#ronWIPs

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

Question: your sex scenes have such a real human element. There's humor, there's weirdness, there's conversations that sound the way people actually talk about sex. Did you ever have trepidation about sharing work with those scenes in it, or is it all just writing to you?

hello! that's very kind, thank you. what a nice question

the short answer is no, I do not have any trepidation in writing and sharing sex scenes, probably for 2 reasons. 1, I was writing fanfic with sex scenes in it long before I ever actually had sex, lol. like age 12, posting sasunaru on ff.net. so writing about sex and having sex have always been very disconnected for me. and 2, I do not have sex in my real life the way that I write it! I'm no good in bed lmfao. I've had a lot of sex but not much of it has been good, jokey, or trustful. I'm cagey and uptight lol. my husband always ribs me for being weird about sex yet also being an erotica writer. which, ok, fair!! coaches don't play!!!!

all that to say, I do try to write about sex in a way that comes out feeling natural! sex is funny and gross and you talk during it. I'm by no means anti-porn, but I am anti thinking that porn is an accurate representation of how two regular people have sex. so not looking to porn when writing about sex helps that naturalistic feeling, if anyone is looking for writing advice.

also, it's like.. sex should tell you something about the characters, which is always important and extra important in fic, I think. you want them to fuck BECAUSE of who they are. otherwise you could watch any two guys fucking.

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

20 fanfic author questions

tagged by @runawaydr3amerao3 to do this, excited as always to talk about myself, let's gooooooo

1. How many works on AO3?

52 and I can only ballpark how many have been orphaned. probably about 12.

2. Total AO3 word count?

953,146. Jesus christ

3. Top 5 fics by kudos?

all of these are old as hell which is why they're top. they are not all good.

transposition ciphers (9,010) fma, roy/ed

the hang of being alive again (3,600) the raven cycle, adam/ronan

not funny (3,573) check please (eugh), holster/ransom

awful wonderful (3,564) naruto, kakagai

hard reset (3,162) fma, roy/ed

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, technically, just spn, the bear, true detective and house md. but fma is never far from my mind. my otp no matter how much time passes...

5. Do you respond to comments?

Up until very recently I never did because it never occurred to me. I wasn't trying to be a dick, I just didn't know I was supposed to. then I went through a period during spn after learning that where I felt bad and replied to everything. Now I reply to comments that ask me a question or are thought-provoking. I want to answer and to applaud. people leave comments that are more beautiful than the actual fic, you people are very smart and insightful.

6. Angstiest ending?

I'm not good at writing sad endings!! I believe in love! but, for this audience, worthless cartography. sam and dean hook up for the first time right before ahbl pt 2 and then sam dies, so dean thinks it's his fault in a divine retribution kind of way, so when sam is alive again, dean rebuffs him. I always meant to write a second part, but without it, it's pretty sad.

7. Fic with the happiest ending?

I was going to say pine sweat but I remembered it takes place in S5 so sam is dead within a fortnight lmao. it's definitely hard reset, an fma roy/ed fic. it's 15 years post-canon and after a lot of yearning and trying to make it work, they make it work. very blue skies everybody wins.

8. Do you get hate?

Not much these days, but I used to. mostly for writing roy/ed, with a big age/power gap, and for my novel with the same. for writing hockey rpf ships people didn't like, someone threatened to call my office and tell my bosses I was a pedophile. also when I was 13 I wrote a very OOC house/wilson fic and someone said it sucked and I got so mad I started writing original works out of spite (because nobody could tell me they were ooc)

9. Do you write smut?

Very much so, as a treat/reward/resolution to a story, much like sex is irl, lol. I rarely write smut on its own (blood sacrifice sex magic type of thing would be the closest, or middle name) not because I have anything against it but because in my own work I wanna feel very much like it's THE characters, whoever they are, and plot is the easiest way to do that. if I wanna just crank my hog I can do that on my own time.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nosiree, I'm boring. no crossovers or AUs. barry tells me I will want to write an spn/x files crossover though, and because he's the one that got me into spn I've learned not to tell him he's wrong.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Yes actually, someone put huge swaths of one of my yakuza fics into a majima/reader fic. I opened a ticket with AO3 but they said it wasn't clear cut enough. I didn't pursue because I don't care.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, this is my favourite thing!!! such a compliment and a beautiful reminder, in english speaking internet and under the shadow of the US, that there are other folks online. several of my spn fics have been translated into mandarin and 2 of my expanse fics have been translated into russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Once, in hockey fandom, with someone I didn't like very much. she wasn't a good writer and it was a disaster. I don't remember what happened to it. I wouldn't do it again lol.

