#i found this in my drafts and I can’t bring myself to finish

[mindless-bibliophile]

Cody was taught to kick droid butt.

Din was taught to kick anyone’s butt.

Cody is the head of the GAR and he did not get there by chance. Din is a space dad who will do just about anything to get by… except leave the cult he’s in (the Death Watch).

But here’s the thing. Neither Cody nor Din are fighters by heart. They know how to hold their own and both can win 95% of the fights they get into, but throwing a punch is hardly ever the first thing either does. Din spoke with the Tuskens to make a way for him and his counterpart to get across the desert instead of killing them and going about his business. Cody was able to talk down the governor and bring a peaceful end, right up until Crosshair killed her. We have seen time and time again; if negotiation is an option, Cody and Din will choose that way first.

Cody would likely take off his helmet at the beginning of the negotiation, both his and most Mandalorian’s way of saying, “I’m here to talk, not to fight,” and that would only start the chaos. Din has no idea what a clone is, but this person looks exactly like his friend Boba Fett, only this guy is way younger, and he has hair too?

Din has a million questions running through his head. Who is he? Where did he come from? Is he related to Boba, and if so, how? Is he a younger brother? A cousin? Does Boba have a son he doesn’t know about?

Cody, who has no idea that Din doesn’t know what a clone is, is obviously confused. The two of them agreed to discuss matters instead of fighting, but ever since he took off his helmet, his opponent has been acting… strange.

“What is your… relation, to Boba Fett?”

“Boba?” Cody repeats. And suddenly he remembers the clone who hadn’t been given an age acceleration boost, the one Jango had taken as his own to raise. The clone who had been heading to a Republic prison last time he heard. “Boba’s alive?”

From there it gets messy.

Din still doesn’t know what a clone is, despite the numerous clone jokes Boba has made. And once hearing Bo-Katan say that Boba was a clone. So Cody has to explain it to him.

[asnowperson]

Takemiya Keiko interview about Kazeki OVA (1987)

Here's another short interview from platypus's stack of old magazines with cool interviews: Takemiya Keiko talks about Kaze to Ki no Uta Sanctus: Sei Naru Kana in the 1987 December issue of Puff.

Translation is under the cut, and please let me know if you spot my mistakes.

Kaze to Ki no Uta – OVA is finally on sale!

Takemiya Keiko Interview

“It will not ruin your image of the work, so please watch it!”

Let us first hear your thoughts on finishing this project.

Mr. Yoshikazu was sitting at the director’s chair. That alone assured me that everything would go smoothly, and I left everything to him. He read the manga thoroughly and gave the work his own interpretation. I had nothing to worry about. I didn’t have to ask him not to do a certain part in a certain way, or to avoid including too many “risqué” scenes. I can feel that he gave the work the treatment it deserves. Even the animation style was not too flashy and anime-like. The movements were more orthodox. Everything worked out perfectly, so I have nothing to say.

The background art was amazing. Did you ask them to draw them that way?

Both Mr. Yoshikazu and I thought that she’d be a  good fit, and suggested having the same person who was the art director for “Natsu e no Tobira”, but we couldn’t get a hold of her. We found out the reason later: The producer thought she was too slow, and we should give up on working with her (laughs). But when we said that she was the only person who could draw the backgrounds, she was hired to work in the project. However, she was too late to turn in the drafts. We really were in a tight spot. She might have been slow, but she really is an artist. When she can’t draw something, she just can’t. She gave it her all… Even though it was something that’d only be on screen for two seconds… If we couldn’t ask them to do something, I said I should go ahead and do it myself.

So, I gather that you drew some key animation yourself. Are manga and anime too different to draw for?

Both mediums are used basically to capture “movement,” so I think they are the same. You go with the flow, trying to capture “movement”… You think about how original you can express it. That’s a really fun undertaking. For example, even if it’s just a scene of a character turning to look back, if you strive to give it a little touch, you can really bring out an erotic feeling. That’s the stuff I’m talking about. If I had a lot of money, I would dabble more in in-between animation. I now understand why Otomo Katsuhiro-san was so obsessed with it (laughs).

I’ve seen the OVA. It felt like reading one of your works.

Do you think so? I didn’t ask him to do it, but to keep close to the atmosphere of the original work, Mr. Yoshikazu outlined the key points. He put the same things as my drawings in those scenes. But if you looked closely, you could tell that they were different. When I saw the whole thing, I thought “wow, it’s the same!” However, upon closer inspection, I found out that such scenes did not exist in the original. I even thought maybe something was wrong with me. The same also goes for the lines. “Did he ever say that? He might have said that…” But when I re-read, I see that no such line was uttered. I had so many moments like that.

What was the fans’ reaction to this OVA adaptation?

When I said it was happening, I received an equal amount of positive and negative reactions. Well, that’s only to be expected. So, like I thought, only when I said that Mr. Yoshikazu was the one directing it, I saw the real opposition. The animation director was decided on, but the VAs weren’t cast yet. When news of the production got out, I received letters saying “it’s too late, I give up!” (laughs) They said stuff like, “Here we are, so against this idea, but you still say that you’ll do it! I don’t care anymore!” I can say that there are people who definitely won’t watch it. It makes me happy to see the work being loved that much, but when people are that obsessed with it… It’s kind of scary. I sometimes go as far not seeing it as something I myself created. But well, there are still a lot of people who say “I might cry and whine, but I’ll still watch it.”

Can we have Ms.Takemiya, the creator herself, do some advertisement for the OVA?

The OVA didn’t embarrass me, so I’ll keep promoting it. I don’t think it’ll ruin your image of the work. But I know that there are people who are too nitpicky and say stuff like the lines of a character’s profile is kind of off and they hate it, or that their legs are too thin  or that their feet look weird (laughs). In that sense, we paid extra attention to the movement itself and tried to animate the characters in a natural manner. “The Poem of the Wind and the Trees” makes you think of subtle movements, right? We can’t have them move too briskly, and even the fight scene is nothing too serious. Because Mr. Yoshikazu didn’t want to create too vivid of a scene. Rather, he didn’t want it to stink of “masculinity” that much. And people who’ve only seen the character designs might think that they look nothing like the manga, but when they are in motion, they do look like their manga counterparts. As for the voice of the characters, I don’t know the actress of Gilbert, but we have Nobita-kun for Serge (laughs)! People who are into anime will recognize her voice, so they might be a little bit of put off by that, but she doesn’t sound like Nobita-kun here. Not at all! The more you listen to her acting, the more you enjoy it! There are parts that reflect Serge’s character, so I’m really content with the result.

Can we consider this as “episode 1” of a series? Do you have plans for a continuation?

