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crescencestudio · 3 months

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๋࣭⭑ Devlog #38 | 2.27.24 ๋࣭⭑

How is it already almost March omfg.

Anyways Happy Valentine's Day month!!! This year, I was swamped with work, so I didn't get a chance to make Valentine's Day art. I did make a Valentine's piece last year though.

BUT we did have beloved @magunalafay make these Valentine's Day cards this year for the community!!! <3 If you missed it, well Happy Valentine's Day!!!!!

She made these as a gift, and I love her very much. Maguna u r so talented

This month was pretty busy for me, but I'm super happy with the progress made this month ^^ I feel like I've started the year off in a pretty good groove after it being all over the place for a hot second, yay!!!

This past month, Etza and Druk's routes. With the revamped demo finishing its revisions, it left a lot more time for me to focus writing on full route development.

If you missed the announcement, I FINISHED Etza's first draft!!! YAAAYYY!!!! FINALLY!!!!!!

That means 4/6 routes are finished in terms of the base writing, which is so exciting to MEEEEE. I've always seen Etza's draft as The Milestone because with their route finished, it would mean the four Central routes are done writing. And to me, while there's a good chuck of writing left, we are nearing the end of it.

There's only two routes left and that means it's about ~100k words which is CRAZY compared to when I had ~300k to write (:cries:). Even if that sounds like a lot, once I start chipping away at those routes, that 100k goes into the "double digits" aka 90k...80k... etc. and that makes me want to pee my pants

We also finished editing Druk's route, yay!!! So we reached a lot of milestones this month ^^

We are nearing the end of the Vui background commissions. It's very bittersweet; I'm so used to mentioning him in my devlogs now </3 There's only like 3(?) more BGs left for him to make, and then all of the BGs for the game will be finished. Very Wild! I think Alaris will have 25ish BGs, and they are all Stunning.

It's been a while since I showed you all a BG, so I'll give you all a preview of one I just got in!

Isn't it cozy? Guess whose house hehe

I personally have been doing a lot of sprite work this month to finish the final art assets for the demo. I added some expressions to Druk and Aisa that I'd been procrastinating (I don't even know why I was procrastinating them). And I finally finished Mom and Kimura's updated sprites! Patreon already saw them, but I'll show the new versions here too ^^

Preview of Mom (left) and Kimura (right) updated sprites. Now everyone's sprite styles are cohesive YAY!!

Aside from sprite work, much of my "art" time has been on finishing up/putting together the last of the screens for the GUI. Specifically, I got THIS BABY up and running. She is my crowning glory.

Memory Screen to Replay Unlocked Free Time Dates

Oh my god.... You all have NO IDEA how much of a pain this was to code. There is a transparency gradient going on in the left and right B&W previews (courtesy of community programming angel feniks/shawna).

And then the effort to have the Titles and Descriptions of the Previewed Date change tilted me on Multiple Occasions. But we finally got it to work thanks to bestie @siyo-koy pointing out I just coded one stupid "if" statement wrong LJAFSLIEFJIEJ. But the effort was WORTH IT because I'm so proud of her!!! I hope you all like it too as a way to relive Free Time Dates. I had a lot of fun with the Titles and descriptions.

I also put together the Stats and Affection Screens

Preview of Personality Stats & Affection Screens

So I coded both of them a bit differently from each other. The Personality Screen shows you a breakdown of your traits so far. Think of it like a pie graph! So in the preview picture, your choices indicate you are 33% Brave, 16% Charismatic, etc. I felt like this was a more natural way to portray personality rather than how many bravery points you've collected so far!

And then for Affection, it works in a more traditional way, where it counts it based on how many you've gotten out of the total amount you can get. This way, as the story progresses, how close you are to the person reflects how much your relationship as developed!

I've also added little descriptions underneath each that change depending on the percentage. So for example, if you have gotten 82% of the affection points for Kuna'a, the description of your relationship might change as well hehe

Other than that, I've mainly focused on getting the demo together. We released the beta demo earlier this month (? LOL). And the feedback has been so kind!!

A lot of this month was spent polishing so that the demo can be ready for early access and eventually public release. I updated sprites, made sure music crossfades with each other so that transitions between soundtracks feel smoother, I added/polished all of the screens I needed to (e.g., Memory Room, Full Credits, Cleaning Music Room, Adding Stats Screens), and I FINALLY as of yesterday added the Voiced Lines!!

One thing I added in the Extended Demo that I'm really happy with is the use of Extended Pronouns (courtesy of Angel Feniks). Below is a preview of how it works now!

Preview of Extended Pronouns Function. Credit to Feniks

Basically, you can choose multiple pronouns for yourself, including custom pronouns (e.g., xe/xem, fae/faer, etc.). On top of that, you can choose how often you'd like the pronouns to alternate (e.g., every line versus every scene) and what kind of terms you'd like to be used for you (e.g., neutral vs. masculine vs. feminine)!

Overall, the demo is getting closer and closer to release!!! Early Access will hopefully be ready by the end of this week or next, so if you all would like access to it, please feel free to subscribe to my Patreon for this upcoming month! Available to Wyvern tier ($5) and up.

I didn't have any time to really play any games this month because I was drowning in work LMFAOSLJIEF. I did play the Threads of Bay demo by @lavendeerstudios and it was GORGEOUS! Very cute game with lovable characters and charming visuals. Andrew, I will have your number

Every other section was really long, so I'm going to throw it here even though it's not market research. But Intertwine recently hit 600 ratings, which is crazy. Thank you for still enjoying that game even if it's not one that is my main focus anymore. I'm really happy people still like it :on the verge of tears:

Anyways, this has been a long devlog. Here's to continuing to Ball in March. Hope you all have a great rest of your month, and I'll talk to you soon! <3

#alaris #devlog

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fortunatetragedy · 26 days

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alright kids out of the pool it's 18+ nsfw shit time.

i'm procrastinating editing what i wrote earlier, so i went back into the previous draft of book 1 to find this vintage third draft version of a love scene that had to get completely rewritten bc sullivan fucked up the 1872 timeline with his autonomy.

for all the awkward love scene enjoyers in the house, here are 3,585 words of a sexually inexperienced 38-year-old having his first time with his older psychopath boyfriend. with mild transdimensional fuckery. that are going to end up in a junk drawer bc this is not how it plays out in the working draft at all lol.

stay hydrated.

The stairs behind The German House felt longer than he remembered, and darker. But for the steam-choked kitchen window, every portal Sullivan passed on his way to Royston's was cold and lightless. Felt as though he were sneaking past Melanie and everyone else inside, and found it did not matter.

He hit the balcony and took three steps before Royston opened his door with purposeful composure. It framed him as the picture of patience within its glow, though the flush to his cheeks suggested he had run up the stairs upon having the hour pointed out to him, or spying him out the kitchen window.

"Darling," Royston purred.

"Mister."

Rather than taking Sullivan into his arms the moment the door closed, Royston strode across the room, kicking off his loafers as he went. Sullivan realized he had been hoping Royston would embrace him, and yet he was not disappointed. It would have been nice, if everyone was wrong and that was the sort of man Arthur Royston was. But he hadn't been pinning the rest of the evening on Royston behaving any differently.

If that was the sort of man he was, they wouldn't be standing where they were. Sullivan understood. He had to understand. He held the doorknob, and considered what they were about to do.

Surviving this first night didn't mean he would survive the last, if Royston was as reactive and unemotional as Buck claimed. All he could do was treat the man with respect and see if he netted different results than the ones who had made him this way. He was this way. It would be easy for Royston to terminate this arrangement once it no longer suited him, and it would be easy for Royston to slip a knife into Sullivan's chest if he got it into his head that he had betrayed him. Wouldn't matter how long this lasted, or how much Royston claimed to enjoy his company. If Sullivan expected anything else out of him, he figured, that was his own damned fault.

Sullivan locked the door behind him, removed his saber belt, and slung it over the back of the chair.

Across the room, Royston flung his suit jacket onto the coat rack and loosed his suspenders. The only neat space in the room was the bed, which he passed by with purpose. His eyes were sharp and his posture wound as he waited for Sullivan to remove his field jacket and hang it in the unorganized bureau. To pick up one discarded loafer, then the other, and set them beneath his jacket. He pulled off one boot, then the other, and rested them beside Royston's loafers.

Hoping that sent a clear message as to his intentions, Sullivan shut the bureau door.

"I don't suppose you can leave the sword on?" Royston asked.

Sullivan tested the lock on the hall door.

"I'd have to leave the rest of it on as well."

"Say, there's an idea."

"Save 'em for next time, would you? I want everything off you next."

Royston clawed at the bow tie he'd donned for the evening and tossed it towards the nearest flat surface. It fluttered to the floor. Sullivan left it where it lay and went to him. His lover reached out and caught Sullivan by the ass and reeled him, trilling his tongue, pleased by what he had in his hands.

That the man he'd chosen smelled good, smelled like soap and pomade and an oil he could not identify, did not surprise Sullivan. That he was clean, that he was warm and healthy and relaxed, should not have. Yet the blood rushed from Sullivan's head as their bodies settled together. Royston knew exactly where it had gone, and pressed closer in recognition.

"Wait, Arthur, I--"

"I have been waiting for two months, Sullivan, don't you 'Wait, Arthur' me! A man has needs, and mine are you, inside of me, right now."

"Are you... certain that's how you--"

Royston silenced him with his lips at his ears.

"Angel," he said, "I rise certain, and I retire certain. This morning I arose certain. I've made the necessary arrangements. We have all night to talk, if that is your preference. We can even go downstairs and mingle with the others later if you so desire but right now, quit talking and ravage me."

No one had ever spoken to him the way Arthur Royston spoke to him.

Sullivan dove into Royston's lips and anchored himself in his arms. Their hands worked in uncoordinated tandem to finish unwrapping each other. By the time they reached the closest layer Royston was annoyed to have to stop so Sullivan could remove his undervest. So Sullivan could admire him.

"Arthur," he said, "in case I've not made this known to you yet, I would like to now: I find you absolutely breathtaking."

Royston laughed and said, "Oh, you. Here. Allow me to return some."

Taking firm hold of Sullivan's shirt scruff, Royston closed his eyes before he kissed him, and damn them both if Sullivan didn't know, then, that he had been breathed alive after lying dead for years. A numb body, a frozen heart, poured into a uniform every morning, nothing to do but keep marching time with entropy. Tobacco and mint and whiskey, heady and antiseptic, reawakened the nerves beneath his skin, the heat in his blood. Damn them both if kissing Royston wasn't better than breathing.

His lover growled when Sullivan broke the kiss, and scraped his shirt over his head, and his own hips flexed in response, reminding them to remove the final layer between them before seeking further friction.

When Royston found the gold chain around his neck, and the locket against his breastbone, his jaw dropped.

"You really are wearing it…"

"Of course I am," Sullivan laughed. "You gave it to me."

Sullivan rested his fingers over the X-shaped scar he found beneath the man's left nipple. Found the unmistakable shape of a low-caliber exit wound not much further down. That wound alone would have killed him, were he not possessed of such fair luck. He would ask about it later. He would ask him everything, later. He wanted to know everything, and to tell him everything.

