Answering "Reblog this and let people send you asks (anonymously or not) about how they would describe your fics, your writing style or just anything they've thought about when reading your work" !! HIII okay so I've only read one of your fics so far and it was a short one so I might not be the best person to answer this but I'm so glad you reblogged that post bc I actually do remember getting specific thoughts & feelings when reading one of yours!! I'm not sure if your writing is always like this but in that fic (the one I commented on!!) it felt,,, cozy. it felt warm and familiar and the writing had life to it. it wasn't just Character A walking over to Character B's house (and then room). no, there were explanations, actions, emotions, thoughts and even little bits of humour in between. and that really added to the writing!!!! the story also flowed amazingly!! it was a short fic but it didn't even feel rushed!! everything just felt natural. it was all cohesive from one paragraph to the next and I adore that!! and the descriptions were wonderful!!! painted an image in my mind very easily. one I can only describe the image as love. if the fic was an artwork, it'd have a soft grainy/noisy textured layer over it and the colour palette would be of warm pinks and oranges -- and not just bc I was getting 'sun beginning to set' vibes from it, but also bc of how soft & tender the hurt/comfort in the fic was. also, I remember opening it, reading the first 1 or 2 paragraphs and then getting so genuinely excited bc by then I could already tell you could write well LMAO -- and I was right!! you CAN write well!!! like just in general too!! idk how exactly to explain this but basically what I mean is that you're good at coming up with unique sentences and not super straight-forward plain ones!! but anyways ya!! also, sorry for writing so much!!! I didn't realise I had so much to say 😭😭 (^ /gen to all of the above 💗) - 💎

okay so.

I've been hoarding this for like 2 weeks now and at first I had like the typical kicking my feet, twirling my hair, gotta kiss anon on the mouth (platonically duh) kinda reaction. I was ready to search all of tumblr for the epic poet in my askbox. UNTIL I GOT TO THE END!

I read the end (lol i saw the emoji) and felt magically, red string-a-lly compelled to write a simonette fic. For some strange reason.

So here she is: a slightly longer simonette secret flavored fic!

Jeanette sneezed, readjusted her glasses, and then sneezed again. She wiped her nose miserably before she let out a trio of more sneezes.

Honestly, if the shelves didn't need dusting, she would have stopped. But, alas, Brittany had begged and pleaded with her to do her chores this week in order for her to go on a date.

("And I triple, no, quadruple! promise I won't ask you if we're soulmates this time, Jean!"

"You're not supposed to be asking her that anyway," Eleanor scoffed from the other side of their bedroom.

Brittany stuck her tongue out at her before she returned to her begging and pleading. "Oh, pretty please, Jeanette!")

So Jeanette had agreed, if only to be spared from Brittany's puppy dog pout and crocodile tears combo. That and her obvious hopeless romantic tendencies aside (Brittany's soulmate was a street musician around the corner and, although she wouldn't tell her, she hoped that this date might somehow led her to her soulmate), she really did enjoy working at the shop.

Planting new flowers, experimenting with new potion combinations, organizing, and then reorganizing new spell books, Jeanette loved all of it.

Jeanette pouted as she watched her hat fall to the ground after another round of sneezes. Okay, maybe she didn't love every job at the shop. The heavens above knew that she wasn't exactly helpful during a lunch rush.

Her hand waved the duster with an excited flourish, more than ready to be rid of the dust and its cruel attacks to her nose. Unfortunately, that only made the dust to throw itself back towards her, causing her not only to sneeze once again, but also caused her to sneeze herself right off the ladder, towards the ground.

She let out a breath of relief as she bounced on the summoned daisy bed, catching her fall, returning the smile her little sister was giving her.

