event), or pencilled in at the margins as the party explores the world.. That said, creation of the hub and setting often go hand in hand because it's important to match the settlement to the environment and then shape the environment to the quests inside the settlement. As for what's beyond your hub, I happen to have just written something about building out settings.

Now, this next option is one that I recommend you start thinking about only once your campaign is fully underway, so it doesn't clog up your creative process by focusing on something that you might not even get to

The Change: What the fuck?

A little while after the main event has kicked off and your party is off on the quest that will turn them from mere adventurers into heroes, they start to hear rumours of strange happenings. It's certainly not related to the present scenario, it may even be an unexpected windfall, but it's not something they have time to look into. Time ticks on, the land is saved, and the party is able to enjoy their victory lap as well as some dearly needed time off. Before they can get comfortable however they're slammed by some strange occurrence that they could have never predicted that changes the state of the world. A neighbouring kingdom invades, an important ally is murdered and they're blamed for it, a dragon starts rampaging through the realm. Its important that this event is outside the party's skillset, not necessarily diametrically opposed, but counter to what they were planning

artsource

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Tips & Advice for Writing Fiction

"Since advice is usually ignored and rules are routinely broken, I refer to these little pearls as merely 'suggestions.'....There’s nothing binding here. All suggestions can be ignored when necessary." —John Grisham

Love your story. Many writers create their best work when they’re deeply invested in their characters and plot.

Withhold information from your readers. When writing fiction, only give readers the information they need to know in the moment. Ernest Hemingway’s iceberg theory in writing is to show your readers just the tip of the iceberg. The supporting details—like backstory—should remain unseen, just like the mass of an iceberg under the water’s surface. This prevents readers from getting overwhelmed with information and lets them use their imagination to fill in the blanks.

Write simple sentences. Think of Shakespeare’s line, “To be or not to be?” famous for its brevity and the way it quickly describes a character’s toiling over their own life. There is a time and place for bigger words and denser text, but you can get story points across in simple sentences and language. Try using succinct language when writing, so that every word and sentence has a clear purpose.

Mix up your writing. To become a better writer, try different types of writing. If you’re a novelist, take a stab at a short story. If you’re writing fiction, try writing nonfiction. Try a more casual writing style by blogging. Each piece of writing has a different point of view and different style rules that will help your overall writing skills.

Write every day. Great writers have a regular writing habit. That means dedicating time every day to the craft of writing. Some writers assign themselves a daily word count; Stephen King writes 2,000 words a day. You might also join a writing group; being accountable to other people is a great motivator. Don’t worry if what you jot down is technically bad writing or you struggle to get something onto a blank page. Some days will be more productive than others. The more you write the easier it gets.

Set milestones. The average word count for a book is 75,000 words. That can make novel writing intimidating. If you’re working on your first novel, stay motivated by setting milestones. This will help you break the book down mentally so it is easier to manage and easier to stick with.

Understand basic story structure. Professional writers are well-versed in the framework most stories follow, from exposition and rising action through to the climax and falling action. Create an outline to map your main plot and subplots on paper before you get started.

Don't write the first scene until you know the last. This necessitates the use of a dreaded device commonly called an outline. Virtually all writers hate that word. Plotting takes careful planning. Writers waste years pursuing stories that eventually don’t work.

Learn strong character development techniques. There are effective ways to create a character arc in literature. Learn what character information to reveal to increase tension in your story. Your main characters should have a backstory that informs their actions, motivations, and goals. Determine what point of view (POV)—first person or third person—complements the character’s interpretation of events.

Use the active voice. Your goal as an author is to write a page-turner—a book that keeps readers engaged from start to finish. Use the active voice in your stories. Sentences should generally follow the basic structure of noun-verb-object. While passive voice isn’t always a bad thing, limit it in your fiction writing.

Take breaks when you need them. Writer's block gets the best of every writer. Step away from your desk and get some exercise. Getting your blood flowing and being in a different environment can ignite ideas. Continue writing later that day or even the next.

Kill your darlings. An important piece of advice for writers is to know when words, paragraphs, chapters, or even characters, are unnecessary to the story. Being a good writer means having the ability to edit out excess information. If the material you cut is still a great piece of writing, see if you can build a short story around it.

Don't introduce 20 characters in the first chapter. A rookie mistake. Your readers are eager to get started. Don’t bombard them with a barrage of names from four generations of the same family. Five names are enough to get started.

Read other writers. Reading great writing can help you find your own voice and hone your writing skills. Read a variety of genres. It also helps to read the same genre as your novel. If you’re writing a thriller, then read other thrillers that show how to build tension, create plot points, and how to do the big reveal at the climax of the story.

Read beyond what you like. Dutch writer Thomas Heerma van Voss says: "Read as much and as widely as possible. See how other writers construct their scenes, tease the reader, build tension. Don’t be afraid, especially when starting out, to steal or imitate – all arts begins with imitation. One of the Netherlands’ most famous writers began his writing career by copying out stories by Ivan Turgenev in an effort to master his rhythm and way of writing."

Read writers who do not write like you. Trinidadian-British poet Vahni Capildeo says: “Make friends with writers who do not write like you. Swap books. Show each other work. Take the long view and the wide view. Writing adds your lifetime to the lifetime of everyone else who has written or read, or who will read or write, including non-‘literary’ folk. All sorts of people work carefully or lovingly or effectively with words. You may find inspiration in a law report (ancient or contemporary) or a tide chart, or in an ‘unplayable’ play…"

Research. Critically acclaimed novelist Guinevere Glasfurd says: “Writers are often exhorted to ‘write what they know’. But what if your protagonist is a fourteenth-century nun? Or a drag queen from Kentucky (and supposing you, the writer, are not)? Start by reminding yourself why you want to tell the story. Research can be frustrating; sometimes the archive is silent, the answers are not there. There’s a reason for that and that should spark other questions. Research can also be enormously rewarding. It can, and likely will, reveal something unexpected. It is important to remain alert to that, to be attentive and open to surprise. Research is an iterative process. Research a bit, write a bit, research a bit more. Allow your writing to remain fluid at this point, open to question, encouraging of further enquiry.”

Write to sell. To make a living doing what they love, fiction writers need to think like editors and publishers. In other words, approach your story with a marketing sensibility as well as a creative one to sell your book.

Write now, edit later. Young writers and aspiring writers might be tempted to spend a lot of time editing and rewriting as they type. Resist that temptation. Practice freewriting—a creative writing technique that encourages writers to let their ideas flow uninterrupted. Set a specific time to edit.

Get feedback. It can be hard to critique your own writing. When you have finished a piece of writing or a first draft, give it to someone to read. Ask for honest and specific feedback. This is a good way to learn what works and what doesn’t.

Think about publishing. Few authors write just for themselves. Envision where you want your story to be published. If you have a short story, think about submitting it to literary magazines. If you have a novel, you can send it to literary agents and publishing houses. You might also consider self-publishing if you really want to see your book in print.