Trembling, Royston caressed the ghost of a bayonet scar on Sullivan's right shoulder. Kissed it with lips Sullivan had not thought could be so gentle.

Royston's body told him what to do. He was not thinking. He was starving. As much as he wanted to bury himself in this man, all Sullivan did was think, too much, about everything. He pinned his hips to the wall, separating them, and Royston's head tipped to the side in question.

"Have you got oil?" Sullivan asked. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't be silly, everyone hurts—"

"I'm not everyone."

"Oh, darling, I know you're not. That's why you're here. Don't fret so much." Royston smiled and pet his beard, tugged his sideburn. "You won't."

"You're right. I won't. If you don't, I'm going to dress and go out and procure some. Trust me, mister, spit is not suited to the task you've asked me to perform, regardless of how badly I... want you."

Royston considered the matter a second longer, his thoughts his own, his eyes distant. Then he snatched a glass vial from inside the nightstand drawer, rolled it between his palms to warm it.

"The task, you say?"

"I..." Heat flushed Sullivan's cheeks, and he broke eye contact. Watched the steady, slow pulse in Royston's neck. "I apologize, Arthur. I'm afraid I've not been... intimate… like this with another person in a very long time. I've forgotten how to conduct myself."

"Why, that's hardly anything worth apologizing for. I never know how to conduct myself. Your concern for my well-being is admirable." Royston tucked his finger beneath Sullivan's chin and reeled in his gaze. An aurora in his own. "You are admirable. Save your breath and give me your hand, lover."

The smell of the extract graced his nose and reminded him of cinnamon.

"What on earth is this?"

"Oil of clove. The woman who sells it to me says it comes from a place called Madagascar."

"More, please. This is barely enough to cover a hangnail."

Royston's chest swelled, and he poured oil onto Sullivan's middle fingers with increased generosity. Capped the vial and tossed it onto the bed for later. Sullivan used his dry hand to tuck the curls behind his lover's ears. Wanting watched him. Royston spread his legs and arched his back, waiting, and Sullivan did not keep him there. He reached behind his lover to anoint him.

A soft and involuntary gasp left Royston's throat and drove a shiver through Sullivan. He wanted to hear it again. Tried to reproduce it, gentle as Royston would let him be. Royston's body opened for him, and he moaned, a hot sharp line carved from where they joined to his throat, as he slid his strapped right calf up the back of Sullivan's leg. Invited him deeper, past a tight band of muscle whose acceptance made them both gasp.

Sullivan caught the traipsing knee and encouraged it up his side.

"Aren't you going to disarm me?" Royston asked Sullivan's jaw.

"Do you wish to be disarmed?"

"Not afraid I'll stab you?"

"Accidentally, or on purpose?"

Though neither of them had touched the muscle at the base of Royston's belly, it had wedged itself between them to nudge Sullivan's navel, adamantine and slick from his ministrations. Royston's arms around his shoulders were taut. His breaths pulsed.

Of course he didn't want to take his knives off. Someone had tried to kill him not three months earlier, and then Sullivan had disappeared. He had left him alone in a town where he was not safe, with only the promise that he might return at the end of a long military campaign to sustain him. Royston had had nothing to hold onto but letters from a man he barely knew, and could not respond other than through an intermediary. He had been vulnerable long before they undressed each other.

"I don't think you've any desire to harm me, Arthur. I think you've been harmed, and I imagine that would make it difficult for you to trust that I won't harm you. I should tell you I am fond of you, and I have no intention of harming you, though I am afraid I would be rather cross, were you to purposefully poke me with a knife whilst I'm... making love to you."

Teetering, Royston sighed, "Oh, you."

Gentle, Royston reached down to retrieve Sullivan's hand and bring the glistening knuckles to his lips to kiss. Whiskers scratched the back of Sullivan's hand, and Sullivan was the one who shivered as Royston reached between them to take him in hand. Royston grinned when Sullivan groaned, and pressed another, sweeter, kiss against his cheek. Rested his forehead against Sullivan's temple as he covered him in the fragrant oil, in his precise hand. As he guided Sullivan where they needed him to be.

And he breathed, and he breathed, and he accepted him.

Never in Sullivan's life had he exercised such reverence when entering a sacred place. Forehead to forehead, centimeter by centimeter, he disappeared into the man he had chosen, in awe of him and what his body could do, of how vulnerable and human he was, if only for a few seconds. If only for a few seconds, Sullivan thought his lover would give himself over to pleasure, stay in this moment with him.

The man Sullivan had chosen was reckless. Each tick of the second hand insulted him. He lost patience with Sullivan's patience and braced himself on Sullivan's shoulders. Locked his calf around his lower back and sheathed him, far too fast.

It hurt, or at least caused him discomfort, and he would not say so, beyond a soft grunt he tried to swallow, that Sullivan heard because he was listening for every tiny sound he made. Sullivan would not enjoy the constrictive warmth Royston had drawn him into because he felt him flinch, felt his eyes close, felt his breath seize.

This was the manner of men Royston had passed time with. They did not care if they hurt each other. They did not even notice, he would have been willing to bet. It would have been over with soon enough. Royston was waiting for it to be over, now that Sullivan was inside him. That's what he was expecting to happen, regardless of how sweet they were on each other, because that was what had always happened. Because neither of them were young, and they did not have the rest of their lives ahead of them to recover from heartbreak and betrayal. They were both of them knitted with scars by the time they found each other.

Sullivan refused to add another scar to the litany on his man's heart. He would have rather walked away from him than ever be the reason he was unhappy.

Until he breathed again, Sullivan touched Royston's face, watched the tension ease where his fingers smoothed, and they did not move. Until he opened his eyes again, Sullivan kissed his forehead, his brow, his temple, all the muscles that were frowning, watched him turn towards the attention, and they did not move.

Until his lover returned to his body, Sullivan waited. They did not move.

"Sullivan?" he asked, dazed, as if waking from reality into a dream.

"Cole," Sullivan answered, unthinking.

"What's that, angel?"

"My first name's Cole. I just realized I never told you."

"... Cole Sullivan." The way Royston looked at him at he caressed his face, Sullivan was fool enough to believe he was as spellbound as he sounded. "Oh, you did make me work for that, didn't you..."

"This is work for you?"

Royston laughed, breathless, uncomfortable.

"That's not what I meant and you damn well know it. Don't stop, Cole, please..."

Before continuing on, Sullivan assessed the situation. Read the shaking in Royston's leg, he was bracing his weight so he would not have to rely on his partner. Royston didn't trust anyone. He was trying to trust Sullivan. He'd had hopes for how tonight was going to go, himself. He'd thought things would be different because he thought Sullivan was different.

Sullivan's dumb heart melted.

"Arthur," he said, "I recognize I have given you no reason to trust me—"

Royston's calf tightened around his waist, trapping him.

"That is not true," he said.

"—and that you may have trusted other men before, and that they may have violated that trust—"

Royston was panting, and gripping Sullivan with that deep muscle, threatening to cut off Sullivan's ability to form coherent sentences, but he did not interrupt again.

"—but all I want to do is love you. That's all. I don't want anything from you. If you decide you would prefer to… to be inside of me, later… even if you change your mind before we've finished, I… I do not have much experience in that area, but I am… willing to learn, if you will teach me, and I expect you to tell me to stop, if—"

"You have stopped," Royston laughed.

"Slowing ain't stopping," he said, and took gentle hold behind his man's trembling knee. Guided the leg to join the other around his waist. Royston scrabbled for purchase, tightened his arms around his shoulders, fingers hooked into the edges of the blades. Uncertain. "I don't like how you're shaking. You're the one in charge right now, Arthur. Not me. All I'm doin' is holdin' you, and I ain't gonna drop you."

They were on a precipice together. Sullivan gave him a moment to acclimate, let him set his teeth into his skin and run his hands over his back, inspect the muscles, accept that Sullivan was telling the truth. That he could bear his insignificant weight. That he would not hurt him, not tonight, not unless he asked him to. That he did not intend to let go of him, now that he had him in his arms.

Royston laughed. Relief flowed through their bones.

"Oh," he said, and laughed again, and buried his face in Sullivan's hair. "Oh, I can't believe I forgot how strong you are…"

"Tell me what you need."

Sullivan breathed him in. Breathed their heartbeats into synchrony. Held his lover's sit-bones in his hands, marveling at how they fit, how perfect they felt in his palms. Like this was meant to happen.

"Tell me what you need, and I'll do it, Arthur. Anything."

Resuscitated, Royston tightened his legs around Sullivan's waist and settled into his arms. Able to trust that he was safe, for the first time in his life. The moan that came up out of him sounded like a herald as he relaxed where he needed to relax.

"Oh, Cole," Royston breathed in Sullivan's ear, a proclamation just for him, not for anyone else, "you belong in armor."

Something had changed. Royston had changed, before they ever met.. This had never happened in any other world, and it would never happen again. Everything had changed, already.

Royston rolled his hips, and moaned deep in his throat, and Sullivan moved to keep time with him. They were meant to happen. They were perfect.

"Oh, that's good. Oh, Cole, that's so good. Faster. You can go faster. Yesyesyes just like that. Harder. Hard—yes! Oh you're good you're so good Cole thank you..."

Sullivan claimed Royston's beautiful mouth, savored the laugh that bubbled up in his beautiful throat, the faint taste of cloves on those beautiful lips. As they worked themselves together their bodies learned each other's language and their lungs fed each other air and Royston kept his eyes open, watching. Saw the question and grinned and ran his tongue up the side of Sullivan's face. This wild man's roots were growing into his soil. He welcomed them. He welcomed him.

Then Sullivan saw the nothing folks claimed to see. None of them had ever been this close and the ones who had had not been worth a damn. He was in the man's arms, in him, and he saw the night sky when he looked in his eyes. He saw creation and destruction. He could not see how it could be possible to be this close and want to hurt him instead of protect him, how anyone could ever be this close and not love him.

I can love him, he decided. I can love a man who looks at me the way he does even if he can't love me back.

Something in Sullivan's eyes whispered to Royston. He watched the revelation dilate his pupils. Fingernails raked and heels dug and Royston spurred him to flex muscles he had not flexed in so long they burned. Gentle pressure kept Royston's back against the wall, their lower halves aligned, so Sullivan would not crack his man's skull against the wall every time he buried himself in him.

Inarticulate, Royston grabbed a handful of his lover's hair and set his teeth into his flesh and trembled with the effort of not. His breathing a plea. He was holding himself back.

"I'm gonna if you do," Sullivan told him.

No more he and him, then. They took each other with them when they came.

Whether he wanted it to or not, Royston's throat sang out in praise of what they had done. He curled around Sullivan and locked him in place and cried out as they absorbed each other. Buried the sound in Sullivan's shoulder, loud enough that everyone in the building would have heard if he had thrown his head back rather than letting it be just for them.

And in the after, as they were clung to each other damp and spent and pulling for air, he returned his feet to the floor. His turn to take his lover's weight. He was ready. Sullivan collapsed against him and let his breath go. He'd catch it later.

