#I was writing these on my laptop and for some reason I had the font extra small

[shaiyasstuff]

my little demon | rafayel

synopsis : You accidentally summon a demon. He's annoying, endearing, and suddenly leaving. You hate it, hate him. Except, maybe you don't. And maybe that's the worst part. content : demon!rafayel, fluff, poor references to hell, comedy

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rafayel, do you not understand what time out means?” you snapped, slamming your pen down like it had personally wronged you. You turned to him, already bracing for the face.

And there it was.

Big eyes. Slight pout. That tragic, kicked-puppy expression that made him look like a freshly scolded Disney sidekick.

“You look like a goldfish,” you deadpanned.

“Hey!” he gasped, hand flying to his chest like you’d just impaled him. “A cute goldfish though?” He double finger-gunned at you, winking.

You blinked. Twice. “You’re so lucky you’re already from hell.”

Rafayel just beamed like you’d complimented him.

“‘Yel,” you groaned, rubbing your temples, “I have three thousand words due by tomorrow, and my prof already hates me because I made a joke about Plato being a drama queen. If I don’t finish this, he’s going to flay me.”

“I still don’t get why you humans do this to yourselves,” Rafayel muttered, kicking his legs from where he was perched upside-down on your desk chair like an overgrown toddler. “You pay to be stressed out. Should’ve just sold your soul like a normal person.”

You gave him a look.

“Oh wait.” He grinned, sharp teeth peeking out. “Too late.”

You considered throwing your textbook at him. Not that it would do anything. He’d just catch it mid-air with a smug smirk and then use it as a coaster for his bubble tea.

Because, yes, your demon—your demon, what the actual hell—had a crippling addiction to boba. Specifically the strawberry milk tea kind. With rainbow pearls. That he insisted on ordering with your credit card.

How did it come to this?

Well. You were trying to write your thesis.

A comparative analysis of ancient summoning rituals and modern occult trends.

Cool, edgy, mildly creepy.

Your professor was thrilled.

You, on the other hand, were downing energy drinks and googling ‘curses that don’t backfire’ at 3AM.

Then you found The Website.

Black background. Red font.

Very ‘do-not-enter-this-site-if-you-value-your-soul’ vibes.

So like anyone with a brain, you clicked it.

You followed the instructions—chalk circle, candles, some vaguely Latin-sounding chants—and when nothing happened, you shrugged and went to bed, convinced you’d wasted twenty bucks on witchy candles and your last shred of dignity.

Then you woke up to glowing eyes staring down at you from your ceiling like some paranormal ceiling cat.

You screamed. Loudly.

Your RA came running, ready to fight a serial killer, only to find you clutching a pillow and pointing at an empty spot on your ceiling like a madwoman.

He backed out of your room slowly, muttering something about, “freshman psychosis” and, “never rooming with a lit major.”

And now?

Now you had Rafayel.

A demon with a temper shorter than your GPA, a weird fixation with glitter, and a total disregard for personal space, deadlines, or the human concept of privacy.

He refused to leave.

Something about your summoning being ‘binding’ and your ‘aura’ being ‘weirdly cozy.’ Whatever the hell that meant.

You sighed and turned back to your laptop, muttering, “Why couldn’t I have summoned, like, a chill ghost? Or a vampire with a tragic past?”

From behind you, Rafayel hummed, “You say tragic past, but I am the reason a small village disappeared off the map in 1437.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Good for you.”

“And yet, here I am. Reduced to being your emotional support demon.”

“Reduced? No one asked you to rearrange my spice rack alphabetically and by Scoville level.”

“Blasphemy tastes better with cayenne.”

You didn’t look up. You didn’t respond.

You simply typed.

And hoped to hell—or heaven, or the void between—that this paper would write itself before you lost your last brain cell.

You felt the faint, ominous creak of your desk chair’s twin moving behind you—the low growl of overworked wheels scratching across old floorboards.

Which meant that Rafayel was on the move.

And sure enough, a second later, he was right beside you, chin practically glued to your shoulder as he peered at your screen like a nosy toddler who had just discovered the concept of YouTube.

“Oh my god,” he whispered in genuine horror. “What is that supposed to be?”

You blinked. “It’s a nineteenth-century etching of a demon.”

“That,” he pointed dramatically, “looks like if a goblin and a melted candle had an unfortunate child.”

“…Well, it is hell,” you muttered under your breath, barely suppressing the eye twitch as he recoiled at the grotesque, horned figure on your laptop like it personally offended his bloodline.

“It’s just—ugh! You humans get it so wrong.” Rafayel flopped back into his chair with a dramatic huff, lacing his fingers behind his head like this was a casual TED Talk and not your descent into academic burnout.

“Lucifer’s not some scary, flaming rage monster. He’s actually pretty chill. Bit moody. Likes jazz. Wears a lot of silk.”

You blinked slowly, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “Wonderful. Shall I cite you as a primary source, then?”

“I mean, I did know him.”

“Of course you did.”

He grinned, cocky and unbothered, like he hadn’t been singlehandedly driving you to the edge of sanity all month.

You slammed your palms onto your desk with the force of a caffeinated raccoon reaching enlightenment.

“Rafayel.”

“Yes?” he said sweetly, as if he hadn’t just derailed your concentration for the fifth time in under ten minutes.

“I am a senior,” you began, voice dangerously calm, “in the final semester of a four-year degree that I am barely surviving. I have not slept in two days. I have eaten nothing but cereal dust and vending machine pretzels. My thesis is currently being held together by three weak metaphors, one questionable source, and the power of denial.”

You took a breath, gaze narrowing.

“So unless you want me to start writing my next section on how modern demons are somehow worse than capitalism—Shut. The fuck. Up.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he gave you a slow clap.

“I love it when you get feisty,” he said, grinning.

You turned back to your screen.

He was lucky he was immortal.

—•

You threw your hands in the air like a malfunctioning robot powering down for the last time and muttered a tired, deadpan, “Yay.”

The kind of yay that carried the weight of sleep deprivation, caffeine addiction, and a vague desire to start life over as a forest hermit.

When you turned, Rafayel was mid-hover above your bed—legs crossed in an upside-down floating genie pose like some unholy yoga instructor. His head hung just low enough to make direct, smug eye contact with you.

“I’m done.” you declared, the kind of joy only reserved for finishing a thesis or surviving a group project with your sanity intact.

“Finally,” he drawled, tossing his ninety-ninth boba cup into the bottomless trashcan of the void like a three-point shot. The lid landed with a soft clink that echoed like judgment.

You stared at him. “Is that my hoodie you’re wearing?”

He shrugged—midair, still upside down. “It smells like you. Very… stressed and academically overachieving.”

You flopped face-first onto your bed with a groan. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m your emotional support demon,” he chirped. “I’m doing my job.”

“Do your job quieter.”

“That’s not in the contract.”

“There was no contract—”

“You summoned me with ancient Latin and expired lavender candles. I’d call that consent.”

You groaned into your pillow. He was unbearable. Infuriating. Downright catastrophic.

But also… a little fun.

Stupid adorable demon.

“How do I even get rid of you anyway?” you mumbled into the depths of your pillow, the words muffled but laced with the kind of dramatic despair that came after surviving both a thesis and Rafayel.

Silence.

Unusual silence.

Suspicious, even.

You lifted your head just enough to peek over your arm. “…Rafayel?”

No answer.

You sat up fully now, squinting toward your desk—where the demon in question was oddly still, back turned, his usual commentary absent.

That was never a good sign.

You got up, padding quietly across the room like one of those horror movie girls who absolutely should not go toward the ominous figure, but does anyway because narrative choices.

There he was, standing in front of your laptop, staring at the still-open tab with the medieval etching of hell. The fire, the grotesque figures, the tormented souls—all frozen in digital interpretation.

You stopped a few feet behind him. “…You okay?”

His posture didn’t shift. He didn’t crack a joke or throw a boba cup into the void.

Just stared.

And when he finally did speak, it was quieter than you expected.

“They always get it wrong,” he said. “They make it all fire and fury. Screaming. Violence.”

You frowned, uncertain.

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the flicker in his expression. Not anger. Not smugness.

Something else.

“They forget it’s mostly just… quiet down there.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what to.

So you just stood there, behind the demon you summoned on accident, watching as he looked at a world that feared him—and didn’t understand him at all.

He finally turned to look at you, and there was that flicker of a smile again—gentler this time, almost… nostalgic?

“Hell isn’t that bad, you know?” he said, like he was trying to convince you, or maybe just himself. “I had friends down there.”

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. “You? Have friends? Shocking.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Rude. But fair.”

Still, the sarcasm didn’t fully return. His shoulders relaxed a little, and his gaze dropped for a moment like he was remembering something that didn’t belong in this room, in this world.

“Yeah,” he said. “We may not have souls, but we’re not cold-blooded beings who only love torture.”

A pause.

His lips twitched. “Okay. Maybe some of us are. Gormax really enjoyed the whole spine-peeling thing.”

You blinked. “That’s not a real name.”

“Swear on the Void.”

“…You people need hobbies.”

He grinned again, but this time you noticed the faint sadness beneath it. Not enough to take over, but just enough to linger.

You glanced at your laptop, still glowing with the static, flaming misery of a human’s idea of damnation, and then back at him.

“You miss it?”

Rafayel shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s home. In a weird, messed-up, infernal kind of way.”

You nodded slowly.

And maybe—just maybe—you started to understand.

“I mean, I understand. I miss home too. But,” you sighed, dropping back into your chair with a quiet thud. Rafayel hovered beside you again, floating like some dramatic ghost lamp as he waited—surprisingly quiet, for once.

“My parents passed away two years ago,” you said, voice soft, almost careful, like the words had grown sharp with time. “So I’ve been avoiding going home. It just… doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

You didn’t look at him as you spoke. Just clicked through the open tabs, saving your thesis with methodical clicks. Save as draft. Save to cloud. Back up to your USB, just in case the universe decided to smite your hard drive out of spite.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Like a blanket pulled over your shoulders that you didn’t ask for but kind of needed.

Rafayel didn’t say anything right away.

He didn’t make a joke.

Didn’t deflect.

He just hovered beside you, gaze steady, presence uncharacteristically… grounded.

And for once, you didn’t feel like talking was wasted.

You shrugged off the creeping melancholy with a light chuckle, brushing it off like lint from an old sweater. No need to get all soft and sentimental—this was supposed to be your break from the feels, not a therapy session featuring one floating demon roommate.