Ignore writing advice that doesn't resonate with you. Not every writer works the same. You have to figure out what works for you in the long run. If working off of bullet-point outlines gives you hives, then don't do it. If you work best writing scenes out of order, then write those scenes out of order.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[bunnysbrainrot]

No Vacancy - Day Two

Characters: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader, Dean, Castiel

Content: Majorly plot building. Romantic/sexual tension.

Summary: In day two of your one-on-one case with Sam, you gather intel together. Once things settle down for the second night, Dean reveals some news. Sam realizes he’s made a huge mistake involving a lust spell.

*A/N: This chapter was getting a bit long, and I haven’t posted in a couple days, so this chapter is out early! Honestly I like the pacing of this a bit better so I don’t burn out. Y’all better be ready for the next chapter 👀

————

“Mrs. O’Connor, would you say that your daughter had any enemies? Anyone who would want to cause her harm?” Sam’s tone was filled with compassion as the woman explained the situation.

Her lips wobbled, “I-I don’t know. Casey was a sweet girl, she just got caught up in the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Did you see any changes in her behavior in these past few weeks?” You piped up, matching the softness of Sam’s voice.

Casey’s mother shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. You reached into the inner pocket of your suit jacket, handing her a pack of tissues. She gives you thanks and takes a moment before she speaks again.

“Not much. She was quieter, sure, but I thought, y’know, maybe she was depressed - she spent almost all of her time in her room. We were so close, and she just… distanced herself.”

“How so?” Sam asked.

Through tears, her voice broke, “Her whole demeanor changed, got… darker. She wouldn’t let me into her room anymore. That was where we had our movie nights…”

You nodded as you listened, glancing to Sam for a sign of a breakthrough, but his expression was muddled. A few moments later you were handing your personal number to Casey’s mother, and wishing her a good day.

Sam asked, “So, what do you think?”

“I think we should check her room, but we need to give her mom some time,” you replied, mulling over what could have caused Casey’s murder.

Your phone buzzed against your hand in your pocket. To your relief you saw a text from Casey’s mother: Thank you for your help. I’m glad Casey has people who care like you do.

You showed Sam the message. His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“What do I say back?”

“Well, we need to mention looking at Casey’s room,” Sam detailed, “and that we’re happy to help further.”

Your fingers fiddled with your phone as you issued a reply.

Of course. I’m sure the police have done so already, but we were given instruction to inspect Casey’s room. Would you mind letting us look around later today?

The reply was swift: Yes, that's fine. I'll be home later this evening, 7 p.m. would be the best time.

Stuffing your phone back into your pocket, you updated Sam.

"She says we can come back at 7 tonight. Until then, we should probably look over the police report and see who might know what happened to her."

Sam nodded, "We'll head back to the motel and look into it."

The motel. The goddamn motel where you and Sam blurred the lines of your friendship. With any luck, he wouldn't mention anything of last night, or this morning.

It was the way it felt so normal to wake up with him, to be enveloped in his arms, his scent, his soft breathing before he woke. It was a one-time thing that wouldn't, and couldn't, happen again. It was a vow - a guarantee to yourself that you wouldn't slip up like before. You reminded yourself on loop until you reached the motel again.

—

Twenty minutes later, and you were still staring at your computer screen. The thoughts couldn't flow like they normally did with your research. Vague searches covered the screen, but nothing constructive.

'Casey O'Connor family' 'Casey O'Connor facebook' 'Casey O'Connor instagram' 'Casey O'Connor death’

The tension you held in the pit of your stomach turned over itself when Sam cleared his throat.

"Find anything yet?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. Maybe Sam hadn't given things much thought after all. His tone was his usual curious self, but those bright hazel eyes swallowed you whole.

"Uh- no, not yet," you stammered, "I was, um, gonna take a pause and go to the lobby. About the... room situation."

Sam's lips thinned into a terse smile. For him, he didn't care one bit if there was another room available. He watched you leave the room, cursing himself all the while you were gone. You returned with a nervous smile, sparking a hidden hope in Sam's chest.

"Still no other rooms. And no cots, either."

It was Sam's turn to remind himself that last night crossed a boundary. All he'd thought about today was you, regardless of how hard he tried to reroute his thoughts. The way you'd buried your head into his chest, how you murmured in your sleep, how delicate your body felt in his hands...

He snapped himself out of it again, muttering to himself.

"What'd you say?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head, "Nothing, I'm just mumbling to myself."

You let out a soft laugh, taking a seat on the bed. The ache in your shoulders reminded you of the consequences of sitting hunched over on the floor.

"The least they could've done was give us a desk or something."

"That's what you get in a small town, remember?" Sam quipped, that goofy grin back in action. You rolled your eyes at him and settled into your side of the bed, laptop open across your lap again.

Sam leaned over to you, staring at your screen. Well, you weren't lying when you said things on your end weren't interesting. You turned your head, watching him scour the Google search you haphazardly thought up.

"I... didn't really know what to look up," you admitted flatly.

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing sidelong at you. Those damn eyes. Part of you dared to close the inches between you, to brush your lips against his as if it were nothing. One wrong move, and you could risk everything you'd made with him. You surveyed his parted lips, suddenly pulled back up to his gaze when he cleared his throat. You shook yourself out of your trance and gave him a muttered apology before he took your laptop.

Within seconds he found something substantial - report cards from school, Facebook posts, tagged photos on Instagram.

"How'd you do that?" You asked.

Sam pushed himself beside you to give you a better angle at the screen, "First thing you gotta do is have the full name. Otherwise, you're flooding your search with 'Casey O'Connor's' from all over the country."

His arm brushed against yours, but he didn't pull away. Instead he rested fully against you as his fingers flew over the keys, opening page after page of information. You chose to let go and ease into him, head dropped to his shoulder as you watched. Sam's fingers stalled more than usual with you now relaxed against him. It was his turn for his thoughts to escape him.

"So, um," you piped up, "what are we looking for?"

He cleared his throat, "Changes in behavior, maybe in stuff that she posted, grades dropping, anything that seems like a red flag."

Casey's most recent posts to Instagram caught your eye. After explaining your gut feeling to Sam, the both of you kept mental note that perhaps Casey did get involved with something sinister.

—

The two of you had gotten lunch, lazed about town, and stoped by Casey’s school by the time 7 pm rolled around. At the O’Connor house, you kept downstairs to talk with the family, while Sam searched Casey’s bedroom. It took about 30 minutes, and you two were on your way.

“What’d you find?”

Sam handed you his phone, the photos organized into a neat folder. You inspected each image, taking stock in each sign - herbs scattered around, countless candles, and bottles of dark liquid.

“Is that..?”

“Blood, yeah. Almost didn’t see them; one rolled out of the closet. And if you see here,” he trailed on, scrolling to another photo, “seems like a pretty intricate altar in there.”

“Figures why she wouldn’t want her mom in the room,” you added.

You handed the phone back to Sam, fighting back a shiver when his hand grazed yours.

Perhaps he noticed, too, judging by the way his cheeks blushed. In the evening sun, it was barely noticeable but you were almost certain of it. You packed yourselves into the car and drove back to the motel. You rummaged through your duffel bag the moment you stepped in the door, picking out a new outfit for bed. Sam kicked off his dress shoes and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Bedtime already, huh?” Sam teased. You turned to him and smiled.