14. All time favourite ship?

If I'm honest it's gotta be roy/ed from fma. what if this very annoying kid sauntered into your life but then he grows up and he's brilliant and noble and beautiful and haunted and also the specialist boy in the world, but you're a decorated military official in a corrupt dictatorship and the kid hates your guts and you will never be able to forgive yourself for your past war crimes so why should this beautiful genius like you anyway?? anyway. im over that now

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

A wincest john finds out kind of full-house-of-wincest type situation. somebody with a fundraiser fic should email me and tell me to swap their fic to that one. who said that

16. Writing strengths?

Dialogue and canon-complianticity

17. Writing weaknesses?

Nobody tells me what I suck at so I don't FULLY know, but. Speed. Grammar. Flexibility. everything I write sounds like everything else I write and I reuse the same words and idioms, like same song syndrome but for writing. a greatest hits album.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

Only thing I've done in my fics is kind of a crossed-out written words in an epistolary fic. I've maybe had a few french lines in a fic but I don't think so because it was referencing subtitles. haven't read much either, so, no opinions. but I will say it's shit to do a weird patois in your English language dialogue

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Naruto baybeeeee. when I was 11 my sister found my scanned fan art of naruto and sasuke kissing on deviantart. I didn't even think she was on deviantart. 

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Hangdog, easily, but I think that's only because true detective s1 is remarkably rich and good so I'm really just drafting off marty and rust's coattails. but also probably Matryoshka dolls for spn, because it feels very well considered and tied together and intentional and satisfying, to me. but it deserves merit because as any spn fan knows, you gotta have a rich inner universe in order to truly play in their space. cw gets no credit.

EDIT: or, actually, my venture bros fic, lol. there was something very lovely about writing fic for a show that in no way makes me horny. Just a show I love very much.

No tags because I don't know anyone anymore but tag me if you do it because of me and I'll read it!

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

hi!! Hope this isn’t weird, just wanted to say I’ve been fascinated by your writing ever since I stumbled upon your House fanfic. Binged your ao3 and literally wrote in my diary ‘wow i sure would love to write like ao3 user applecrumbledore’. I’m even thinking of watching True Detective and The Bear based on your portrayal of the characters. Anyway— have a nice day, your writing has given me a lot of those <3

aha thank you!!! not weird at all, hugely flattering. I really like that house fic so I'm glad it's the one you read. and I'm obviously biased, but true detective and the bear are both some very very excellent television, so I highly recommend them both. both are much less sexy than their fic counterparts but they're great shows.

and: you didn't ASK for writing advice, but I will say-- I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to emulate someone's style! not advocating for plagiarism obviously, but I think there's a lot of benefit to analyzing a writer's work and thinking about what you like about it and why you like it, and using those insights to shape your own writing. like.. we're all pulling from the same bag of words, but which words does a writer use, how do they organize a sentence, what do you find evocative, what doesn't work, etc etc.

tldr, nothing is mystical. like arin hanson said: you think I came out of the pussy drawing fuckin mozart? lol

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

What inspires you to write fanfic?

when I'm watching or reading something new, the THING that has to grip me for me to want to write fic is mainly like, are there two characters whose relationship leaves something spicy and enticing to be explored? sometimes there are hot people but the show DOES it for you, so I don't feel the need to like, "tell a different story" (fellow traveller, white lotus probably). or the reverse version is an incredible story with great characters, but none of them have that kind of sexy chemistry that I want to explore (babylon 5. tng. most good books)

for coming to a specific fic idea for something I'm already watching/reading: I have no idea. two characters do something that makes me feel concussed and then god himself gently places a thought into my head

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

Fic: Pine sweat opening chapter preview 🏕✨️

It's wincest wednesday and I'm tired of not posting fic! working on long projects is exhausting!

Here's the opening scene of a wincest time travel fic I'm working on.

The full fic is a big mysterious case fic about... hunting, camping and hating yourself, pining, sharing a tent and falling in love with your brother. It will be out in a few months I think. This preview is 1.8k words, takes place in season 5. enjoy! tell me what you think!

Chapter 1 - HEAT

Winter, 2009. The radiator in their motel room was broken, but it was worth putting up with for the twenty-dollar discount on the room. Dean took a decadently long shower to warm up, and Sam slept with towels draped over his comforter.

They would only get a few hours’ rest, but it was better than they'd had lately, both of them hounded as they were by angels, and Sam by guilt and regret. The cold was bad enough that Sam looked over at the lumpy shape of Dean in the other bed and considered saying something about sharing body heat, but Dean would never let him live it down. Dean wasn't even in the mood to share a meal with him lately, so he figured sharing a bed would be a stretch. He fell asleep thinking about Michael and Lucifer and how he hadn't heard Dean sing in the car for weeks. 

He woke up sweating.

It was disorienting, bright and screaming of wrongness. The bed wasn't a bed anymore. He was somewhere else, hard ground under him and bright, outside-bright, brighter than South Dakota got on any winter morning. 

He blinked awake with blurry eyes, pushing up, and looked for the gun under his pillow that was gone because the pillow was gone, the bed was gone, the whole damn room was gone, and it was dirt and rocks under his palm, not sheets.

He was about to shout for Dean when he saw Dean laying on the ground next to him.

"Dean." He shook Dean’s shoulder and looked around, frantic. They were at the edge of a forest: deciduous trees, near midday by the position of the sun. The air was clean but burning hot, and muggy.

He got up on his haunches and watched the bushes for movement. No bindings on Dean's wrists or his own, and no marks that said any had been there. No phones either, no knives or guns, and he didn’t remember waking up. There was nothing between his bed in the frigid motel room and here.