Turning to Rafayel, you expected another sarcastic quip, or maybe a comment about your overuse of the word “therefore” in your thesis. But instead, he was just… staring at you.

Not in his usual annoying way.

Not the 'I’m about to tease you for eating dry cereal out of a mug again' way.

Just quietly watching you.

“Tell me more,” he said.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He leaned in a little, expression unreadable. “Tell me more about yourself.”

You froze.

Not because you didn’t want to—but because no one ever asked that. Not like that. Not seriously.

Not with that kind of openness in their voice, like he actually wanted to know.

The demon you accidentally summoned from a sketchy website at 3AM, who drinks boba like it’s holy nectar and thinks your hoodie smells like existential dread, was asking you—you—to talk about yourself.

You were stunned.

Then you did the only thing that made sense.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “But only if you go first.”

He tilted his head, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile—something more honest. “Deal.”

You lay sprawled on your bed, one leg dangling off the side, your pillow tucked under your chin like a sad little emotional support loaf.

Across from you, Rafayel spun slow, lazy circles in the air like some haunted carousel ride. At one point he did a full backflip and declared it, “aesthetically necessary.”

And somehow, between the jokes and the occasional sarcastic remark, the conversation had slipped into something real.

You told him about your past. Your parents. The quiet house you grew up in. How you always wanted a sibling—not just to share toys with, but to not feel alone when the lights turned off and grief crept in.

You told him about the accident, how it felt like the world just stopped, and you were the only one still moving.

And he listened. Actually listened.

In return, he talked about the Void—though you were beginning to think “hell” was more of a branding issue than a literal place.

He described it like a strange bureaucracy: souls sorted, some punished, others recycled, a few left in the waiting room forever because someone misplaced their paperwork.

“Torture chambers are real, yeah,” he said casually, floating upside down with his hair hanging like a purplish waterfall. “But they’re for the actual evil ones. Not the spicy-sin level ones. Just murdery, unforgivable bastards.”

He paused, then smirked. “It’s always funny when a priest walks in. So shocked. Like, sir, you were literally laundering money and judging people for existing.”

You gave a snort-laugh, despite yourself.

Then you sat up, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, but—what is your role in all this? Why are you so free to be here, doing aerial tricks in my room and spending thousands on my credit card like it’s demon Black Friday?”

Rafayel floated to a stop, blinking.

Then he stretched out like a cat mid-yawn. “Technically, I’m a scout.”

“A scout?”

“Yeah. Recruits, human surveillance, some possession clearance checks, the occasional ‘make a deal for your soul’ gig—basic intern stuff.”

You gawked. “You’re telling me you’re a hell intern?”

He smirked. “Unpaid, of course. And overqualified.”

You dropped your head into your hands. “Of course you are.”

He floated a little closer, a glint in his eye. “But I was top of my class in emotional disruption and distraction techniques, thank you very much.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

He smirked, all teeth and knowing glint. “You’ll miss me.”

You blinked.

Then immediately scowled. “Fuck no.”

But the twinge in your chest—the subtle little ache—said otherwise.

Betrayal. By your own heart.

Rude.

Rafayel, of course, noticed. He always did. The bastard was like an emotion-sniffing dog, except instead of alerting people, he just smirked more.

“When I get promoted,” he said, reclining into his imaginary armchair like some otherworldly sitcom character, “I’ll finally be able to go back.”

Back to the Void. To hell.

To wherever demons like him belonged when they weren’t terrorizing emotionally constipated college students and draining their boba budgets.

You went quiet, lips pressed together.

Then, softly—almost like you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer—you asked,

“What if I want to see you again?”

He turned his head, cocking a brow. “I thought you wanted me to begone?”

“Well, yeah,” you mumbled, rubbing at your neck like you could hide your embarrassment behind muscle tension. “That was before I thought you were… fun.”

Rafayel blinked. Then blinked again, stunned just long enough for you to feel like maybe—maybe—you’d glitched the demon matrix.

“Fun?” he echoed, the grin creeping back slowly. “You think I’m fun?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

You groaned and rolled back onto your bed, covering your face with your hands.

From above, you heard the soft flick of a boba straw unwrapping. And then—

“You’re fun too, you know,” he said.

You peeked between your fingers.

He was still floating. Still smug. But maybe—just maybe—a little softer.

masterlist

[carnalcrows]

PROJECT WOES - CHEONGSAN

pairing: lee cheong-san x reader

synopsis: The two of you fight. A lot. Neither of you really know why thought. What happens when the both of you get partnered up for a project?

content warnings: They just make out lol, everything is pretty tame here.

word count: 0.6k

Cheongsan had never hated a school project more in his life.

And that was saying something.

There were a lot of things he could tolerate. Long nights cramming for exams? Fine. Dodging Gwi-nam’s bullshit every day? Manageable. But this? This?

This was hell.

"You can stop glaring now," you said, not even looking up from your phone.

He scoffed, dropping his bag onto your desk with more force than necessary. "I’m not the problem here."

You snorted. "Yeah? Then why do you look constipated?"

He exhaled sharply, biting back a very colourful response. "Because I’d rather be doing anything else right now."

"Wow. Your flirting skills are amazing."

He shot you a glare, but you just grinned, clearly enjoying his suffering.

The worst part?

No one—not even he—knew why the hell you two were like this.

You didn’t hate each other. You weren’t enemies. Hell, you were even chill with his friends.

But with him?

For some reason, every conversation turned into a verbal sparring match. Every single time.

And now, thanks to this godforsaken history project, he was stuck in your room for the next two hours, listening to you be insufferable.

"Alright, let’s get this over with." You slid your laptop in front of him. "You write, I research."

Cheongsan frowned. "Why do I have to write?"

"Because your handwriting looks like an AI-generated font."

"And you think I’m constipated? Damn, you are flirting."

"Cheongsan, please. I have standards."

He gawked at you, absolutely seething. "You—"

"Oi, brats!" Your older sister’s voice rang through the hallway. "If you break anything, you’re both dead!"

"We’re fine!" you called back. Then, turning back to Cheongsan, you smirked. "You might not be, though."

Cheongsan grumbled under his breath and cracked his knuckles, forcing himself to focus. "Let’s just start."

For a while, it was fine.

Mostly.

You still annoyed him every five minutes. He still snarked back. But the work was getting done.

And then?

It happened.

To this day, Cheongsan still wouldn’t know what exactly changed.

Maybe it was the way you leaned over his shoulder, way too close as you pointed at something on his laptop screen.

Maybe it was the way your breath fanned against his ear, the scent of your shampoo way too distracting.

Maybe it was the way he turned his head just as you looked up—only for your faces to be inches apart, the heat between you shifting from hostile to something... completely different.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

The room felt way too quiet.

And then—

Your lips were on his.

Cheongsan barely had time to process before his body reacted—grabbing onto you, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss before he could even think about what he was doing.

And god, it was good.

He should’ve expected you to be a tease, but the way you nipped at his bottom lip, the way you tilted your head just right—it was unfair.

His grip tightened on your waist, fingers digging in, and you hummed against his mouth, a low, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down his spine.

His brain was screaming at him, but he did not care.

Not when you pushed him back against your desk, not when your hands slid under his hoodie, not when you—

"WHAT THE FUCK."

Cheongsan jerked away so fast he almost fell over.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. "Goddamn it."

Your sister stood in the doorway, horrified. "In my house? In my presence?!"

"Technically, it’s my house too," you muttered.

"Not the point!"

Cheongsan was mortified.

Your sister pointed an accusatory finger at the two of you. "You owe me therapy. Both of you."

Then, with a dramatic shudder, she slammed the door shut behind her.

Silence.

Then—

You snorted.

And then Cheongsan snorted.

And then the both of you were wheezing, half-doubled over in laughter, because what the hell just happened?

"I hate you," Cheongsan wheezed, shaking his head.

You grinned, smug as ever. "Yeah?" You leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear. "You kiss me like you don’t."

His face burned. "Shut up."

But when you kissed him again, he didn’t exactly stop you.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[mouser26]

Adventures in bookbinding sidenotes

Y'all remember this insanity? Well since February life kinda exploded with dental appointments (double root canals), oldest friend's wedding stuff, Disney World Trip near a decade in the making, installing shelves rearranging collections, just blah no one cares about.

And you know my laptop killing itself. So I lost the meticulously laid out original book document. So in deciding to redo THAT effort I just want to give some advice for anyone undergoing this sort of project. As with every large writing effort, back up externally. But also once you start printing test pages WRITE LONGHAND NOTES

The pink pen here is from when I was printing back in Feb Namely all the font sizes I used. What I failed to write down was the font itself Which it turns out was NONE of the 'suggested' fonts for books cause my brain HATES those fonts for some reason XD I only figured it out because of one of the pictures I took for the first post in this series

SO you know don't let anyone shame you for taking pictures of things cause they can save your ass some stress and headdesking.

Another bit of advice is if you plan to save/include things like Chapter Summaries, Author's Notes, Translations, ect.

Separate documents can be a godsend

Once you have everything harvested and sorted you can put it all into one properly laid out document. Much easier than going back and forth in the document

Lastly if you have someone willing to do so feel free to have someone check your work. This is another one of those bits of advice that carries over between writers and binders. I had been staring at this document for like 36-46 hours over 3 days before in a fit of frustration over encoding issues sent it to a friend who

"Needed a better accomplishment for the day than cleaning the garbage disposal." In like 90 minutes she found and corrected all the punctuation issues I had missed cause I was caught up in the text itself. Many blessing upon this friend.

Of course in getting back into this my work decided I'm gonna be working the next 8 days straight (not counting working yesterday which was day 9) ...cause fuck me

So we'll see how this goes from here.

[sunshinebingo]

A Gwynriel meet-cute fic inspired by my writer's block and the music video of I Hear A Symphony by Cody Fry.

Synopsis: Gwyn tries everything possible to put a stop to her writer's block, unbeknownst that her source of inspiration will appear right at her door.

Word Count: 2.4k

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

She sat, alone and upset.

She sat in her home, as lonely and desperate as she had ever been, and waited for a miracle to happen.

Gwyn crossed yet another sentence, the words becoming less readable with every line she frustratingly drew across them.

“Ugh. I’m a lost cause,” she complained.

