#but I've had half of this written up in the drafts for MONTHS now since ovir came to life and toniht was the night my brain was like finish

[tastycitrus]

so i've seen multiple AU stories where cass comes to gotham early, meets one of the other batkids and bonds with them. i've seen several with either jason or tim, and one with steph.

i want to put them all together. an alternate universe where cass comes to gotham early and runs into a bunch of kids who promptly imprint on her like lost ducklings. she doesn't know why they've attached themselves to her; she still can't comprehend language let alone communicate.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

pythia, a supernatural rewrite. bloody mary, rough draft.

read it on ao3.

words: 6k notes: hi y'all! yes, you read that chapter title right - this is a little unconventional, but since I've unfortunately shifted hyperfixations and have drifted away from SPN, I thought I would post what I have for the next part of pythia. since I'm moving into resident evil land, I'm not sure if I'm going to come back to this fic—but I absolutely didn't want to leave you guys empty-handed!! I'm so so sorry that this fic will go unfinished (for now), and I'm so grateful to those who were along for the ride with me. I have so much love for all the people who motivated me through writing this fic. all of you are beyond kind!! and I hope you enjoy this dose of pythia content, featuring some of my notes and process-work, lol. I only had a few heavy chunks of the beginning written, but the prose for this chap (ironically) started to get into the meat of what I really wrote this fic for—psychic bullshit between reader and Sam. It was just too plain juicy to not share!! All of my spn fics will remain up, but if you keep up with me, expect lots of Leon Kennedy bullshit and tomfoolery. Again - thank you so much for your endless love and support, I had so much fun writing what I could of season one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this unfinished chunk of silly/ansty Christmas drama :)

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - Dec 21st, evening.

Sam drops the stack of glossy, brand-new legal pads into his lap, and flashes his brother a plain smile. “Thanks, Dean. I needed more of these.” From your spot seated on the living room rug, you twist your rings and wait for Dean’s witty reply. With all those notes you’re always makin', Sammy, I’ll hafta buy you some for New Years, too. You wait for him to make a crack about the gift he got Sam, something about diaries or his brother’s girly handwriting.

Instead, Dean shrugs, “Well, then there ya go.”

Voila. And with that, the feeble threads you’d tried to braid into a proper Christmas are cut. Without a word, your Mom picks up the little wooden jewelry case the three of you had thrifted her and recedes into the dark hallways of the house. Dean peels himself out of his seat to clean up. Sam sighs, picking at the plastic seal around his legal pads. Hilariously, this all plays out while Paul McCartney chimes about what wonderful Christmastime he’s been having from the radio in your kitchen.

Technically, you hadn’t just been celebrating Christmas. No, you managed to completely bomb both Christmas and the sacred Winter Solstice sabbat that the Proctors had been celebrating for a bajillion fucking years. The special sabbat that would have a real spiritual effect on you for the next couple months.

You’d given it a good ol’ college try. First, you’d painstakingly picked out gifts for the boys and your Mom. Good ass gifts, too, that you’d been hiding in your duffle since summertime. Hell, you’d been looking for the Eagles album you bought for Dean in tape form for at least two years. (Cool, Dean had said, half alive in his armchair after your chupacabra hunt in Illinois. He was at the ugly front end of a cold. He’d sniffled, Don’t have this one.) And knowing that this would be Sam’s first Christmas without Jess—the one person who had given him any kind of good holiday when he was away from home—you’d poured extra love into his gift, too.

He’d been begging you to read Frankenstein since high school, and you’d dodged it because sometimes books that pushed too far into the “classics” category could lose you. Mary Shelley got a little wordy at times. But you were a big girl with a big brain, so you’d read the whole thing for Sam… and annotated the whole thing for Sam…

He’d taken one look at your labor of love and murmured, “Good. Glad you read it.”

…Yeah. You had half a mind to check if he’d been replaced by a clone, hearing that. Fifteen-year-old Sam would have melted into a babbling, ecstatic mess if someone had carefully combed through one of his favorite books and shared their thoughts on it with him. Bare minimum, you figured he’d at least enjoy having his own copy of Shelley’s work. All his other books had been lost in the fire.

But you’d given the book to a Sam who was twenty-two, not fifteen. Fine. People changed.

The boys being a collective bummer was something you could deal with. Sam was always sullen around the holidays, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Dean for being exhausted after a stressful hunt. But your Mom…

Beth used to make Yule her bitch. When you were a kid, come December 1st, the Proctor House could easily have been the center of all Wicca celebrations in the world. If working retail during the holidays tested one’s love for festive music, then the non-stop winter songs bouncing off Beth’s vinyl player would’ve made Santa beg to hear something else. Every room would gush with the smell of evergreen branches and holly. Your family’s altar, the home of all the love and joy for the season, would be lush with offerings and presents. The candles you lit as a family to welcome the light of the new year would glow in a neat row—your little silver candle, your mother’s tall red one… and the biggest. Your Dad’s.