"Dean."

"Radiator kicked in, goddamn," Dean mumbled. "Turn it off."

Sam hissed, "You are on—the—ground."

Dean snuffled into his folded arms and made a confused noise, lifted his head and turned over. Sam's hand pulled him over faster.

Dean woke up all at once. "Shit."

"Thank you."

Sam watched impatiently as Dean went through the same frantic checklist he had, including patting an invisible pillow for his gun.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean said, sitting up.

It was a forest, as lush as it could be for being so dry, and Jesus, the heat. Sweat rolled down Sam's temple just sitting there.

"Here." Sam picked up Dean's hand and examined his wrist, his forearm. "Lemme check for needles."

Dean watched him turn his arm over. "Didn't wake up, not for a second. You?"

"I don't think so. You feel groggy?"

"Nah."

Sam didn't either. He checked Dean's veins, the inside of his arm and the side of his neck, pulse thumping hard under his fingers. No needle marks.

"It could be worse?" he offered. He got to his feet and gave Dean a hand up. "Maybe they left us the car."

Sam wiped the sweat from his face, looked at the sun's position again, and tried and failed to see any kind of landmark through the trees. He picked a direction and went.

Dean asked, “Who’s they, you think?”

Sam thought about being held down by those guys in the bar when he tried to make his clean break from Dean, spitting blood. 

“Rogue hunters pissed about the apocalypse, if I had to guess.”

That was only a few weeks ago, and it wasn’t impossible that those guys or other guys like them had escalated it, knocked him and Dean out and abandoned them in the wilderness to starve as some kind of street justice. He hadn’t told Dean about any of it. It felt too pathetic.

Dean just nodded at that. Sam tucked his hair behind his ear and glanced over at Dean walking next to him: sullen, black T-shirt sweating through, hair stuck up on one side from sleep.

Things hadn’t been great between them. Sam didn't know how to fix it besides acting like a kicked dog and trying to pretend he wasn’t. They were better together, sure, but only because they didn't know how to do anything else. Dean still didn't totally trust him and Sam didn't trust himself, they were just too fucked up to even consider going it alone, not with the angels circling the way they were. It was getting better, they were trying, but they were never fully in step. Maybe getting kidnapped would give them something to focus on together.

A child's shout rang out through the trees. Sam twitched, but it wasn't a scream of horror. It was joyous. Dean nodded towards the sound. 

"Look alive. Civilization."

Sam followed behind. There was a neat diamond of sweat between Dean's shoulder blades; Sam always sweated worse than him, and he was drenched by comparison. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of heat, physical around them and thick in his lungs.

Dean parted wispy trees with his forearm and let them spring back, stepping through the spiky underbrush, silent. There was a clearing up ahead and Sam could make out a squat bungalow through the trees, its siding bleached by the sun. A kid yelped again and there were thumps, feet on grass, scuffling. Sam didn't know if it was better or worse that they weren't deeper in the woods—survival would have been a project, a trust exercise.

As they crept up to the edge of the clearing, he could make out the shapes of two kids in a dusty overgrown lot behind an equally overgrown cabin. At first, Sam thought they were fighting, but it quickly became clear that they weren't.

They were boys in their early teens, one appallingly skinny and one normal skinny, one taller than the other, both white, about the same dusty brown hair colour. The short one shoved the tall one and tried to hook his ankle behind his leg to trip him. They grappled to the ground, pulling at shirts, pulling hair, vicious and violent, but with no ill intent, like they were wrestling.

Sam and Dean crouched in the bushes and watched them, vaguely embarrassed. It was a big clearing and the kids hadn't noticed them. Dean leaned in, putting his head right near Sam's.

“They won’t be alone. Wait.”

The kids looked kind of ragged, their sneakers scuffed and old, and it didn’t seem like much of a stretch that whatever family lived in the dilapidated bungalow could have been responsible for this whole thing. Either they were some backwater freaks with a stake in the apocalypse and they were right to hide from them, or these people were perfectly normal, and they could go up and ask for directions. There was no visible street past the house ringed with trees. Sam could see the edge of a car around the front, plus a decrepit old truck and the rusted frame of a station wagon. They waited.

A cackle from one of the boys, then:

"Ow. Ow! Fine, jeez, you win."

They both flopped onto their backs in the grassy dirt and panted up at the sky. The taller one was grinning, the other looked sour.

"Two to one," the grinning one said.

Sam listened for an accent to place them and couldn't hear one—maybe some faint southern twang, but these trees didn't match the region. It was arid. The heat seemed about right for the South, but where did it get so hot in November? How long were they out for to be taken somewhere so much hotter than the blizzard they'd fallen asleep in?

The bigger kid hinged at the waist and sat up. He was wearing a Zeppelin shirt. Dean used to have one like it, it had tour dates on the back, Sam spent his whole childhood looking at it. The kid's face was covered in freckles, enough to be seen from a distance. His hair wasn't blond and also wasn't not blond, and it was cut short, almost military.

Sam's hand shot out and twisted in Dean's sleeve. Suddenly the heat was more than oppressive, it was choking him.