What was she doing wrong? She was applying every advice she had received from her fellow authors, some of which had worked for her previous writer’s blocks. She was so desperate that she was even doing everything all at once to increase her chances at finally writing. Her head had been a blank slate for too many months now.

The first step had been to put on her comfiest hoodie and shorts, her hair up in a high ponytail, and to sit on her comfiest chair at her desk with some cool water. She was also using a pen and paper instead of her laptop. Typing everything out later would be an extra step, but one that she was willing to take. If, she hoped hard, she managed to write anything at all. In addition to all that, she was using a different colour than black, and had convinced herself that she was using a different font. If she always used Times New Roman, Arial or Calibri, her own handwriting had to count as a new font, right?

She even had ambient music playing in the background; the sound of a peaceful forest that she imagined her heroine – a nymph – living in. From the different sounds that floated around her, Gwyn imagined the nymph sitting in her little cottage, with a freshly polished dagger on a table next to a steaming cup of hibiscus tea. Magical birds could be heard chirping outside along with her ethereal voice humming. Occasionally, Gwyn could also hear tiny footsteps and giggles that made her think of the little folks that she had introduced earlier in chapter 3.

All the conditions were perfect. Every element was right here in her head; the setting, the mood, the time and weather. Yet it still felt like nothing was happening. As though she couldn’t get her heroine to do anything, no matter how hard Gwyn poked her with her mental stick. Perhaps she was also waiting for something more interesting than everything her creator came up with.

Gwyn sighed and rubbed her eyes. The bright pink was starting to hurt her tired eyes and making her annoyance with herself grow. Maybe she should have picked a different one among her many colourful pens. Could a glittery one work?

She took a few sips of water from her favourite mug, followed by a few slow and deeps breaths during which she wondered how the hell she had managed to publish two books in four years with a brain like hers.

Reading and writing were a passion that she had successfully turned into her job. It meant more to her than just paying her bills and affording everything she owned. It was her source of joy and fulfilment; what had slowly let her out of her safe shell and had given her a reason to live. At least it was all of this when the made-up creatures living in her head actually did things that she could write about. Her team of editors and publishers would never approve of a story where the characters only sat and waited for the unknown for half of the book.

“Someone could die,” Gwyn tapped her pen against her cheek and thought out loud. But for that to happen, she would have to come up with a motive and a plan.

She imagined her protagonist staring blankly at her as if to ask, “Really?”

She scowled at the pink ink on the white paper and asked, “What else do you suggest to spice up the plot?”

She refused to give up on her story midway through. Something would happen. She just needed faith in her creativity and her skills. And a prayer or two to the writers’ gods to send a genius idea her way. With little hope that they would listen, Gwyn plunged back into her story, where the nymph was still doing a whole lot of nothing.

She sat there, as lonely and desperate as she had ever felt, and slowly giving up on the hope that miracles could happen, when a rattling sound disturbed the quiet of her home. It persisted until…

“Wait a second.”

…until the author realised that the sound was coming from outside her own apartment door.

“What the hell?”

Both of Gwyn’s best friends, Emerie and Nesta, the only two who ever showed up at her place unannounced, were currently at work. Even if they had gotten out early, they would have knocked or called after finding her door locked. Which it most often was. The building that Gwyn lived in was quite luxurious with an excellent security system. But judging by the person who had been trying to forcefully open her door for the last minute, Gwyn’s anxiety about her safety began to surface again.

She stood from her desk and made her way towards what could be an intruder. Holding her pink pen up like a serial killer might hold a knife, Gwyn brought her hand to the knob. If she was fast enough, she could press the button on the interphone right next to the door as soon as she opened it and alert the security guard. But what if Frank was already dead and now the killer was coming for her? Gwyn damned herself for having gone with an apartment on the second floor instead of the twenty-second. What was the benefit of having one of the best balconies in the building if she was among the firsts to die?

“Pull yourself together Gwyneth!” she told herself.

Her heroine wouldn’t cower before the one trying to break through her cottage. She would feel the fear but confront it. Gwyn might have no dagger nor claws; she might have no magic to bring down her enemies. But, like her nymph, she refused to die. Not when she had a story to finish. Gwyn summoned as much courage as she had often infused her nymph with and yanked her door open.

What she saw crouching before her with a key in one gloved hand and a black and blue helmet in the other didn’t look like a murderer. Not that she had ever knowingly come face to face with one to know what they looked like.

Gwyn lowered her pen at her side as the man straightened and towered over her with strong arms and broad shoulders that were hugged by a black leather jacket. His brown skin glowed under the dim yellow light of the baroque-style hallway of the building. His hazel eyes were like a blaze that bore into Gwyn, even as the rest of his handsome face showed signs of surprise. There was a hint of confusion apparent in the frown of his obsidian eyebrows that matched the colour of his short, dishevelled hair.

He looked like a male straight out of a romantasy. The type whose looks alone could mark him as someone who is always broody. Until he meets the one who can effortlessly make him smile with an adorable laugh, a teasing remark or an irreverent challenging look; the latter being the kind a writer like herself would describe as a withering stare that would earn the object of the male’s fascination an amused chuckle.

Was he even real? Or had Gwyn dived so deep into her fictional world that she had landed somewhere inside it? If it was the case, then it meant that there was more to her story that she had yet to discover, since she had never met such a stunning man in that world of hers. She didn’t even know that such beauty and magnetism was possible.

He was just standing there in front of her. Yet his eyes seemed to hold a power that made it impossible for her to acknowledge anything else.

“Hello.”

The deep voice she heard didn’t sound like it was coming from her imagination.

“Hi,” she breathlessly greeted back.

“Uh... Hi... I was...”

Gwyn took in every single fumbled words that came out of his plump lips, ready to listen to him say anything. But he stopped and, for a moment, just stared at her with an intensity that she did not realise matched the way she was looking at him.

“Can I help you?” she asked when the silence stretched, hoping that she hadn’t looked at him like she had never seen a man before. Although she was still not entirely convinced that he wasn’t a manifestation of her fantasies.

The man shook his visible stupor away at her question and offered her a small yet very charming smile.

“I think this is my new apartment.”

Gwyn frowned in puzzlement.

“I’m sure it’s not?” she said like she wasn’t sure at all.

He cocked his head to the side in thought before looking around as though he had dropped something. Then, realising he was already holding it, he held his key up for her to see.

“Isn’t this number 9?”

Gwyn’s frown deepened until realisation struck her harder than a lighting bolt.

“Ah. I see.” Gwyn pursed her lips to hold in a laugh. “May I?”

She extended her hand to the mystery man and motioned to his key with a tilt of her head.

He raised a brow at her. A corner of his lips slowly tugged into a smirk that disappeared a few seconds later. Whether he was trying to consciously school his features or not, Gwyn didn’t know. But she enjoyed the mischief that she had glimpsed for a moment there.

“You may,” he said as he dropped the small object in her open palm.

Gwyn held the key chain up and placed it next to the engraving on the wall with her house’s number on it. She showed him how, in this way, the key chain formed a miniature version of the engraving, with the design being the exact same, except for the 6 of her house number which didn’t match the 9 of his key.

His eyes darted between the engraving and the key, and to the redhead who was playfully wiggling her eyebrows at him. Then he laughed, his rich voice so beautiful that Gwyn imagined it would be impossible to ever tire of hearing it. And when she laughed with him, she found that she very much liked the harmony that their two voices created.

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “That was very dumb of me.”

“I’ll give you that. It was,” she said with a shrug.

The man eyed Gwyn like he was disappointed that she had so quickly agreed. His expression only pulled another laugh out of Gwyn.

“Yours is the one over there.” She pointed at the hallway behind him. To the second door down to her left. “Next to the wall lamp.”

He look there before turning back to her. Gwyn dangled his key in front of him.

“You won’t get my home just yet but you’ll get to be my neighbour.”

She found herself curious as to what kind of neighbour mister handsome here would be. Would they come across each other at random hours of the day and night as they went about their lives?

The smile that brightened his face was more disarming than any that Gwyn had ever seen.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, neighbour.” He extended a hand to her.

“I’m Gwyneth. Or just Gwyn.”

She shook his offered hand with the same one that she still held his key. He took it with him as he slowly, almost reluctantly, pulled his hand away.

“I’m Azriel. Or just... Azriel.”

He cleared his throat and adjusted the helmet he carried under his left arm. Gwyn smiled.

“Alright. Just Azriel.”

They stood there in silence for a while. Their gazes locked, their hands fidgeting with whatever they carried. Gwyn was here and somewhere else at the same time. His body, his face, his voice, his mere presence stirred something in her. It was thrilling and also...intimidating.

He was like a mystery that was yet to be unfold. A story that needed to be written. Gwyn sensed in her writer’s heart that his could be one with pain and pleasure, ire and love. His eyes were a window through which she wanted to dive into his soul and learn all of his secrets. She also wanted to know what kind of man he could be in his most caring or vulnerable state.

Knowing a person in such a deep, all encompassing way was almost impossible. But perhaps, Gwyn wondered as her eyes widened, her version of him could provide her with the answers she sought.

“I – ”

“I – ”

“I should – ”

“I need to – ”

They both laughed at their synchronicity.

“I should go check my actual apartment.”

“And I should get back to mine. I hope you don’t get lost on your way.”

One of his brows rose. “I will blame your directions if I do.”

Gwyn crossed her arms and scowled at him. But the effect was lost with the smile that threatened to spread on her lips.

She watched him turn around and walk to his apartment. No doubt sensing her eyes still on him after he opened his door, “just Azriel” looked at her again. Gwyn waved at him. He winked, then stepped inside. Without wasting another second, Gwyn closed her own door and rushed to her desk.

Words and images formed in her mind like music flowing out of her imagination; a scene playing out like a musician effortlessly soaring through the notes of their symphony.

Gwyn immersed herself in it and let her hand glide across pages after pages of her notebook. She wrote about the nymph and her intruder, a mysterious male that became more real with every element she discovered about his character.

It might have been luck or sheer coincidence. It might have also been an answer to her hopeless prayers. Gwyn had no time to care. What mattered was that she was now inspired.

[ssa-dado]

hiiii hope you're goooood. I'm so in love with your incredible Symposium series!! I just wondered if you ever considered putting it on ao3?

It's obviously your decision how/where you post anyway but just curious because well frankly, I'd love to put it on my kindle to read/re-read it and if I'm reading a new chapter, my tumblr app closes and I have to find my place again haha sorry to ask and I hope you don't feel pressured by this - it's honestly just curiosity.