“Just wanna get cozy. Makes doing research much easier.”

Sam shrugged, “Not a bad idea, I’ll probably do the same when you’re done. Need to get out of this damn suit.”

—

The time on your computer screen read 11:43 p.m., meaning you and Sam had been continuing your research for at least two hours. It had taken a toll of you both, with eyes dry and shoulders aching. You rested your tired eyes and felt the pull of exhaustion start to take over.

Until Sam’s phone rang - it was Dean. Sam immediately placed his brother on speakerphone.

“How’s the lovely couple?” Dean asked. He wasn’t in the room, but you could tell he was smiling - a shit eating grin that irritated you as much as his brother.

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam replied smoothly, a twitch in his eyebrow showed his annoyance. “How are things going on your end?”

Castiel muttered in the background of the phone call. Dean stuttered over his words as he told Cas to stop interfering.

“Okay, so we did a little searching on Casey. I mean, well, Cas did most of it. Turns out, our lovely Miss O’Connor had gotten involved with magic.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to yours, then to his laptop where he had stored photos of Casey’s bedroom. As you two listened to Dean the dots connected to make a full picture.

It was Castiel’s voice that piped up next, “We have reason to believe that Casey was involved with something dark. It doesn’t look like your average witchcraft. We’re talking about more forceful magic - breaking and creating soulmate contracts.”

He continued, “Those kind of bonds, soulmates, are meant to take time. It seems that Casey’s spells were focused on peoples driving emotions. Feelings like fear, insecurity, lust, and mania. Anything that could make people act out, it’s been happening in her social circle.”

“So, basically she’s playing Cupid?” you offered.

“Exactly,” Dean confirmed, interrupting Cas, “we broke some of the spells, but it seems like Casey did all of her little projects at home. Hell, she sent the spells to her friends in the mail. Who knew you could Amazon Prime some witchcraft.”

You chuckled at the joke, rolling your eyes. Sam smiled at you with relief that this whole situation had blown over.

“So, what’s next?” you prodded.

“If you two didn’t see any weird hoodoo at Casey’s house, then everything should be all settled.”

Sam furrowed his brows, “But Casey was murdered, how did she die, then?”

Dean replied, “That’s the karma of it. Casey planted a sachet on her boyfriend - love spell gone haywire. He eventually went a little too love-crazy, and ended up killing her. Jealousy was the source of it.” His tone has grown sullen with the final piece of news.

Now with the extra details, you didn’t know how to feel. What happened to Casey had been horrible, and it had worked itself out in the end. It was the part of hunting that never settled well with you. Sometimes, you simply couldn’t save everyone.

“Got it. So we’ll head back out tomorrow to meet you at the bunker, yeah?” Sam confirmed.

Dean’s tone changed to playfulness again, “Actually, I need y’all to check out a case the next town over. Mind camping out a couple more nights?”

It seemed Dean’s request was a final verdict based on the way Sam pursed his lips.

“Yeah, no problem, talk to you later,” Sam ended the call. He threw his phone onto the bed and closed his laptop.

“You alright?” You asked him. Sam let out a soft sigh and looked toward his suit jacket by the door.

“I think I might’ve screwed up.”

You did a double take, “What do you mean? Dean and Cas figured it out.”

He raced over to the jacket, fishing through the pockets until he plucked a small bundle. Your expression dropped completely at the sachet in his palm. Sam returned to your side and let you examine it - a small brown sack you assumed held herbs, oils, and then some. The sigils across the fabric stumped you; they were nothing like you’d ever seen before.

“What is this, Sam?”

“One of her spells,” he said, defeated, “I wanted to examine it, to see if someone planted something on her. That was before we knew that Casey was the witch.”

“Okay, so, what kind of spell is it?” you asked further.

Sam reopened his laptop, silent as he furiously typed away. Image after image splayed onto the screen - the realization came over the two of you at once.

“Lust.”

He coughed at the word, unable to choose his next move. Sam leaned back and let his head thump against the wall.

“Can’t we just…. burn it? Toss it out?”

With bated breath you waited for Sam to say something, anything. Instead he just shook his head.

“By now I’ve had it on me for hours. We’re kind of past the point of burning it.”

“Okay, but the spells only work on feelings that are already there, right? It wouldn’t work unless you’re with someone you wanted to, um… you know.”

Sam’s breathing quickened with each passing second. His words came out with an overwhelming shakiness.

“It’s a little late for that.”

Hi again! Thanks so much for supporting my work, the next chapter will be out in the next couple of days!

- Bunny

[sepublic]

Seeing creators discuss the problems of production and executives, it’s made me come to a bitter realization;

Anyone could write the greatest, most satisfying, most compelling story in the world with just a word document, infinite pages, and infinite time.

Anyone could create the greatest show or film in existence with all of the budget and time they need to iron out the details and revise, or to get a certain thing done.

But that’s not what happens at all. Every creator’s going to have to deal with time constraints. They have to worry about the budget. They’ll have executives. They don’t have all the time in the world to go through every draft needed at their luxury, they have to settle for their first idea and work with it. They’ll be stressed, it’s a job for them and they need a break rather than to use that time to think about their work more. You’ll have a plan for five episodes only to have to do it in one.

It takes an actually good writer to work with limitations, to adapt to new changes, to keep themselves open. Planning is good but it really is necessary to be able to write on the fly. You’ll have to leave things out, you’ll have to go with second instead of fifth drafts. The ability to make the right sacrifices is key. But as much as you agonize over what could’ve been, if you play it right, the viewer won’t notice a thing.

(Sometimes they will. It really boils down to the artist’s skill and the extenuating circumstances. Sometimes even the best writer can’t pull off a feat in such a short amount of time.)

You’ll be surprised by what happy accidents occur all the time, often as a result of compromises. Sometimes you’ll have to do X not because it’s great for the narrative but for a more banal logistical reason, such as in the writing or the filming. The B-plot is half-baked because you had to trim it down for time, so you might just cut it out and so the A-plot has more time to breathe.

The writing has to make sense when going from Point A to B, you can’t just throw in a bunch of disparate scenes and information, they need to flow and connect together. Is this a Binge format show where it’s one huge continuous episode, or is it episodic and they’re all separate, with some overarching stuff? You’ll have to let the audience draw their own conclusions, hope they can make connections and fill in the gaps as you focus on what’s strictly necessary.

This is why Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! is a great show. This is why I quote Dana Terrace, “Limitation breeds innovation.” It’s never going to turn out the way you want it to, even if you could easily do it by yourself. Because you won’t have the space or budget to do it. Or because you’re just so tired after a long day’s work that you don’t have the fresh mind to look at the story from another perspective and ask this simple question, especially after answering ten other simple questions. The script has already been submitted to be animated/filmed when you realize so it’s too late.

This isn’t to say that media criticism isn’t warranted. Some people couldn’t get stuff done even with all the time and budget in the world. But again I think it helps to better appreciate the process behind creation instead of taking it for granted, how creators have to wrangle a million different factors, and leave some to others in the process to interpret.