Dean's sweaty hand covered his and tried to pry him off. "Ow, Sam, what—"

"He looks like you," Sam said all in a rush, feeling stupid, feeling fucking insane. "Like, a lot like you. Can you see him?"

Dean's hand was still on Sam's, but it wasn't moving. They both stared.

"I wasn't that small," Dean said eventually, "but—"

"You had that shirt, though, right?"

"Sammy—"

"It says '1971 WORLD TOUR,' I can see it from here. That's the same one. You—"

"Look at the other kid."

The shorter one had sat up. He was younger, all bones, a soft little-kid face. His hair hung in his eyes and his ears stuck out.

"So?"

Dean's fingers slowly closed around his own, still clenched in his sleeve, until it hurt.

"That's you," Dean said.

Sam's heart went nuts.

"I didn't look like that."

"You fucking did. He looks just like you."

"Not even close! But he"—Sam jabbed a finger at the kid in the Zeppelin shirt—"is one-hundred percent you."

"That doesn't look anything like me! The shirt's messing you up, but that is totally you. Look at his nose! He's—"

"Boys!"

A voice barked from the house. Both Sam and Dean, and the kids on the lawn, twitched with reflexive panic.

The screen door creaked open in the shadow of the cabin's porch and a figure came out.

He hit the sun. It was John Winchester, shielding his eyes and squinting into the yard.

Dean's fingers crushed Sam's so hard he swore he felt something crack. He couldn't bring himself to pull them away.

"C'mon," John called to the kids. "You're on your own for dinner, so bring a twenty. I'll pick you up tonight."

Even the gist of him was immediately recognizable across the distance; Sam could have recognized him by the back of one elbow. John was a concept more than a man, and God, he looked young. He was so broad. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat. Sam's thousand emotions all crammed into his chest together: grief, relief, joy, love, rage.

The boys scrambled to their feet and brushed dirt off their knees; one from his jeans, the other from skin. They said, nearly in unison: "Yessir."

John went back inside and they jogged across the yard and followed him in. The shorter one tripped the other going up the stairs and got swatted for it. The shorter one. The— Sam stared at the back of his head.

Dean's hand fell away from his once the boys were inside.

They stayed crouching in the bushes for a while longer, staring at the closed screen door and listening to the indistinct voices from within, loud in all the quiet.

Sam craned his neck to look at the car in the front yard again, like he really needed to check. As if he could have ever mistaken that tail light.

(that's it! thank you for reading! I was tired of not sharing anything. stay tuned for the full fic in the next few months I hope)

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

🤲🏾 pls?

🤲 SHARE A SNIPPET OF A WIP

you did this for me, not you!!

premise: sam and dean are on a hunt with their younger selves in 1996. the kids don't know who they are

—

"Did you ever have a…" Sam smacked his lips, at a loss for phrasing. "Experimental phase?"

Dean turned around, slow and dramatic. He stuck the hatchet into the stump.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Now or never. Sam took a deep breath.

"He—by which I mean you—have been staring. At me. Kind of a lot."

"Wow." Dean laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. "That's real nice, Sam, thanks. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm just asking! It's fine if you did! You were just a kid, lots of guys—"

"He's sizing you up! You're like twelve feet tall, he's strategizing! It's an alpha male thing!"

Sam thought about how quickly the kid had looked away, the flicker of panicky guilt, how far up and up and up his eyes had to get before they got to his face. It wasn't something you mistook. 

"It's not that kind of look," he tried.

"Oh, and you'd know?"

"Yeah, pretty much! It happens!"

Dean scoffed and shook his head again. He yanked the hatchet out of the stump and set up another log.

"Wow. I liked you better when you were ninety pounds soaking wet, those pecs make you a narcissist." He hefted the hatchet up and brought it down, splitting the log with a neat snick. "I didn't, and he's not. Okay?"

"You—"

"Trust me, all he's thinking about is keeping his brother safe from the two big, weird strangers. Which, you're welcome, by the way. Lot of good it did, if this is how you repay me."

"Jesus, alright, sorry I asked! Thanks, good talk."

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

Hey, I'm a big fan of your writing, I was wondering what your favorite books are/which authors inspire you?

I love getting this question LET'S GOOOOOO

PATRICK ROTHFUSS

I'm hugely inspired by his writing (name of the wind, the wise man's fear) in terms of it being super engaging worldbuilding, but I imagine you're specifically asking about writing STYLE, and he also holds up for that. to quote brandon sanderson's praise on the back of wise man's fear:

"Masterful prose, a sense of cohesion to the storytelling, a wonderful sense of pacing... There is a beauty to Pat's writing that defies description."

my goal with my writing is to keep it tight, keep it moving, but also to get at some deep crunchy emotions, and rothfuss is a real north star for that. gorgeous prose and everything is exactly where and when it needs to be. when I'm reading one of his books I have to constantly stop to jot something down for my own work because it jogs so many thoughts

AMERICAN PSYCHO, BRET EASTON ELLIS

This is the only book of his I've read so far, so I'm calling it out specifically. what a FUCKING masterclass in knowing the rules so you can break them. the fucking dialogue and characterization is bar none, I was HOWLING laughing (it's much funnier than the movie). his prose flows so strangely and perfectly around, it's super dialogue heavy how I like, and people talk like people while also being insanely absurd and funny. it's unparalleled in those micro-level interactions I love to write

URSULA LE GUIN

The fuckin woman herself!!! there's nothing to say about her work that most people don't already know, but the thing that is so powerful to me is that she has a way of describing the most mundane details that makes me just pause and be so grateful to be alive. aside from the content of her work, which is world class storytelling and also some truly gutting stuff, there's just this evocative nature to it. just like.. wow I am literally sitting on a sunny hillside in the long grass, tired and dirty from work but very alive. drinking some cold water and eating some crusty bread.... it's incredible.