I'm normally late to the fandoms and only seem to join them months/years later but I'm so grateful I'm here to same time as Symposium ❤️ being able to see the excitement from your teasers, moodboards, timeline and then the new chapters make me feel so included in this Hotch world so thank you so much for writing. I love seeing your passion for Hotch and especially for writing, it makes me so grateful to be one of your readers here for the journey with you ❤️

Thank you!! xx

Hi gorgeous!!! Sorry for letting you wait so long!!!!!

Premise: this is me - an absolute boomer in spirit, and yes, I’m cringing at myself for being so ignorant. And sorry for using the smaller font, but this is going to be a lenghty one.

First of all, WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO RE-READ THE SHIT I POST?????? WHAAAAAAT? HOW. WHY? But seriously, thank you for even saying that, I'll be crying for 10 minutes straight because of it.

Alright, straight to the juicy part. I’ve always been someone who rambles - it's who I am at my core - and that shows in how I write (I'm thesis, antithesis but without the synthesis... ok that was the worst joke I've ever made in my life).

I chose from the start to lean into fewer chapters but make them more substantial, rather than splitting things into double or even triple the number of chapters with fewer words per part (I mean, let’s be real, as much as I love a good slow burn, even I’d feel embarrassed to hit chapter 40 without so much as an “on-screen” kiss). It’s not the most user-friendly choice, I know.

The reason I waited so long to post on AO3 is, well… I’ve been hesitant maily because I’ve never used it before. I’ve also read about some really awful experiences people have had on that platform, especially with reader-writer interactions, and it honestly scares me. Tumblr feels like a safe space, filled with amazing, supportive people, and I never want to jeopardize that.

Navigating AO3’s tagging culture feels overwhelming, and as a people-pleaser, the thought of messing up or disappointing someone genuinely stresses me out. I already struggle with knowing if a chapter has enough fluff to warrant the tag or if the angst is really angsty enough to qualify. It's just feels like too much...

But I hear you about the tracking issue, and I want to help. What if I start breaking down the chapters into smaller parts? For example, a longer chapter like c.11 (which I think is around 8k words?) could become 11.1, 11.2, and so on?! That way, it’s easier for you to find your place without getting lost in the length.

And if your Tumblr continues to crash, I post them on Wattpad. I know my way around that platform - it’s familiar, less stressful for me, and I’d feel more confident posting there than on AO3 for now.

I know already it’ll be tedious to reformat and re-edit everything (because Wattpad loves to strip all my italics and bold text whenever I try to copy-paste) but if it feels easier for you to navigate, I’m more than willing to put in the work. I just want to make it as accessible as possible for you.

Let me know what you think, and if the deal works for you.

Now, onto the second part of your message - YOU'RE A CRAZY HUMAN BEING. Symposium... a fandom? Oh no no no no no no no. That would be way too overwhelming. Just the thought of it makes me want to crawl under a blanket and never come out, I’d have a breakdown before I even opened my laptop. I barely know what I’m doing as it is HAHAHAHAH

But seriously, thank you.

I wouldn’t have half the courage or energy to sit down, fry my brain cells, and try to string together the right words, themes, philosophers to butcher, or storylines if it weren’t for you. Your interactions, your input, they mean so much more than I could ever properly put into some stupid words.

It might sound a little strange, but I genuinely remember every single account that pops up in my notifications. Whether it’s a like, a reblog, or a funny comment, I notice it all, I'm the panopticon. I’ve definitely stalked every one of you at some point (in the most wholesome way, I promise)

If I could, I’d send every single one of you 3kg of handmade pizza to even begin to express my gratitude.

Truly, thank you.

For everything.

I'm sending you the biggest hug AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[inkforhumanhands]

What do you use to make your comic edits? I really like them!! And is there like a process you follow? Like do you storyboard the rough idea first? Sorry if you've answered this somewhere before

Ohhhh man this is going to have to go under a cut due to pictures. Luckily whenever I make an edit I tend to DM my friend process pics while screaming about how horrible they look and how I can't figure out how to fix them. 💀 So some of the record exists!

I use a mix of three different programs. To be honest even though it's free, Photopea.com is my go-to for most functions, especially since they have a large pool of fonts to choose from which means I don't have to go into the font mines and download 500 different ones just to see what's going to look best. I also use Paint Shop Pro, which is the program I learned how to make edits (icons, back in the day) on when I was like 14. I have a newer version now since I finally had to retire the 15-year-old one on my broken laptop, and I still don't really know my way around it that well. It's not the most user-friendly software, but it is a lot better than Photopea at resizing images to make them larger. I also use Clip Studio Paint whenever I need to draw anything for an edit.

When I need resources, I often use dafont.com for fonts. I have a bunch of texture packs from various places on the internet, but my go-to nowadays for new stuff is pexels.com where you can get stuff with a royalty-free license. I also occasionally use my own photos for textures (took a bunch of wall photos in Italy- my dad thought I'd lost my mind). I don't use brushes all that often but there are other free resource spots.

As for process, I usually start with comic panels that I like visually and cut out the characters, then figure out what I want to do with them. For Kill Krew, I knew I wanted to use a bunch of the tiny Foggies, but I didn't know that I wanted to make it a story per se until I finished the first section of the edit where Foggy's holding a bunch of papers and I decided to make it kind of like he was authoring his own memoir. Then I just followed the events in the comic. For my volume 5 edits I did have more of an idea for the story I wanted to tell from the start and looked for comic panels that would fit it. (By the way: never forgiving the volume 5 editors for allowing so many different artists. It pained me to have to use a couple different artists in one edit.)

Anyway though kind of like when I'm writing fic, I just start with pretty much a blank canvas, plop the characters on, and hope they arrange themselves into something that looks cool. This is a very early draft of one of them next to a slightly more advanced draft:

A lot of the work honestly goes into choosing the background and marrying it to other elements such as the text and the cutouts. I use a lot of rectangles for this, as you can see in this Kill Krew one next to a near-final draft below. This is also the phase where elements get resized, whether for story-telling reasons or design reasons.

I also fool around a lot with layers and coloring. An unexpected layering choice can totally make or break an edit. See the original comic coloring (left) versus my coloring change (right):

Or this original panel (left) versus a combination of a picture of a starry sky and a coloring layer (right):

Font is also hugely important to me. I try to find ones that fit thematically AND also look great on the image. Like bad coloring or a bad background, an ugly font can also kill an edit. Choose wisely lmao.

Another thing to watch out for in an edit that's multiple images is to make sure they all look nice together and like they're part of one set. I find this probably the hardest, since different source images (comic panels in this case) often have different coloring requirements, but you want the colors to mesh well between different images. It's tough! And if you make extremely long edits like I do occasionally it's hard to even see what they look like together. Sometimes when I'm looking at them stacked in Photopea it looks like a tiny, tiny photostrip and I have to figure out what's working and what isn't. It's tough out there!

Anyway I think that's all I got! Hope that gave you some insight lol I'm glad I had these process pics because I usually just kind of go into a fugue state while making them and come out covered in blood!

[metagraphy-cal]

WRITING INITIATIVE 6

1. Which piece did you present to the class today? How does it relate to the other pieces previously presented? Today I presented my 4D piece under construction. It relates to the wallpapers in my 3D piece because it has everyone’s birth date and it includes everyone’s initials and their birth year as their flight number. No 2 are the same so each person has their own allocated identity on this 4D aspect as well. I used flight arrival and departures as the way of “unconventionaly” communication the class’ birthday roster, and this also organizes birthdays by sectioning the birthdays that have past already vs the upcoming birthdays.

2. Describe 2–3 specific strengths your classmates found in your work and their reasons for identifying them.

My classmates liked everything I presented so far and I think that since I like my project so much, it naturally influences others to enjoy listening me talk about it?

Additionally, when I keep showing my project to new friends, they give me helpful feedback and commentary saying that they love how big the laptop it is and that it's interesting how many things are inside of it once you open it up. 3. Describe 1–2 specific ways your classmates thought you could improve this work going forward.

My classmates suggested ways that I could make the 4D element more clear and more creative. They said that it was a bit difficult to see the seconds moving, and that I could maybe highlight every other line of the "flight board" to increase visibility and clarity. Béatrice also suggested that I project my 4D element instead of solely showing it on my laptop screen, which I thought was a phenomenal idea. Thank you to all my pals for giving me this feedback and helping me enhance my work. 4. Consider the remaining outcome yet to be presented in a couple of weeks; why have you put it off the longest? Describe your reasons for presenting this outcome last.

I think that, moving forward, I could make this look a little more fun, and I need to change the spacing and the boring font that is currently being applied in this prototyping stage. Maybe I can incoporate some colour or make it look a lot more visually engaging. Right now, I also have issues with the real-time timer and when I add one code change, it sometimes messes up the entire program, so I need to perform lots of technical troubleshooting and refining.  I have put this outcome off the longest becuase I needed to collect everyone’s information and it was difficult to catch the last few individuals due to a lack of schedule alignments and their availability. I did not want to send out emails requesting their information because I wanted to actually take time to get to know a little more about each person during this process, so I needed the meetings to all be done in person. This led to some delays in gathering everyone at the right time and place. I also did teeter between two different ideas for this aspect and I did not like how I could not complete any other aspect fully yet. Since all my components are co-dependent, none of them can really be completed without the other, but a least they’ll all be completed together once everything aligns. 5. Finally, you have now had a chance to present each of your projects (2D, 3D, 4D, Reflective) in process to the class. Produce an image of each one and describe how an aspect of your word is manifested in each piece. PICTURES WILL BE POSTED ON SEPARATE POST SINCE THIS POST IS HAVING ISSUE TISSUES WITH UPLOADING MULTIPLE IMAGES -.-

[goblinontour]

i actually hate google docs, i never really bothered with it so it’s just really confusing to me lol. i barely figured out the google drive (you’re the reason i even bothered with it in the first place). and my uni pays for my ms word subscription so i’ll happily keep using it. i’ve been using it since high school anyways so i’m used to it. but yes times new roman does feel very sophisticated. it looks nice but for some reason i just can’t focus with fonts that aren’t extremely basic and plain. it distracts me too much. and i also don’t think i’ve ever had to use times new roman in my life so it’s just unusual for me to look at. i actually think we learned print style handwriting before cursive... but we learned both very early on. my handwriting is a mess though so i’m happy i can do everything on my laptop now lmao. i have a mix of cursive and print writing, i just do whatever is the fastest (and it looks accordingly). but cursive looks way nicer than print, i love it a lot

google docs is so simple to use and clean looking. we can’t be friends anymore. also i’m big on clouds, like google cloud syncing and icloud, and microsoft is just not it when it comes to that, i’ve been trying to get into my old one drive account for years not and it still won’t give me any of my files back.