If this OVA sells, it might happen. If this one gets a positive reaction, I think we can make another one. The producer said that’s what he thought would happen. If you ask Mr. Yoshikazu, he says it’ll be at least 6 episodes long, but I doubt that. I can’t bring myself to believe that we can make that many episodes. Anyway, to think that we won’t be working with the staff who brought it to life with such resemblance feels so sad. But I also think that if we ask them to do it again, they’ll simply run away (laughs). We’ve already done Yoshikazu-san’s favorite part right off the bat, so what remains is the hard part. He says he can’t decipher a character like Augu (laughs). Maybe another director might do better.

And what about the future of the story in manga?

There’s the stuff about marriage and children problems, how to reach enlightenment, and everything in-between until Serge’s death. But even if I drew that, that would have no meaning for people who are only here for what Gilbert and Serge had (laughs). I don’t have any plans to draw any continuation for the moment, but one day, if I ever get the chance… If the are conditions right, I think I’d like to draw it.

Can we have your final message for Puff readers?

Watch the OVA. Please do it. I believe that if you watch it once, all of your worries will be washed away.

[galacticseonghwa]

it's a shame, truly - Zhong Chenle

INCLUDES: dom!chenle x fem!reader, smut heavy, choking, oral (m receiving), consensual filming, jealous chenle, swearing, dreamies featuring especially jisung. wc: tbc a/n: MINORS DNI !! someone wanted me to re-write this fic for chenle but i can’t find the ask for the life of me😭, this had 0 plot when i first wrote it so i changed a couple of things, throughout. posting a draft for the time being because ive injured my wrist just as i was about to finish chapter two of jeno and yang yangs fics😭

"you look beautiful, truly." jisung whispers in a deep voice, his hands on my shoulders as i smile at him awkwardly.

"thank you jisung" i laugh and shrug off his hands gently. my eyes leave the taller blonde male before me to find the burning eyes of my black-haired boyfriend.

his jaw twitches as he sees jisung try to hold my shoulders again. although everyone in my friend group knew chenle and i were together, that didn't seem to stop jisung from trying to make advances at me.

at first i thought it was cute but then it started getting awkward after he thought i was reciprocating the same feelings as him, even with the countless times either myself, chenle or even mark has told him otherwise.

chenle absolutely hated the idea of bringing me anywhere near the younger male, but it was times like this he didn't have a choice.

all three of you were invited to haechan's birthday party, at a dimly lit club haechan and jeno had found a few weeks back.

chenle places his left forefinger over his lips and raises his eyebrows with eyes still burning daggers into jisung, his right hand resting on his legs that were spread.

"i'm really sorry, jisung but chenle is calling for me. enjoy the rest of your night." i smile softly and make my way from jisung and towards chenle, who sat at a table with his legs spread and his left arm resting on the table while his right arm rested on top of his right thigh.

i stand in front of chenle, whose eyes slowly trail up my figure before landing on my face. "lele" i pout, gripping his hands softly.

chenle hums and grips my hips in his hands and pulls my body towards his. i smile and lean down to press my lips against his.

his hands move to rest on my ass, while he swipes his tongue over my bottom lip. just to tease him i deny him the entry.

chenle pulls away and stands up, his right hand almost instantly wrapping around my throat and applying the slightest pressure.

"be a good girl for me, hmm?" he speaks lowly and presses his lips to mine again. this time i don't deny him as he swipes my bottom lip again.

chenle smirks into the kiss as i open my mouth for him. a muffled moan escapes my throat as chenle applies more pressure to my throat.

chenle pulls away and quickly pulls me with him back to his car which was parked not too far from the club.

he grabs his keys and unlocks the car. "get in the back." he demands as he opens the door for me.

chenle follows me in and locks the car as he settles himself in the middle of the back.

"on your knees." he points to the floor in front of him. i obey immediately and settle myself between his legs.

chenle unzips his tight black jeans and frees himself from his boxers, his length slapping against his stomach.

before i can react chenle holds his phone in front of me. i nod and let him record. the flash invades my vision, leaving me momentarily blinded, but i blink a couple of times to readjust.

my mouth waters at the sight. "c'mon princess, you know what to do yeah?" chenle urges as he pumps himself slowly.

i move forward and open my mouth just as chenle places his hand in my hair and pushes himself into my mouth.

i hallow my cheeks and flatten my tongue against the bottom of his cock and look up to see his eye closed and his eyebrows furrowed.

groans escape his beautiful lips as he continues to thrust his hips at his own pace.

"fuck baby, that mouth of yours is made just for me." chenle moans.

after a few minutes, i feel him twitch in my mouth, i pull away from him and take his tip back in my mouth and suck while using my hand to pump his base.

"fuck, yeah, just like that baby!" chenle's voice is deep with pleasure.

chenle soon coats the back of my throat with his release, i swallow and pull away from him with a pop and stare up at him.

chenle moves the phone right in front of my face. he reaches forward and uses his thumb to wipe my bottom lip and places it in my mouth.

"my good girl." chenle cooes and stops recording. he quickly puts his pants on properly and pulls me into his lap.

chenle places his left hand on the back of my neck and brings me in for a gentle kiss.

after he pulls away he leaves a lingering kiss on my forehead before grabbing his phone and opening his messages.

"let's see if he'll leave you alone after this." chenle grumbles annoyed at the thought of jisung and begins typing away.

after pressing send chenle turned his phone to show me just exactly what he was doing. a laugh escapes my lips as the 'read at 1:27 am' come up.

Ji Sung

chenle: *sent a video attachment* chenle: it's a shame you'll never get to see her like this. truly.

TAGLIST: @sinisxtea @wonwootakemyheart

request to be in my taglist here

[rafesbabygirlx]

Hi angels (this is gonna be long)

I ramble because when I feel big feels I don't think straight, but please read 🤍

I'm posting this now because I just need to get it out. This has been weighing heavily on me. But I doubt anyone will read it hahah

This is really hard for me to say, but after a lot of thought, I’ve decided to wrap up some things I have left, complete some more requests and step back from writing anything new—at least for now.

I’ve been contemplating this for a while, trying to push past the feeling, but I’ve reached a point where I can’t ignore it anymore. Writing has been such a joy for me, and I’ve loved being part of this little community. You all welcomed me with open arms, and I can’t express how much that means to me.

Honestly, I don’t think I’m in the right mental space for it right now. As much as I love creating, I’ve found myself constantly doubting my work, comparing my writing to others and thinking that I can do so much better, and overthinking every detail. It’s a cycle I’ve fallen into on my own, and it’s taken a toll. On top of that, I feel like my blog has lost some of its spark, and my writing isn’t going anywhere and not growing. I’ve also gotten some nasty anons the past few weeks that I ignore but they still haven’t helped with my thoughts. 🫠

With my final semester of college also weighing on me, everything feels like it’s piling up. So, I think I just need a short break. Ew I feel like I sound so insecure. I think I’m just too hard on myself, especially when I get overwhelmed and burnt out.

I feel really guilty stepping away after working so hard to build this space and gaining so much support. The last thing I want is to let anyone down. But right now, this is what I need.

Please stick with me and don't forget me.