BONUS: MOVIES

I am so inspired by movies!! movies are essentially novel length and I get a lot of storytelling inspiration from movies. here are some that I love for narrative reasons

After Hours (Scorcese)

One of my favourite "guy has the worst night of his life" movies. an excellent example of how much good shit you can stuff into a single evening in a character's life, with threads connecting it all.

Daddy Longlegs (Safdie bros)

An all timer. A perfect example of writing a protagonist who's a dirtbag, and of making your audience SO fucking uncomfortable. Any narrative that gets at that level of discomfort is fucking incredible, it's such a specific thing

Thunder Road (Jim Cummings)

Just an incredible characterization of a protag. Immediately gets you into his head. Incredible portrayal of anger issues and addiction, and a stellar example of combining humour and deep crushing sadness, failure, patheticness etc in a way I find massively inspiring

THANKS FOR ASKING, THIS WAS FUN

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

I am thinking about house this morning and, fun fact about my last fic: these lines of wilson's (below) were inspired by a line in homestuck. I forget who, but someone tells karkat he wants terezi in every quadrant like a desperate fool.

you THINK you want to know a writer's inspiration but it's never good to see how the sausage is made lmao

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

hello!! i love your works so much. you manage to be so intimately detailed within a single sentence. it’s really incredible how you are able to craft so much with so few words. anyway, i have a couple questions for you:

what got you started writing? how long have you been writing?

i noticed in particular your openings are always visceral and full of character. how do you usually approach your openings when you’re working on a draft?

and finally, which work of yours is your favorite?

that's so so kind, thank you, I don't know what to say, haha. I love to pack a sentence. below is an article on Big Sentences from the magazine I worked at in my 20s that was hugely influential to me.

writing talk and some examples below, using a cut because it's a long (ironic!)

how long I've been writing: I know this is an annoying answer but I've been writing all my life. little kid-stories about spunky redheaded heroines going on adventures in grade school, followed immediately by naruto slash fic, which I've obviously never looked back from. I don't know what actually made me start writing, but I've always loved to read, so writing follows, I think. I also draw, with varying success. for a lot of years I only drew and didn't write much at all, but somewhere in my mid-20s my focus flipped to writing and hasn't gone back.

openings: I looooove writing opening sentences and opening scenes in general. I think this is so important to set the tone and immediately get people to know your characters. even in fic, where they DO know your characters, they don't know YOUR take on them yet.

I think about how I can set the scene as quickly and impactfully as possible, which for me means getting immediately into some kind of happening-right-now action. someone's gotta be doing something. don't start with exposition, trust your reader to understand what's going on very shortly, and trust yourself to make any unknowns clear through what happens in the next couple paragraphs, instead of verbose explaining. primo verbs. get AFTER it.

as an example, some favourite opening paragraphs of mine:

Dean walked into Trish Maynard’s bedroom on the top floor of her parents’ home in an affluent suburb of St. Paul, Minnesota, and said, “Smells like Juicy Fruit and virginity in here.”

I like this one because it's got dialogue, it sets the scene and I, selfishly, think it's funny. I mentioned "parents' home" to immediately establish that this person is a kid, same with "affluent." just quick words that IMPLY a ton.

Sam spent ten minutes standing in his room trying to decide whether it would be worse to take his clothes off when he got there or to show up already naked. In the end, he went with a robe, nothing underneath. There was something pious and ceremonious about a robe, and it took it that one extra step away from a normal encounter. Barefoot, even though the dungeon floor was cold.

I like this one because it's not clear why he's doing what he's doing, which (I hope) stokes curiosity instead of being confusing. assuming that works, I think that's always fun. where's he going? why was being naked an option? naked in a DUNGEON? etc.

and a few I think are weak:

The back of Carmy’s throat was gummy with Pepto and his eyelids felt like sandpaper. The nicotine gum made his teeth all fuzzy and stale. He couldn't remember the last time he drank water. It was either Wednesday or Thursday.