Now, your Dad’s candle was tucked away with the rest of the unused decorations in the attic. From your spot on the floor, you couldn’t help but stare at your piss-poor excuse for a family altar. Beth hadn’t “had the time” to find the table runner your great-grandmother had embroidered just for that space. The small bouquet of mistletoe you’d brought sat pathetically on the wide, barren surface, framed by your family’s dollar-store candles: silver for you, red for Mom, and twin green candles for the boys. 

It was stupid. Really, you shouldn’t have cared so much. You were almost twenty-five, and the older you got the less people cared about silly, trivial things like a single holiday out of the year. That was just a fact of life.

Still, an ugly ball of bitterness sat in your gut. She couldn’t have tried to decorate? Even out on the road, you’d still found ways to make today a little special for the people you loved. Did she really have such little strength left in her? You’d dragged the boys up to Wisconsin with you so your Mom didn’t have to be alone. Was it really that impossible, after eleven whole years without your Dad, to try and be happy?

Fuck this. Yule isn’t over yet. There’s still time for you to squeeze some life out of today, and you’re going to start straight at the source. You find your Mom in the kitchen, mindlessly swiping invisible crumbs off pristine counters. When she senses you paused behind her in the kitchen doorway, clutching in both hands the gift she got you this year, the radio suddenly needs to be toyed with. Then cleaned. There are gray strands in her hair that shine like tinsel in the low kitchen light.

“Hey,” you say, your voice bright and christmas-card perfect. “I don’t think I got to say thank you for the gift.” (You did. More than once already.) “It’s been a bit since I read this one.” The gift in question is your Dad’s second edition print of The Shining. It’s even older than you are, with soft, petal-thin pages that reek of that wonderful old book musk. Rolling the flexed and cracked paperback between your hands, your Gift automatically picks up the distant echo of the hands that had touched these pages when they were new.

When you were little, you’d always found it kind of strange that your Dad considered this book his favorite. He was a sweet, soft-spoken person, and the mental image of him indulging in uncensored horror novels didn’t mesh with the Ray preserved in your head. Having since grown up and read it for yourself, you understood that it was less about the gore of the Overlook and more about “the shine;” the array of psychic abilities that kept five-year-old Danny Torrance alive through the book.

Years of having book-club with Sam had trained you to form cultivated opinions about the stuff you read, but The Shining existed in a realm that made it hard for you to describe how you felt about it. See, you had Danny Torrance’s shine—on the same level, too, enough shine to power the decades of ghostly ballroom parties and mob conspiracies inside the Overlook for a century. Seeing your Gift put onto a page so nakedly and cinematically made you uncomfortable. Yet, feeling the weight of your father’s book in your hands, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t touched in a decade, you know that it must’ve comforted him. Back then, surrounded by a psychic mother-in-law, girlfriend, and daughter, it would've been impossible to survive without a little shine of his own. You’re sure that your Dad's Gift was faint and unimpressive next to the psychic blackholes of your Mom and Grandma. Just enough to know if you’d skinned your elbow or had a nightmare. On the days that you came home from school tear-streaked and ruddy-faced, Dad would be waiting on the porch with soup.

You can still feel the faint psychic imprint of one of his whiskery kisses on your face. You don’t have many vivid impressions of him left to feel; none that haven’t been rubbed again and again, like the hollow of a fingerprint smoothed into the face of a rock over time.

Your Mom gives a non-committal hum at your attempt at conversation. Not because she doesn’t care—you can feel how much she cares from across the room—but because she’s tired. Adult Tired, like when she’d turn down your pleas to play together as a kid. Not tonight, baby. Momma’s exhausted.

“Mom,” you say, sounding as glossy and clean as a brand-new cookie tin. You open your mouth to say more, maybe to start in on one of your long-winded book-rants that had everyone wondering where Sam had suddenly appeared from. You know the answer, but you ask anyway, “This was one of Dad’s favorite books, right? I vaguely remember him talking about the hedge animals.” Beth accidentally hits a button as she’s dragging a rag over the shiny front of the radio, forcing Paul McCartney to have yet another wonderful Christmastime. She doesn’t look at you.

“Yup. But you knew that already, honey.”