[aussie-bookworm]

do you need to get *in the zone* to write? if so, how dya do it? any tips on just getting up off your ass and writing?

Oh yeah I definitely need to get in the zone to write. Some days are easier than others lol

As for tips… keep in mind these are my personal tips and it’s not one size fits all – you gotta figure out what works out for you personally

1. Have a good idea about what you’re writing

It might seem a bit obvious but having a good idea of what you want to write does help a bunch. I’m more excited to write if I know what scenes I’m working on and how they relate to the story.

Think about what scenes you want to include while you’re not writing, that way you have something to look forward to when you’re actually sitting in front of your word doc.

Scenes that I’ve been thinking about a lot just fly by because I’m excited to finally get the words out onto the page and I have a good understanding of how things might play out.

2. Set the vibe

Exactly what it says on the tin. Identify what helps you stay in the zone and ready to write and use it to your advantage.

Does listening to music help? Turn it up. Does a specific environment help you pay attention? Go there and if you can’t, try to replicate it. Is your font difficult to read or just plain boring? Change it Comic Sans!

(That last one is a joke but I’m not gonna stop you if you wanna change your default typeface to Comic Sans lmao)

Work on your own environment and make it as writer friendly as possible. But also never underestimate the power of changing things up once in a while.

For example: I typically write in my room where I know no one will distract me. I do short spurts of writing when I get home from work and do longer sessions on weekends. I put on a random playlist and shuffle it, but occasionally I change it up and play video game OSTs.

I tend to change the colour of my pages in Google Docs to be pastel colours so I can still see my words but feel less intimidated by the white of an empty page. I avoid snacking on chips while I write because I dislike grease and flavouring getting on my keyboard.

On the rare occasion when I’m on a weekend trip, I bring my laptop along so I can still do some writing during quiet moments before bed.

This is just what works for me. I’m well aware some of these environmental factors are very niche but you gotta experiment to see what works for you!

Speaking of your environment…

3. Minimise distractions but know when you need to take a break

As much as I would love to, you can’t write while scrolling through Tumblr lol. It’s a classic piece of advice but for a good reason. Focus on the page in front of you and put your phone far away from you if you have to.

But also recognise when you’ve had enough of writing. I’ve found that sometimes during a long writing session, I start to skip words or my descriptions start to not make any sense or something else. It’s a pretty good sign that you need to take a quick break and give your brain a refresh.

Go outside, put on a short YouTube video, do some chores, scroll tumblr, just do something short and sweet that will allow your brain a little break so you can get back to writing once you’re done.

If you are really struggling with staying focused and in the zone, I would recommend trying a writing sprint.

I only found out about these this year but they have been massively helpful in getting me to stay focused.

Set a timer for however long you want (I usually go for 10 minutes) and write non-stop until that timer goes off. You don’t even need to worry about grammar and spelling. Just get the words out and you can edit them later.

It helps identify when it’s break time and sometimes you’ll find that you’ll want to keep on writing after the timer has gone off.

Sprints also help out with the next tip…

4. Just get the dang words out on the page

I will be completely honest, it took me a really long time to understand this piece of advice because it felt obvious. Turns out I was wrong! So let me explain!

Your first draft is your worst version of your writing. No one else will see it so give yourself full permission to fuck up.

Write as many ‘he said, she sighed, they did x’ as you want! Write meta jokes for yourself when you can’t remember how much has passed in-universe! Write parts that you’re still on the fence about including! Write bad jokes you’re not sure will land! Write whatever you want!

Then, once you’ve finished writing and you’re onto proofreading, go through your work multiple times and note what you need to change.

Have you used the same word multiple times in this one sentence? Use another one. Do you like this theme that seems to have developed during the writing phase? Go back and include it more. Is this character repeating an action too many times? Find something else they can do that matches the mood.

Your first draft is supposed to be messy and incomplete. The proofreading stage is where you act as your own worse critic and fix any issues you see.

And if there’s still an issue you’re having trouble with while you proofread? Highlight it and come back later. It’s not going anywhere.

By actually focusing on your writing and getting words on the page, you are more likely to stay in the zone and keep writing! You just need to take that first step and start writing.

Hope that helps anon! At the end of the day, writing should be fun, so try to enjoy every step of the writing process, however you can ❤️

[flameswallower]

Stimuwrite would be terrible for some people with some forms/causes of brain fog, because the program involves sounds, changing colors, etc. as you write, but I have very severe, largely treatment-resistant ADHD and it works like gangbusters for me personally when the primary problem I'm having is "I can't concentrate on writing long enough to put down more than a sentence or two at a time." It also lets you type in the dyslexia font, which I personally find easier to read at a glance than ordinary fonts.

Even when things aren't quite that bad, I work in short bursts. It's rare that I can write for hours at a time, so I don't try to do that. I usually only obligate myself to write for ten or fifteen minutes at a time, or until I reach 250 words, and if I want to go beyond that, I can-- if some kind of frenetic writing state overtakes me, as happens on a few occasions per year, that's fantastic, but I've learned I can't count on these and shouldn't resign myself to only making creative work in such states. If I'm working against a deadline or want to get a significant amount of writing done in a single day or find myself with a lot of energy and relatively few other things to do, I'll simply dedicate myself to doing multiple short writing sessions separated by a couple of hours each time.

The third thing that I do is a lot of thinking about my writing when I'm not actively working on it. I think about characters, plots, environments, structures, even the phrasing/construction of specific sentences while I'm showering, trying to go to sleep, waiting around at the pharmacy, lying in bed with a migraine, washing dishes, and so on. Not only is this fun, it is actually a way of working on projects-- by the time I'm sitting down to do the writing part, I often have quite a well-developed idea of what I want to do. It's just a matter of putting it down on paper. I really recommend that other people who have problems with sustained effort/concentration/work, but who are talented/easily absorbed daydreamers, make use of their daydreaming facility to develop ideas. I mean, I'm guessing a lot of people already do this, because most people lack the weird hang-up I had for years about my narrative daydreaming being private/embarrassing/not something I could or should share with other people. But it's worth putting out there.

For a variety of reasons, I find sitting normally in a chair to work uncomfortable and hard to tolerate. I usually recline on a couch or squat on my haunches while bracing my back against a wall (my laptop is on a low table or a stack of books in front of me if I'm doing the second one). If you've been making yourself sit at a desk to do work because you've been taught That's How People Do It, and that's difficult and unpleasant for you, I suggest experimenting with other positions and setups that might feel better/more natural/less exhausting physically.

I also recommend sometimes trying to write when you are in mental states where you feel like the writing won't make much sense, you're having trouble holding on to coherent trains of thought, etc. Don't do this if the experience will be upsetting or overly stressful for you, but otherwise-- you can get really interesting stuff this way, even though you may later want to edit it or re-work it! You don't have to wait until you feel like your mind is clear and you're writing in a way that makes conventional sense/is conventionally "good"/would be legible to other people to write. Ditto drawing, sculpting, whatever your medium is (though I feel like this is perhaps more obvious/intuitive with art forms other than writing).

pls ignore this is its too weird or too much labor, but i was wondering if you maybe had any tips or resources for ppl who have creative desires like writing but brain fog and fatigue tends to get in the way?

i do! it may not work for you bc people have very random/unexpected ways of dealing with this, but it's *very* common and there is hope :) [i think a lot of this is applicable across form, but i'm using "writing" here because it's what i'm familiar with]

one way is to be strategic about timing: this includes thinking about when you're least foggy/have the most energy, and/or the most "downtime" where there isn't anything in particular you need to do. many people wake up early so that they have alone time before their responsibilities. some people stay up late to write. i tend to do my daily writing (which I elucidate on below) in the evenings, around 7-10pm. whatever works, works!

relatedly: scheduling/routine is, for me, critical. i think it is for a lot of creative ppl. I write every day, in multiple ways: i keep a journal - i've done this since i was like 12, so it's as ingrained as brushing my teeth and i don't really think about it - and also work on some aspect of my current longest project [so, for the last 4 years, it's been the aforementioned second novel; for the 4ish years before that, it was Failure to Comply. i write other stuff during the daytime, of course, because writing is also my job(s). but if you're looking to establish a consistent creative practice, you don't need to be aiming for a certain hour or word count.

Instead: Aim for consistency and progress. Not perfection, not a "muse," not magic. There is no shame in making something that doesn't seem good, or that you end up deleting. in this particular instance, "perfect is the enemy of good" is 10000% true, and i think especially applicable to people who already experience external + internalized ableist ideologies on a daily basis. your art, regardless of what it is, should be a space where you get to make mistakes, change your mind, and learn new things. it should be something you can come to when you're tired, unsure, confused, scared, etc, even if it means just keysmashing and then closing your notes app for the day.

for me, having a daily practice, regardless of anything, means embracing the days where i write only one word and then despair, as well as the days i write pages. when i feel most depressed, in a very clinicized sense, i try to move from "everything i make now is going to be shitty :(" to "everything i make now is going to be shitty :)", not because i'm happy about it, but because....that's simply part of creating. everything is a bodily function. if you're not feeling good, maybe your poop will look weird. so too with writing. but you still do it. it can be mechanical. but it'll happen, and by doing it consistently, you give yourself the *opportunity* to locate insight hitherto buried, to have an idea creep up on your tiredself.

i guess in sum I'd say that the healthiest thing i ever did for my writing is something tantamount to body neutrality, which has also been an immensely positive addition to my set of frameworks for physical embodimindment. creative neutrality, i guess. this doesn't mean i don't tie my ego and personhood to work/productivity/quality. i mean, i totally do, and it sucks, but there we are. but it also means that i place that in a corner that does not touch my desire to chip away at something big, regularly. i make time every day to summon the urgency of whatever i'm working on, not because i'm proud of it at that moment, but because i want to give it another opportunity to give me something cool.

tl:dr: give yourself the gift of consistency and time, and don't be scared of making stuff that isn't good, or gets deleted, or doesn't make sense. write from wherever you want, physically, mentally, spiritually. give it the opportunity & even the expectation to happen and then work from there.