"Good Lord, Arthur…"

"You," Royston sighed. Cupped Sullivan's face in his hands, eyes gleaming. Humor glistening on both their sternums. "Oh, there has never been anyone like you and I dare say there never shall be again." He kissed him. "You're mine." He kissed him. "I'm keeping you." He kissed him. "I'm keeping you forever."

Royston could have stabbed him then and Sullivan would not have seen it coming.

A realization came to him, late. Royston's hands had stayed clutched to his shoulders the entire time. One was in his hair now. He had not reached for a knife as he fucked, or as he came. He had only reached for Sullivan.

"You're mine," Sullivan mumbled, and burrowed deeper into his arms.

"That's right. I'm out of circulation. I'm done for. I've been yours since day one."

This must be why they called it falling in love. Now that he had hit the ground, Sullivan wanted to stay where he was, broken and dumb and warm. He couldn't move. He didn't want to.

Royston sought Sullivan's gaze, and earned it.

"Welcome home, angel."

Sweat cooled their skin as the dry Kansas air took it, and though they shivered, they kept each other warm. Neither moved except to hold the other tighter. His heart beat against his man's chest, and it beat, and it beat, and it beat.

#doom metal love story #rewritten scenes #smut but make it 19th century and weird #this was the “let me say everything i wanted to say last time and couldn't” loop ig sullivan talks so much lol

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blood-mocha-latte · 6 months

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paper, kneel, garrulous, bashful, impinge - a baberoe drabble

for an ask from @whollyjoly <3 || request an edit/drabble || sometimes, you just think of the church scene in the breaking point episode of band of brothers and think hm, baberoe

The choir stops singing after about two hours.

Gene listens closely the entire time, not so much to listen to the sound of the melody but for the words; for any trace of his Grandmére, his Mére, Renée. For the language of home.

They sing, and they sing, and then they stop; filing out of the church to rest in the ruins of their town, marred by war like a victim of smallpox is scars.

A young girl, the last one to file out of the large, wood-chipped doors of the candlelit church, turns to look over her shoulder at them, one last time. A blonde braid swings over her shoulder as she does. Gene accidentally catches her eye and nods to her. She nods back, face solemn, eyes dark. She can’t be more than twelve.

The echoing singing is replaced by the soft murmurs of exhausted men, and Gene slides down the wooden pew, over to where Lip sits, slouched over, blood still crusted in his hair and brow.

“Sir.” He greets softly, and Lip jolts, only slightly. It makes Gene almost relax, slightly; the idea that the man who’s been with them for the longest and the bravest finally feels safe enough to let his guard down.

He looks up from a piece of paper, a stubby pencil held in one hand, and Gene nods, tangling his fingers together in front of them, a long-forged habit of warmth that isn’t exactly needed, anymore. Lip nods back.

“Doc.” He says. “How’s…” He somewhat trails off, eyes shifting to take in the men, lounging across pews, sleeping on each other's shoulders. He huffs, looks back down at the paper, and crumples it up before shoving it into his pocket. “Well, how’s everyone? How’re you?”

“Just fine.” Gene says, and doesn’t feel like elaborating. He nods to the pocket. “What’re you workin’ on?”

Lip blinks before humming, dropping the hand holding the pencil into his lap, staring down at it. “Nothin’ much.” He mutters, thoughtful. “Just… just a list. I made one for Captain Speirs, but.” He rolls the pencil across his palm. “I figured I’d make another.”

Gene watches his profile, wonders if he should bother patching up the cut that runs jagged across his temple and decides against it. It won’t need stitches, anyways, and he can always clean and bandage it in the four or five hours they have before they have to move out.

He can do that, now. Procrastinate. Not much, but enough. Enough to be comforted by it.

“Try an’ get some rest, Sir.” Gene murmurs, and slides as quietly as he can out of the pew and down the polished, wooden steps. Lipton hums, and Gene knows that he didn’t really hear him.

He wanders rather aimlessly, after that, pacing the lengths of the pews only once before coming to a stop at the end opposite Lip. He leans against the short wall that supports the stairs.

He should be exhausted, he doesn’t know why he isn’t. He’s just… warm, chest soft with a relief that’s tainted by apprehension. Sore and aching, but not caring. He never truly cared about that, anyways. Not when it’s him, that’s sore and aching.

“Heya, Doc.” Says a soft voice, and Gene knows who it is before he turns around to look.

“Edward.” He says, and feels the side of his traitorous mouth quirk up when Heffron groans, overexaggerated but still exhausted.

“Awe, you’re killin’ me, Gene.” He says, and Gene huffs, quiet enough that Heffron can’t hear, and turns around, resting against the wall. Heffron rests against the pew, slouching backwards, knees spread. His grin is crooked, bright. “Patch me up, and then kill me anyways. That’s just cruel.”

Gene, against his better judgment, doesn’t tamp down the smile Heffron’s words invoke. He trods up the few steps to the pew Heffron rests at quietly. He doesn’t bother sitting at the pews, already crowded by men laying on them like beds, by men who need them more than he.

He kneels next to Heffron, instead, before leaning against the pew and crossing his legs under him. “Yeah, well.” He says softly, and doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t know where to go, from there. What to say. Heffron hums, like he does.

“Ya know, back in Philly, my sister got all these fancy ass books. Ass-tin, or somethin’. Jane. ‘Ya know?” Gene hums. He leans his head back against the wood of the pew, lets the light of the candles comfort him. Heffron shifts, as if leaning closer to him as he continues. “Well, it was only… maybe a week, before I enlisted? And I was ramblin’ about… somethin’ stupid. I don’t remember what. But it was pissin’ my sister right the fuck off, see, ‘cause I kept talkin’ over her.”

Gene huffs, and resists the urge to close his eyes. He can imagine that. Can imagine Heffron with a sister, with a family. Talking a mile a minute, so fast and with accents so thick that Gene wouldn’t be able to tell what in the hell any of them are saying. Heffron shifts again, and Gene can hear his breathing, soft and steady, if a bit rapid.

“Anyways, you know what she called me? This one foot nothin’, eleven year old kid?” Heffron didn’t wait for Gene to respond. “She called me garrulous.” Heffron puts strain on the word, and laughs softly afterwards; that same laugh that Spina has. That Bill had, when he was here. It has to be a Philadelphian thing, Gene thinks. The soft, cackling laugh like your mouth is coming right off your face.

“Garrulous.” Gene says, trying the word out. He doesn’t know what it means, exactly, but it seems nice. Heffron chuckles again, and Gene doesn’t jump when the back of his hand brushes across the shell of his ear, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of Gene’s jacket.

“That’s how you said my name.” He says, softly. More hesitant than anything he’s said before. Almost bashful. “The first time. That’s how you said it. All… all slow.” Gene blinks, and, finally, gives into the urge to close his eyes. He almost leans further into the hand, but stops at the last second.

“Slow?” He asks, and Babe hums, tapping light fingers against his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He says, then pauses. “Like… like you’re tasting what you say. Really thinkin’ about it.”

I don’t think. Gene thinks. I just run. And move. And find. And—

“‘S one of my favorite things about you.” Babe says, voice so quiet it’s like he’s telling a terrible secret. Gene wants to curl against that voice, never wants to open his eyes again.

They’re in a church, under the benevolent eyes of Him, and although that never stopped anything from happening before, Gene feels like it would, this time. The soft tapping, five points of near-holy connection between him and Heffron, Edward, Babe, seems to say something.

Seems to say, it’s gonna be fine, eventually. Seems to say, the scars you dream of won’t haunt you’re waking moments, sometime soon. Seems to say, don’t let the bright stars and dark night be ruined by the sinful impingement of blood.

Gene likes to think that he can feel Babe’s rough fingertips gently against the bare column of his throat, across his temple before he drifts off; lightly but more restful than almost all of his time in France.

He’ll get up, soon. Probably in an hour or two. Keep a careful eye on the men. On Babe.

(Babe, Babe, Babe—)

For now, he lets himself rest on holy ground, with a near-holy man talking softly over the absent echoing of lost screams in his head.

#rie writes #click on words for definitions ;)#also once again two hours earlier! i'm so good with clocks #UGH i loved writing this #it's not as fluffy and domestic as i was gunning for!! i hope that's okay lmao #baberoe #eugene roe #doc roe #babe heffron #carwood lipton #<- i mean he's in it #band of brothers #hbo war

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littlekatleaf · 1 year

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To love what is lovely, and will not last

I come, after a long absence, with Sandman fic. Not exactly what I'd planned, but I've been fiddling with it for so long and everything else has been blocked behind it.... It's almost 3am and I'm calling it done.

To stop time when something wonderful has touched us as with a match which is lit, and bright, but does not hurt in the common way, but delightfully ~ Mary Oliver, “Snow Geese”

Hob’s alarm beeps insistently, dragging him from the ocean of sleep and washing him onto the shore of waking - blinking, bleary. He grabs for the phone to silence it. Not even out of bed when his thoughts turn to the day’s tasks - marking long overdue, final edits of a journal article and likely several desperate calls from students wanting to earn extra credit. At least he has the solstice party after, as a treat.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts. “Time is it,” he mumbles into the pillow, voice rough, sleep-worn.

“Half six,” Hob says, tugging a shirt over his head. “Gotta get to work.”

“Are you mad? It’s only been three hours.”

As though the words remind his body, Hob yawns, then coughs into his sleeve. “Two hours too long. I’ve got at least three days’ work to pack in before the party.”

Morpheus peers at him. Frowns. “You’re still recovering from your illness. Come back to bed.”

“Don’t fuss; I’m much improved. Nowhere near my death.” Hob pokes him in the ribs, gently. Morpheus obliges with a sound that bears passing resemblance to a chuckle. “Besides the Dean’ll have my job, tenure or no, if I don’t get marks in today.” Hob forces himself to stand before the softness of the sheets and the warmth of Morpheus’s body pull him back. He more than half expects Morpheus to reach for him, attempt to draw him down.

Instead, Morpheus stares rather blankly for a long minute then abruptly turns his back, burrowing deeper into the quilts. Hob sighs. Deeply. He wishes he could say fuck it all and join him, but the fresher flu set him back significantly. No matter what he’d rather, procrastination is right out. Blasted responsibilities.

He consumes an entire pot of coffee which somehow manages to make him edgy without ridding him of tiredness. Cheek propped on fist, he works his way through the stack of final essays and take-home exams and doesn’t allow himself to move from his desk until midday. As he wanders into the kitchen, still trying to decide whether the last student really makes the argument he’s attempting, Hob catches a trailing melody from Morpheus’s studio, the echo of a beat. Something electronic - Paul Van Dyk, maybe? - better for a rave than a Saturday noon, but it’s what Morpheus prefers when he’s painting. Hob smiles; at least one of them is having fun. He pictures Morpheus in his usual pose - scowling at the canvas like it’s personally insulted him, one paintbrush in his hand, another tucked behind his ear, hair wild and paint spattered.