This has some fun words (gummy, fuzzy. lol) but doesn't contain any DOING verbs. he's standing there, feeling shitty. not a compelling start

Sam was doing push-ups in the big empty room they set up to use as a workout space by putting down a rubber locking mat and getting a few dumbbells and kettlebells, resistance bands for physio. He was at the tail end of an hour as the interval timer on his phone ticked down, his arms and core aching, shirt wet with sweat. He had music playing quietly, he didn’t recognize the song.

uninteresting subject matter!! Who gives a shit about working out? the story isn't about working out! no relevance or stoked curiosity!! word choice implies the kind of very-real monotony of working out. why would I want the reader to feel monotony? foolish

favourite work: this changes all the time because I rarely like my own work for very long, so I always like more recent ones best.

my favourite right now overall is probably my true detective fic Hangdog. their voices and accents are so so fun and it had all my favourite topics. smelling bad. alcoholism. violence. and ultimately a nice ending.

I also have a continued soft spot for Matryoshka dolls (spn, johndean) because I've always wanted to capture the feeling of being in an objectively abusive relationship that also has a lot of love in it. I never really handle Big Ideas in my work, I like small ideas (smelling bad. conversations) but abuse is a big idea and it was challenging and interesting to write!!

thank you for the very nice ask, it was a lot of fun. always happy to chat

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

✅ 🤲? love ur work btw

THANK YOU

✅️ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Dean likes getting choked. I'm only mildly into breath play myself irl, but something about Dean just says, that guy likes to get choked, to me. context be damned

movie references that don't add anything to the plot, lol. Dean makes it fit better cause he's a movie guy, but I had to PHYSICALLY restrain myself from making him talk about Cube in pine sweat at one scene. he does mention Contact in that fic. Dirty Harry in matryoshka dolls, lost boys in Acid, etc. idk I just imagine them watching a ton of movies, what the hell else would they do

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

I've spent all day since this post writing a story about dean, in late seasons, finding porn Sam made while he was at Stanford (thank you @sicksam) so!!!! here's a bit of that!!

—

The video was old, evidenced by the poor resolution and the ugly couch, all brown and tweed. The guy’s jeans also dated it: they were too big for him, and his plaid boxers stuck out the top. Late nineties, if Dean had to guess.

There was a coffee table in front of the couch with a snowboarding magazine on it, empty beer bottles and a stick of unlit incense laying in an ashtray. 

It started with the kid getting his jeans down. The camera was set up a ways away, so his whole body was in frame, but the low resolution and low light made his face just a blur of skin and the shapes of his eyes and mouth, honey-coloured hair tucked under a blue ball cap and curling behind his ears. He sat on the couch with his knees apart and his jeans pooled over his sneakers, boxers still on. He was slim but muscled, a flat stomach and big shoulders. His legs were stick thin. Boyish.

He looked… familiar. 

Dean’s face screwed up. It wouldn’t be the first time, but any slim, clean-shaven white guy with floppy hair reminded Dean of Sam, it’s not like it was special. It wasn’t a unique look, and not anything Dean sought out, but—wouldn’t be the first time.

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

Do you use outlines when you write?

hello!! I've answered this before but I can't find where so here we go. thank you for the question

Short answer: yes, point form, with a focus on dialogue. I think even a rudimentary outline is important because it gives you someplace you want to end up in the story.

Long answer:

Lately I've been doing a high-level overarching type outline like the first image below, and then for each scene I've been writing out bits of dialogue, or sometimes an entire scene of dialogue, in point form (second image below)

I used to write non-chronologically, so that I'm capturing the parts I'm excited to write WHILE I'm excited to write them, but I've found that doing point form dialogue lets me do that WHILE ALSO letting me go back and fill in the more writerly parts of a scene when I'm more in the mood. which I found made things come out better.

most of what I do for outlining is just trying to remove barriers to writing. so like... setting up a structure where I can work on whatever part I'm excited about doing, as easily as possible. get a bottle for that lightning

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

Opening lines of 10 fics

I was tagged by @redmyeyes to post the opening lines of my 10 most recent fics. I did not think I'd be proud of these, but by and large I really like them!!

Winter, 2009. (Pine sweat - this is the WORST, lmao) EDIT- I've been advised to add the second line: The radiator in their motel room was broken, but it was worth putting up with for the twenty-dollar discount on the room.

The guy had a five-o’clock shadow that burned against Dean’s skin as he ran his mouth down the side of his neck. (Matryoshka dolls)

When John Winchester first became known to the hunter community, he was Mary Campbell’s civilian beau, an alright, down-home kind of guy. (Try asking)

Watching your language in a witch’s den was Hunting 101. (Snooping and breaking things)

In the djinn’s dream, he didn’t want Sam. (Worthless cartography)

Sam spent ten minutes standing in his room trying to decide whether it would be worse to take his clothes off when he got there or to show up already naked. (Blood sacrifice sex magic type of thing)

Three ghouls had been hanging around the enormous, wooded graveyard in northern Montana for weeks by the time they got there, evading death by getting the drop on the hunters who came after them, then assuming the hunters’ forms to warn off others that offered help. (Living in God's blind spot - how is this one sentence?? I'm going to jail)

Dean’s crusty eyes opened to a room in a nameless motel in an unimportant state on a weekday he couldn’t place with one hundred percent certainty but was willing to bet was a Wednesday. (Human hands)

Sam was doing push-ups in the big empty room they set up to use as a workout space by putting down a rubber locking mat and getting a few dumbbells and kettlebells, resistance bands for physio. (I have to live here)