It’s easy to be the audience who has the luxury and no pressure to imagine it in their head or make a million small adjustments, to poke at little details. But imagine having to build that from scratch, instead of just standing on the shoulders of others! And isn’t established canon itself a limitation to work with, rather than the freedom of empty space? Perhaps canon does breed innovation in the fan, who otherwise would not be inspired without it.

[elderwisp]

The Creative Process ‧₊˚✩彡 

Because I love to be distracted

Hi! Ok, I wanted to share wif everyone my process in which I create a story post from conception to the final post. I would say I'm a very structured person when it comes to projects like these however, I've learned a lot and maybe someone could find something useful! We'll be referencing this scene. Oke, let's start!

✩ Rough Drafts

So, of course everything starts off with a vision. While I always say, write what feels authentic to you, I also know it makes things much more difficult if you don't have a solid ground to build from. I think I've scrapped this particular story about twice already and even reshot the first chunk of Tessellate so there was a better foundation. I like to start off with understanding a character before moving onto creating a plot, otherwise people start bleed into another. Greta Gerwig makes a really awesome statement about how characters come first to her before plot. OKE with that in mind, this particular scene, I wrote it well over a year ago, however there wasn't much flow in the initial draft. In fact, the two look nothing alike. This conversation was supposed to occur during France's concert, but I moved it to to this particular scene and I'm so glad. I felt like their current relationship was strong enough to have this conversation but also it allowed me to really focus in on the two. I am a huge advocate for jotting down dialogue even if things change because you can always expand on an idea. And if things don't work, scrapping is okay, but at least you gave it a shot! After that change, I didn't revisit that scene up until about a month and a half ago. I like to let things sit for a good while. In the initial draft, Taryn was reserved throughout a majority of the conversation. There was limitations in which how I wanted her to express things but things change in a year. When I looked at her as a character and how she's progressed throughout the story, the draft no longer aligned with her lack of response. And then that created the question of what the heck does one say? Because people aren't typically very graceful or eloquent when it comes to confrontation but also we're telling a story so how do I balance the two out? Since, I've followed these little blorbos for a while, knowing their characters and motives allowed me to flesh everything out. Atlas is much more cunning than he lets on and is excellent at painting a pretty picture for those around him if it means getting what he wants. Taryn on the other hand is perceptive and unwavering so being around someone like him, someone that she finds herself slowly falling for, is a complete, well, mind fuck. We can also see from this interaction that there's a hint of feeling inadequate and the lack of confidence to know that maybe he does like her. We also see that Atlas maybe isn't the most mature when it comes to developing something real so the two have plenty to work on just from this scene alone. Like Greta Gerwig says, writing is listening.

I also wanted to mention LocalScriptMan and this video all the time because it just about changed how I viewed dialogue in general. I think it's such a great tool! I've probably shared it a billion times.

✩ Blender & Posemaking

So I would like to preface this by saying, you do not need to use blender to achieve a vision. There are still scenes that I still use poses/animations from other creators! I wanted to list a few references! Rebouks, Rascgal and Simmireen have an amazing variety of poses to use! I literally use Becca's bumper packs RELIGOUSLY! However, if you need any suggestions, SurelySim's has an excellent breakdown on getting started with posemaking from tiny details, to SimRipper and using accessories! She also talks about Vyxated's Pose Helper which is a god send! For this scene I wanted to fully pose it. In my script, I italicize anything I want to pose, I'm such a sucker for the mannerisms that people have. When words fail, body language speaks. Are they fidget-y, or do I imagine them to be more composed? Taryn's stance is grounded, she doesn't move at all in the scene except for when she leaves and I think it's a great representation of her stubbornness. Whereas Atlas is watching every single move, up until he makes his incredibly bold (ridiculous!) statement. As for emotion when he made that statement, I wanted to go with shame but then I felt like his expression radiated ruthlessness. I personally enjoyed that 10x more because it represented two things for me, his character and that he felt comfortable enough to show that part of himself. When posing a scene from start to finish, it takes me about 1-3 days depending on how complex it is. I'm a huge advocate for using references! I love referencing hands, posture, how to grab a book ANYTHING! Because this was a conversation and not much action happened, it took me about a day.

✩ Taking Screenshots and Composition

I began taking photos for this scene on March 6th. I use to use this reshade preset by growfruit however, after tinkering with some settings I use like a mish-mash blorbo of a preset. Amobae and Sforz have some cool LUT's for download (I think of it like a filter? That's probably not what it is but MEH) and I love the qUINT's lightroom shader as well. Huge advocate of relight, I was today years old when I learn that you should load it at the top of your shaders order so you don't get like a weird whitecast. These spotlights though are super fun too if you don't use reshade! There are some photographers on instagram that even go over how to use lightroom and it can translate to game as well! For the most part, I try to keep screenshots pretty simple, editing-wise but there are moments when I doodle in little hairs, add in some texture and include shadows for, uh, DRAMAAA. Lately, I've been incorporating intricate fonts because idk sometimes my brain enjoys a little graphic design moment. Sometimes shooting conversation heavy scenes can get so repetitive so I like to look at film stills on pinterest or pay close attention to a film and how they present the camera work in a conversation. Rule of thirds is a great reference tool to use, I believe GShade has a shader for that. However it's okay to experiment, it's not an end all be all. I love looking at animators and how each frame is incredibly intentional, whether it's a shot from above or a really close frame. The beginning of this scene, I honestly didn't have a clue as to how I wanted to open it up since they were walking down a hall. Then I noticed the detail in the fencing and how the tiles were opposite. Using the TOOL mod, I was able to get them both in the center and it created a strong opening shot of how different these two are.

✩ Editing

My god, I love editing but also this is usually the moment where I get so freaking distracted. This process takes me a day if I am focused.... But realistically it takes three days.... That's why I try to keep things to a minimum. I do use Photoshop. I like to use this sharpening action (the other actions are awesome too!) for story posts, I crop each photo (I use a 9:5 ratio and a 16:6 ratio if I need to focus on something specific idk why i picked those numbers yo), and add in text. Dafont has a lot of different free fonts. I like to use these little guidelines if sentences needs to be centered.

For adding umph to text, I like to use two things: The warped text option when using the type tool or just going to the distort panel and using the wave option!

Also bottom right of your layers channel is an fx layer. I like to use stroke and drop shadow on all text so it doesn't get lost within a photo!

✩ Finalization and My Schedule

That story post was uploaded on March 29th. As of right now, I like to stay three weeks ahead so I have three weeks worth of story posts marinating in my queue LMAO. I always reread things like a bajillion times, sometimes I'll go back and tweak conversations if they feel a bit stiff. Having that three week buffer also gives me time to really dedicate myself to details and focus on being present with a future scene. Another perk is, it allows me to work on cleaning up the script, plotting for future arcs, and having fun with edits. When I used to upload story videos on youtube, I didn't really plan ahead and it was so chaotic for me. Sometimes I didn't have enough time to actually create a solid episode so things felt rushed because on top of that I had a schedule I committed to. This isn't necessary but structure and patterns is something my little brain needs.