Hob goes to put his mug into the dishwasher, but finds it still full of clean dishes. Sighing, he adds it to a pile of dirty plates, glasses, and another mug that’s sticky with honey and redolent of mint and chamomile. He frowns. Unusual - Morpheus drinking tea, but Hob supposes the flat is chilly. Luckily the stack doesn’t overbalance and he promises himself he’ll take care of it after the party. Stomach rumbling, he opens the refrigerator to see what leftovers might still be edible and discovers, miracle of all miracles, a sandwich so freshly made the lettuce hasn’t yet wilted. It’s his favorite - brie and green apple - and he instantly forgives Morpheus ignoring the washing up as he takes a huge bite. With fortification, he might just make it to the end of the day.

Finally the third frantic student call is patiently attended to, the last of the marks are uploaded to the university system, the email to his editor is sent into the ether, and Hob feels distinctly lighter. He clatters down stairs to find final party preparations in full swing. Gabriel’s directing Morpheus in proper placement of furniture and decorations, Mako’s checking the sound system for Geordie’s band, and Jamie’s setting up the bar. After two decades of parties, none of them need his instruction, and even his practiced eye can’t find anything out of place. He expects no less, and yet the pride in what they’ve built brings a warmth to his chest. Nothing like mulled wine, holiday songs, good food and friends to pass the longest night and welcome the sun’s return at dawn.

Hob watches as Morpheus, balancing rather precariously on the edge of a chair across the room, attempts to drape a pine garland over the doorway. As he stretches to get the angle just right, his shirt slides up, exposing a pale strip of skin, stark against the black of his jeans. Hob imagines brushing his fingertips over that expanse, making Morpheus shiver under his touch. Suddenly Morpheus flinches, sharp. The chair tips, but he manages to catch himself at the last moment, dropping lightly to the floor.

“All right?” Hob asks, surprised at the unusual lapse of grace.

Morpheus nods as he passes, heading for the stairs. He doesn’t meet Hob’s gaze.

Hob turns to follow, but his phone rings. Jilly’s car’s broken down, can someone give her a ride? Never one to look askance at a fortunate turn of events, he gives her Geordie’s number. There’s plenty of room in the band’s van, they’re coming from the same end of town - and if Geordie has been looking for an excuse to talk to her for weeks, well that’s just a lucky coincidence.

“Meddling, are we?” Jamie laughs at Hob’s guilty startle.

He pulls an affronted expression. “I’d never. Nudge, maybe. Hint. A bit. Never meddle.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow.

Mako tosses a towel at him. “Get back to work and quit giving him shit. After all, worked with us, didn’t it?”

“Maybe.” But the hint of a smile curls Jamie’s lips and he follows Mako’s orders. “Better get yourself presentable, boss. You know Lena and Emily are gonna be here any minute.”

Hob looks down, realizing he hasn’t yet changed out of his ancient sweatshirt, then over at the clock above the bar. “Bollocks. Is it possible to be late to your own party?” “For you? Absolutely.”

“Remind me again why I hired you?”

“Because I make the filthiest martinis.” Jamie grins wolfishly as he tips gin and vermouth into a shaker.

Mako rolls his eyes. “Filthy something anyway.”

“Pot, kettle.”

Their good-natured bickering follows Hob upstairs where he finds Morpheus in his favorite spot, curled on the window seat. Party or no, he’s wearing his usual grey t-shirt and black jeans. In defiance of the season, his feet are bare.

“It is beginning to snow,” Morpheus says, not looking away from the gathering dusk where fat flakes of snow are, indeed, swirling down and dusting the grass and trees.

Hob considers whether suggesting Morpheus put on something warmer would make him sound like a nagging mum. Probably would do. “It’s said to bring luck, if the first snowfall of the year happens on the solstice,” he says instead, forcing himself to pay attention to the puzzle of his own attire. He needs something appropriate to the party, but comfortable.

“Might the weather keep your friends from attending the festivities?” Morpheus’s expression is unreadable in the blurry reflection of the window, but the wistfulness of his tone is clear and it takes Hob aback. While Morpheus hasn’t whinged about the annual solstice gathering, and has, point of fact, encouraged Hob to continue the tradition, he has also tended to be solitary since he … retired. Hob hadn’t imagined he would be looking forward to a gathering, no matter the occasion.

“Not likely. The heavy snow isn’t supposed to come until later tomorrow, and it takes more than a few centimeters to make Lena miss a party. There’ll be plenty of time for people to sober up in the morning and make their way home before the storm really hits.” He doesn’t acknowledge that Morpheus has named them Hob’s friends, as though they are not Morpheus’s as well, but he notes the fact.

“Good. I-I’ve never-” Morpheus’s voice catches on a hitching breath and he curls into himself, pinching a set of sneezes into silence. It takes him a second to recover. “Bless you. Never…?” Hob prompts, when he seems to be lost in thought.

Morpheus blinks back to himself. “N-never -” He sniffles, presses a curled finger under his nose, rubs gently. “- been to a party.” He manages to finish in a rush, then crumples again. “Httnxxt! N’xxt! Hih-N’xxtch!” He shivers, gooseflesh rising along his arms.

“Bless you. All right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just. A passing chill.”

Unable to resist, Hob pulls a flannel shirt from his wardrobe and holds it out. “I know, I know. It’s got long sleeves and color and everything. But as you may have heard, the weather outside is frightful and this will keep you warm.”

Morpheus heaves a long suffering sigh, then slides the shirt on anyway. The blue is almost exactly the same shade as his eyes, rich and deep as the Aegean Sea.

“I find it extremely hard to believe that the King of All Night’s Dreaming has never gone to a party,” Hob says. He finally decides on his most ridiculous ugly Christmas jumper - bright red, covered with black cats in Santa hats - a gift from an American student years ago.

Morpheus glares at him through watery eyes. “Not one I wished to attend.”

“Not even in the Fey realms?”

“You will not tempt me to speak a word against the Fey,” Morpheus says archly, then sniffles again, marring the hauteur.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Morpheus nods, but his focus has shifted. “I am…” He’s interrupted by a sneeze, then a second and third tumble after, harsh even muffled in his sleeve. “Ht’Isshuh! Hih-Issshh-isshue!” He takes the tissue Hob offers. “I am, perhaps, coming down with something,” he admits ruefully.

“Perhaps,” Hob echoes, teasing. “A foregone conclusion, considering my state these last days.” He digs through the bottom of the wardrobe. He’s sure there’s a belt in there somewhere. And at least one matching pair of socks.

“I’m sorry. I had been. Hoping. To attend a party simply as a guest. And to better acquaint myself with those who are important to you.” Morpheus clears his throat, then coughs.

Hob pauses and looks up from his search, startled. “You’re sorry,” he asks, the apology the first thing his brain latches on to. Rare, even now, for Morpheus to apologize for a small matter.

Morpheus shrugs, gaze turned out the window again. “I’ve been telling myself I am not ill, but I can no longer deny it. Promise you’ll tell me stories of the night come morning?”

“Are you feeling that badly? To miss it?” Though Hob had spent a day in bed himself, that was mostly at Morpheus’s insistence. He’d barely had a fever and was fine to muddle through. But Morpheus had badgered him into resting after the intensity of the semester, playing into his own procrastination tendencies too well.

He brushes a hand over Morpheus’s forehead, then his cheeks. He’s still cool to the touch, though now that Hob’s slowed down enough to pay attention, he notices the shadows pooled under blue eyes, the slight pinch between brows that indicates headache, visible even in the window reflection, remembers the tea mug, the morning distance. Morpheus must have realized he was getting sick even then and hoped to stave it off.

“I don’t wish anyone else to catch this.”

“Just don’t snog other people and they won’t.”

Morpheus finally turns to face him and glowers. “I would never.”

“I know you wouldn’t. Come on, duck.” Hob shifts, leaning Dream against his side and carding gentle fingers through his ever-messy hair. “Everyone else has already had the crud. Even Jamie, and he never gets sick.”

“Truly?” Morpheus sighs, hope warring with suspicion in his voice.

Hob does his best impression of innocence. “Would I lie to you?” “Without a doubt, if it gets you what you want.”

“What I want is you. It really is okay.” He leans down, presses a kiss to Morpheus’s temple. “And Mei isn’t coming, thank all that’s holy. She’s the only one who might be bothered.” “You dislike her.” Morpheus says slowly, as though he’s piecing together a puzzle. “It cannot be simply her subject.” Hob shakes his head. “I could forgive her teaching Shakespeare. I could even forgive her enjoying it. But she was unkind to you.” More than once, he doesn’t add.

“A minor incident,” Morpheus argues, but a faint flush colors his cheeks and when they join the party, he stays close to Hob’s side far longer than usual before retreating to a chair in an out of the way corner, beside the hearth.

With ease born of long practice, Hob threads his way through the pub, greeting the guests and chatting easily with each, while keeping a sliver of his focus on Morpheus. At first he sits alone, an island in the flow of the crowd. To the untrained eye, he seems distant, uninterested, his face impassive, body carefully rigid. Behind the mask, Hob knows, Morpheus is following the currents of conversations surrounding him. Technically no longer Prince of Stories, they still seem to nourish him.

Hob is all the way across the pub when he catches sight of Lena and Emily pulling chairs up to join Morpheus. Lena’s got a look in her eye that bodes ill for Hob - she knows too many embarrassing stories and never hesitates to share. Before he can intercept them, he’s pulled into a heated debate over whether Irish whiskey or Scotch is superior. By the time he manages to extricate himself, it’s clear that they’ve made themselves comfortable. Not surprising, but what does surprise him is that Morpheus actually seems to be equally comfortable with them. For the first time his body is at ease as he listens intently to something Lena’s saying.

“And that’s why he isn’t allowed to… Oh, oops,” she interrupts herself as Hob comes in earshot, but she doesn’t look even the slightest bit embarrassed.

“Hello Hob.” A hint of mirth quirks Morpheus’s lips.

Hob directs an exaggerated frown at Lena. “You’d better not be telling him about the pub in Dublin.”

“She wasn’t, but now she must,” Morpheus says, his voice little more than a rasp. His breath catches. Stutters. “Ex-excuse me,” he manages to say, turning away hastily. “Hih…ht’Issh! Issh! Hih-Isssh!”

Lena and Emily chorus blessings and Hob bites his tongue on the urge to ask how he’s feeling; he’d just brush off Hob’s concern, say it’s nothing. An oily feeling of disquiet curls into Hob’s belly anyway. He tells himself firmly to ignore it. “Dammit, Lena, that means I’ll have to tell him about what got us banished from Trinity’s library and I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

“The night is young,” Lena says. ”Go get yourself another drink. It’s time for your boyfriend to get to know the real you.”

Morpheus catches his gaze. “I could use a drink as well.”

Hob tosses up his hands in defeat. “All right, all right. Just leave me with a scrap of reputation, yeah?”

“I make no promises,” Lena says and her grin is wicked. Even as he walks away, Hob is certain he hears Morpheus chuckling under his breath.