That said, I truly love being here, and I don’t think I can stay away for too long. Honestly, I might still post every now and then if I feel inspired. I also won’t be going completely dark - I want to stay engaged and continue supporting the amazing people I’ve met here. I’d love for my moots to keep me updated on their posts, and I’ll still be around to chat.

Sorry if none of this makes sense. I really hate that I've gotten to this point. I still have some things I want to complete and then I plan to take some time off from writing. But I will be around. We can still interact. I don't want to completely lose what I have here. 🤍

I want to go through some more requests and I have a couple of parts left of The Pen Pal. I like to finish what I’ve started and I’m committed to that. I'm posting this and I have a couple of drafts ready to post tonight and then going to take a break for a day or 2 after posting this (because I feel awful and I want to avoid it)

I’m hoping that this will bring me some relaxation but I’m also hoping it will bring me some inspiration too. I have a series I’d love to restart and a lovely anon gave me a great idea for a JJ AU I’d love to do at some point. I hope those ideas would excite you just as much too.

I think right now it will just be a couple of weeks off just from writing. To refresh, heal my mind, and finally breathe. I’ve already expressed it slightly in some posts but I’ve been really thinking about it.

I already can’t wait to be back because this community has been so good to me. I appreciate every single one of you. What’s that corny saying? It’s not goodbye it’s see you later? I love you guys, and I’ll make another post when I officially take my break.

I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE. IT ALL DOES IN MY HEAD. JUST A LITTLE BAD AT EXPRESSING MYSELF.

I wanna thank everyone who has supported my writings and I LOVE every single one of you.

I also wanna thank some of my moots! You all have helped me incredibly since I've joined. You're all so kind hearted and probably the best group of people I've ever connected with on the internet. I’m still here so please don’t stop tagging me or reaching out, I’ll still support all of you when I’m on a break. Forgive me if I'm forgetting anyone- not really thinking right now. But this goes for all my moots. 🤍

@rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy @leather-n-velvet @writingroom21 @ivysprophecy @maybejj @rafescokewhore @nemesyaaa @rafescvntyclubgf @angelicameron @tanjamikaelson @starkeynation @quinnsbabygirl @frankoceanluvr11 @httpsdrewstarkey @v3n1ce-bxtch @zyafics @whytheylosttheirminds @rafesbuzzcutseason @maybankslover

[harry-on-broadway]

To make sure @harrysblackcoat doesn’t end our friendship here’s my entry to my own fic challenge. it’s just a little something that’s been in my drafts for way too long

**

His eyes drifted towards your hands, which were fidgeting with the glass of Merlot you were holding.

“Same color,” he said, a faint smile on his lips after catching a glimpse of the mint green color on your nails.

“Of course. I was once told it was my signature.”

He smiled again, but this time it didn��t quite reach his eyes. “You’re missing something.”

You tilted your head, confused by the statement until he gestured to your wrist. The spot where a thin gold chain had once lay was empty. “Oh!” You laughed lightly. “I figured I didn’t need that after every-” You stopped short when you saw the glimmer of gold on his own wrist. “Oh, Harry,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

He shrugged as he took a swig from his tumbler. “When they said forever they weren’t lying.”

You ignored the charged undertone hidden in his words. “Does she…?”

He shook his head. “She never asked. I think she just assumed it was part of the package with all…”

Even after all this time apart, neither of you had forgotten the secret language that was only spoken between the two of you. There was no need to finish a sentence when you all knew exactly what the other was saying.

“That’s…”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “She’ll figure it out one day and then I’ll move onto the next. There were plenty before her and there'll be plenty after.”

The smallest piece of you felt guilty. Like you were somehow the cause of this self-sabotage (to be honest, you probably were). “You can’t keep doing this, H-Harry.” You caught yourself. Uttering that nickname would only blur the lines further.

“I know. I’ll fix myself one day, but it’s kind of hard to heal overnight. Although, maybe I could learn something from you.”

There it was again, that self-pitying, pathetic tone, coursing through his words, but you refused to take the bait.

“It’s been two years, Harry.”

“Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.” He cleared his throat. “Are you happy?” he asked. “Be honest.”

“Yes,” you said. “I really am.” You pushed the intrusive thoughts out of your head. Thoughts of how you’d had to change your coffee order after everything, the smell lavender bringing up unpleasant memories of Harry. Thoughts of how you’d shifted your route to work to avoid any chance of running into him, even if that meant forgoing the pastries you loved from the Greek cafe down the block.

You saw the pain wash across Harry’s face. “I’m glad,” he said thickly. “I wish I could have been the one to give you that, but I’m happy you found it somewhere.”

[scrubbinn]

Mimic HRT: month 23 “Alone with myself”

“This is a dumb idea. The day after Erian gives up with his mimic research, you decide to resort to the worst possible option. There's so many other options we could try.”

“Oh, so now you show up in my head. Of course you're only here to attack me. Why should I expect anything different? It's just magic. We're inexperienced but the book can guide us. If you want to help then you can stay, otherwise I don't want to hear a single thing out of you.”

“You can't call this magic. This is so much worse. Look, I'm here to make sure you're going to be ok, I'm here to talk when you need it.”

“Well I don't need to talk to anyone right now. So go away. I need to concentrate.”

“And what would she think?”

“Leave!”

“Ms.Mulberry, You’ve been in your office for a while now. Is everything alright? You seem to have locked the door, and barred it considering the master key is doing nothing. I understand if you’re having trouble with your panic attacks. It’s the only reason I gave you this place. I just need the recording on Mimic behavior. The full recording, not the edited draft this time.”

“Sorry Theo, I, uh, yeah I’m kind of busy at the moment. I left the recorder in your desk drawer, the one with all the candy. By the way, you know you’re not at that age where you can be so casual with your teeth, right? Maybe get that sweet tooth pulled instead? Anyway, I’ll be busy for a while so I could use some space.”

“Right… Well your unneeded chastising aside and your odd hiding of your recorders around my office, I’ll take a look. Please don’t take more than 15 minutes. We have several important clients coming in soon and I need you at the front desk on your best behavior.”

“What happened to Jacob?”

“He was fired after he screamed at a dragon walking into the clinic on three separate occasions. Look I would appreciate not having a conversation with a door, will you open up or not?”

“Busy right now, like I said. Just. Go away for now. Like an hour?”

“You have 10 minutes. Harumph. I will be in my own office with the door not barred and I will be listening to your findings, they better be worthwhile.”

* * *

“Mayday! Mayday!? You open this door this instant!!” Listen to me right now! I know you have that book from Thayer library in there! Do not use it! Mayday, you will not use that book or you’ll wish all that happened today is me breaking down this door!”

“Leave Theo, I’m not stopping now. There were no concrete answers anywhere until this book found its way to me. If science won’t show me my origins, then the only answer I have left is magic. Now be quiet. I need to make sure the ritual circle is perfect. I can’t afford to mess up a single line. You said you had some clients, right? Go tend to them, I’ll be fine.”