I hope this maybe provided some tips for people wanting to start out or it was just a fun little thing to read! One final OP tip is to write about something that you enjoy, something that matters to you. I'm one mf that loves a fleshed out character arc, that doesn't like linear plots and for fucks sake I love a good slow burn and I think all of that reflects a lot which helps me be engaged.

[tortoisebore]

any tips for new writers?

(btw i am literally in love with hey, sharpshooter it had me up all night reading it <3)

**disclaimer that i am by no means a person that has any actual real education/experience in writing or character work or world building & i can only give you what has worked for me & the things i’ve kept in mind while writing my little gay fanfiction 💞👯‍♀️

my main big picture tips are not backed up in research, they’re just what’s worked for me:

1. make a deeply detailed outline. spending a lot of time writing a very long, detailed outline at the beginning helped me a lot when i felt stuck in the back half of the fic. the outline changed a lot from when i started it, and i added little notes and ideas for scenes or dialogues or character traits along the way, but all of my big idea generation happened there and it helped me a lot with pacing the plot and building the characters and their relationship gradually. also** it was not some sort of technically perfect, structured outline—this is what it looked like:

fr just get all of your ideas down on a page in whatever way works for you. this is the place to word-dump to your heart’s content!!

2. make the first draft bad. fr just get it in the page. if you’re not feeling it or don’t have any specific word choices in your head when you’re writing the first draft, don’t worry about the dialogue being realistic or having perfect flowery metaphors or beautiful descriptive world building. literally just get it on the page in whatever way you can.

3. connect the dots between the type of writing you like to read and what you like to write. i loveee books with flowery prose and metaphors and natural dialogue, and i found that i really enjoyed writing those things, so they were the goals i focused on while i was doing all my editing/second draft writing. on the flip side, if you like to read extensive world-building but find yourself struggling to find motivation/inspiration to write it, don’t. try to write how you want to write, but put more emphasis on writing how you like to write.

4. don’t force it. this has been crucial to me bc i work a 9-5 in the art/design industry and i only have so much creative energy to go around, so i have to ration it carefully. if you try to force yourself to write when you’re really not feeling it, or when you’re out of motivation and frustrated and tired, it will 100% show in your writing.

5. don’t think about posting your work. for 99% of us, this is a hobby. posting your work is not a hobby, creating it is!! rn we exist in a world where people view creativity and art solely as content to be consumed, and i encourage you to place more emphasis on actually enjoying and finding peace and meaning in the journey of making something rather than the idea of other people consuming it. what it does for you and how it makes you feel is far more important than what it does for the people pressuring you for an update you’re not ready to give them.

and then here are a couple technical/grammatical tips that i learned way back in like 6th grade english or picked up on by reading a million books over the years & still think of constantly:

1. vary your sentence structure!! i am sometimes bad at this and i don’t really pay attention to it in my first drafts, but when i go back and edit i make sure to vary my sentences by length, compound vs. simple, breaking up with semicolons or hyphens, etc. a story that’s written with strong, varied sentence types will read much more naturally and flow better than one that doesn’t

2. be intentional about starting your sentences with different words. again, when i’m writing my first drafts i don’t pay much attention to things like this, but when i’m editing i’m really anal about making sure that my sentences don’t all start with “he” or “[insert name here]” or “it” or whatever. sometimes you can’t work around it, but my goal is to never have two consecutive sentences start with the same word, and i really really try to make sure that two consecutive paragraphs don’t start with the same word

3. say your dialogue out loud. i had the hardest time trying to make my dialogue feel natural at the start but honest to god saying it out loud with all the cadence and emphases you’re writing it with can really help you find ways to make it feel like actual people talking. also, don’t be afraid to use ellipses and hyphens and break up a string of dialogue with an action, like a character sighing or biting the inside of their cheek or moving their hands. people don’t talk in perfectly-structured sentences. we run-on and don’t use punctuation and we restart or hesitate in the middle of a sentence—include that!!

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Dethrone - Chapter 6

Warnings: I guess like pg-13 with an intense makeout, probably a swear word somewhere Authors Note: rhaenyra deserves better, this is basically just plotting and manipulating and setting up for the story to progress, ps next chapter will have some smut bc bffr this man is too fine not to Word Count: 2.7k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

I wake up to the sun peaking through the curtains. I stretch out and frown when I don’t feel Aemond. I see a note scribbled out and left on the table. I walk over to it and scan over it.

“My love, I’m off to train for the morning. I’ve had a dress brought up for you. Should you need anything just ask the guard or come to the yard and get me. -Aemond.”

I look around his chambers and see a dress spread across one of his chairs. It’s a soft blue dress with tons of white embroidery and gem details. I slip the dress on and walk over to his vanity to try and tame my hair.

Once I’m ready I walk to the door and place my ear to it to see if I can hear anyone outside. I’m greeted with silence so I quickly open the door and slip out. I get lost a couple of times trying to find the training yard but I’m not in a rush and I’m happy to explore and take in the architectural beauty that is the Red Keep. I finally find the main hall and doors and make my exit to search for the training yard.

When I see his silver hair flowing around him as he trains I can’t help but to smile. How could this beautiful man ever think so lowly of himself. I stand back in the crowd and admire him. When he finally turns towards me I see his face light up. He pushes the man he was fighting to the ground and walks over to me.

“Hello my love.” he coos pulling me into a hug.

“Hi.” I say shyly looking up to him.

“Did you sleep well?” he smiles down to me warmly stroking my cheek.

“Mm I did.” I hum closing my eyes.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Jace shouts pulling us out of our bubble.

“None of your business.” I say turning towards him.

“Daemon has been looking for you.” he says glaring at me and then to Aemond.

“I’m sure he has.” I bitterly laugh.

“Are you just going to spend all your time here with him?” Jace spits with disgust.

“Why don’t you go with Jace and I’ll come find you later.” Aemond says softly in my ear making turn towards him.

“I’m scared they won’t let me see you again if I leave you now.” I whisper.

“I promise you’ll see me again.” he says tenderly grabbing my hand.

“I better. Or I’ll come find you.” I say furrowing my eyebrows.

“Go on.” he says sweetly kissing my hand.

“I’m still here.” Jace says annoyed.

“Yeah I’m coming.” I roll my eyes and walk over to Jace.

We walk silently out of the training yard and I can’t feel the tension around us. My mind is racing as to what my father has told everyone. Surely he hasn’t told them the truth.

“So what the fuck happened last night??” Jace questions once were out of ear shot of the people in the yard.

“What do you mean?” I ask trying to avoid this conversation but gain information about what my father has said.

“I overheard Daemon yelling about you to my mother.” he says side eyeing me.

“And what did you hear exactly?” I pry for more information.

“I just heard something about you and Aemond and the street of silk.” he raises his eyebrow.

“That’s it?” I ask.

I wonder what Daemon has told Rheanyra. I doubt he told her about his whore. I know he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make himself seem like the bigger person. Clearly he hasn’t told everyone the exact story if Jace is here asking me about it.