C’mon. Nothing? She won’t even throw you the smallest, most pathetic olive branch? A psychic battle occurs. You get so frustrated all at once that your throat closes up, and that frustration balloons out into your family kitchen like the expansion of a bomb. You push. There is no give. The bubbling stormcloud of grief and loss hanging around Mom is there, then it’s not. The side of the kitchen your mother stands on is suddenly a void of absolute nothingness, empty of any feeling whatsoever, good or bad. She’s cutting you off from reading her—and protecting herself from your explosive emotions, as per usual.

Beth keeps cleaning the radio, her back to you.

Your rage bubbles out of you all at once. One day! One day out of the entire fucking year, the day your Dad always made special, and she can’t even pull herself together for that. You know you should be a good daughter and empathize with the woman who made you, but you’ve been a good daughter about this since you were twelve years old. Eleven Yules have gone by since your Dad passed. Just for one measly moment, you want to talk about him like he’s not a corpse rotting in the living room.

And the worst part is that Mom knows that. She’s known you’ve felt that way all day, a slow-bubbling pot building to a boil across the room. The two of you can always feel each other. You’re the only two who can; she’s the only other radio tower that can receive your station in its purest quality, and yet she has the gall to shut all her signals down.

“Fine!” You burst out, making the conversation physical.

It should feel good to yell, really. After the slow, ungratifying day you’ve had, you’ve been a shaken soda bottle waiting to implode. Instead, since you’re the crazy person yelling at nothing for no reason in the kitchen, your anger booms out of you and fizzes out in the same breath like a faulty firework. Fine. Fuck all of this. If you can’t beat em’, join em’. If everyone’s determined to rot the day away, then you’ll go wallow in self-pity the Proctor-Winchester way, too. Merry fucking Christmas, and a happy fucking Yule.

There is no satisfying door to slam on your way out of the kitchen. You take a sharp right down the front hall, hoping to veer up the stairs and slam your feet down on every single step up to your room. If your Mom wants to live forever in the year your Dad died, by all means—you’ll even bring home your thirteen-year-old self and her childish tantrums, just for time-accurate ambiance. Sam’s standing frozen just outside the kitchen archway, and you catch his deer-in-headlights look as you go peeling around the corner. You’re still keyed up with enough lashing rage to spare, so seeing him, just as hollowed-out and not there as your Mom, only feeds your pyre.

As you get to work thoroughly stomping the staircase to death, you hear him go into the kitchen and ask Beth about soup for Dean’s sore throat.

Upstairs is even more painfully quiet. Through the floor, Paul McCartney muffles down to a cheery mumble. All old houses shift around a little, but yours settles like it's alive, clicking, creaking, swaying. You don’t look at the portraits of Proctor women up the stairwell. The dusty grandfather clock in the hall watches you with its stained glass face, and you’re so lost in your own head—

—and Dad’d be so pissed we didn’t decorate the altar or listen to the Tull Christmas album, he’d riot, he’d talk some sense into her—wouldn’t think any of this is stupid— —that you don’t hear it when it chimes. Muscle memory plants you right in front of your bedroom door. Having a good cry under the covers sounds like a perfect end to the night, right? And yet you stop. Your hand drops on the knob and stays there, unmoving. Maybe it’s your Gift, or good old-fashioned human instinct knowing when something in the home has been nudged two inches to the left, but the air in the hall tastes staler than usual. A draft? Your gaze is pulled all the way down to the opposite end of the hall, where the untouched, stately storage room door is ajar.

Your Mom probably left it open. Maybe she’d gone in there to hunt around for all the heirloom Yule decorations, only to rediscover Dad’s football memorabilia or Dad’s engraved cigarette case and go bolting out of the room. —everything’s different without him, Sam and Mom and Dean too. So am I. Everything’s twisted—without him— Still riding the whirlwind, you stomp from one end of the yellowing, starry zodiac carpet (Aries) to the other (Pisces), the floorboards squeaking under your weight. You push the door and it goes shuddering into the darkness. This was one of many rooms in the house that Mom had banished you from as a kid, mostly as a way to shoo you away from the hunting world. It’d given you this insatiable fascination with it as a result, but when you tug the chain to turn on the closest lamp, what it illuminates doesn’t come close to the spectacular stories you’d made up in your head.

It’s just a room. It has windows and shelves and old things, some from your childhood, some from your Mom’s. Some from even further back than that. The closest fascinating thing is a shiny gold blob poking out of your baby things, which turns out to be Sam’s eighth-grade mathlete trophy. You had no idea what possessed Mom to come up here so often. There was no way she wasn’t in here at least a couple times a week; the tall metal storage shelf where she immortalized your Dad’s things was never dusty, and yet the whole room reeked of rotting books and insulation. You shove the box with Sam’s trophy aside with your foot until it skids out of your way, and then send the heavy door shut behind you with a wall-shaking bang.