“Good turnout,” Jamie says when Hob joins him behind the bar. He’s right - somewhere above fifty people, professors and students mingling with a few of the pub’s regulars. Someone’s pushed tables aside and a few brave (and inebriated) souls are dancing. Others play cards or darts, and he’s pretty sure he can make out a couple snogging in a darker corner. There’s plenty of food, the plates and cutlery seem well stocked, the music isn’t loud enough to keep people from talking. Everything is in order. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. But maybe he should make another circuit of the pub, just to be certain…

“Gabriel’s got it under control, boss. And if anyone starts anything, Mako will handle it. Take the night off for once.”

Hob winces. “Am I that obvious?”

“Let’s just say best you avoid the poker table. Or, actually, fancy a game?”

“Sod off; you’re on duty,” Hob says, laughing.

“And so’s Gabe. Enjoy the party. The company.” He looks meaningfully toward the little group by the hearth.

“I will. I am.” It’s true, he realizes. Emily leans forward, gesturing emphatically, managing to interrupt Lena and take the story over herself. Not upset in the least, Lena’s expression is a little proud of her girlfriend’s audacity, and more than a little fond. Morpheus presses a hand over his mouth as he laughs, but even muffled, the abrupt wounded goose honk of it startles both Lena and Emily into giggles as well. His eyes shine, simply reflected firelight. No longer magic and yet… still his Stranger. Once lost, now found. His Friend, who has known him over so many long years, and who he is finally getting to know as well.

Morpheus straightens, moves slightly away from the others. Hob wonders if he’s offended - or hurt - by their reaction. But then he grabs a napkin from the table and his laughter disintegrates into coughing.

“Poor bloke’s been sick a lot this winter. Better take one of these for him,” Jamie says, handing Hob two steaming mugs of mulled wine. “Tell him feel better soon, yeah?”

“Thanks. I’ll tell him.” Hob forces himself to smile, but the uncomfortable disquiet has returned. He hadn’t paid close attention, but now that Jamie’s pointed it out, he can’t ignore it. Morpheus has been ill on and off since the beginning of the school year. There are a thousand reasons for it - everyone gets sick with new germs and uni is a veritable petri dish; Morpheus hasn’t even had a body for that long, of course it would be vulnerable. But what if it’s worse? He blinks and in the darkness a flash of a body laid out on marble, covered with a sheer cloth and yet he knows who it was… he knows.

“There’s mulled wine? And you didn’t bring us any? Rude,” Lena says.

“Sorry, only two hands,” Hob hands one to Morpheus, then takes a deep drink of his own.

“Oh, I love this song - dance?” Emily asks as Geordie and the band begin a reel. To Hob’s relief Lena agrees. She takes Emily’s arm and they whirl into the knot of dancers. Morpheus watches them go, still smiling - but the light of the fire casts the angles of his face into strange, deep shadows and Hob drinks again.

“Robert.” Though it’s still rough, Morpheus’s voice is somewhat stronger. There’s a question in it that Hob doesn’t want to answer.

He keeps his eyes on his mug. “Jamie says he hopes you feel better soon.”

“Hob.”

“Do you want to dance, too? I’m not great, but once I finish this drink…” he takes another, longer swallow. “Enough,” Morpheus says, the command no less forceful for coming through a human throat.

Hob finally looks down to find Morpheus gazing up at him with eyes that no longer swirl with endless constellations, but are still deeper than Hob can fathom. He releases the mug and Morpheus takes his hand, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the inside of Hob’s wrist.

“What has disturbed you?”

“I… The longest night is not long enough.”

“No?”

Hob shakes his head. He always wants more time.

Morpheus draws him down, puts an arm around him, rests his head on Hob’s shoulder. “I believe it is true - the first snowfall on Yule is indeed fortunate.”

“Why,” Hob asks into his hair.

“Because I have good drink. Good music. Good friends. And you. It is enough.” He presses his lips to Hob’s wrist and warmth flows through the contact, through Hob’s whole body until it feels like he glows bright as the flames.

“I suppose it is.”

#snezfic #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic #D/reamling

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a-soft-creature · 9 months

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Editing these is taking an eternity, I'm chuckling at how time-consuming it is. Deadline is creeping up way too fast. I worry the end product might resemble what I managed to scrape together, rather than my grand vision. How foolish of me to procrastinate so much on the editing!

#twitimage

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 10 months

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WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @winterandwords to uh... talk about a WIP I guess? :D

I'll pass on this tag toooo... @starlit-hopes-and-dreams (as always <3) but I'm not sure who else, so if you feel like talking about a WIP, consider this an open tag.

Oh boy, which to pick. There are currently only 2 projects where the P in WIP actually stands for "progress" (for the others it stands for "procrastination".)

I think I'm gonna pick Till Death. It is the one I am currently obsessed with, and the only one I am writing, not editing.

Here's the blurb:

Finnian is a wandering healer down on his luck. When one of his patients dies, the village turns against him, beating him half to death and leaving him for thirst and scavengers to finish what they started.

Eilis lives deep in the forest, hiding from the world. When she finds him, impaled on a tree and barely alive, she can‘t leave him to his fate, even if it means upending the peaceful life she has built for herself.

As Finnian slowly recovers, days filled with quiet companionship make the prospect of him staying less daunting than either of them had expected. But he carries too many scars, and Eilis too many secrets, threatening to destroy their fragile relationship as the shadows of the past draw closer. When everything falls apart, will they save each other, or will the price be too high?

You see, in April I finished the last chapter of all my ongoing stories, which left me in a very weird mood. For 1,5 years I always had something to work on, and suddenly, there was nothing started. Sure, I had a few outlines, but nothing really called to me, with the added problem that for those, I have to figure out bullshit like politics. I needed something new. New chars I didn't know yet, a fresh story - and 🌟violence🌟 :)

I've been talking about wanting more gore with happy end, but sadly, existing OCs are so fragile, I can't even break all their bones without them dying 🙄 So it was time to fuck up another healer.

For a few weeks, I threw concepts against a wall like cooked spaghetti, grabbed whatever stuck, and then I just started. It's the first time in a year that I actually write a story without posting as I go. I can leave a little note "this sounds weird, fix later" or remember "shit, I forgot this injury" or change a name halfway in. I know. That's how a draft is supposed to work 😅

I'm at over 60k words, and it's looking good. There's a few 'first times' for me, a lot of things I love and a lot of things I am excited about. I have a rough outline of events still to happen that leaves me enough freedom to go wild. And wild I go; half of the scenes are gratuitous pain and suffering, and there will be more - but it's also a story of love and finding a place to belong. Which brings me to the next point:

I'm tired. Tired of feeling like I don't belong anywhere. Of having no genre and being "just whump" because it fits nowhere else. Of being "not enough whump" while still finding myself on every squick list.

So this one's written for a target audience of some very close friends - a target audience for which I don't have to write CWs at the top of each chapter, a target audience who doesn't grow bored at the first calm moment, a target audience who will call me a bitch while asking for more pain.

I love you, pocket friends 💜

Here's the start of the book (unedited, rip):

Finnian hated dealing with sick people.

Considering the fact that he earned his money with healing, that was rather unfortunate. If he didn’t want to starve to death, he had to grit his teeth and ignore the stench of sweat and blood while taking care of coughs and aches and fever.

Sometimes, he wished he had learned something else after it had become clear that this wasn’t the right profession for him. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, explaining to a grown ass woman that when he had told her to keep the wound clean, that included keeping the bandages away from dirty water. And that yes, it fucking hurt, because now it was infected, and if she didn’t plan on losing a finger or two, she’d better keep her hand dry and clean this time. And that perhaps, just perhaps, that was a bit more important than cleaning the windows.

Unfortunately, he had not learned anything else, so he left the house half an hour later with barely enough coins in his pocket to make up for the supplies he had used. Most roots and herbs he could gather himself, but bandages and tinctures didn’t grow on trees.

#salad-tag #WIP Wednesday #wip: till death #not in the best place lately can you tell #it's too warm i am ~stressed~#and between staff changes and uh general focus on this site #it's all just very discouraging

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dazzlerazz · 1 year

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One reason why I like ashez so much compared to asheleth is because that I could actually end the game with Ashe as male Shez but couldn’t as male Byleth. I already loved Ashe before the game dropped, had mountains of fanart for him in old sketchbooks, but the fact I COULD end the game with Ashe as a male player character just made it better for me in Hopes

Even if it was platonic, even if it was left up to the player to decide, I think I would have loves Houses a lot more had it done the same thing. One thing Hopes did right, and I’ll say it again, is not only allow the player to end the game with anybody as either gender, but also not make it romantic for those who didn’t want it to be

Of course Shez has their moments that could come off as romantic, but nothing is inherently romantic, it’s up to the people involved to decide whether an action is romantic or not. Like in Lysithea’s supports for example, she’s blushing more out of general embarrassment than actual romantic embarrassment, or the other way around if you want to interpret it that way

Ending the game with the same gender feels endorsed by the devs rather than something locked behind a wall like it was in Houses. I got so frustrated at the game because I as a guy could only actually marry one guy, and then just two with dlc (edit: two more added with dlc, my bad). I wanted to marry a bunch of the guys I got close to over the course of the game. I focused more on the guys as I played the game BECAUSE I couldn’t marry them as my chosen Byleth

In Hopes, that’s not a problem for me. I’m not marrying them right off the bat, I’m not spilling my gut feelings to them. I’m showing them I care, and I’ll be their friend. But it’s up to me to decide whether there’s something more behind that

I’ve said this before, but I hope Engage follows the path Three Hopes has taken. I’m not sure about games before Three Houses, since Houses was my introduction to the series as a whole, please add to this if it’s happened in the past!

And sorry for the rant lol. I should be cooking dinner right now but I want to procrastinate

#razz rambles #fire emblem #fire emblem three hopes #fire emblem warriors three hopes #fe3hopes #few3h #few3hopes #ashez #asheleth #m!asheleth #byleth eisner #m!byleth #shez #m!shez #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16

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johaerys-writes · 2 days

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Hi, I was wondering today how you stay motivated with writing? Like is there anything - you think - that you do that helps with getting the writing juices to flow? Does writing come easier for you at certain times and harder at other times?

Hello anon, your question has come at exactly the right time, i.e. when I'm really struggling with motivation and inspiration ngl 😅 Once again, life has been lifing very hard recently and I've been struggling to catch up with everything, let alone writing. I think that sometimes the best thing you can do is to let things take their course, if the words are absolutely not coming then you can't force them. Resting or doing something else until inspiration comes back is maybe what you need.

But if we're talking about general motivation and how to maintain momentum in order to finish a story, I'm afraid that I don't have any groundbreaking advice other than being consistent. So make writing part of your routine, even if it's a couple hundred words in a sitting. I regularly carve out time to write even when I'm not 100% feeling it, and sometimes that time is taken up by doing research (I will NOT call it procrastinating lmao), rearranging my playlist for the specific fic or just rereading what I've already written and making minor edits. But having this specific time every day or every few days that is dedicated to writing and writing-related things is much better for motivation than the random bout of inspiration that will make you write 5k words in a day. Those are few and far between in my experience.