“You most certainly won’t be! This isn’t magic, Mayday! This is something far more dangerous! Not to mention it could cause the ethics board to take away my license if they found out something like this happened here! I'm calling the fire department, I'll be taking the damages out of your paycheck!”

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about. Now hush already… The protection circle goes here, I think there’s just enough salt to finish the rest of these sigils…”

“Why are you even doing this here of all places!? Do you seriously just want to get me in trouble when this childish impatience blows up in your face? 

Wait. Why are you doing this here? This is the only place where I could interfere with you… You’re worried what she’d say if she knew what you were doing. It’s easier for me to hate you, isn’t it.”

“...Don’t bring up Abigail. She wouldn't get it. Neither of you would. It's so clear you've hit a dead end. You just found some random substances in your office and decided that, in your oh so infinite wisdom, this, this right here. This is what should go in a person's medicine. I'd ask what you'd have done if it didn't kill me, but I've actually seen how many people have nearly choked on your experiments. It's your fault I'm a mimic, I never asked for this. I wanted to be a slime! I still do. Now I'm this thing that can only fake it. I was so close, I was so, so close. And now it's gone forever. I am the only mimic in existence. I am alone, and I can't convey to anyone how scared that makes me.”

“You're worried Ms.Abigail could talk you out of this, aren't you.”

“The ritual is nearly complete. Please leave the building, Theo. I can't call you a friend, but you're like the definition of Stockholm syndrome. I don't want to see you hurt.”

“You open this door this instant you little ungrateful stain of a-

“Theo?... He's… gone? Oh the summoning circle! Ok everything looks fine. Protection ring, spell ring, candles.. have blown out. It's pitch black outside. I think I should close the blinds. Though I doubt it'll stop whatever's out there from getting in. Ok, focus, you're in this deep, what's a few more miles. All you need to do is read the next part. Heh, hehehahaha! I… why can’t I read these words? It's my nerves, I’ll bet. I don’t want to think if it could be something else. Let’s just get this over with, read the passage, figure out the rest later. Iɟ I ʍɐᴉʇ ʇoo louƃ I pou,ʇ ʞuoʍ ʍɥɐʇ ʍᴉll ɥɐddǝu…

I think my reality is starting to break. Oʞ lǝʇ,s qǝƃᴉu.”

“HⱯⱯⱯꓵ ҼODOʁHꓕ IⱯ,Է BEҼ,Γ-EE,H HꓕOHꓕOƧ-ҼO⅄ 'HⱯҼИ,ҼИ,IⱯ,⅄!”

“Are you there?”

…

“Oh, oh stars it worked. Hello… I am Mayday Mulberry. I've summoned you to-

…

“Of course, how rude of me. Then does that mean you know? You know what I am, and where mimics come from?” I beg of you to impart this knowledge onto me. I must know my kind and their history. Are there others out there like me?”

…

“I… I'm sorry for summoning you, but I had no other choice. I- what do you mean I'm stagnant? No, I'm still changing, I’m a mimic! We’re the definition of changing.”

…

“I. I don't believe you! You're wrong! Just shut up! Just tell me what I want to know! I summoned you! I'm the one in control here!”

…You are an insect, a being, trying at something it is not. You who expect mere shapes to impress and salt to keep you safe. You fumble in ignorance. You crave the isolation that you fear so much. If you wish for knowledge, You will have knowledge. This stagnant thing before me. It pretends to change in vain displays of approval. Revolting.

… ..! …….!!

You will not speak. This ingredient you wish to know. This thing that makes you mimic. It is nothing. The entirety of nothing. The concept to not exist, so that you may be anything. You should not be physical, but only existing blissfully as the thoughts of others pass through you. And forget you. Mortals think, and you mimic. You are the accident of yourself. A concept that formed its own existence. The byproduct of which was found by a paradoxically curiously incurious mortal who knows its place in the cosmic scale. Unlike you, stagnant thing. I will teach you. You will mimic.

* * *

Where am I? I can’t speak. I can’t see. I can barely keep a single thought, it disappears

       the second I stop thinking about it. There’s no sensation. Am I dead? Could I even be considered dead? Self, think of a self and try to form an idea and then it will work. I need arms, I don’t have arms. Can I form an arms? Wait… what is an arms? I don’t remember. Legs? No, I've never heard of those. What’s a self? No, I know what a self is because I am a self. I think… hard to think.   How do you think again? Can you do that in this reality?

Mɥɐʇ ǝʌǝu ᴉs ɹǝɐlᴉʇʎ ɐuʎɯoɹǝ?

I I w I

t s i

l c

f t l a

e h n

e i I t

l s

s s r

l e e

s i e m

o v e

i t m

s n h b

t g e e

r ? m r

a

n a h

g g e

e a r

i

Ah n n

did I  a

just melt m

into myself? e

Do I still have a 

self? I can’t even 

remember anything 

about myself. I am a 

mimic. My name is. Oh, 

I don’t know it anymore… 

I think that would be scary, 

but I don’t know how to be 

scared anymore. Was this 

supposed to teach me? To 

be ever changing. Why did 

I do this again? To learn who 

I am? Did I not have a self 

before? Why did I need to 

know?... I was lonely. Right?

It was so lonely. 

I remember being 

so incredibly tired. 

Sometimes I would 

just cry from how 

bad it got. I had to 

be seen. To be 

known. I had to 

be. Or else I. Or 

else I… I don’t 

remember. 

What shape am I 

now? Something 

called a knife? 

What is that?

I was just something wasn’t I? I was a past memory. I don’t remember it anymore. It wasn’t a good one. Should I forget it? But if I do then I won't remember anything ever again. Eternity with a bad memory. It feels fitting for some reason. I should figure a way out. I want to leave.

Every thought takes so long to form.

If I stay here any longer I won’t be able to leave. I need to think. I was talking with someone before I came here. I know they’re here because they've always been here. Because where else could they be? Because… where are you?

There you are! Here I am. 

Who are you? I'm you!

Can you please explain? I’m someone to talk to.

I see. Like an imaginary friend? No, I’m very much real.

Could we talk normally? Yes we can, and it’s no problem.

I’m… Mayday, being able to talk with someone helps focus my mind. I feel like I can actually think straight. How long has it been since we came here?

I think it’s been about… 20 years? I have zero frame of reference. But at least we can finally communicate easily. Imagine if it took us 20 years in the real world. That would suck! But seriously, we really should talk now. I think it’ll be important. Oh right, where are my manners. My name is. Well. Mayday doesn’t really work for me. We can figure out a different one later. Let’s just pick something at random for now. Something like, how about laborer?

Are you sure you want to go with a name like that? Well I guess it’s temporary. So I have a lot of questions. How are you me? Are you the voice in my head? Were you always a part of me, or are you some mimic brain thing?