A flurry of dust hails down from the ceiling. You cough through the cloud, wandering in your blindness towards the neat row of plastic storage tubs labeled with your Dad’s name. Clothes. Misc. Books. Maybe that’s where Mom had gotten your new copy of The Shining from, halfway through one of her sacred meditations over Dad’s things. You drop a hand onto the cold lid of the tub. Nothing, not even the slightest psychic imprint, reaches back.

What is she even holding onto anymore? You try the clothes next. The rounded corners of this bin have been scuffed gray from how many times it’s been pulled off and then pushed back on its shelf, again and again. The case feels as lifeless to you as it would for anyone else, but you try your luck and slide it out onto the floor. It comes loose with a solid thud.

When you were old enough, Beth would sometimes send you up into this room to grab things (spell ingredients, books you didn’t keep downstairs). You would run full-tilt right up until you hit the storage room door, then pass inside like a stranger in a dangerous realm, watching where you stepped and always, always keeping your Dad’s shelf in the corner of your eye. On brave days you would pick up his silvery cigarette case and roll it between your palms. It grew harder and harder to feel him each time, the ghost of him whittled down like a rock made round by the current of a river.

When you crack off the lid, you expect some kind of smell. You don’t remember what he smelled like, but you have a few guesses—cheap, vanilla-sweet aftershave, or maybe the woody stale smell of cigarette smoke you know you shouldn’t love. Maybe both. It doesn’t really matter. The neatly folded stacks of your Dad’s old shirts and jackets don’t smell like a damn thing. You dip your face into a holey band-shirt with the sleeves scissored off, but all that comes back to you is the rotten smell of dusty insulation. He’s here—he’s right here in front of you, right in your fucking hands, and yet the whole world is dead of him. You can’t sense even a sliver of him left.

The same old reservoir of despair pushes and pushes at your composure, wiggling through your cracks, widening them with a hundred thousand tons of pressure bearing down on you a minute. It is a day by day task to handle the reservoir. You like to think you’re good at handling it, at patching the cracks as they come and letting them breathe when the moment calls for it. But when you lift your face from the bin, the leak springs—really, genuinely springs, like it hasn’t in years.

You fall back onto your haunches, swallowing back sudden stinging tears. The bin and its askew lid go shrieking back onto the shelf with a lash of your foot.

-

The music downstairs stops. You can’t tell how long it’s been.

When his death was fresh, and you were stuck deep, deep within the reservoir, you’d wondered if it would always feel this way. It got easier, right? And in many ways it had—on most days you could talk about your Dad without it hurting, letting the dam’s water run. The battle was still there, but it was a burden you were proud to carry if it meant his memory lived on in you. He would want you to be happy, your Mom used to urge. So you gave being happy your best shot, loving and giving as much as you could.

That’s what frustrated you so endlessly about your Mom. She’d been right; your Dad would’ve wanted the two of you to move on, and yet she still entombed herself in the bottom of her reservoir far too often. There was no release, no acceptance with her. The dark part of you that wanted to pass blame wondered if this was all because of John, and how well Winchester grief happened to mingle with a Proctor’s. How would your mother’s life be different, if the evil that’d taken Dad hadn’t been put down a week later? Would she be just as hellbent? With your knees sore from pressing into the floor, you knew the answer. You knew if the thing that’d taken Sam or Dean from you was right in front of you, you’d chase it until you were in your own grave. You knew that even after it was dead, you would be digging your nails into the backseat of the Impala and clawing for every psychic molecule of them left in the leather.

And that’s what scared you—was she just going to be chasing Dad forever, til’ there wasn’t a wisp of him left in the world to feel? 

Something dawns on you, thudding through your mind like a rock dropped down a chute. With limp hands, you slide The Shining towards you on the worn wood floor, part the pages with your thumbs, and press your nose into the binding. There’s the smoky, earthy scent of old paper first… then something just underneath the surface that no one but you and your Mom can pick up.

Old books. Yes. Yes, that’s what Dad had smelled like.

-

You’re seated on the floor of the storage room, back pressed to one of the ancient metal shelves holding up your gramma’s VCR collection, when a blot of the future is tossed at you. Cheap deodorant and lemon cough drops.

Around a minute later, the stairs beyond the door squeak under someone’s weight. Even without the roulette glimpse of the future, you can tell by the footfalls who it is. Heavy knuckles rap the door and come straight in without waiting for an answer. Behind him, the silence of the rest of the house is even heavier.

You try to sound like a reasonable adult, but the mopey teenager slips out anyway. “Thought you were sick, Dean.”