As for getting the writing juices flowing when I've finally sat down and removed any other distractions: that usually differs from day to day. Most of the time listening to music, a specific song or playlist that I have associated with the story, really helps me get in the groove. For Twin Flames for instance I had the entire Blood Moon album by RY X on repeat, and I still associate it strongly with that world/story. For Disasters, I had a specific song for each chapter and that helped tremendously for getting into the right headspace. If music isn't your thing then maybe you're more of a visual type, so making moodboards on pinterest or somewhere else can really help (it can also be a huge timesuck though LOL so tread carefully). Something else I also do is reading the last chapter I've written and immersing myself into the world and the characters, and that often makes the transition into a new chapter easier.

Another thing that really motivates me is having those scenes in a story that I absolutely have to write, even if it takes me 50k to get to them lol. I think that's what usually pushes me forward especially with longer stories, having those scenes sprinkled out at various points in the story and also making sure that I have something to look forward to towards the end, so that I can make sure to finish them. (e.g. while I was writing the last chapter of Disasters, I made sure to have Patroclus fuck Achilles in a dress at the very end of the fic because it was my reward for getting myself through the absolute heartbreak that it was to finish it 😩 I'd been daydreaming about that scene for ages so I was willing to drag myself through all the rest just to make sure I got that in)

You also asked if writing comes easier to me some times rather than others, and I honestly don't think that I have a specific time of day I usually write. Basically I just write whenever I have time lol. If I have nothing else to do on that day I prefer to write in the evening when there are as few distractions as possible and it's when I'm most relaxed and ready to tackle whatever scene I have in mind. My favourite is when I have the day off and I know that I can write or think about my stories for as many hours as I want, even when I don't end up writing that many words. Writing while on the go (on the bus or the train) is what I've been doing for most of this year and the last because I have a super long daily commute, and I also used to love going to the coffee shop near my house to write, but lately I've been so burned out and struggling with sensory overload that it's been really hard to focus when there's noise or people around me even when I'm wearing headphones. So I basically live for the weekends when I can lock myself in my study and write in complete silence lol.

#on writing #writing advice #oh also i forgot to say that becoming entirely and unhealthily obsessed with a character or pairing and being able to think of nothing else #also helps #like i'm convinced i wouldn't have written a lot of what i've written had achilles not been yelling in my ear #or had patroclus not wanted to talk about achilles' hair pretty much every moment of every day

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student-in-nightraven · 1 year

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hii, could i rq a matchup with anyone from obey me, twst or kamisama kiss? ☆⌒ヽ(*'､^*)

im a bi girl, 5'3, intp-t 4w5 + aquarius, id say im some kind of ambiverted like 60% awkward-reserved-anti-social introvert and 40% chaotic, rambly, all over the place, once i start i dont stop extrovert?? depends on my mood i think (˘∀˘) for some random traits i'm erratic, eccentric, conscientious, creative, empathetic, unserious, sarcastic, not a team player and definitely come across as strange to literally anyone not used to me

hmmmm some hobbies i have are baking, writing, editing and arts + crafts (drawing, painting, making my own random stuff like candles, soap, stickers) - very practical very fun 🧝‍♀️ i also like gaming when i have time which is basically always bc im lazy and hate work, i leave everything last minute and procrastinate so much bc i and i'd rather be doing what i want instead of boring stuff 😒👎 it all ends up rushed and low effort unless im passionate abt it. probably why i'm also never on time but that's also bc i love sleeping

if i had to pick a label for whatever my style's supposed to be {bc i just dress in whatever looks good tbh} i'd say a hybrid of grunge and indie maybe💪😘 i take pride in my dress sense actually i think its gojus (μ_μ)

i have collections/mini collections of a couple things - plushies, crystals, stickers, bracelets and i keep anything and everything people might give me, i've done it as long as i can remember, like not even gifts just if someone gives me a rock or a piece of stationery or origami etc it'll be in my possession forever i'm too sentimental to get rid of anything, i have so much scattered everywhere it's unfunny 🧍‍♀️ i think my love languages are physical affection bc i love closeness altho im crap with emotional stuff but words of affirmation and mushy fluffy stuff can be pretty neat {even if it's embarrassing and awkward xox} + gifts bc i love buying myself stuff and receiving presents, i also like giving them but i feel like i'm spending too little or too much or compare it to what they give back to me and feel like it's not good enough or what they'd want bc i'm usually either too stingy or spend too much and think too much + feel bad when it feels like i don't give back to people as much as they give to me in any sense?? | (• -•)|

i love purple, literature, rock/pop/dance/techno music, space, halloween, history, things that smell nice/scented stuff, philosophy, nature, horror, psychology, fantasy, sweet/sour/salty foods, and animals {especially my bunnies ofc, my pride and joy <3} so im working towards becoming a vet bc im good w science and i'd definitely rather look after them than humans bc i am not a people person i'd fail miserably xox

i don't like ppl who are ignorant or inconsiderate bc they're annoying and punchable, my family, the ocean bc it's scary and doing embarrassing stuff which tbh is basically everything smh

anyways i tried to condense whatever i could think of LMAO but i cba to do anymore 💀💌 thank u!!

The Kamisama requests always make me happy:')

I match you with..

...Mizuki!

The most gentle and sweet lover in the whole world.

He matches you like CRAZY, soulmates real;

Loves being chaotic with you, getting caught up in shenanigans and being lovey dovey with you;

He just randomly snuggles up to you whether it's in his snake form or human form, if snake form let's out occasional cute bloops that you die for, he also does the cute snake yawn, he knows it's cute and he's doing it on PURPOSE;

I hc that mizuki is great at portraits and has painting sessions with you in which you 2 paint in peace and show eachother the piece;

You teach him how to properly bake so that he doesn't drop lizards in almost everything you bake-

"but-but it's for good luck:("

"Mizuki, no"

He encourages you not wanting to work and lazes off with you, if for no reason Tomoe comes over he annoyingly comments on how as your familiar mizuki shouldn't encourage this but who listens to him;

Spends mornings sleeping in with you, if you have to go to school he'll just transform into his snake form and accompany you there!

Loves your collection of crystals and other things, so he finds the most beautiful crystals just for you♡

Loves your bunnies and cradles them in his hands, your basically a family, your bunnies have a dad now;

So in all he's the perfect match for you, the most peaceful and loveable relationship ♡⁠˖

Thank you for the request dear annon! May you have a wonderful week<3

#x reader #matchups #mizuki x reader #kamisama kiss #kamisama kiss x reader #kamisama kiss mizuki #Kamisama kiss mizuki x reader #mizuki x reader kamisama kiss

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spookyserenades · 4 months

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I’m not much of a commenter (which is super hypocritical since receiving comments is my kryptonite lol), but I just felt like I needed to. I cannot describe how much I enjoy your work; I’m absolutely floored by the sheer word counts you dash out so consistently. Nothing ever feels choppy, and the scenes flow nicely into each other! Your funny moments are funny, your sad ones are crushing, and everything else in between is iconic.

I guess I was wondering just how you manage to stay so consistent? I write chapters that usually range between 13-17k myself, but I can’t seem to stick with a consistent updating schedule. How often do you write? Do you sit down daily and write just a little, or do you sit down occasionally but manage a few k each time?

Also, I cannot stress this enough how natural everyone’s relationship in Trouvaille is. I feel like it’s realistic that none of the boys would be immediately too keen with the mc but that they also wouldn’t stay distant forever? It felt special being able to gradually read about their developments, and I feel like once the mc gets with more of the boys eventually, it’ll be so rewarding? Idk, but I just cannot wait. The latest chapter ending scene with Jin has me so on edge; I can sense the angst from here—

Regardless, (and sorry for my rambling) I love your work!

—M

Hellooo love! I'm so happy to hear from you, thank you fro reading Trouvaille and sending me some love, I'm glad to have you here 🥺💕

Thank you for your sincere compliments, too 😭❤️ I haven't had someone mention the length of the chapters in a while-- they're big bois!! The last two chapters have been a bit shorter, but sometimes you say all that you need to without necessarily hitting the original wc estimate. I'm so happy to hear that the flow is smooth, and that you're enjoying the humorous moments (loveeee sneaking in things my mom have said before, her one-liners kill!) and I'm eeeeee you're too sweet thank you thank you 😭💕

As for consistency! I love this question, because I might have pulled the wool over your eyes. I started writing Trouvaille summer of 2022, and wrote up to Chapter 6 before I ever began posting on Tumblr. Between July 2022 - July 2023 I had chapters on "reserve" so really I'd just edit them before posting them.... Now, not so much the case. I write each chapter (since 8) each month, which admittedly can be a bit stressful, but it honestly forces me to write consistently and constantly. I think that can be a potentially good thing for writers who struggle to actually put pen to paper, having a "deadline" monthly, but every writer is different!

Additionally, I'm not the best person to ask about writing schedules,,, unfortunately I am a procrastinator so OFTEN I binge-write for hours on end. I recommend setting aside an hour or two a day to write if time allows you to do so, rather than type nonstop for 8 hours the day before an update LMAO!! I definitely want to become the writer that does bit by bit every day to cut down on the stress. I also want to say that once I stopped pressuring myself to make EVERY update 20k+words, things flowed a little more easily. It's better to have a shorter update that's concise and has everything you want to say, rather than bulking it up with filler.

Thank you so so much for loving all of the character's relationships so far, too 🥺 I know slow burn isn't for everyone, but it always felt more natural for me to write the hybrids as slow-to-trust, considering the world they live in in Trouvaille. I agree with you, when everyone starts to grow closer and closer over time, the sweet moments will seem even sweeter after all of the angst and growing 💕

Thank you again for reading, M, and I'm sending you so much love (and energy to keep on writing!!)

#trouvaille #m #asks #dana's thoughts

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chattercap · 5 months

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2024 Roadmap (January Edition!)

As we head into the New Year, here is my to-do list for the first half of the year! Note that if you're interested in the development of Actala, I've included a lengthy writeup regarding that project...and some comments about falling out of love with something that you used to hold dear.

The Deepwater Witch

The script for The Deepwater Witch is 100% complete and finalized, and the only thing left to do is CGs, which have been completely storyboarded. In total I have 10 to do, although I do want to take my time with them.

I won't pinpoint a concrete date for the release as there are a few quality of life features that I would like to include in the full version, such as rollback and save file renaming. However, I expect to release the full version of The Deepwater Witch around February.

And now for the other projects!

Kanau (previously "Tsunagu")

"Kanau" will be the prequel to "Karamu," set 11 years before the events of the previous installment. On his 10th birthday, Rakuo Kumode undergoes his family's initiation ceremony.

Kanau will be a mostly horror game with some romantic elements. Since it is set in the past, it will be kinetic, with switching POV protagonists.

If all goes well, I hope to release it around February/March.

(And, following the release of the prequel, I hope to release the sequel around the summer timeframe. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.)

MINDMINDMIND (previously "The Man Who Follows")

There is a man who watches you. He's been watching you for a long time. He watches, and he whispers.