[ttuesday]

Hi! Could you do one where the fellers take care/react to a reader who has depression and is having a bad day/few days? Thank you! <3 <3 <3

I hope you get through this slump anon, honestly I’ve felt the same way too recently but I’m sure we’re both gonna get through this wave of bad days <3

Arthur

Arthur noticed your change in mood after the first day. He could tell something was off but he didn’t want to push you for answers. He had asked you if you were ok and you’d always reply saying you were fine, though that was an obvious lie. 

After a few days and seeing no improvement in your mode, Arthur decides to push you a little more. This time after you said you were yet again ‘fine’, he sighs “You sure? You seem down lately”. He isn’t great with his words and scared of saying the wrong thing.

He knows that whenever he feels down that saying around camp can do more harm than good, so Arthur suggests you go stake out Cornwall’s factory with him for a mission. Nothing much happens but giving your mind something else to focus on certainly helps.

If you do decide to tell Arthur about how you’re feeling, he stays quiet and nods along to everything you say. Even if you only tell him a small bit, he feels honoured that you trust him enough to say it and he makes sure you know that no matter what, he’s always going to be there for you.

Charles

Charles could tell from your demeanour that something wasn’t right. It’s the little things Charles picked up on, like how you now had to force a smile more often or how you always seemed distracted during conversations. 

Charles overheard a few of the others asking if you were ok and you always gave the same answer so he didn’t bother asking you that question again. Instead he asks if you’ll go hunting with him. He tells you how he needed an extra pair of hands acts totally casual .

After a nice ride through the forest and some relaxed conversation, Charles leads you through to a small opening where he apparently saw some deer. He hopes being out in nature and away from everyone will help your mind relax.

He doesn’t push you to talk about how you feel, Charles just wants you to have a good time and to have a genuine smile on your face. If you want to talk about your feelings then Charles is happy to listen and try to come up with solutions but ultimately he just wants you to have a good day.

Dutch

It took Dutch a few days to fully realise you were feeling down but he does notice it eventually. First he just presumed that you were feeling down because a job didn’t go to plan but he got worried when you’re mood didn’t seem to lighten.

His first approach to trying to cheer you up is by giving you materialistic goods. Dutch surprises you by giving you a shiny new pocket watch he just so happened to ‘find’ somewhere and he even gives you some money form the donations box and tells you to buy yourself something nice.

But Dutch can see that his plan didn’t work. Sure materialistic items are nice but they didn’t change how you were feeling. It’s times like this Dutch is happy he has Hosea to give him some advice on how to help you.

While the gang is distracted serving up dinner, Dutch pulls you aside and says “I know you haven’t been yourself lately and I know I can’t make you talk to me but if you ever feel like chatting, I’m always here for you”. He doesn’t want you to feel forced into talking but Dutch wants to make sure you know he’s there.

Micah

Micah knows this sounds kinda creepy but he likes to keep an eye on you when you’re in camp. So because of this, it’s actually pretty obvious to him when your mood changes.

When he tries to get you to open up first, he’s very abrupt and straight out asks you what’s wrong with you. But when he realises this method only pushes you further away from him, he attempts to take a more relaxed and calm approach.

When he sees you’ve trailed off by the edge of camp, Micah follows you out with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He’s always found it easier to talk when he’s had a drink and he’s hoping you’ll feel the same. 

He doesn’t expect you to tell him all about how you feel but if being there and occasionally annoying you works as a distraction from that dreadful feeling, then he’s happy to do that. He wants you to feel like you can tell him things like this, even though he understands he ain’t the most trustworthy person out there.

John

John can be kinda awkward at times and sure, he doesn’t know how to have those deep emotional conversations but he cares about you and genuinely wants the best for you.

He tries to be subtle about it and says little comments every now and again like “Well you know where I am if you wanna talk” or he’ll compliment you throughout the day, just to make sure you know how great you are as a person.

But when he sees you’re not feeling any better, he starts to worry. On the outside it’s easy to see John as someone who doesn’t notice the change within you but the truth is John sees it but he’s scared that if he brings it up, he’ll accidentally make it worse. 

In the end, John goes with what he feels in the moment. Seeing the sad, drained look on your face, John’s almost sure his heart is breaking. Sighing, he holds out his arms and says “C’mere”. John hugs your for as long as you need, not daring to let go first. Sometimes you’d be surprised how great a hug can be.

Javier

Javier likes seeing your smile. It’s the one thing that’s guaranteed to make his day better. One of his favourite things in the world is making you smile, especially since it gives him that butterfly feeling in his stomach. So he’s recognises when your smile seems too forced or as though you’re smiling without genuinely feeling happy.

Javier sits with you and reminisces about old memories, hoping stories of goofy robberies that somehow didn’t get ye killed would make you smile. And it works! …but only for a little while.

Javier knows that this feeling comes and goes, and that sometimes it can seem like it’s in the background of your mind for weeks. When he first left Mexico, he had strong feelings like this too so he knows how each day can differ and how the feeling fluctuates.

But Javier tells you he’ll be by your side for all of it. He wants to be the shoulder you cry on and for the nights that seem long and dark, he’s there. He lets you rest your head on his lap and Javier hums a few songs as he runs his fingers through your hair.

Bill

We all know what Bill is like. It can take him a while to understand how you feel but the main thing is he tries to help in whatever way he can. At first he thinks that you just feel sad over something. He doesn’t think it’s a big deal and Bill just thinks the feeling will fade in a few days. But it doesn’t.

Something that always helps Bill destress and forget about life’s problems for a while is playing with Cain. He’s convinced that dog has superpowers cause Bill’s in a good mood whenever Cain comes around. One day when Cain comes over to Bill for some belly rubs, Bill gets you to join in too.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with the two of them, using Bill’s bandana to play tug of war with Cain and laughing when Cain flops down on Bill, tired from all the games. 

As ye relax, Bill distracts you some more by telling you a few stories, like when he drunkenly mistook a cow for his horse. Bill doesn’t care if he has to tell you a thousand stories and pet a thousand dogs with you, if it’ll make you smile again then he’s willing to do it.

Sean

Sean wants to be the most helpful person ever. He wants to be there for you through it all, holding your hand each step on the way. Seriously, when Sean sees the shift in your mood and notices you aren’t your usual self then he holds on to your hand and doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

Anytime you want to talk, Sean has no problem stopping whatever he’s doing and giving you his undivided attention. You’re so goddamn special to him and he’s scared of losing you, so he puts 110% into making you feel more comfortable in yourself.

Whenever Sean hears about a robbery or sets up a job, he always brings you along, whether you wanna go or not. He doesn’t think staying around camp all the time is good for you so whenever he goes out, he drags you out with him for a change of scenery

Does Sean know what he’s doing or if he’s helping you overcome this? No, he’s just winging it but this man will literally do anything if it means getting you out of this slump.  

Hosea

This is Hosea, of course he notices when you become more reclusive and depressed. Hosea’s a strong believer in love and support helping people get through anything, and so that’s what he gives you. 

It doesn’t matter where ye are, what time of day it is or if you’re in the middle of a shootout, if you need Hosea then he’s there to reassure you and tell you everything’s going to be alright.

He understands how it can be hard to talk about things like this and how sometimes it feels like you can’t put your emotions into the right words. If you try to talk about how you feel but start to get upset, then Hosea stops you and instead suggests you just sit with him for a while and wait for the feeling to pass.

He never tries to pressure you into talking and if anyone gets pissed off cause you’re not ‘pulling your weight’ around camp then Hosea becomes absolutely furious with them, unholstering his gun making sure the person knows they’re a fool for saying such a thing.

[aka-indulgence]

Me: *typing on the laptop, sees wingdings*

hmmm, last year I tried to use wingdings but it didn’t work :C oh well, doesn’t hurt to try again-

Wingdings on my laptop:

Me:

Me: O- HAPPY CLAPS AND CHEERS

[duxpuella]

may i kindly request headcanons abt a fem!reader just like…falling asleep with neil perry? like it’s platonic but they’re all cuddled up😭 i would cry

Headcanons of (fem!) reader falling asleep with Neil P. (platonic)

<Atention: Modern AU where Neil lives, and Welton’s a boys & girls school.

Warnings: Fluff, Todd being a mom friend, mentions of snoring, exams; >

Note: Took a while to write this but I believe that my writer's block is finally leaving me. Thank God. Also hope you enjoy, I pictured the reader relationship with Neil to be as a sister x brother one :) ;

Also, here’s my Neil playlist, hope you enjoy it!

font;

Neil invited you for a study session in his dorm, exams were about to start and he was feeling a little unsure on a few subjects. After a few hours of revising, words started to blur together and a shy (though annoying) pain crawled into the back of your brain. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes, trying to squint the pain away. 

Neil noticed the exhaustion exuding from your figure, as he was getting very tired. You both agreed that it was time for a break and as he picked a few extra blankets, you put on a Disney standard movie on your laptop. It was nothing you haven't watched yet, but the fact that both of you knew the dialogues and songs by heart was somewhat comforting. 

As the movie went on, your favorite song came and he looked at you, expectant. As he noticed your eyes closed and your face relaxed, a subtle smile formed on his lips. You were sleeping peacefully. He took it as his queue to close the laptop (doing his best to not wake you up) and take a nap himself. 

Todd arrived later in the dorm room feeling relieved that you did get some rest, after all, he knew Neil's tendencies of overworking, and yours weren't much better. The scene was quite adorable to watch, as you were embraced with blankets and pillows, head laid on Neil's shoulder, and his hand on your hair. Todd could tell how much you cared for each other, and he could feel his caring for the both of you as well. 

In the morning, he woke you up earlier so you could go to your dorm room without much trouble. At breakfast, Neil asked if you succeeded in your mission of going to your room unnoticed and if you slept well after that. You answered yes to both questions, he then teased you on how you snore loudly and Charlie held on to that statement for the day. 

These sleepovers happened for a while during the exam month, each time in a different place in the room. 

One of them was on Neil's desk, and Todd had to wake both of you so that no stiff necks would appear in the morning. Needless to say that you were very dissatisfied with being awake since no reason could be good enough to interrupt your precious sleep. 

It came to a point where Cameron decided to take the matter into his own hands and improve your study routine by tutoring you. 

It actually solved most of the problem, but you and Neil did continue to do sleepovers (except now you would include the other poets as well). 