He artfully dodges your point. (Dean is, after all, a master of the craft.) You don’t look back at him, but the lemon cough-drops glimpse you got of him creates a clear picture: Dean’s whole body listing into the door frame, one hand on the knob, his face lacking its usual color. His cheeks have graduated from stubbly to scruffy, neglected. “Hey,” he says. It’s the, okay, you’re done cooling down, let’s have a grown-up conversation kind of hello.

You don’t know what to say back. You’re not sure if you can have any kind of conversation right now.

Dean rolls with it, trying to decide if this silence is begging for a subject change or a heart-to-heart. You’re not sure what he goes for when he says, “I had an idea.” “Did it hurt?” You joke. Jokes you can do.

There’s his opening. After a beat, you’re—

—fucking lobbed with a foam football. Like you’re fucking twelve. Dean’s throw arcs straight towards your head and bounces clean off the top, a perfect spiral. You yelp in outrage, and before you can think you’re following where the stupid ball went so you can clock him right in the face with it. Asshole. It loop-de-loops on the floor around an old dining chair, and you clamber on your knees to fish for it.

Just when you get the toy in your hands and you’re about to demolish him with it, Dean ducks behind the doorway, chuckling, “Woah! No face shots! You wouldn’t bash a poor, sick guy’s face in, would’ja?”

God. You can’t fucking believe him. If anyone else did that…

You lower your hackles and drop the foam toy into a basket, far out of reach of congested troublemakers. When his shining eyes appear in the slit of the doorway again, your cheeks are aching with an impossible smile. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, loser. What is it?”

Dean hesitates a moment more, just in case you’ve got something else to throw at him, then joins you in the storage room with the evil little oily smile you love. The same dust cloud that got you earlier descends on him in a rough coughing fit, but this lets him get a good look at the little mess you’ve made: the book on the floor, your Dad’s things open and askew. When he clears his throat for the last time, he looks pained.

For your sake, you pretend it’s an empathetic kind of pained. And you know that’s a part of it—Dean doesn’t enjoy seeing you and your Mom like this. But it’s an unfortunate fact of your life that you will have four times as much context for him than he will ever have for you. Just breathing the same dusty air as him, you know he’s been nursing a sinus headache since Monday, one that’s made his head feel like it’s chock-full of stuffing, and that Sam made him canned chicken noodle soup—and at first he felt a little smug making Sam play nurse, until he stewed on it more and—

—hate it when he gives me that dead-eyed look, like he can’t even pretend to care anymore. Like he’s just dragging himself through this for our sake. Poor kid scares the shit outta me. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Sammy aching over her, night after night after night—

You know just touching the bins holding your Dad’s things that on a icy February afternoon in 1994, fifteen-year-old Dean had picked up the plastic tubs for your Mom from the store.

So when he gives you that pained look, you know it’s part-concern, part-fear. If this is what you look like eleven years after your Dad’s passing… if John never comes home from his hunting trip, is this what Dean will become? The loyal son, waiting and waiting on that porch for a man who would never come home? 

Your whole life, you’ve felt like you were becoming more and more like Dean; lately, it feels like he’s becoming so much like you. Your last four years on the road together had slowly but surely melded you together.

“Okay, so, Yule’s a fire festival, right?” Dean grasps around in his memory for the yearly history lesson your Mom gives about the Wicca calendar. “Uh, we lit candles… I thought about burning Beth’s Muppet Christmas CD with my lighter a couple times. That’s about all the fiery, burny-stuff we did today.”

“I love the Muppets Christmas album,” you pout.

“After the millionth partridge in John Denver’s goddamn pear tree, you’d change your mind,” Dean swears. “But I was thinkin’—we got the firepit in the backyard, marshmallows, and I think I could put together some vodka shots. Then we can blow em' out and eat em' with the s'mores.” Your eyebrows raise. Only he, of all people, could take your sacred family traditions and twist them into such a wonderful, stupid-ass thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but… there is chocolate and graham crackers downstairs… and with how cold it is outside, a fire would be perfect… It’s the best blend of weird Proctor-Winchester traditions you need to save Christmas and Yule. Dean takes your silence as glowing awe. “Exactly. I told you, I'm a fuckin' genius. Helluva way to start the wiccan year, right? You in?”

You’re well aware that this is an elaborate plan to coax you away from your moping. Still, it’s just too Dean to turn down. “...Hell yeah.”

At first R hopes that it’s just her and Dean, and that Sam and Beth keep their grief to themselves. But then she realizes how cruel and selfish she’s been—everyone grieves in their own way, and just because she works through it by talking about it doesn’t mean it will work for everyone. It’s not good that Beth is holding on so tightly to her loss, but that doesn’t mean R wants to leave them out.