“They won’t tell us. We’ve been trying to find you all morning.” he says slowing his pace as Daemon and Rheanyra come into view.

“Well, let’s go see what I did.” I groan as we get closer to them.

Once we make our way over to them I stand there waiting for the yelling to begin. Daemons neck is slightly red around his cut. He looks at me curiously and I can’t figure out the emotion behind his eyes. Rheanyra stands at his side with her hands folded in front of her.

“Where have you been daughter?” Daemon says reaching for my hand which I quickly place behind my back avoiding his touch.

“What happened to your neck father?” the word feels like venom on my tongue as I raise my eyebrows staring at his neck.

We stare at each other waiting to see who will speak first. I see a smirk tugging on the ends of his mouth. I stand up straight and hold my ground never breaking eye contact. We stare at each other in a stand off, neither of us willing to back down.

“Your father got into a scuffle with some men in the streets looking for you last night. We should all be grateful he got away with just a cut.” Rheanyra rips through our silence making Daemon break the eye contact first.

“Gods be great. My hero.” my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Did he really paint himself as the hero? Off looking for me and just ran into some trouble. How can he just lie to Rheanyra like that? She’s never been anything but kind to me and she deserves to know.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jace asks giving me a sideways look.

“Enough.” Rheanyra says sternly stepping between us. “I have no idea what is going on with you two, but we will deal with this in private. Let’s go. Now.” she says intensely staring at me and then to Daemon.

Rheanyra brushes past Daemon and we all begin to follow her. We follow her up to her and Daemons chambers and all find places to sit in the sitting room. Daemon has an air of arrogance that enrages me that he thinks he’ll get away with betraying Rheanrya.

“The rest of you off to Jaces chambers. We would like to speak to Viktorya alone.” Rheanyra says to the other children and they all start to file out.

“So what’s the story then?” I ask raising an eyebrow lounging further back into the couch.

“There is no story to be told besides yours. I spent all night worried sick looking for you.” Daemon says his gaze burning into mine.

I sit there for a moment and think. If I think this through quickly I can use this to my advantage. I can use the truth for a more ideal time. If I cover for my father now I can use him to start a public courtship with Aemond. By having my father support us will allow others to agree and will complete the first step on our path to the throne.

“I will admit to going out and spending the night with my cousins. I’m sorry if I’ve let you guys down. I just wanted to have a care free night and I ended up falling asleep on Aemonds couch.” I say sounding apologetic and avoiding eye contact.

When I look up I catch my father’s eye and see him slightly raise his eyebrow curiously. I slightly nod my head and then turn to Rhaenyra with remorse. My sadness for Rhaenyra is genuine and I wish she was with anyone other than my pig of a father. She looks worried of the news that I spent time with her half brothers.

“Did they do anything you didn’t want or did they bring you any harm?” Rheanyra asks looking concerned more than anything.

“No. They were perfect gentlemen and took care of me all night.” I speak truthfully of Aemond at least.

“I would be lying if I said I’m not surprised.” Rhaenyra says relieved in that sense.

“We must be careful and thoughtful of our actions. We don’t need anymore court drama than necessary. No more sleepovers in others chambers and no more rumors of being spotted in flea bottom, let alone the street of silk.” Daemon says finishing up the fake parental scolding.

“Understood father. May I go to my chambers?” I ask trying to sound like a dutiful daughter and not roll my eyes.

“Of course, I’ll check on you later.” he says holding my gaze for a moment.

I quickly make it back to my chambers and shut the door behind me. I let out a huge breath. My mind is racing with the decision I just made. I feel terrible that I lied to Rhaenyra, but so did Daemon.

I glide over to my balcony seeking fresh air and jump back when I see Aemond looking on at the city. He turns around on my approach and breaks out into a smile.

“How did everything go?” he asks pulling me into a hug. He listens intently as I tell him of everything that happened. “So what is the favor you’re seeking from Daemon?” he asks pulling back to look at me curiously.

“An opportunity to start paving our way. For me and you to have a chance.” I blush looking down.

“What do you mean?” Aemond asks softly tilting my chin up with his hand.

“To have him support our courtship. If that’s what you were to want? I don’t even know if that’s what you truly want, we haven’t fully discussed it. I just put everything on the line. Maybe I’m being too pushy-“ I ramble on and he cuts me off with a fierce kiss.

He pulls me impossibly closer and all my worry and doubt melts away. He guides me back into my chambers slowly so we’re not on display on the balcony. He pulls back and we’re both breathless.

“You would lie and deceive if it means being with me?” he asks looking down at me completely blown away.

“I have and I will again if I must.” I respond cupping his jaw affectionately.

“No one has ever acted so selflessly for me before, my love.” he looks at me softly leaning into my hand.

“He’s coming to my chambers later and we will discuss the future from here. I want you to be here too if that’s okay.” I ask not wanting to sound needy.

“Of course I will be here, you’re doing this for us.” Aemond says with a gentle smile.

“Thank you for this dress. I think it’s quite beautiful and it’s one of my favorite colors. It reminds me of a clear sky.” I say playing with the skirt of my dress.

“You are absolutely breathtaking.” he hums pushing me back so he can fully admire me.

He grabs my hand and slowly spins me around and I give him a lazy smile. Being with Aemond is so calm I feel like I can truly just be. He pulls me back to him and places a quick kiss on my lips that has me chasing him for more. He chuckles and captures my lips once more. We fall back onto the couch and into a daze of kisses and mingled breaths. Time doesn’t seem to exist as we get lost in each other.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

We spent most of the day lounging around my chambers having snacks and drinks brought to us. We discuss potential ways we can start making moves to get closer to the throne. A knock at the door has us pausing our conversation.

“Who is it?” I sit up annoyed.

“Your father wanting to check up on you.” Daemon says too sweetly through the door.

“One moment.” I call back as Aemond goes to open the door for him.

“Come in.” Aemond says opening the door just wide enough for Daemon to enter.

“Viktorya you’re more like me than either of us cares to admit.” Daemon chuckles closing the door behind him.

“You only said I couldn’t sleep in others chambers. Not that I couldn’t have guests.” I say matter of factly as I continue lounging on the couch not bothering to get up.

“My point.” Daemon says as he takes a seat in one of the chairs and props his legs up on the table. “So what is it that you want?” he looks from me to Aemond.

“I would like your support for mine and Aemonds courtship.” I state firmly. My father looks at me deep in thought. He glances between the both of us accessing and calculating. He breathes out a deep breath and looks to us, it seems he’s comes to a conclusion.

“I can giving you my blessing for the courtship and I will allow you to reside in Kings Landing.” he decides. “It’s going to take some time for me to talk to the boys and for them to process and understand. I think in the long run your relationship will prove useful.” he says the last part more to himself than us.

I quite like the idea of living in Kings Landing for while. I don’t really understand what he meant about our courtship being “useful” but I’m glad we have his support. I want to get Vaelys and my things as soon as possible so I can settle into my new life. Kings Landing will offer me a new start and more places to see.