Woah, Woah, slow down. One thing at a time. How do I answer everything? No, I've been in here long before you. Yes I'm the one who's been able to talk to you, and before you ask, I'm not some ghost of Mayday's former self. I'm just… Someone who works here.

Cryptic. Maybe you should start from the beginning? I'd rather not test if Getting a headache without a head is possible.

Really? You want to start a self therapy session out here in the void? Alright. I’m game. Well you spent the last decade here feeling isolated. I’m sure it felt longer, that’s what happens when you get trapped in a place without time, I guess. Anyways, you don’t remember, but I used to be you. Before we even knew who we actually were, and that was the problem. We didn’t know what was wrong with us, but we knew we weren’t, ugh, normal. Normal in boring people’s eyes. But, it was isolating, we removed ourself from people who didn’t understand, and it isolated us even more.

So you’re saying I went crazy because we never connected to anyone? Why are you only showing up now anyways?

First of all, we’re not crazy. I’d bite anyone who’d call us crazy for that. Secondly, I've only been able to reach you since you started feeling like your true self.

Pretty sure I screwed that up becoming a mimic instead of a slime.

Oh, no, I wanted to be a slime, you were the one who wanted to be a mimic.

Huh? I guess I didn't hate being a mimic exactly. So all this happened because I, er, we felt isolated. Is that really true?

  Loneliness is more traumatic than you’d think. When it was just me, it got to the point that… I couldn’t think of anything else but… no, don't worry about it. Since you stopped me before I could do something stupid, you took over, and you started talking to people. It helped, it got us to where we met others like us.

But it didn’t help. I still feel lonely. I can feel it, you know. There’s other mimics around us here. They’re all here and I still feel lonely.

Yeah, dummy. We don’t know how to feel any other way. We need to unlearn it. Otherwise nothing is going to change.

… Hey um, laborer, ugh awful name. We'll pick something better, I wanted to say I'm sorry, for getting us stuck here for all eternity. I was supposed to be the one who stopped us from feeling this way and I ended up digging us into a deeper hole, at least we have each other, and the trillions of mimics that surround us.

You did your best. Hey, let's try doing something. Look down. You can see Erian right? This is him two years ago. We’re mimicking his thoughts right now. I think normally we would just munch on his stray thoughts. But being physical we could do something fun with what’s left of our body. Check it out.

What did you just do? Did you just. We're the one who left that ingredient for Erian to use. So we created ourself on accident. Oh stars, the ingredient was our own decayed body, I think I'm going to be sick. Wait, isn't this like a time paradox?

Paradoxes aren't real, humans just haven't figured out the physics of time yet. This is a teachable moment. We're going to get out of here. We're going to find a tear in the void and walk out of it. Since time doesn't exist, our perception of it becomes reality. A century becomes a blink, we just need to find the point where we escape to the correct time and go there.

I understood basically none of it but you’re saying we can go back, right? Then I’ll try whatever nonsense you tell me. Hey laborer, will we be able to talk when we get back? Laborer? Hey! Are you there?!

“Ms.Mulberry? Mayday! Mayday! Are you finally awake? Mayday, can you hear me?!”

Theo? H-how long was I gone?

“Mayday! You have so much to answer for! Pull yourself together already!”

Huh? Can he not hear me? Oh, right, I forgot how to make a mouth. No, that’s not a mouth, that's just teeth. Teeth and eyes. Is that all I can remember? No… Teeth, eyes, and knowing, I just know. I know what he’s saying, that he knows what I am, and he doesn’t understand. It felt like it was years. No wonder I can’t remember how to move a body.

All of my memories are flooding back… Except the old ones. I don’t remember my time there. Just that it was horrific, and that I’ll miss it. I was connected to my kind for just a brief moment of eternity. I think I met someone there, and I wanted to say goodbye to everyone before I disappeared. I don’t think I’ll ever get back now. What do I even do? Therapy I guess. Oh, Erian is still talking. Maybe it’s important.

“I swear, you just do things with no regard! You could have seriously endangered my life, and the livelihood of everyone who comes to this clinic! Do you ever think about others? You better have a good explanation, and more importantly answers to our research if you ever want the chance of me forgiving you. You arrogant, ignorant, self-obsessed, blah, blah blah blah…”

Yep. Nothing important. Whatever. Stars, I’m bored. I want to hang out with Aria again, I want to see how Sandy is doing, I want to make sure Alexis is ok, I want to be able to hold Abi again. Maybe I should host a party. It’d be nice to be around others.

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

Start - Prev - Next

Mention list: @a-shramp, @calliecwrites, @be702, @respectfulevil, @hyacinthdoll1315

@aster-is-confused, @bloodandbrandywyne, @glitchgloop, @nyxthewary, @lunadook

[fennnii]

We Buried the First Draft

It was still twitching when we put it in the ground.

Warning: contains longing for a home I can never come back to (novels are homes, too, we spend enough time there)

I remember the first time I finished a novel. Not the first time I started one—God knows there were dozens of those, half-formed and feral—but the first time I typed “The End” and believed it. I printed the pages out, held the weight of it in my arms like a child I had somehow made.

And then I killed it.

The draft was too long. Too messy. Too full of itself and me and everything I wanted to say but didn’t yet know how to. Still, it breathed. You could feel it—beneath the overwrought metaphors and tangled pacing, something was alive in there. Something with sharp little teeth. It wanted out.

But instead of setting it free, I buried it.

And like anything buried too soon, it came back.

Writers talk about the revision process like it’s a matter of pruning. You trim here, tidy there. But what they don’t tell you is that revision is a form of possession. That your old words don’t leave easily. That when you try to change a sentence, it fights back.

I’ve opened old drafts and found lines I don’t remember writing, things I’m sure I never would have written. Some were beautiful. Others felt like they were written by a stranger who had watched me sleep. I started finding them in places I didn’t leave them—on note apps, scribbled in the margins of unrelated documents, even once in an email draft I don’t remember opening. I laughed it off at first. We all leave ourselves little hauntings.

But then the story started to whisper at me again.

There’s a myth among some authors. They say that first drafts aren’t meant to be good, just finished. That a first draft is a map—you don’t build the world yet, just sketch where you might go. But what happens when the map doesn’t want to be redrawn?

That happened to me with my first finished novel, a blood-slick war story set in Vietnam. The original draft was something wild and angry. There were whole sections written with trembling hands and a heart full of smoke.

When I rewrote it, I stripped it down. I made it sharper. Cleaner. More "publishable." My family praised it. An editor called it “promising.”

But the twitching never stopped.

Sometimes I dream in the voice of the original narrator—not the rewritten one. His voice was broken, accusatory. He didn’t care about neatness or tone. He just wanted to be heard.

In the new draft, I muted him. Gave him context. Structure. A spine.

He has never forgiven me.

Some nights, I go walking without meaning to. I find myself in front of the desk, the soft blue glow of the laptop like an open wound. The file of the first draft is always there, no matter how many times I delete it.