Lead this into a touch of psychic!Dean and how he has a teeny tiny second sense for what she needs, just like her Dad did. Just enough shine to get by.

R and Dean come downstairs and invite Sam and Beth to their campfire 😀

Or, at the very least, all the psychic happenings in the house echoing between them; if Dean's sharper instincts were as psychically heavy as a shadow falling on grass, then Sam's Static was six feet of snow in an arctic blizzard.

It tingles all the way up to your shoulder when Sam touches you. And that, oh, that was a whole new can of worms. As they get dressed for the snow outside and assemble the s'mores and flaming shots, you try not to head down that train of thought again.

Every time you’ve glanced at Sam these past few weeks, you’d been unable to hide from what you’d sensed there—from what you’d seen in the demon, and what you now knew to be completely and utterly true after reading its mind.

Sam had It. The Gift, the Shining, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Not the vague imprint of psychic-ness from loving one or sharing the Impala with one for four years; full-on, unlatched, REDRUM, I-saw-it-before-it-happened psychic abilities. In the weeks you'd had to sit with that revelation, you'd poked carefully at Sam from afar. Obviously, you knew what a fucking psychic felt like. The five-year-old Sam who'd cut Dean's gum out of your hair had not been psychic. Yet this Sam, twenty-two with three-fourths of an ivy league law degree under his belt, was as psychic as a fucking—well. You. He was just as psychic as you.

Without even a sliver of the same control or even understanding of—of what he had, yes, but you were confident that if Sam was pushed, he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could reach into his. There had been a shift, then. At six, having gum cut out of your hair, you had been decidedly less psychic than you were at twenty-four. So Sam had gone through the Proctor Rite Of Passage; some terrible moment had cut him deep, deep enough to pull a new kind of blood to the surface. After Jessica, he had been... yeah.

It was fucking crazy. And yet it also slotted perfectly into some of the weirder things you understood about Sam; about who he was now and the vague, strobing flashes you got of his future. It freaked you the fuck out. Did Sam know? Did anyone know, besides you? Had your Mom recognized that spark in Sam, the same way she'd seen it in you? Had John?

And the plain existence of the Gift in Sam begged the question—why? Had he just happened to drop from the tree as a different kind of apple? Or was this something you could trace back to his mother, the same way it traced back to yours? Had Mary…?

The implications of that took pretty much everything you understood about Sam and Dean’s life, lined it up on the chopping block, and cleaved it in two. Needless to say, thinking about it made you sick. How could you even begin to bring this up to them?

You cursed your abilities with all you had. There were nights when you sat on the bathroom floor, wishing you could dig in with your nails and rip out whatever had put It in your head. Never in a billion fucking years would you have wished It upon anyone else; especially not Sam, good, selfless, wonderful Sam, who already ached so deeply for other people. Seeing their future, too? And even more often, seeing it and being helpless to change it?

He used to cry over squashed spiders as a kid. You'd felt a whole lot more than just spiders die.

…Beside that shuddering horror was another, far more selfish feeling. As scary as the implications could be, when you thought less about the Winchester family and more about your relationship with Sam, you were… excited. Relieved, even.

There were only four people in the entire world that you could share your Gift with. One of them has been six feet under for over a decade. Your Gift was a clingy, possessive creature, too. It was maybe two steps shy of being an eldritch horror. It poked through Dean’s dreams when you slept beside him, sucking them up like cigarette smoke. It breathed down Sam’s neck wherever he went. If you wanted, no one could lie to you—all punchlines and stories were spoiled for you, you knew when people found you annoying or pretty or stupid. If that particular Proctor gene had skipped you, then maybe you’d be able to form relationships with people where you didn’t immediately, intrinsically understand who they were and why. Dean would say, You need a drink. You would know without asking that he meant, You scare the ever-living hell out of me n’ I know I can’t hide it from you. Fucking hell, kid, I wish I could.

You knew you were a freak. The tiny human vessel for the lashing, bubbling, soul-melting, cosmic weight of a star about to bloom into a black hole. Only your mom would ever understand what it felt like to exist on the fringe of time, between the exhaustive influence of the past and the vast, spotty expanse of the future. You were a tool to men like John; an anomaly for men like Bobby; and a responsibility to men like Dean. 

But Sam… Your best friend Sam, he’d always tried to understand. Maybe he’d never fully get it, but the point was that he tried to. You remembered sitting with him on the curb outside your old high school, the concrete thrumming with music from the junior prom you’d both left behind inside.