Tag list: @tall-my-beloved ;

Hope you like it! I take requests by ask! (info on requests);

Also, you’ll find more of my writing here.

[kaminocasey]

Loverboy Part 3

Summary: You find something out about someone in the Batch. Then, you have to make a tough decision. Pairing: Echo x Sith!Reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Sexual Situation, Angst WC: 2.2K A/N: Dedicating this chapter to @rain-on-kamino bc her love of Echo inspires me <3 I'm really excited to write the next chapter of this story! Also, it kept messing up on mobile so I had to do this from my laptop and now it's showing up in black for some reason so if you want to read it on my AO3 if it's easier, HERE is the link. Sorry tumblr is being wacky today. EDIT: I fixed the fucking color of the font but now it wont let me post the first paragraph of the fic lmao. I'm fucking done with this site today.

Part 2

Echo spends the next few weeks visiting you at your place, much to the distaste and distrust of his brothers. They comm him constantly and make sure you aren’t doing something to him. 

If only they knew the things you do to him. 

The morning light shines through your living room curtains as you realize you and Echo fell asleep on the sofa last night after your… activities. He’s got his head resting on his flesh arm with his scomp arm protectively holding you between him and the couch as your head rests on his chest and your legs are entangled with his mechanical ones. You’ve gotten used to his mechanical limbs and find comfort in them at this point. Before you can wake him up, you hear a loud, almost angry, knock on your door. 

Echo stirs slightly and you quietly slink over him onto the floor, throwing on his long sleeve black shirt and pad over to the door. When you open it, Hunter and Tech barge in, quickly looking around.

“Where is he?” Hunter demands.

“Excuse me?” You ask him, crossing your arms, realizing you’re still not wearing pants, nor underwear. 

Hunter notices it too, immediately, and tries to look elsewhere. Echo finally wakes up, sitting up straight, looking drowsy. 

“Hunter? Tech? What are you guys doing here?” He rubs his eyes, standing up.

Unfortunately, at the same time that he stands up, he realizes he’s also not wearing pants. Flustered and angry, he pulls the blanket up around his waist.

“You did not come back this morning.” Tech informs him.

“We assumed the worst.�� Hunter tells him, almost apologetically?

“That’s because you can’t stop thinking the worst of me.” You fire back at him.

“I wonder why.” Tech looks down at his holopad. 

“Well, now you know I’m fine.” Echo opens the door for them. “I’ll be down in a few.” 

Hunter and Tech give you one last glance before walking out the door to wait for Echo. He closes the door behind them and then looks at you, apologetically. It doesn’t matter though. They’re never going to like you or trust you. 

“I’m sorry about them.” He murmurs, coming to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Echo… they look at me and see only one thing.” You pull yourself out of his arms and to your bedroom so you can get ready for the day.

It’s true. They’ll never stop seeing you as a Sith… a threat. You understand why, of course. You’ve done some pretty questionable things in the name of the Sith. But that’s not you anymore. Hell, you’ve never even killed anyone. Except Wat Tambor. But that doesn’t count. He deserved it. Sure, it was revenge… but after what he did to Echo… That rolling slug fuck deserved. Also, there was the assassination attempt of Palpatine but that definitely doesn’t count, seeing as how that asshole turned out to be the worst Sith of them all.

“I’ve been trying to get them to come around.” Echo follows you to the bedroom. “You guys got off on the wrong foot that day at Cid’s…” 

“They shot at me first.” You peel off Echo’s shirt and stand there naked, looking for something to wear in your closet.

He chuckles, leaning in the doorway. “I know they did.”

You look at Echo as he eyes your naked form. Maker, he’s so pretty… 

He drops the blanket, letting it pool around his feet, revealing his hardened length twitching with want for you. You swallow. 

“No. You’re not going to distract me with… that.” You point at his member, standing at attention for you now.

He walks to you, towering over you, smiling down at you, still sleepy. 

“Stop it.” You try to keep your eyes trained on his so you don’t look elsewhere.

“You really want me to stop?” He smirks.

No, you really don’t and he knows it. “Your brothers are waiting for you.”

“Guess we better be quick, then.” He shrugs, taking your hand and letting you guide it to his erect length.

You smile up at him as you sink to your knees in front of your lover, feeling yourself go warm under his stare. No one had ever treated you with such kindness before… such love. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it.

After Echo leaves, you get a much needed shower and get ready for the day since you have a few errands that you need to run. You make a quick cup of caf and some toast to go and then head out. 

On your way through the markets, you immediately recognize Wrecker and Omega as they look at all the vendors in the market. Especially since Wrecker stands about two feet above everyone walking by. Your brain is telling you to go the other way. The last thing you needed was for Hunter to see and think you set this up. But on the other hand, the shop next to it had all the cleaning supplies you needed… 

Going to move your mask down over your face, like you would normally do, you realize you left it at home… You’ve not worn it since that day at Cid’s and you don’t wear it when you and Echo go out at night. Honestly, you don’t know why you still have it. Other than maybe avoiding awkward situations like this…

You start to walk by them, trying to be inconspicuous, but Omega turns around and smiles up at you, as if she could possibly sense you-

Oh…

Of course it would turn out this way… 

You feel it coursing through her, flowing through her and around her.

Omega is force sensitive. 

It all makes sense now… Why she smiled at you, knowing you weren’t a threat that day in Cid’s. She knows you’re not a threat now. 

Do they know what she is? 

“Hi.” She grins up at you.

Wrecker looks at you and then pulls Omega closer to him.

“H-hello…” You murmur, trying to at least look a little friendlier.

“We haven’t been introduced. I’m Omega.” She holds her hand out to you. 

You look up at Wrecker who, like you said, towers at least two feet over you, for permission before touching the kid. The last thing you needed was to set off this 260 pound giant. 

He looks down at Omega and then his look softens as he nods to you. You reach out and shake her hand.

“This is Wrecker.” She nods behind her. “I’m glad to finally meet you. Hunter wouldn’t let me.” 

“I’m glad to meet you also.” You smile softly at the kid, understanding why Echo is so protective of her.

When she lets go of your hand, you nod to Wrecker and start to walk away, but then stop to look at them again. Omega tilts her head, curiously.

“I wanted to meet you, also… but Hunter… he’s right to keep you away from me. I’m dangerous.” You tell her. 

It’s the truth. You don’t know if there’s still people after you or not, even after two years of being inactive. You think that maybe Hunter realizes that. 

“Doesn’t matter. I know you won’t hurt Echo and you won’t hurt us.” She nods.

She’s obviously the wisest one out of all of them. You look up at Wrecker, who’s sort of smiling at you. You give Omega a quick smile and head to the store that you needed to get to.

“We’ll see each other soon.” She calls out to you. 

It’s definitely a promise. 

“Where is Master Dooku?” Ventress asks you.

You shrug from the window seat, looking out at the Serenno mountains as you eat your breakfast with your legs pulled up underneath you. The sun was starting to shine slightly, which didn’t happen often here, so you wanted to soak up as much of it as you could. 

“You do realize we are meant to leave in less than an hour, right?” She crosses her arms, staring at you.

You shrug again. “Won’t take me long to finish this.”

You could practically feel her eyes roll at you. Ventress wasn’t the most patient with you. Or with anyone, for that matter.  

“Where are we going?” You look over at her.

“Kidnapping Chancellor Palpatine today.” She answers you, starting to walk away. 

“Ooh. Naboo?” You smile. 

Naboo was beautiful. Definitely in your top five favorite planets. The sun always shines there. 

“We aren’t going for fun.” She warns you.

Holding your hands up in surrender, you can’t help but grin at her. It was no secret you weren’t the most… serious Sith. But you knew you didn’t belong on the “Light Side” as the Jedi proclaimed to be. All sides have their flaws. 

You act in your own best interest a lot. Perhaps it's purely selfishness that leads you. 

“Why are we kidnapping Chancellor Palpatine?” You ask her as you walk down the long gloomy halls of Master Dooku’s home. 

“Why must you always ask so many questions?” She side-eyes you. 

You give her a toothy grin. “Because it irritates you.”

You and Ventress weren’t exactly chummy, per se. But, you got along and you worked well together. You trusted her enough. She acts big and bad, but underneath that beautiful pale skin, lies someone who’s looking to belong somewhere, just like you. 

“You are annoying. Be glad you’re not my apprentice.” She glares.

It’s a soft glare and you know she doesn’t mean it. In fact, there are days where you wish she was your master. But you know, there’s probably more that Dooku could teach you. 

Your last errand is meeting with a friend of yours that usually lets you know when there’s a good bounty for you to collect. She’d not contacted you in a couple months, which you didn’t really mind. But now… it makes you reconsider. You had something to lose now. Would Echo think less of you?

Lona hands you the tracking fob. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss this one. A Sith. Pretty dangerous.” 

You click on the Fob and your puck lights up with a holo of a beautiful pale face you’d not seen in a long while. Your stomach does a huge flop and you swallow.

Ventress…

“What’s she wanted for? And who wants her?” You ask Lona.

“You know we don’t ask those questions.” She gives you a funny look. “She’s worth 200,000 credits, though. You can’t pass that up.”

You nod, tossing the fob and puck into your bag. “See you around.” 

As you walk back to your apartment, lots of thoughts run through your mind. There’s no way she’d come quietly. But it’s 200,000 credits… that would keep you comfortable for a bit longer. On the other hand… she’s the one who warned you about Dooku’s death and told you to go somewhere safe… 

The lower levels of Coruscant were exactly as you’d expected them to be. Seedy. Sketchy. Dark. You’d been there for a year now with your own apartment and your own life started, away from the Sith. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that bad. You didn’t mind being on your own. You enjoyed your freedom. 

You suspected that Dooku still had his eyes on you somehow because your rent was suddenly all paid for the next year, which didn’t sit well with you. Were you still wanted by the Separatists? When would you be allowed to return to the surface? When could you return to Serenno? 

Walking through the streets with your hood drawn up like you normally do, you feel a presence behind you. A presence you’d not felt in a really long time. Quickly rounding a corner and hiding behind a dumpster, you wait for the person to walk by. But they don’t.

As you stand to walk away, there’s a familiar voice behind you.

“I thought I saw you down here.” Ventress pulls up her mask.

You turn around to see her and can’t help but smile. Finally, a familiar face. Maybe not a friendly one, but that’s alright.

“I heard what you did, freeing that clone.” She tells you. “Heard it pissed off a lot of people.”