I open it. I read the first sentence. It’s wrong. It’s always wrong. It changes when I’m not looking.

And that’s when I know: I didn’t bury it deep enough.

The publishing industry loves a polished story. It craves clarity, hooks, arcs, branding. It wants your book to fit, to behave, to serve. But the wild ones—the ones that twitch and mutter and bleed—they don’t go quietly. And I think, sometimes, we’re too quick to bury them.

Not everything should be smooth. Not every story should be safe.

There was something raw and holy in that first draft. Something sacred in its mess. I can’t bring it back now—not as it was. But I can remember that it lived. And maybe that’s enough.

We buried the first draft.

It was still twitching when we put it in the ground.

And sometimes, when I’m very quiet, I swear I can still hear it digging.

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ OUTLAWS OF SANTA FE

ᯇ summary ! ✦ “You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?” As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight." aka the wild westsies au i've had in my drafts forever ᯇ tag list ! ✦ @bound-for-santa-fe ,, @fandomtrashcollector (taglist form is in my pinned post!!) ᯇ warnings ! ✦ cussing, alcohol consumption, violence, use of guns ᯇ vienna's thoughts ! ✦ here are the meanings of the wild west slang words in here:) paintin' his nose - to get drunk corned - drunk fogy - a stupid fellow dynamite - whiskey ANYWAY, i've had this in my drafts for forever and i just wanted to finally finish is so sorry that the ending is really rushed el oh el. also i recommend listening to Billy the Kid by Tex Ritter before reading!! as always, reblogs & comments are always appreciated <333 ALSO READ IT ON AO3 THE PLAYLIST 2883 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

WANTED Jack ‘Cowboy’ Kelly $1,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery, murder, and disruption of the public. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED The Delancey Brothers $500.000 REWARD Oscar and Morris Delancey are wanted for robbery and attempted murder. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE Deadwood David $5,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery and murder, on a large scale. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

A proud cowboy listened to the chatter of customers outside of Spots Shootin' Saddle Saloon. A cocky smirk played at his lips as he pushed through swinging doors. He heard gasps and the sound of multiple pistols being dragged from his holster. Then, the saloon went silent—save for the high-pitched squeak of wet glass being towel dried.

The bartender didn't even spare him a glance. "Well, well. If it ain’t the famous Jack Kelly."

“I could say the same to you, Spot. Lookit you, got yer own saloon and everything.”

One of the saloon boys perked up. "Jack!” The boy gave a half-hearted excuse to the men he was serving, he made up for his departure with a wink. He eagerly made his way behind the bar and began fixing the ex-cowboy a drink. "What brings you into town?"

Jack gratefully took the drink with a tip of his hat. “You’re a good man, Race.” He downed the drink before addressing the question before him. "Can't a lonely cowboy just visit his old friends?"

"Why, sure he could!” Racetrack grinned, already refilling his glass.

“That is, if that's what he was really doing." Spot added quickly. “Besides, can’t really be calling yourself a cowboy anymore. Not when a wanted poster names you an outlaw.”

“I can call myself whatever I please.” The cowboy realized it was a fight not worth fighting. He waved him off and dragged the newly poured whiskey closer. "Howd’ya know it was me?”

Spot laughed. "What, when you walked in? Yer the only fella I know who quiets my saloon like that.”

Racetrack leaned forward against the counter; his arm wrapped lovingly around Spot’s waist. He rested his head in his own hand, his elbow digging into marble, and gave Jack a pointed look. "Not anymore. Say, Jack; you heard of that David feller, yet? He paid us a visit couple’a days ago. Shoot, we didn’t hear much noise in here ‘till the next day!”

Jack's fingers squeezed his glass, before they relaxed and stretched. "Yeah, I've heard of him. Fill 'er up again, would'ya?"

Spot took the glass and kept his gaze on the outlaw whilst he poured the whiskey. He placed it in front of the boy with a thump, then glared at him through narrowed eyes. "What are you really here for, cowboy?"

"Just paintin’ my nose, Spot." Jack pushed away from the bar, drink in hand. He sat down with a boy who was lazily pulling at the strings of his guitar. “Tell me a story, Al."

The boy responded with a toothy grin, then tipped his hat up and out of his eyes. He slowly looked up and made eye contact with the outlaw. “Long time no see, Jackie." He plucked at his guitar more rhythmically than before. "What'cha wanna hear?"

"Why don’t you tell that one about ole Billy the Kid?”

"Only because you're an old friend." Albert chuckled. He took a deep breath before he put on his story-telling voice. His demeanor demanded the attention of those around him, and he always got it when he was performing. "Some folks do a lot of good in the world, that encourages us to do good. A few people start off on the wrong foot - their black deeds serve as a warning post to us. The song I'm gonna to sing for you now, fellers, is about a boy who sorta wandered off the straight and narrow trail, took up a crooked course. As usual with all outlaws, he paid with his life. His name,” a pause, “was Billy the Kid."

His singing was mesmerizing, just like his stories, and everyone in the saloon slowly began to sing along. Some of them absentmindedly hummed along as they gambled, and others gave the man their full attention. They swayed merrily back and forth with each other, their glasses raised to the gods as they hooted and hollered.

"I'll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid. I'll sing of the desperate deeds that he did. Out in New Mexico, long time ago, When a man's only chance was his own forty-four."

While everyone sang along, a boy slipped in through the doors, entirely unnoticed. He whispered to Spot and kept his head hung low. Had he made any noise, it had been covered up by obnoxious singing. The boy pushed a couple of coins across the counter before he slumped farther into his hat.

"When Billy the Kid was a very young lad, In old Silver City, he went to the bad. Way out in the West with a gun in his hand- At the age of twelve years, he killed his first man."

Racetrack wanted to tell Jack about the man at the bar, but Spot had instructed him to keep quiet. He had been told to loosen the outlaw up, and he did just that. Race kept a close eye on Jack’s drink and made sure he never reached the bottom of his glass.

"Fair Mexican maidens play guitars and sing A song about Billy, their boy bandit king. How ere his young man-hood had reached it's sad end, Had a notch on his pistol for twenty-one men."

To say the drinks had loosened him up would be an understatement. Jack pranced around the table­—dragging Racetrack along with him—with his glass raised. The whiskey sloshed over the side and splashed his boots. He jumped atop the tables and managed to gain the attention of all the customers. It wasn’t long before everyone was shouting and throwing their drinks into the air.

"Twas on the same night, when poor Billy died, He said to his friends, 'I'm not satisfied, Twenty-one men I have put bullets through. Sheriff Pat Garrett must make twenty-two."

Jack tried to sing along, but his mouth had other plans. He rambled to Albert, who just smiled as he sang, about his recent affairs. “I could take down the sheriff!” He bragged. “No! I could take down big ol’ Deadwood David… with my eyes closed!” Al shook his head and his eyes flitted quickly to the man at the bar.