How either of you had gotten dates was a miracle. You, the class weird-freak-emo punchline, and Sam, on his fourth round being the new kid that year, were two peas in a pod. Your date had never picked you up; Sam’s had escaped with her friends long before their first dance. Neither of you were very broken up about it.

The future had sprawled in front of you that night as clear as could be. You must've sat and talked on the curb for three straight hours, pressed together at the hip with Sam’s blazer around your shivering arms.

He was always beautiful in the boy-next-door kind of way, dimples popping with every good smile and freckles rising out of the too-short sleeves of his button-up. But that night he’d been fucking Helen of Troy, and the roar of the past and future slowed to a halt around him. 

Do you really see the future all the time? Every second? Sam had curiously tilted his head, sending a gleaming swish of chocolatey hair out of his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you’d hesitated, Not every second. But a lot, yes.

Again, the head tilt, then the swish. His gaze was innocent and intrigued. No existential dread, no sweeping sense of fear. Just plain curiosity. Not even morbid curiosity. Sam had asked, What about right now?

Sam’s cologne—oh god, his cologne—was steaming off his borrowed jacket and floating around your head in a wonderful rosy fog. You’d poked at the future. Sometimes things came back, sometimes they didn’t. That night, the future had come back tasting like Sam’s vanilla chapstick and junior prom punch, and your face had gone up in flames just sensing it. He’d waited for an answer. You’d blurted out the plain truth: In a minute or two, you’re gonna kiss me.

This kind of absolute, unshakable certainty about the future had made other hunters’ blood run cold. You’d braced yourself for Sam’s displeasure or worse, his fear. But instead, there were those dimples again, and Sam had the gall to bat his lashes at you and delightedly ask, Really? That’s what the magic eight ball has to say?

His big hand had dropped onto your knee and you’d squeaked out a shrill, Signs point to yes!

Sam loved the stupid magic eight-ball joke. You could feel him smiling about it as he kissed you, kissed you, hand-on-knee, his face tipping down to yours, the shitty school punch staining his lips as the two of you connected. At fifteen and sixteen respectively, this was the first kissing that either of you had ever done. It’d been wetter and warmer than you’d expected, and Sam’s vanilla chapstick had left the slightest print on your mouth, one that your tongue swiped over obsessively for the next month. Your Gift had chased him for weeks after that, silently and invisibly swarming him every time he entered a room.

Back then, your mind had been on the Curse. But now, you thought about what had led to the kiss in the first place. Sam hadn’t kissed you on a night when your Gift had been crammed down deep where it could bother nobody but you. He’d instead chosen the precise moment where your Gift was most raw, one of Its fingers coming down from the sky to press against the pulse of the future. It was small, but at a time in your life when you’d wanted to claw your Gift out with your bare hands, Sam had gotten the smallest glimpse of It and had fallen in love.

You couldn’t help but see this thing inside him, his Static, and feel the exact same way. His powers were twisted and unavoidably demonic, and yet you kind of loved them. It made perfect sense to you. No one really understood you like Sam did. Now, it's clear why.

-

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan @notanotherthembo

[steamberrystudio]

27/08/2023

So now that Gilded Shadows is wrapping up, I am promoting When Stars Collide from "Spare time project" to "Part time project"

What is the difference? Well, when I work on something in my spare time, that means it is late at night or the weekend. Literally when I am not doing anything else and just feel like tinkering with it. 

As a part time project, this means that I will be spending an hour or two each day during the work week to do things for this project. It will start making more steady progress even if I'm not focusing on it full time.

This is basically taking it from me spending 0 - 4 hours on it a week to 8-10 hours on it a week. 

My goal is to have the draft complete before the end of the year (by 'draft', I mean 'rough draft'). But more on that below.

Summary

Finished all scenes for the new chapter three

Finished Yren chapter 6 scenes

Started catching Kav's route up to the others

Edited Asher's CG to account for the new conference room BG

Small adjustments to Wil's first CG

Ramble

This week my big focus for WSC has been on writing. As I mentioned, I really want to get the rough draft completed by the end of the year. Currently the draft is nearly 70% complete (for those following updates in multiple places, when you see different percentages....it's because I've written more since then. Rofl).

Now, the draft was nearly 70% in the past as well but I added another route since then, so I lost some progress due to the increase in target word count. I'm also calculating things more precisely now as I created a newer and fancier writing spreadsheet to track my progress and keep myself on track.

I went back and wrote in the new chapter 3, reorganising all the existing chapters and scenes to accommodate it. 

I finished Yren chapter 6 (which catches him up to Noel and Raif). 