You shrug. “You know I was never good at doing what I was told.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you.” She tells you, softly, walking closer to you.

“You have?” She was the one keeping an eye on you… Not Dooku.

She nods. “I’ve got some news, though.”“What is it?” You ask.

Has the war finally ended? Have the Separatists won? Would you finally be allowed to return to the surface? You miss the sunlight. 

“Dooku is dead.” She tells you.

It hits you like a train. Dead? How is that possible? 

“Dead at the hands of Anakin Skywalker.” She tells you.

“Oh.” You murmur. 

Skywalker… Of course… 

“Listen… the surface is a shit show right now. I think you need to get off-world and go somewhere safe.” She tells you.

Your master is dead. You’re alone. You’re stuck here. You’d never get to see the sunlight again.

Ventress says your name, snapping your thoughts back to reality. “Did you hear me?”

“What?” 

“There’s a planet called Ord Mantell. It’s safe for people like us. Deserters.” She tells you.

You nod. “Got it. Ord Mantell…” 

“Here. This will help you stay anonymous.” She hands you her mask and you look down at it as you hold it. 

Running your hand over the worn golden yellow art that decorates it, you look up at her. “Why are you helping me?” 

“Because we never belonged with them.” She tells you. “We don’t belong anywhere.” 

TAGS: @grievouus @brynhildrmimi @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @misogirl828 @rexandechosandwich @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @twistedstitcher27 @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @meekaielmyerhs99

[ghostoftheyear]

I just read a comment on a post that made me very concerned, so I wanted to put out a PSA.

Someone was panicking during the recent AO3 outage, where the DDoS was trying very hard to put the site under for good, because they didn't have any way to recover their fics. Which is terrifying, sure... if all you ever do is write directly into the draft page on AO3.

But. Why would you do that?

Like. OK. I know I'm old, and I'm also privileged to have a desktop PC that I use for the majority of everything online. I understand this is not as common a circumstance as it used to be. But if you're using a laptop or PC, you should REALLY be writing somewhere else first. Even if it's just the native notepad program. Anything that allows you to save the file. You don't need something expensive like Scrivener. I personally use a text-based program called NoteTab, which is inexpensive, reliable, and has lots of nice little extras. Of course there's Word and OpenLibre and things like that. Even Google Docs if you're in a pinch (though I can't recommend it given that they're now starting their own AI-theft program).

I'm not as well versed in apps for phones and tablets. But even so, I beg you to find something to write on that isn't directly into AO3. The notes program? Email yourself? A physical notebook?

And there is a reason for this. Purely aside from the fact that the draft will only save your text for 30 days -- and was NEVER meant to be used as a word processor to begin with! -- you should always have a backup of your work somewhere, in the exact case of circumstances like this.

Many moons ago, I used a free site called Crosswinds to host my website. (There were a lot of these, like geocities, tripod, & so on.) One day, there was a server glitch and lots of my files were wiped from creation. I didn't keep copies of them anywhere else, and so they were just gone. I was able to recover some of it, but most of it was just. Gone. Forever.

These days, I edit my stuff on my PC first, and then upload it. I should also probably have another backup of some kind, because I have had catastrophic hard drive failures and lost everything. You think it won't happen to you. Then it does, and your stuff that you've labored on is just gone.

Plus, it's just good to be able to have the text in a location where you can easily read and edit; on top of that, you know that trick of putting it in another font so you can catch mistakes? That is exactly what happens when I get the fic into the preview page on AO3 and I'm able to see all those goddamn typos and missed italics tags and so on.

For the love of whatever you love, friends, you must keep your own backups. You will lose your data at some point. It's going to happen. Or a site will go down. Or something crashes. And it'll all be gone. You really can make sure that doesn't happen, and it'll take less time than you think.

But I will be over here begging on my arthritic, ruined knees for the rest of time: NEVER WRITE DIRECTLY INTO THE AO3 PAGE. EVER. DON'T FUCKIN DO IT.

[studythenight-away]

Hello! As finals season (aka 5-research-papers-due-in-a-week season) dawns on many of you, I thought I would share the process I used to write papers in college. This made writing long research papers much less daunting (but can also work on shorter papers). I really hope this helps some of you who feel stuck. Especially during these ridiculous times, when you're stuck at home and might have other uncontrollable factors affecting your mental health, a clear framework of what to do could be helpful. Good luck, my friends! You got this.

About me

I graduated college in 2018 with degrees in Political Science + International Studies and will be starting law school this fall. I wrote nearly 20 15 to 25-page papers, never earning below an A. I loved researching about my topics but hated writing. It's tedious, takes so much time, and everything I write sounds bad at first. Plus, I was a terrible procrastinator so most of these essays were written in under a week. Talk about stress.

Over time I found a process that worked for me, one that made churning out a paper seem straightforward, like going through a factory line rather than this terrifying concept of writing 10,000 words. It kept me sane without decreasing the quality of my work (or more importantly, how much I learned!) 

I'm thinking about making a short video to show this in action… let me know if that could be helpful!

Step 1: Research

How you organize your research is a key step in keeping you sane. Usually I'll have a pile of 20 books in my dorm along with dozens of JSTOR tabs open on my laptop, and that can get overwhelming very fast. Right now just focus on collecting ideas, not developing an argument or even an outline! As with most research papers, you could be starting with little to no background information on the topic, so it is still too early to be thinking about an argument.

Put all your research in one document

Open up a new doc: this will be the heart of everything. For a 15-page paper I usually end up with around 14-18 pages of typed research, 10 pt font, single spaced, tiny margins. This seems like a lot, but essentially all I do is type up anything I read that seems relevant to my topic, so luckily this step does not require that much brain power. Just type type type!

Use the table of contents

Find the chapter(s) that are actually relevant instead of skimming through the whole book. Time is of the essence here!

Use Zotero, cite right away

You can also use easybib or whatever you're used to, but keep track of your sources. I like Zotero because I can keep a log of all of my sources and copy the footnote or bibliography version whenever needed. Before you even begin reading, cite the source and copy it into your research doc. This will save you so much time later when you have to put in your citations in the actual paper. 

Here is an example of what my research doc looks like:

Full citation is my heading for each source just so it’s crystal clear

I ignore all typos (I don’t think there are any in this part though, go me!) because my head is buried in the book just trying to get all the info down

I always start with the page number so I know what to cite when I go back

Create a shorthand 

While typing up research, you might think of something that the author didn't talk about that you'll want to write in your paper. Or perhaps a few sentences already start to form. Put them all in one place, with your research, so you know what source you'll have to cite to then lead into your idea. I type "!@#" before anything that is strictly my own idea so I'm never confused. It's fast and stands out.

This is an example: the two bullet points above are evidence from my source, which made me think of this argument I could make, which I noted with “!@#”

Step 2: Read Your Research

Now that you have all your information, go back and read through it all. Every time you read about a new theme/person/event, write it down somewhere. You may come up with a list of 20+ different ideas in your research. No matter how small, as long as there is something about it, write it down. Each of these mini themes is going to end up being a paragraph in your paper or combined with another mini theme. 

Once you’ve made your list, look for larger overarching themes. In the paper I’ve shown you, I had mini categories like “political party x” “religion” “labor groups” “little organization” and “hierarchy.” When I looked back I though, hey these are all groups and how groups are working together, so they each became their own mini paragraph under the subsection of “Alliances.”

As with most research paper structures, I try to find three general themes/subsections (like an extended version of that 5-paragraph essay we wrote in middle school). It makes the paper less messy and also makes sure I’m not covering things that are beyond a reasonable scope.

During this step, you are also searching for your thesis. It won’t be your final version. As you fill in your outline in the next step you may make slight changes. But this is definitely when you start thinking about it.

Step 3: Outline

We’re ready to outline! Once I’ve collected all my different themes and organized all my subsections and paragraphs, it’s time to fill in that outline. I start a new doc just for the outline and take advantage of google doc’s headings function to make a clear document outline.

Here comes the fun part, I read through my research one more time, this time copy and pasting all my research into each section of the outline. The document outline in google docs makes this easy because I can just click on each subheading to get me there (super helpful when you’re dealing with 15+ pages of research).

Here is what it looks like:

Let’s say I need to add something to my outline about labor groups. Boom, labor groups. Also, the typos are really abound here haha

Step 4: Write the Paper

Okay, I get it, easier said than done. BUT! You already have everything set up. Your outline is essentially just a list of your paragraphs and all you have to do is paraphrase, cite, and create a topic sentence. And that’s how you should think about this: you’re essentially transforming bullet points into sentences and adding footnotes. 

In high school my English teacher introduced us to Sh*tty First Drafts for creative writing, but honestly the same applies to research papers. Sometimes I’ll even have phrases like “wait no that’s not what I meant but basically...” and when I go back to edit, I realize that what came after “but basically...” is fine! And I keep it. So just start typing.

How do you cite while you write? Because we’re trying to get a constant stream of writing going, inserting proper footnotes after each sentence you type is too bothersome. I usually split screen with my outline and my paper so I just copy and paste a few words from my bullet point into my footnote, like so:

(This is from a different paper about cluster munitions.)

Step 5: Edit the Paper

I work best when I print out my first draft and make all edits in red pen. I feel more productive and can visually see where I want to move sentences and what I need to change. The more red there is the better I can feel the paper getting. (Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter. We’re trying to stay motivated here!) When it’s all digital I don’t really see the progress. Plus, once I finish all the red, I get another moment of passive brain work, where all I’m doing is transferring edits rather than thinking. And at this point in the process, that kind of relief is much welcomed. 

The good thing about this process is there’s not usually a need to cut entire paragraphs or pages because the paper you end up with is just a formalized version of your outline. Because you started with such a detailed outline, the cutting and editing now is just to refine your word choices and get rid of the “but basically”s. You’re almost there!

Step 6: Replace your citations

Now it’s time to go back and replace your footnotes with actual citations. Zotero makes this easy because in Word you can just insert and add the page number, and it’ll automatically do “Ibid.” for you when needed. Ctrl+f in the original research doc to quickly find the source.

Step 7: One More Read-Through and Submit!

Congratulations!! You’ve got a fully-researched and well-backed paper! Of course, even though the process is straightforward, it’s still a lot of work. In ideal situations I would start researching two weeks before the deadline, but if need be, I believe I’ve done this all in three miserable panic-filled days as well. 

Please message me if you have any questions at all! I really hope some of you find this helpful! Good luck!