"Now this is how Billy the Kid met his fate. The bright moon was shining, the hour was late. Shot down by Pat Garrett, who once was his friend. The young outlaw's life had now come to its end."

“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep, Kelly.” Spot warned with a sigh. Racetrack cocked an eyebrow from his place next to Jack. He raised the pitcher in question, and moved away from the table when Spot shook his head. The cowboy waved off Spot’s warning as the bartender whispered lowly to his customer.

"There's many a man with a face fine and fair, Who starts out in life with a chance to be square. But just like poor Billy, he wanders astray And loses his life in the very same way."

Everyone cheered in unison for the song; although, some might’ve been cheering for their gambling wins. Albert smiled and tipped his hat before he went back to strumming mindlessly at his guitar. A small grin made its way onto his face as Jack drunkenly droned on.

"D’ya hear Spot? Talkin’ bout promises I can't keep!" He scoffed; a drunk burp made its way up his throat. "I mean- Listen, I've got way more kills under my belt than Billy the Kid had got." Jack took a sip of his glass. Race had been filling it with coffee, but he was much too drunk to notice. “He would’ve never died if he was as experienced as me. Besides, this Deadwood guy’s a total poser. I betcha I could take him on with my-” He looked confused for a second. “With my- my eyes closed!”  

“So you’ve said.” Albert shook his head and chuckled. "Anyhow… the song ain’t a challenge, Cowboy. It's a warning. Don’t mess with something that ain’t botherin’ you.”

"You’re starting to sound like my Papaw, Al.” Jack bumped Albert’s shoulder with his cup. “He don’t look good on you. Oh! You know who looked good on me, though? Them gals over in Tombstone.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" He slurred. "I mean, practically a different girl each night. Gorgeous women too. Unlike any lady out in these parts."

An obnoxious scoff came from the boy at the bar. He circled his finger around the rim of his glass as he spoke, his head still down. “I sure ain’t heard any Tombstone ladies bragging on about pirooting with a Jack Kelly.”

All conversation ceased at the boy’s words. The notes on Albert’s guitar suddenly became more dramatic, and Jack would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so offended. Spot let out an exasperated sigh, but the rest of the customers were visibly tense. Every man had a hand on his gun, waiting for a showdown.

Jack turned and stared the boy down. "Maybe you ain't talked to the right ladies.”

"Maybe you just ain’t worth bragging about.” The boy took a sip of his drink. Racetrack let out a short giggle, then nervously ducked under the counter to make a drink that nobody had asked for. “Or, maybe, you ain’t really been with as many ladies as you claim.”

Disgruntled, Jack got up and made his way to the bar. The boy laughed as the outlaw tripped a little over his own feet. Jack grabbed the man by a shoulder and forced him to spin in his chair. He shoved a mean finger into the man’s chest. The man at the bar snickered, his face still covered by his hat.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”

“You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose.

Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?”

As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight."

Spot cleared his throat. “I won’t have you dunderheads havin’ a showdown in my saloon. Be respectable, boys.”

“There wasn’t gonna be no showdown, anyhow. This feller’s too drunk to do anything. He couldn’t shoot at me even if he had his pistol to my head.” Deadwood flicked a coin to Spot. “Thanks for the dynamite, Spot.” And with that, he proudly walked out of the saloon.

Jack watched the man leave and stood tall with fake pride. After the man was gone, he made a drunken attempt to sit down but instead accepted his place on the floor. Racetrack sighed and raised the outlaw by his armpits before sitting him on a barstool. Spot scoffed as he handed the outlaw a glass of water. “I told you not to make promises you can’t keep, you stubborn ole fogy.”

"I'm fixin' to keep that promise. But right now,” He started to gag, “I think I'm gonna be sick."

“Steady, Izar.” Jack mumbled. “Ain’t too far from here.” His horse neighed, almost as if she was responding to him. She even sighed as he stumbled into her. Jack could almost hear her complain about his recklessness. “I ain’t that drunk, Izar. Honest.”

He led her into the stable behind the Conlon home. “Spot was kind ‘nough to give us a nice little place to stay in for the night.” Jack looked around the stable and flinched at the smell of manure. “Well, he offered to let me stay in the house. But ya know I can’t leave you, mama.”

“Second I heard about you, Jack Kelly, I knew you were insane.” A voice muttered from the corner. “But I never would’a figured you was the type of insane to talk to yourself.”

Jack groaned. “Fuckin’ Spot. He knew you’d be here. Ain’t that right, Deadwood?”

“Yup.”

A tense silence fell over them, but Jack was far too tired (and drunk) to start a fight. He began to take off Izar’s saddle. “I wasn’t talkin’ to myself. I was talking to Izar.” He explained and gestured to his horse. Though, as Deadwood laughed, he realized that wasn’t a much better excuse. “Listen, I don’t feel the need to explain myself to you.”

“Yet here you are. Doing it.” Deadwood snorted as he pulled his hat further over his face. The hay he was laying in enveloped him as he snuggled deeper into it. “Now, I promise not to kill ya if ya promise to shut up.”

Jack grunted in agreement. His intuition screamed at him not to let his guard down, but Izar had already nestled herself into the hay. At that moment, he figured his awful gut feeling was just the whiskey from earlier. Besides, Izar had a good judge of character, most of the time. She curled around Jack as he rested against her, and the two slowly drifted off to sleep, just inches away from one of the deadliest men in the country.

Yelling voices and the sound of cracked wood startled Jack awake. Once he came to his senses, he realized that Izar was no longer behind him. Panic filled his chest and he scrambled to his feet. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to barely make out what was happening in the shadows.

Deadwood had a lanky boy pinned beneath him, his pistol to the person’s head. Another boy laid up against the wall of the barn; he was surrounded by splinters and his own blood. His head lolled against his shoulder, the blood from his nose pooled on his leather vest. The boy had a gun in his hand, the safety off and his hand on the trigger.

David lifted the boy underneath him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. “I knew you were pathetic, Morris. But going so low as to kill a man in his sleep? We may be outlaws, but we have some sense of morality.” His hand in the Delancey brothers’ shirt tightened as he pushed the boy farther into the wall; Jack could hear the wood cracking beneath him. “And you don’t kill a man’s horse. Not unless you’re too much of a pussy to kill the owner.” Then, he dropped the man to the floor and spit at him.

Morris used a dramatic hand to wipe off his face before he scrambled to his feet. His hands shook as he moved to grab his pistol. “You place a single finger on that gun, and I will break every single one of your fingers-” Deadwood growled and grabbed the boy’s wrist. “One. By. One.”

After he let go of Morris’ wrist, the boy tripped over himself as he picked up his brother. Oscar barely seemed alive; his only sign of life had been the elongated groan he let out as Morris lifted him. David stopped the two before they could hurry out the door. “You two better never point a pistol at my Cowboy or his horse ever again. Next time, you don’t get a warning. I’ll line you two up and watch the bullets go straight through both of you.”