“Aemond will fly me to Dragonstone tomorrow and we shall return before court is held at the end of the week. I expect you to have the conversations and make the announcements by the time we return or I tell Rhaenyra the truth.” I say with no room to budge.

“As you wish.” Daemon rolls his eyes and gets up to leave. “Hopefully we can make this beneficial for everyone.” he tosses over his shoulder before closing the door.

“I think that went well.” I look at Aemond as he walks over to me on the couch.

“I’m pleased to have you all to myself in Kings Landing.” he says pulling me up to him. “I get to show you all new places,” he smirks. “and pleasures.” he adds bringing his mouth to my neck.

I gasp in surprise and expose more of my neck to him. He continues his journey up to my jaw and slowly makes his way back to my lips. He walks us backwards and we descend into a chair. He lifts me so I’m straddling him and pulls back breathlessly with a blown pupil.

I slowly remove his eyepatch and discard it next to us and absentmindedly clench my thighs around him. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and roughly pulls me into a kiss. This isn’t like the passionate, slow kisses we’ve shared before. Our teeth clash and his catch my bottom lip causing me to cry out.

He releases my lip and reclaims them once more. His other arm wraps around my waist and pulls me closer. I hear him let out a strangled grunt when I accidentally grind against him.

“Fuck Princess,” his voice is wrecked as his other hand flies to my waist to still me.

“I’m sorry,” I pant. “It just felt so good I didn’t mean-“ he cuts me off with another kiss.

“Do not apologize.” he whispers between kisses slowly detaching us making me whine. “As much as I would love for us to continue, I think we should get ready for bed.” he says walking over to my wardrobe.

Aemond grabs out a sleep dress for me and excuses himself to my bathing chamber while I change. He comes out without a shirt and wearing sleep pants. He helps me into bed and slips in next to me.

“Sleep well my love.” Aemond says pulling me to his chest and kissing my forehead.

[slayingfiction]

Preliminary Editing

Hi! There are 4 stages of official editing: 1. Developmental/structural editing, 2. Line/stylistic editing, 3. Copy editing, 4. Proofreading. These are tips to do before these stages.

Here are some ways to edit your book as you work from your first to second, third, fourth, etc. draft, before you start officially editing, or better, hiring someone to do it for you.

Start by going through chapter by chapter, and rewriting all the prose you find cringy, or that you don’t find flows well. Cut any information and scenes that you find unnecessary, or that has no value in the story.

Add all the small details you forgot to add, or only thought of after writing the chapter. Every single event in your story should be able to be tracked back to a specific moment that caused the cascading event, and therefore the consequences.

Add or change all details so that the story is cohesive, and there are no plot holes. Your MC has OCD? Make sure the entire story they are exhibiting those symptoms. Your MC has a pet? Make sure you know where they are at all times, and what they are doing, even out of scene.

Change your verbs to ensure you are always using the same conjugations. I usually mix past and present during first drafts. :(

Go over all dialogue to make sure all dialogue is representative of the characters speaking. From personality distinctions, mannerisms, dialects or language barriers.

Add description, the 5 senses, where you feel it should be more descriptive, or find different ways of describing your story, instead of always using the same words or adjectives.

Improve writing by being more concise with your words. Example, remove all “very ****” and get better adjectives or adverbs. Take out ‘very fast’ and replace it with quickly or hastily, rapidly, swiftly, or instantaneously. You can also remove most instances of words like possibly, may, might have, likely, probably. They did or they didn’t, just choose one.

Double check the accuracy of all the information you’ve used. From fighting styles, to when people need their passport, or how your world delivers communication in a technology free world, etc.

Share your work. Beta reader, or alpha reader. It doesn’t matter, get someone to look over it to point out any problems you may not see and then adjust accordingly.

Repeat as necessary until you are ready to do the 4 stages of official editing.

When you have feedback, try not to take it personally, though you almost always will at first. Be proud of yourself for the work you have accomplish, and know that it’s not done, so it’s ok to not be perfect. I promise you, as likely it is that someone doesn’t like your story, it’s just as likely someone will love it. Just find your people.

You don’t need to do all these steps separately, but also don’t do them all at once, or you will likely miss some details. Try to do 2 to 3 full preliminary story edits before the official ones.

Happy Writing :)

[liesmyth]

Do you have any tips/resources on writing smut? I've never really written it, but I need to include a little in a fic I'm writing rn and yours is very good.

Anon! Thank you so much, this is Extremely flattering ❤️ Honestly, my #1 rule to Writing Smut is that actually anything can be hot if a scene is written to be arousing. It's all about the setup.

Some things that work for me:

EMOTIONS. ime, smut scenes should cause some level of emotional response in the reader. It can be the POV character experiencing strong feelings and that coming through in the narration; it can be a taboo or hard kink that’s enough to guarantee some kind of reaction; it can be an emotionally cathartic scene or character study through sex. It doesn’t have to be a lot! But there has to be Something that makes the reader invested, a takeaway that you couldn’t get from a purely objective description or looking at a picture.

FLOW. You’re either trying to make the reader horny and/or you’re trying to make them interested in what the characters are doing and feeling. Lean into that when crafting a scene! I find that varying the length of sentences in a paragraph helps (building up to a crescendo) and so does the deliberate use of terminology to set up a specific mood (more descriptive euphemisms vs. crude slang as the POV gets more overwhelmed, alternating lush prose and crass descriptors to create some contrast.)

CHARACTER-APPROPIATE VERBIAGE. This is a big one! There are NO forbidden smut words, actually. I have read super hot smut that hinged on the repeated use of some deeply unsexy terms. It’s ALL about the narrative voice. Try to construct a scene that’s immersive, with a narrative voice that suits the characters and the story, and the type of vocabulary that suits the POV and setting. Ime, anything and everything can be sexy if the mood is right. Yes, even the word “penis.” YES even funky euphemisms.

PURPOSE AND PACING. Why is the scene there? Try to strike a good balance between descriptions, feelings, and words. If the characters stop mid-sex to talk, it’d be harder to get back into a sexy mood (why I’ve been stuck on this one WIP for months. RIP) On the other hand, sometimes it’s fine to skip moments / descriptions, or even end the scene mid-sex.

(This is especially important in chaptered fics, in my experience. Sometimes there’s a long elaborate build-up to a get together and then all the emotions fizzle out during The Sex Chapter, or a plot-heavy story, and then the story slows down to fit in 3 orgasms per character. It’s fine, often better, to just stick to one orgasm, make it extra hot, and skim over the others)

WRITE DRUNK EDIT SOBER or any variant thereof. Write in comic sans and edit in times new roman. Write horny edits in public. It’s really easy to overthink smut and in my opinion, it Really helps to fully commit to a shitty first draft—no quibbling over word choices or positions; just don’t look at the screen and bang out 500 words. (Ah-ah, bang.) Write on your phone if you want! Put it away for a while then edit.