MINDMINDMIND will be a psychological romance game featuring a creepy, but charming, yandere. There will be two male love interests, optional platonic/romantic endings (for one of them), and a customizable MC. I was tossing around some concept sketches for one of the LIs, Geist, earlier this afternoon.

I hope to release it around the end of March.

And last but not least...

Actala: The Hero's Shadow

This will be a bit long-winded and rambling, so skip to the bottom if you just want to know about the current status of development.

If any of you have been following, Actala was the first game that I released, around February last year. I released the demo for Steam Next Fest. It's my largest project, incorporating 5 different love interests and 6 different routes in an expansive fantasy world.

There are some people who saw Actala, played it, and supported me based on the demo alone, and for that I'm very grateful (your comments live rent-free in my mind). At the time, I was proud of it, and I tried to market it rather aggressively. However, the game didn't gain much traction, and after some bad experiences, I got rather ashamed of looking at it. I thought that it was boring, hideous, and poorly written. "How could I have ever wasted people's time with this trash?" I had once treasured that game preciously, wanting to show it off, and I started wanting to hide it in my closet where it couldn't be seen (I even thought about removing the demo from storefronts).

After that, I started working on other, smaller games. It's easier, working on smaller projects. You don't put as much effort into them, so it doesn't matter as much if they end up not meeting your expectations. (When people tell you to start small, they are correct.) My procrastination ended up being fruitful, at the very least. I think I improved a little bit in every aspect (sprite art, backgrounds, writing, GUI, and coding), and I got faster and more experienced at producing games. At the same time, I mostly put Actala development out of my mind because...I didn't want to think about trying to fix that ugly, broken thing. "I'll fix it when I'm better," I told myself. "I'll come back to it when I'm the best game dev I can be." I told myself that I would go back to it later because that was easier than accepting that I had fallen out of love with something that I had loved so much.

Around the time I was finishing scripting for TDW, I looked through my Actala scripts again to see how different my writing style had become. I was scared. How bad was it? I read it, and I realized something.

I did love it.

I remembered how much time I put into every facet of the characters - their backstories, motivations, goals, dreams, cultural backgrounds, costumes. I remembered how many timelines and lore documents that I made. I remembered how meticulously I planned the themes and messages, incorporating a lot of my own struggles with cultural identity, loss, and self-acceptance into the narrative.

Actala is a project that I care about a lot, and I want it to be perfect, but ultimately it will never be perfect. I just need to try my best with my current skills and hope that they're good enough that people can enjoy the story. So I'm ready to return to Actala's development now. I'm sorry for the delay if anyone has been looking forward to it, and I will do better in the future.

As for the current state of Actala's development, it needs a lot of work. It was originally built in Unity, and it needs to be ported over to Godot. Most of the art from the demo needs to be redrawn, simply because my sprite and background styles are VERY different now. So I'll be working on it in conjunction with my current projects, starting with refining the script, then working on sprites and CGs. I won't guarantee any sort of concrete release date for this simply because of how much work is required, but I hope to release an updated demo (with additional scenes for Rowan, Faye, Hugh, and Sei) in the summer.

Thank you to everyone who looks forward to playing my projects, and thank you again for your patience. I hope to make a lot of games this year!

#general #general-news

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anotherfangirlsworld · 5 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Stolen from @samioli!

1. How many works do you have on A03?

42!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

82,039!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily Ace Attorney, though I'd like to also visit/revisit some other fandoms I like.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

-Missing Turnabout

-The Weight of A Question

-Side Effects May Include ((This one surprises me, haha. 😂))

-To You Alone (I Bare My Soul)

-And In the Rain, I Came to Realize

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, but I get overwhelmed by the nice words and struggle to come up with good replies. 😅

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably All Too Quickly.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have happy endings unless specifically written to make people cry, so I can't say.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no!

9. Do you write smut?

Sometimes! I have more wips than actual posted fics though.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I did a couple times back in the day. I'd love to do more one day, though!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thankfully never!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Does a podfic count?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! That would be The Greatest Gift! ^^

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Nrmt/Mtnr! They are in most of my posted works, lol.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a Valentine's Day fic I've "famously" procrastinated on for nearly three years. I want to finish it but I can never get it to sound right...

16. What are your writing strengths?

Invoking feelings and descriptions.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue and overall work length. Editing too.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

So far I've avoided it, but I plan to try it in a future project! Of course, I'd rather consult someone who knows the language rather than use an online translator.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

...Pokémon. 😂

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Currently it's Light of the Phoenix, but as I continue to write Beyond the Willow, that's becoming my favorite. 💕

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caltropspress · 10 months

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RAPS + CRAFTS #15: Duncecap

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

Hey, I’m Duncecap. I've been writing and producing hip hop music since I was 15. I've also been shooting and editing videos since I was a kid.

You may have heard some of my projects released via Backwoodz Studioz (miserable then, Go Climb a Tree). You may also know me from crazy performances in NYC with the group we are the karma kids. Some of my albums from that time are Human Error and Rapping is for Idiots.

In terms of upcoming music - exciting new stuff is coming! One forthcoming album is chiefly self-produced, one of them produced entirely by Steel Tipped Dove.

Also I have a “secret” side project - experimental ambient music under the name Depression Naps. That will probably come out this year. I need to figure the release out ASAP though.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

I usually write on the move; I’m listening to music, I have thoughts, and need something to do - it goes together perfectly. I write on walks, taking the subway, in a car. Physically moving is definitely not a rule though. I also write while procrastinating at home on the couch, or sitting with a coffee outside, in a diner is fun, etc.

No routine time per se - I’m ready to write on a moment's notice and usually do it that way randomly throughout the day, every day.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

I used to write in a pocket-sized notebook all the time. Writing on paper really sets some immediate boundaries with space and even the speed which you can physically write. Lyrics get crossed out then circled or rewritten and crossed out again. Sometimes you can’t read what you wrote.

Now I write on my phone. It’s faster, more legible, and with infinite space - but it’s easier to get carried away with overwriting. I’ll drop anything to write an idea down. I’m somewhat of a compulsive idea hoarder, I don’t want to let a good idea pass.

I would love to be able to be the type of person that could fully write songs in my head but I got a lot of other things going on in there too and I get distracted easily. Freestyling is fun but I’m gonna need to write down anything I want to remember.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

For most of my life I would write bars in long sentences, but in the past couple years I’ve noticed I’ve been breaking up my lines into halves or down to single words rather than bars. I call it my 'poetic style' on account of how it looks on the page but also how my delivery changes when I write this way. It helps me get more granular conceptually and with the rhymes too. I enjoy the end result and my voicing in that style. Projects I’ve written in this way are Genuinely Sad Songs and miserable then and the new stuff.

Writing can get pretty disorganized regardless of medium too, but I try to run a tight ship. Disorganized writing in a digital space might look like several versions of the same lyrics doc or alternative lyrics in the same space as the original one.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

Depends on the strength of the original writing, the context, and how much time I want to spend editing it.

Sometimes it’s 4 bars in or less I might know. Sometimes, there’s one line in an otherwise great verse that I’m unsure about and everything past that one line feels off. Sometimes I write a whole verse and return to it thinking, “Maybe this isn’t the angle.”

Digitally, I never throw anything away. At this point I’ve embraced it, although it does weigh me down a little bit. I would love to cull the “good stuff” and start fresh in my notes app, but at this point it might take longer than it’s worth.

Occasionally, a verse gets lost in the ether or I cut a song and I can reuse the verse elsewhere or break it down for parts. Most of the time what I write is tailored to a special concept or nuanced emotional expression. It gets tricky to go back and plug old writing into those pieces and I tend to start over in that case.

That isn’t to say that I don’t find old verses I can match up to new songs - but it doesn’t always feel good. It shouldn’t matter honestly, but something in me says: start fresh.

Though looking through searchable results in my notes app can jog my brain and get the gears turning - it’s like a mood board but with elements I created.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Poetry - yes. It very much influences it. This is where my writing started as a pre-teen and I still write poetry and infuse it into my music.

Screenwriting - yes (I want to write more scripts).

Fiction - as a child I did write stories pretty frequently and had a bunch of little one page stories with cover art and stuff. The last long form narrative prose I wrote was a kind of memoir in college while locked out of my dorm. I wrote it all on a Blackberry phone.

I journal too when things are rough and want to reexamine something I know I will want to reflect on in my life. A lot of times in the moment I’m experiencing it, most likely in a way to detach.

I’m trying to think how these different mediums might specifically affect my songwriting. Poetry and journaling, for sure. The only thing I can think about for screenwriting is sometimes I will write dialogue in my songs but I don’t really clarify it as such. It’s more like internal dialogue. Sometimes I dub or adlib those lines if it’s crucial to communicate that it's another character besides mine in a song. Those moments of pseudo dialogue reminds me of the flow you can enter when writing a scene in screenwriting software - so maybe that's the link.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

For me, it matters the song I’m writing.

Sometimes I will write a verse about literally where I’m writing or I will write a song as a way to work myself through an emotional event. These kinds of writings I try to preserve for the integrity of that moment in time and where I was physically and/or emotionally.

For more pre-conceived and intentional concepts I will painstakingly edit them until they feel right. “Did I structure this in the most elegant way possible?” “Am I communicating the concept clearly and cleverly?” Etc.

Those same kinds of quality controlling conditions happen regardless of how I’m writing, but there’s a bit more forgiveness in favor of earnestness when I get more personal on tracks.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Both, it depends on the situation and how I’m feeling.

A lot of stuff on miserable then was written as poetry first and then fit to beats. Same goes for the Genuinely Sad Songs EP. I would also record freestyles to those beats and then decode the nonsense lyrics and tones or use the rhyme patterns I established.

Most other times I would say that I write to the beat while taking some breaks listening so it doesn’t get too repetitive.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

Many times I write to sort myself out, so it’s stream of consciousness while I’m overanalyzing the very stream of consciousness I’m writing. This is where I get more introspective on songs. I’ll be led by trying to find an “answer” to what I’m feeling while making it structured and rhyme.

Sometimes I look around the notes app for thought starters and when navigating that labyrinth I’ll be reminded of concepts I meant to write about later. I'll match up themes to new production to see if I can make my life a little easier if a theme or lyric doesn’t come to mind inherently for a song. This ends up being very satisfying since the piece ends up being planned out a bit more but with minimal effort.

Rhyming does force some rules on your writing but you get used to navigating that. I wouldn’t say that rhyming would constrain a song from being made but it does make creating a song more of a puzzle - which is a lot of the fun.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I like to experiment with rhyming. I get bored with keeping the same rhyme scheme for a whole verse while other times it’s the thing that drives me. When you have the same scheme for a whole verse you get to play with the audience's expectations. If you're rhyming and the person you're with finishes the line for you - for me, it can be a sign that you're too predictable of a rhymer. But if you want to be optimistic, you can see that as a sign that you are a good songwriter. It really depends on what you are trying to accomplish at the time.

Sometimes rhyming doesn’t cross my mind at all and other times I’m trying to rhyme each word in a sentence to its parallel word in the subsequent line. Other times my lyrics are more melody driven and that takes a burden off of rhyme all together, or at least modifies expectation.