Dean walked into Trish Maynard’s bedroom, painted yellow and blue on the top floor of her parents’ home in an affluent suburb of St. Paul, Minnesota, and said, “Smells like Juicy Fruit and virginity in here.” (Yesterday, minnesota- for sure one of my fave openers lol)

Red already tagged everyone I know so please do this if you'd like and tag me, I'd love to see

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

I think I first found you on ao3 via kazumaji, a gilded leash, when I was younger and more new to fanfic, and I remember being really into the fact that you didn’t overly romanticize things, and allowed their relationship and the way they interacted to not be perfect and not be cliched or fit into generally accepted fandom boxes. Unlike what so much fan fiction does. Since then I read most of your stuff and i consistently enjoy it :) reaally hoping you post more The Bear stuff because I’m obsessed with richie and yours is one of the only like 2 portrayals of him in fanfic that I like. You rule

1. to the anon at the top: thank you!! re: the "overly romanticizing things." I've talked at length about how we get those formulaic fics is from people only reading fic, where makes your writing into a copy of a copy of a copy until no trace of genuine human interaction remains and you are left with a coffee shop au. so thank you for saying that, a gilded leash is my fave yakuza fic of mine and I'm very glad you like it.

2. re: the bear, and the other asks-- I am indeed writing more! I like no good days and I loooove a "so-and-so finds out" fic more than I love my own mother, so I'm writing a Nat Finds Out addition

as a thank you to you and everyone who sent asks or read all my dumb responses: exerpt of the upcoming bear fic below!!!!

---

I fagioli

Syd put her head right next to Carmy’s and said, “You telling Nat today?” the same way she had every few days in the month since she learned that Carmy and Richie were hooking up.

They were finishing up prep right before service, everyone tense and bustling. Nat was out front, which meant everyone in the kitchen knew about Carmy and Richie being cousins with benefits, as Marcus liked to put it. Kissing cousins, Tina would tack on. Everyone in the kitchen always knew, unless Natalie or Cicero were in the kitchen.

“No, chef,” Carmy said to Syd as he flicked on the overhead warmers. “No need. As discussed.”

“As discussed, chef, yes need. Big need, because she needs to know.”

“No need, chef. Wish you didn't know, chef.”

Marcus stuck his head around the corner. “Shouldn't have fucked around at work then, chef.”

That got a laugh all around. Carmy rolled his eyes. His face was hot under the warmers and also just hot anyway; he hadn't gotten into the swing of people actually knowing, it still made his gut roll. Richie told him: as someone who's dedicated their life to breaking your balls, lemme give you some advice—it's fun ‘cause you freak out. Just play it cool.

So, Carmy was faking it until he made it, and faking it with Nat was not an option. So, he had to wait until he made it, or until he stopped fooling around with Richie, whichever came first. Carmy spent a good amount of time every day wondering which would come first.

He kept his hands busy until eyes were off him, then sidled up next to Syd at expo. He got a syllable out before she cut in.

“Somebody's gonna slip up, and you're gonna be all pissed off, and Nat's gonna have to hear it from someone other than you.”

Carmy had been about to say I'm not ready, leave it. He realized after a moment's hard thought that Syd, probably, would find that selfish. It didn't feel selfish any more than ducking for cover under fire would. Self-preservation. 

He said, “Then nobody should slip up.”

Syd gave him a burnt-on look. “You're asking over a dozen people to keep a secret perfectly.”

“They just have to not talk about me fucking.”

“You're asking over a dozen people who work in a kitchen to not talk about you fucking.”

Carmy sighed and tipped his head back. His stomach burned and he blinked away his bleary vision. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah, okay. So. I can't make you do anything, but—”

“But I gotta tell her.”

“You super gotta tell her,” Syd said. “He's her cousin too, you know?”

Carmy hung his head. “Phrasing.”

Sweeps hurried in from the front and slapped Carmy on the back. “Oh, the cousin-lover wants to talk about phrasing?”

Carmy swatted at him; Sweeps twirled out of his reach, cackling, and got a seamless fist bump from Manny. Syd chuckled.

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

🙋‍♀️🧠 Thank you for all or your gorgeous writing!

thank YOU for reading my writing! You're doing half the work

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

lmao VERY many people know. I'm liberal with the knowledge that I write fic, but stingy about sharing what it is I write fic about. eg: all my friends know I write supernatural incest fanfiction. I have MENTIONED to my BOSS that I write fanfiction, but haven't said what it's about, and would never.

I have one good friend who actively reads my spn fic. she's my only friend who likes spn. I have other friends who actively hate spn. In the past, I've had other irl friends who read my fic for other fandoms. it's been all over the place.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

you didn't pick a character, so maybe I'm supposed to? I pick: Sam!

because I'm thinking about Stanford era tonight, I'm gonna say: one of my concrete headcanons is that Sam was not popular, normal, or deep-down-happy at Stanford. I think it would be too difficult for somebody with a lived experience that was so far from "affluent kid who ends up at stanford," to ever FIT, despite being objectively hot and generally earnest. I always imagine him being very jumpy and weird and negative. didn't say or do the right things. not particularly good at managing a schedule, because he'd never had the opportunity to be stable. loved Jess, but put on a facade for her to the point that he was always stressed by it. worked constantly to make money. had to stay active or he went nuts. etc. tiger in a cage

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

Hey Roni! Hope you are well ☺️

Anything in the works lately? Maybe just been working on the mysterious novel I’ve seen referenced?