SMUT IS NOT SEX ED. Realism matters less than feelings do. I don't need to know every detail unless it's relevant to the development of the scene. Unless it’s something glaring like someone is suddenly naked or used soap as lube, no one is going to nitpick how realistic it is to hold X position for Y minutes or how many spankings a human being can endure. The scene works narratively >>> the scene can be recreated by random non-athletes having sex. It’s fic! If someone is taking it as a Guide To Sex that’s not on you.

Other resources: This is a good essay directly from 2005 era livejournal. Some posts about vocabulary: on kissing, smut thesaurus, more words! (use with caution, don't take anything as a hard rule etc.)

Also I just think I'm funny:

GOOD LUCK WRITING IT LMK HOW IT GOES

[askbensolo]

Journal Entry #55: Updates on my novel and also my life

So, the blurrg sex scene probably isn’t integral to the main thread of my novel. But, I’m hesitant to cut it because I think it would be kriffing hilarious to tell people there’s a sex scene in my story, only for them to find out two-thirds of the way in that it’s just two blurrgs blurrging it on.

Also, the fact that I witnessed it with my own two eyes on Ryloth means I have to share the trauma.

A few more no-context spoilers for fun:

Fannie’s Sisters Casually Emasculate Me Over Dinner

Fifty Teenage Twi’lek Boys, One Brain Cell

Pennie Pentarra is Not the Innocent Victim I Thought She Was

Ruut Pentarra Joins the Club of People Who Disapprove of Me Dating Fannie (But Because He Thinks I Could Do Better)

Fannie and I Spent the Night in a Sex Dungeon (Nothing Happened)

And also…

Fannie and I Broke Up (Again)

So! I’ve spoiled the ending for you! You don’t even need to read it!!

Did I write this post mainly because I didn’t know how else to announce my breakup? Maybe. Possibly.

It’s not like it’s a surprise or anything. I think we all saw it coming.

Well, except for her, maybe.

…

Well—anyway.

I thought writing a novel about my own life would be easy because I didn’t actually have to come up with the plot, but—there is actually an art to arranging the details in a way that flows and makes sense. So, even though I’m like 80% done with my first draft already…I know it’s kind of garbage at this point, and I’ll have to do quite a bit of polishing.

Luckily, I will have lots of time to do that! Because…I finally admitted to my mom about Snoke Part Two: The Snokening, and—as expected—she is making me quit my job and move back home immediately!!

And normally that would leave Poe paying 2,000 credits of monthly rent on his own, but in the interests of expediting my homecoming, my mom is graciously paying the difference until Poe can find another roommate.

Luckily, I know a guy. He threatened to kill me in the back of a Spacebucks once, but, eh—water under the bridge.

And speaking of ol’ stick-up-his-butt…

…I ended up paying back Armitage for all my “free” coffees.

Yeah. The Force made me do it—or something. Call it an early Life Day miracle.

I’ve been rethinking a lot, let’s just say that. I knew I could part with the credits, since I won’t be paying rent for the foreseeable future, and I’m gonna look for a new job on Hosnian Prime.

Ha. Armitage, Poe and Beebee-Ate. Now, I can see them all getting along reeaal well. Heh heh heh.

Sigh. I’m gonna miss Naboo, and miss Theed. I’ve spent the past three years of my life here.

…I miss Fannie too. I wish I hadn’t…well…yeah.

I’ll even miss Poe and Beebee-Ate. I’m leaving right as they were beginning to grow on me. Poe’s been a good buddy (even if I’ve seen his bare ass more times than I ever wanted to).

About the only thing I won’t miss is my job—but even then, it was part of my routine, something that made my days predictable in the bad way but also kind of in the good way, and it was a key part of my new life as an official grown-up adult-person-guy.

I’m gonna hang out with my old college bud Treeso one last time before I leave Naboo. And then I’m gonna put in my two weeks’ notice, pack up my stuff, try to sell whatever I can’t take home, and then…that’ll be that, I guess.

Goodbye, Naboo.

I feel like everything in my life is changing all at once. It’s…kind of sad.

But…that’s just how it goes. Isn’t it?

“Always in motion, is the future,” Fannie said, when we were breaking up.

“What?”

“The future. It’s always in motion.”

“Well, yeah—but why’d you say it backwards, the first time?”

“I don’t know,” she said, surprised, like she’d never thought about it before. “That’s just always the way Master Luke said it.”

And speaking of Uncle Luke…

…Mom wants me to start meeting with him again.

…It’s okay. Fannie and I aren’t a thing anymore anyway, so…

…Yeah.

My twenty-fourth birthday is in a couple of weeks. I was originally gonna do something for it, ‘cause I have ongoing December-birthday-overshadowed-by-Life-Day trauma—but…meh. I’m too busy now to celebrate. Twenty-four’s pretty much the same thing as twenty-three anyway.

Hey—sorry I haven’t written as much, the past month. (Well, I’ve been writing a lot—just, not for my blog.) But…I’ll try to keep you guys updated on my move, and whatever. Happy to answer any questions about my writing project, too.

Oh—but do me a favor and don’t…ask Fannie about my trip to Ryloth, or anything. Some…stuff happened while I was there—I mean, besides the breakup—and…well, I think it’s just best if you don’t ask. I’m not sure it’s something she’d like to talk about.

Hope everyone is staying warm and enjoying season’s festivities and punching germs in the face and all that.

Me—I’m doing pretty okay, too.

You know me. I always pull through.

Your dude,

—Ben

[ancientforgcd]

what's some advice you can give to roleplay newbies?

At the end of the day, we're all newbies, some just more worn and tired out than others. Either way, some advice? Sure, I'll just write what comes to mind. Who knows, might be long, might be short:

Have fun. Roleplay isn't about hitting certain checkpoints; It's about enjoying the story you're building together. Stay loose, let the creativity flow an don't overthink things. Just enjoy the ride and have fun with your muses.

Communication is Key. A lot of great roleplaying comes from understanding what everyone wants to get outta the story. Don't be afraid to talk with your partners about where the plot might go or how certain relationships might develop. It keeps everyone on the same page and avoids misunderstandings.

Find yer own style. Everyone roleplays differently. Some love long and detailed paragraphs, while others prefer snappy and quick exchanges. Experiment with different styles until you find what feels natural for you. There's no right or wrong way to write, just make sure you like it.

Knowing your Muse(s) well. Take time to build your muses personality, backstory and motivations. The better you know them, the easier it'll be to have them react in different situations. Think about their strengths, their weaknesses, quirks and all that jazz. You'll thank yourself later for diving deep into the details.

Respect other People. Roleplaying works best when everyone's comfy. Make sure to respect other's boundaries, both in the story and in real life. Always be mindful of others' ideas and work with them to build a fun roleplay together.

Loss and Failure. In my opinion, some of the more exciting stories happen when muses fail or struggle. It's okay to let your muses mess up, make mistakes, or even lose from time to time. It's how they learn and change, develop as well.

Patience with yourself. It's easy to feel the pressure at the beginning to write perfectly and to keep up with others, especially as someone new to the RPC. Just remember that everyone was a noob at some point. So give yourself the time to grow, experiment and see what works for you. Trust in yourself, you'll get better over time.