I have always been fascinated by rhyme and its predictability. I love hearing wild tongue twisters that I still can’t guess the ending rhymes for. Rhyming is such a unique tool that you can subvert expectations very easily with. I find myself using an A B A B rhyme pattern pretty frequently. It’s a nice way to balance the “shock value” of non-rhyming but also getting rewarded with a rhyme. It’s also a good fall back if you are freestyling and forget to rhyme.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

Here’s a couple songs where the concepts were pre-determined and I’m proud of how the final product met that initial vision:

“Under the Hood” (feat. Fielded) || Go Climb a Tree

I had the title and knew I wanted to write about how things in life are many times antagonistically assembled or precariously produced - and then presented as clean, polished or well-thought out products. And how fragile it all is even after it’s released.

“Well oiled machine in the shippiest shape, / One domino is all the difference it takes.”

“Definitely” (feat. E L U C I D & Quelle Chris) || Rapping is for Idiots

I asked them to write as busy/unreachable rappers and I was supposed to be the desperate collaborator. Everybody nailed it and the video came out great as well. It’s extra gratifying to piece together a concept track with multiple folks on a record.

In terms of one verse to point to - there’s this verse I’m especially proud of from this upcoming Dove album. It hits hard but is also very on-point conceptually. It’s an example of one of those titles or concepts I’ve had floating around in my notes app for years and then it finally fell into place when I heard the right beat at the right time. The song is about the over-abundance of, well, everything and how overwhelming life can be in the current zeitgeist.

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

I always used to have this question answered but the answer would change every year or so when I wrote a new project. I use writing as a means of self-discovery and the growth is never over. I don't think it'll ever be easy for me to settle on a favorite lyric because as soon as one is out of my system, I potentially don't relate to it anymore if it’s married to a specific emotional incident. Instead I go, “Oh, yeah I did a good job explaining how I felt at the time,” but it doesn’t feel as electric anymore to me in the present.

Despite that, I’ll answer the question. Here are some old standouts, I wouldn’t say I have a favorite though:

“Being self aware is not the same as trying to do something [about it]” (Bad Breath [’Toid Up])

The genesis being to have a way to remind myself and others that just because you know you are a little fucked up doesn’t mean you are actually being productive or healthy about it. Worst-case scenario it’s a negligible position to be enabling yourself but with a false sense of security.

The song “Rocks in Your Shoes” is mostly a free-write but has bars I’m proud of that satisfy both an introspective/punchy appetite:

“I talk like a parrot with a TV in the room”

“I like the way my mouth dances when I spit a tune, / My bars are choreography for my lips to move”

I dunno!

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

Do I whittle a bar down for breath control? Yes. That usually comes in the initial writing phase but doesn’t stop there.

A lot of people, including myself, will practice their flows under their breath if they are in public or a room full of people. It’s a little odd to go full volume in those situations. Personally, I’ve found that practicing quietly like that can be misleading when it comes time to record.

Recording a demo is important. Most of the time I will face the reality of my breath control in these recordings then listen back and whittle down some more or change phrasings. Or I learn I hate a lyric the instant I’m forced to say it out loud or in front of people. The actual recording after the demo is always much more confident and polished. I either try to demo first or perform it live first before I record. Sometimes you write the verse and immediately record and land the first take, punching those always feels sacrilegious but you gotta do what you gotta do.

I usually try to deliver verses in one take when I record. In my head, if you are planning to perform your material live anyway, it makes sense to learn it as you will perform it live.

That being said - sometimes stylistically you might want to punch a lot or the take was perfect except for one moment. I’m more than happy to punch in those instances. I used to be more stubborn about not punching-in but when you are working with other people’s time it doesn't always make sense to deliver things in one take but it’s usually very satisfying.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Musically - ambient music! I have always listened to “relaxing music” since I was a kid because I have always had anxiety. As I’ve gotten older that expanded to more experimental music, noisy music. Field recordings and ambient tones have been very inspiring to me the past couple of years.

I've been working towards bridging the gap of my “beats” and sonic experimentations for a little while and will be releasing a new ambient project this year (2023). I also recently produced an EP for someone while practicing this same type of experimental production processes.

Outside of music I would say film! I use a lot of filmmaking language in my writing because that's just how my brain works. It’s also a clinical way to describe things visually.

Also, I’m inspired a lot from my surroundings and experiences. I try to pull songs from my life and the characters I see or interact with. You can turn anything into poetry and I try to.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

Dude. Self-doubt all day. Imposter syndrome all day. “I suck.” etc. I usually briefly fall in love with whatever new music I’m making and then get more distant to it when I begin something new. Recently, I was head over heels with a new song, then a day later my certainty of its quality was subverted by my silly brain.

As I get older I’m learning to appreciate my music more. I used to be the guy to delete music after publishing it but that isn’t sustainable nor fair to listeners. Combating self-doubt will always be a journey.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

All of them? Sometimes I hear a beat and think of people I know that could potentially feature on the track with me - or even famous rappers - but then I decide to have no features on the song. In those cases I worry that I might sound like whoever I thought of initially. When that happens I share a demo with friends and it’s usually just in my head.

I’m not sure this has happened to you, but there’s those moments where you strike gold while writing and realize, “Oh…this is just [famous song]”. I’m paranoid of that happening. Sometimes I won’t listen to new projects immediately if I'm already in the middle of writing something - that way it doesn’t rub off on me subconsciously.

Funny enough though, I think hip-hop is pretty forgiving of that kind of thing in the right context. So many artists pay tribute by flipping famous lines or flows and putting them in their own songs.You don't see nearly as many cover songs in the genre as in others but see more reworkings, references, and shout-outs.

I mean if you are biting someone's style completely that’s a no-no, but I’m not concerned about that happening.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

My goal is to be financially stable off of video and music alone.

In terms of projects, collaborations, etc. - I will always want to work with talented people and especially ones that have vision or challenge me to think outside the box. Connecting with other artists will always be a big part of music for me.

Content-wise, I want to keep experimenting but also take myself more seriously and write less about emotional/personal issues as my default. Mental health issues are important for me and listeners tell me my words have helped them. That’s why I still do write this way and partly why I started writing that way too. If any of my experiences and learnings can help people in the same spot it’s a win and very rewarding. It’s just as validating for me to hear people relate to my writing as I’m sure it might be for a listener to hear someone describe how they feel.

I have always been an impulsive writer and I imagine that won’t change. I can say, though, that the more I work on myself the more my growth will reflect in my writing.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: P Squared

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midnighteraser · 1 year

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Just curious but what's your writing process? Like how do you come up with an idea and how do you start writing it and such

My writing process is a whirlwind, that's for sure! I'll put it under a read more because it's very long!

Usually, I'd get inspiration for something and instantly go to write the idea down in a Google Keep note I call the "Idea Bank". I'm very forgetful, so these help me brainstorm and add detail to ideas. I have an Idea Bank for all of my main AUs and ones for random stories/AUs I come up with, and at the moment I have 22 of the latter. (Thanks to Keep's word cap.) I often go back and add new ideas/little details if I think of them.

I recommend having wherever you keep ideas easily accessible so you can note ideas down the moment you get them! Google Keep has this cool widget you can access from your phone home page! (The line of Keep applications is because they removed the part of the widget that let you quickly go to the app. :( )

This is where my process changes dependent on my mood.

If I suddenly get inspiration, I tend to write in any important parts out and stick them in the idea bank. If this gets too long, I open a new Keep note and copy and paste it there for me to flesh out later.

If I have no inspiration, I jot down very briefly a description/summary of what the idea is about. It's often a summary then the notes are taken underneath the idea. For example, it could be something as simple as this:

Or a long-ish summary/scene with details underneath, like this:

Now onto the actual writing.

I said, onto the writing.

Why do I have so many empty Keep notes.

As you can see, I have a bad habit of starting a note, adding the title, and then imagining what happens rather than writing it down. It happens! Sometimes I get a cool title and then don't know what to do with it.

Most often than not, I start by opening up an Idea Bank and skimming through the ideas I have. If one sticks out, or if I already knew what I was writing from the start and just needed reference, I start to plan out what happens in my head. (Unless I already have a timeline of events or very vague notes on where the story goes, which makes life 10x easier.)

Sometimes, rarely, if a piece of writing is dialogue-heavy, I write up a script first.

Then, I flesh out some parts.

And I'd go back later to detail it. I often go back and flesh out parts I really like then revert back to script format for the parts later.

However, my main way of writing is what I like to call "Let's goooo". I have a vague idea, I kind of have an image in my head, I can wing this, surely! That's probably why half of my stories get stuck at a point and I don't know how to continue, but sometimes I get a streak of inspiration and write a whole story for me to edit and make sense of later!

I have a few Keep tabs open. These often include:

The Idea Bank for what I'm currently writing

The story I'm writing

The random ideas Idea Bank (in case I get inspo for something else)

Random other thing I'm using to procrastinate (Chatfic, other story, etc.)

Keep tab that isn't on a note, in case I need to use Keep for something and don't what to lose my place in my other tabs

So my window often looks something like this:

The issue with me is that I have a million ideas and can't stick to one for long enough to finish writing a story for it. It's a miracle if I finish one!

Sometimes I'm too lazy to swap tabs and have the description/script of what happens in the story in the same Keep note, separated by a divider of sorts. I may also have what comes next underneath what's already written.

But most often than not, I have random important scenes held together by dividers! When I feel more inspired, I go back to connect the scenes together with whatever happens in between.

This example is a sort of mix between those styles!

If I ever actually end up finishing something, I put it onto a Google Docs note to edit! Because the red lines under words doesn't appear on mobile Google Keep for some reason, if I'm writing on my phone I move to computer.

I'd usually check through with Grammarly to be extra safe (but I often have it off because it annoys me), then reread and add/remove words. Sometimes I end up adding entire paragraphs!

Then, I'd add the "Finished" tag on Google Keep, so I know the story is finished and I don't have to continue writing it. I also have "Ao3 Posted" so I know what I've posted and what I haven't.

Even then, sometimes I go back to finished stories to read and edit them! You can never be too thorough!

That should be everything regarding my writing process! The only other things I can think of mentioning is how I often write with music on! It gives me lots of inspiration, which is why I often write song fics! I also often write crossover and AU fics, but these never go posted because there's so much hidden lore that I can't explain it all with one fic! You see, I start in the MIDDLE of an AU, not the start. I have so many stories that are so far into the AU that they literally don't make sense to anyone else. (Which sucks D:)

I also tend to write at unholy hours of the night. For some reason, my brain decides the best time to come up with ideas is when I'm trying to get some sleep.

Brain please. I want to sleep.

Also sorry for the late answer! I've been thinking about this ask a lot and wanted to get everything about my writing process in!

#and that's my writing process!#i hope im not forgetting anything #sometimes i spend days just adding new ideas to idea banks #like i was doing today!#adding more lore to characters #their motives #what happens #etc etc #sadly i never end up writing half of my ideas #because again #too much lore #eraser lore #answer box

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