Read on ao3

BELATED WRITER ASK. 9, 18, 23. ❤️

BELATED WRITER ANSWER! ❤️

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration

To blatantly steal the first part of your answer,  I talk to my awesome friends about Supernatural (or insert fandom here). I read poetry and novels and fics and the news. I read interesting studies that catch my attention online, and look up old news articles from small-town local papers. I hit the “random article” button on Wikipedia and let myself go down a research rabbit hole. I watch TV and movies and take note of what works and what doesn’t. I listen to music and curate playlists that Feel Right. I collect visuals I want to emulate. In a non-pandemic year, I people watch in public, and when I have the ability to drive myself there, I spend time alone in nature or near a body of water—water really does the trick for me. Daydreams, nightdreams, nightmares, shower thoughts. I meditate and do the five-senses mindfulness exercise.

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

Not consciously, but I think it’s impossible to read good writing and not have it influence you in some way. There’s a post that goes around from time to time where the writer talks about how they are a patchwork of all the people they’ve loved—they make ramen the way their friend showed them when they were a kid, and they love certain movies because people they care about loved them first, and so on. I think writing is kind of the same.

Every story that affects me in some way, however small, becomes a part of the way I write. So I guess my answer is just… all of them. Eek.

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing? So, this is probably going to make me sound like a real weirdo and/or enormous wanker, but I think that ship already sailed a while a go. So here goes: for a while in my early twenties, I wrote anonymous letters and left them for people to find on the train.

Sometimes it was poetry or a story, sometimes just a one-sided conversation or a series of observations about the other people on the train, or a long list of questions for the person who found it to answer. Sometimes it was written in code, with the key to the cipher on the inside of the envelope.

I’d write “a letter for you” on the outside, slip it into the gap beside the seat, and leave it behind. 

I had an email address that I included in every letter for people to respond to—a hotmail address I can’t remember, long-since lost to the ravages of time—and sometimes people would write back. I left substantially more letters than I received responses to, but there were still enough replies that I kept doing it for a long time.

When people responded to the long lists of questions (which ranged from what’s the best movie you’ve seen this year? to describe what love feels like to you? to have you ever seen a ghost? to write me a haiku about pickles) it was like having a secret window into another person’s head.

The anonymity meant that most people responded with a level of honesty that is generally uncommon for anyone but close friends. A lot of them almost seemed to treat it like therapy, venting to a faceless stranger. It taught me a lot about the different ways that people think, and particularly people who I otherwise wouldn’t have an opportunity to get to know that well.

I also always included some version of this question: what compelled you to open this letter, and what were you expecting to find?

The range of responses was wide and fascinating, and I don’t think that anything else has ever helped me to write characters more. Because I think about it pretty much anytime I’m writing. If this character saw an envelope in a public place, would they pick it up? Would they leave it there? Would they open it immediately, or take it home and avoid it for a week like that one man who emailed and confessed that he’d worried that it was somehow crime related? If they found one of the coded letters, would they be excited about it? Freaked out? Would they pass it around the office like that woman who said she worked for the bank and needed something to make the day less dull? What would they do, and how would they answer the question, and what would that tell me about them?

So I often think about the answers people wrote, the poems they sent, the few emails that just contained photos of random landmarks. Incredibly, I never received a dick pic. It’s only just occurring to me now how surprising that is. There was a person who responded with a code of their own, though I’ve forgotten what it translated to. Actually I think there may have been a couple who did this. It was a long time ago.

There was another one who found a particularly depressed letter that I’d left, and emailed back a series of ISBNs. When I looked them up, the book titles put together spelled out a sentence, though I only remember two of them: [It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow] [Dogs Everywhere]

There was a man who had been a doctor somewhere in South East Asia, then immigrated to Australia to be near his kids, and found himself unable to get anything but minimum wage work. There was a woman who had been so personally offended that I’d criticised The Da Vinci Code in the letter she’d found that she didn’t bother responding to anything else I’d written. There was someone who emailed to say “this is psycho” and nothing else. Oh well.

So. Yeah.

That’s probably the most obscure thing I can think of that has affected me as a writer. It just opened my brain up, I guess. Helped me to understand a bit more about how different people approach things, how they react to things. I try to hold onto that when I’m writing to make my characters feel more real. More flesh-and-bone than a collection of tropes and personality traits, so that they react to things, hate things, love things. Make choices that surprise me, and push against the story when it doesn't go their way.

[the get to know your writer ask meme]