The two hesitantly nodded (Oscar moved his head down, and that was enough for David). Morris dragged his brother out the door, and it wasn’t long before the sound of galloping hoofs grew quieter and quieter.

“What the hell was that about?” Jack demanded. Deadwood rolled his eyes and led Izar out from behind his own horse.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Cowboy. Go back to sleep.”

“You’re losin’ it if you think I’m gonna let this shit go,” Jack argued as he moved to pet Izar’s neck. “They got you riled up enough to call me your cowboy.” He scoffed. “And you called me queer.”

David cocked his pistol in retaliation. “I defended you while you’s was asleep, but I’m not against shooting a man who’s awake.”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry, Deadwood. I won’t tell no-one ‘bout this. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation, anyhow. Cowboy don’t need no-one to save him.” He closed his eyes, an amused grin on his lips, and went back to resting against Izar.

The infamous outlaw stared at him, before he broke into laughter. “Spot was right. You are a stubborn ole fogy.”

[veronicaleighauthor]

The Second and Third Draft

It’s been a while since I’ve mentioned my current WIP novel, “Eye For An Eye.” Time for an update. ::rubs hands together:: Here we go!

Well, as you know from this post, I completed the first draft of my Lady Sheriff novel, “Eye For An Eye.” I put it into the hands of my beta readers: my mother and sister. One is a mystery junkie; the other is a writer who isn’t shy about telling me what doesn’t work in my novels. After they read it through, we had a number of conversations on the characters, theories, little plot holes, historical inaccuracies, etc – it was determined that the novel was solid and I could move forward with the revisions. I can’t begin to say how relieved I was, that there wasn’t a glaringly major plot hole that can destroy a WIP. Remember that episode of “Modern Family” where they’re on a train and Cam and Phil pester their favorite novelist, and more or less break him? Hailey joins in at one point. Then Luke ironically saves the author’s day with a piece of geography he learned, that can make the novelist’s story plausible. I love that show.

Anyway, I combed through the draft a few times myself, making notes and rewriting certain parts. I did a second draft, implementing those changes. I also added four thousand words to the wordcount, bringing it up to 71,000 words. Yay! I completed the second draft in a week and I let it sit for a couple of weeks and worked on a new short story, did revising on another short story at an editor’s request, and wrote a few blog posts. During that little break, I realized because the second draft went so quickly, I needed to do a more major revision for the third draft.

I decided to follow this blog post’s advice and basically rewrite the entire novel, from start to finish. I used the existing draft as my template and started the third draft from scratch. I’m almost at the half-way point, but the change has been ::massive::! It’s a daunting process, to rewrite a novel. You do want to throw in the towel. You wonder if it’s worth it. But from past experiences, I found that this process works for me. I apply it to every novel I write and I’ll promote this piece of writing advice to whoever will listen. The prose, the pacing, the dialog – greatly improved. Tomorrow I’ll be on Chapter 10, which is nearly halfway through the novel. If I’m diligent, I’ll complete it on June 15th. We’ll see.

So, what does your revision process look like?

Until next time!

[swagcoolcat]

10, 11, 28, 29 for the ao3 asks!

(Original list here)

Thank you for the ask!! As some of you may know, I’ve had quite the unproductive year for writing this year, so to give myself a bit more to work with, I’m gonna include the back half of 2023 as well, otherwise I’ll have 5 fics to work with, 4 of them being very short haha!

Also, worth noting, for whatever reason tumblr is not letting me link to ao3? Everything I discuss should be on my ao3 masterlist (aside from like- one fic because it’s in its own separate fandom and I haven’t made a post for it yet) and the links on there are working just fine, so if you’re interested, consider going there to check out any fics I mention! (Or any others I didn’t mention, there’s a lot there hehe!)

With all that out of the way, time for the ask!

10: What work was the quickest to write?

Probably one of the four short fics I did for Pins and Patches week back in April of this year! I’d say the first one (New Feelings) was when I had the most steam, so that was probably the quickest. However, they all took me around a day or less to write, so it’s hard to say for sure.

I like to think of Michael and Jake as the fell first/fell harder type, although I’m more of a Jake fell first guy now, it’s just significantly easier for me to write from Michael’s POV lmao.

11: What work took you the longest to write?

The one that took the longest this year was my most recent fic, which is called Dirty Little Secret. This one is the only one I don’t have a link to on my blog, but if you look in the Good Game (TV 2017) Fandom tag it’s currently at the top, so you can’t miss it. If we’re including all previous drafts for this idea it took me at least six months to write, which is actually longer than I thought. I was originally going to include a fic from 2023 as well, but this would still be the longest, so I’ll just leave it at that.

28: Favorite work you wrote this year?

For this one, I’m going to do a fic from 2023 actually, because this fic is still one of my favorites in general to date. This fic being Someone Said You Had Your Tattoo Removed, which I wrote two days before 2024!

From start to finish, every step of this fic was a joy. I loved coming up with the idea, I loved kind of teasing it, I loved exploring the SQUIP and how it treated Jeremy, as well as Michael and Jeremy’s relationship. I loved poking at their friendship and how although they’re okay now it still hurts to look back on the past. And I love rereading it. I think I found their voices really well in this one and I like how I captured their dynamic, and although it’s not silly like some of my other BMC fics, it holds a special place in my heart.

29: Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Using the same fic as the last question for this one. Despite the bummer themes in the last fic, this part is written to be a bit comedic before it gets into the nitty gritty, and I think out of the entire fic, this captures their friendship the best. I had fun writing it out, so here it is for you!

“Hey, man! Glad you could make it.” Michael had a smile on his face, but it fell once he got a good look at Jeremy’s, “Whoa… are you good? You’re like- super tense.”

Shit.

“I’m not tense!” Jeremy’s voice raised an octave and a half, and he quickly overcorrected, clearing his throat and starting again, “I’m- I mean, I’m good. I’m good. Can we go inside?”

Judging by the look on Michael’s face, his performance wasn’t very convincing. He wasn’t off to a very good start, considering he’d hoped to bring this up after they’d gotten settled. Now Michael was looking at him like he was a scared animal, and he was trying to keep him from running off.

However, he got a hesitant nod anyway, and the door opened further so he could walk inside.

As he kicked off his shoes, Michael spoke up, voice a bit quieter and hesitant now, “Jeremy, you’re kinda scaring me. What’s wrong?”

Fuck, this was a bad place for this conversation. He could see Michael’s mom out of the corner of his eye on the phone with someone, and he wanted some distance in case this conversation went really badly.

“Can we talk downstairs?” Jeremy asked, which definitely didn’t help in the scaring Michael category. He got a nod though, and they silently walked down the stairs to the basement while Jeremy thought about exactly how he was going to word this.

He probably looked like he was about to throw up.

As soon as they got situated downstairs, Michael was looking at him very seriously, “Okay, seriously. What’s going on?”