(Or just taking the days as they come at you like I am?)

Was re-reading one of your fics recently and had a curiosity moment

Best wishes!

hello! I am [david byrne voice] letting the days go by

I wish I could say I've been working on my novel as much as I've meant to, but I'm not. but I AM thinking about it, so that's something.

I'm also not actively working on fic though, which has been freeing, but also a little terrifying. whenever I have an idle moment I'm thinking about dialogue and writing in my head and it's been super strange to not have that going on. I think I was doing it pretty obsessively, in a way that was productive but unhealthy. so: trying to empty my brain to give me space to think about my novel and its new characters.

with all that being said (lol) I do have some on-hold-but-not-abandoned WIPs I can list here to give ya something to chew on

WIP summaries under the cut!

a second short true detective fic where marty gets off on danger and exhibitionism and keeps getting rust into dangerous and sexy situations. this is not an established relationship fic which I think makes it very funny as a concept

a second house md fic from cameron's POV for whatever reason. set shortly pre-S1, she joins the team and has a crush on house, and house is with wilson and has been for some time, which is like an open secret. so it's a voyeur/nosy thing where cameron goes full fujo. she's just like me fr

another bear fic as a kind of sequel to no good days (probably like, a very-much-a-sequel actually) where richie + carmy tell natalie about their relationship. the main part I've come up with is that they go over to nat and pete's for dinner, and they're parked outside making out in the car to steel their nerves, and pete sees them. so then they have to start dinner with nat and pete where pete, richie and carmy all know that carmy and richie are hooking up, and nat does not. sitcom-ass plot

this one may be abandoned: a pre-series spn fic where john finds out that sam and dean are fucking and sam like, big-dogs him into not busting their balls about it. I was thinking about spn the other day and was like damn maybe I should finish that

this is not a fic but I had a horny dream about brock samson from the venture bros last night and that is weighing heavily on my mind. all my current fandoms are live action. however. you can take the player out of the game but you can't take the take the Wanting To Fuck Cartoon Characters out of the player.

this is also not a fic but I'm working on my first D&D campaign with barry + co. players get roped into doing dirty work for the wizard mafia, headed by the nefarious skogie chromecast, a smooth talking mage with a shady past.

thank you if you read all that!

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

feed my selfishness! 4, 10, 11 for the wip asks?

happily!!!

4. is there anything in the fic you're unsure about including?

they get sent back in time, and there's a scene at the beginning where they get a beer with John, who doesn't recognize them. I'm unsure because it's not strictly relevant, john isn't in the rest of the fic, but it felt like it fit and it would seem out of character to me for Dean to not jump on an opportunity to hang out with his beloved dead dad. if it's not in the final published version it's cause I removed it, but I guess we'll see!!

11. Is there any scene you can't wait for people to react to when reading? why?

teen Dean, in a fit of teenage hormones, misinformation and the unbridled hubris of youth, makes a pass at adult Sam. it is my favourite bit so far. I love that teenagers never understand how young they are, and think that they are 'basically the same age' as grown adults. I know I did.

10. if unpublished, can you share a sneak peek?

well twist my rubber arm!! under the cut. a different peek than previous

-

Sweltering, wet heat. Starchy motel pillowcase under his cheek, hair stuck to his neck. Soft all up his front. Sam told himself he was still asleep.

He burrowed down, tucking his face against the smooth hard warm in front of him. Soft-hard-cotttony under his left hand, fingers grasping, sweat rolling down the crease of his nose. Soft against his belly and the fronts of his thighs, solid and unyielding. Hot to the touch, hand on a stove. Sleepy and comfortable and so nice, he turned his face in deeper towards the dark, the soft sweat-wet.

A hand covered his own, fingers slotted between his and lifted. A voice, somewhere between tense and amused.

"Every time, dude."

"Oh, God," Sam said into the back of Dean's neck.

He let him go and rolled onto his back, only half awake. The sheets were tangled between them and damp with sweat, the room was like a furnace.

"Gotta get you a." Dean made a chopping motion with his hand. "Barrier. Sneeze guard."

"Shut up."

Every time circumstances had forced them to share a bed in the last few months, Sam ended up pressed up behind Dean in the morning.

Dean had gotten good at laughing it off. He rolled out of bed, wiping the back of his neck where Sam's face had been.

"This dry spell shit's gotta go, man."

"It's not that."

"Well, you're not doing it for warmth."

It was almost more embarrassing that it had nothing to do with his dry spell. He hadn't been with anyone since Ruby, but he hadn't wanted to; sex felt like a distant memory, something that happened to other people. He didn't know why they kept waking up spooning, but it was new enough to be novel, he used to end up half off the far side of the bed when they had to share. The phrase 'touch-starved' came to him and was quickly shoved away.

At least he wasn't hard. Small blessings.