And now I'm working on catching Kav, the new character, up to Yren, Noel, and Raif. (Remember, Daaz and Asher's routes are already fully drafted).

I have written about 15000 words since my last update here. I don't expect to write that much every week and my goal is actually a fair bit more modest than that. Gilded Shadows is not 100% complete yet. I still have multiple KS related things to finish and, of course, I will be making corrections and focusing on its beta testing once testers have had a bit more time with it. 

WSC is still a part time project. This was just a particularly good week for it.

I have also worked on a few other things for WSC - mostly UI related and some art related things.

I received a new BG since my last update, and realised that...I have to revamp all the existing CGs. Or at least update them to change the background elements. I've only edited one so far but I don't think it'll be too much effort to fix the others.

And I continue to streamline and adjust the UI to make it look nicer and be more efficient.

So...

Kav. The new character. Kav'isari Tiaine, a Ka'mérian crew member who works in the space labs most of the time and specialises in identifying alien technology (what species it belongs to and what it does).

To explain where Kav came from, he actually popped into my head months ago. And every so often, I would contemplate whether or not I wanted to add him. I would say I first had the idea in January or February of this year. I would repeatedly think about it and dismiss it.

I then mentioned it to a friend sort of off-handedly back at the very beginning of June. A month and a half later, I mentioned him on a voice call on my server knowing full well that if I really talked about him and had a conversation about him, I would probably end up doing enough character brainstorming that he would become "real." And I talked about him anyway.

And that's exactly how he became an actual character. I think I had his sprite sketched out by the end of that day.

But he had existed as a concept long before that. The main reason I was willing to add him instead of ruthlessly telling myself no is just that I felt there was a gap in the cast for a gadfly style character who has a little mystery to him. And I just knew I could manage another route based on the length of Asher and Daaz's routes.

So...yeah. That is how Kav came into being. His introduction into the story has caused a few minor changes to standing lore or things in the prologue (just mentions of him, etc). But the changes to the currently public content of the game are pretty minor.

Kav won't actually appear in the game until Chapter 3. He gets mentioned a few times up to that point. There are some logistical considerations to his route but I have talked about those more on Patreon.

Speaking of Patreon, now that WSC is moved into "part time" status, I will be starting to slowly release some Patreon-exclusive lore posts for this game there. Like most games monetised through Patreon content, the lore posts will not be critical to having a full and complete game experience. Rather, it is going to be comprised of additional and extra lore content.

Some of the lore content released on Patreon will be in the game (such as character back stories) but Patrons will get to see it early and will get it presented in a different format.

Much of the content can be considered "extras" rather than necessary.

I will also be updating on the development progress weekly there (available to all patrons) rather than bi-weekly, and my updates there (going forward) will tend to be more detailed than the ones here.

Once episode releases start, Patrons will be able to access them before they the public releases. But backing on Patreon is not necessary to be able to play the game and get a full and complete game experience. It's just how this particular game will be monetised as I'm looking for more sustainable release styles so I can continue to make games.

That is all for this update. I will see you in a couple of weeks to talk about WSC again!

[crescencestudio]

Devlog #33 | 07.26.23

Hi everyone!

It's only been a month (per usual) since the last devlog. But it feels like so long ago! Very weird that last devlog I hadn't even released Intertwine yet. But here we are, back with another one!

Before we get into things, I want to extend the biggest thank you to everyone who has played and supported intertwine!

if you havent played yet, here it is. this is me on my knees asking because i am quite proud of it and what our team accomplished in two months!

in the almost month it's been out, we stand at almost 15k total plays and 200+ reviews which is so crazy to me. i never would've expected that kind of reception for our little game and when i say it has been so motivating for alaris!!! u dont even know!!!

thank you again for all the kind words---i know you are all Sick of me talking about it but i don't know how else to express my gratitude <3 it means so much to me ;_;

I wanted to make sure I inserted an official section for it in the Devlog just to really thank you all for the support. But with that, I shall get into the updates!

But not before a quick belated happy birthday to Fenir!

Writing

I posted it earlier this week, but I HAVE!!! THE MOST EXCITING NEWS!!! At least for me.

I FINISHED DRUK'S FIRST DRAFT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We all know how long this has been in the making. I've been talking about his route for what feels like an eternity. Evidently, it's Very Normal to experience burnout, struggles with motivation, creative ruts, etc. etc. at this point in development. The initial and final stages of development are easier because your motivation is up. In the beginning, it's like Wow!! This is Fun!! And towards the end, it's like Wow!!! I actually Fckn Made It!!!!

And so the middle part of development, aka the stage I just entered with Druk's route, is the slog.

Now that I've overcome that initial hurdle, while I'm not near the end of development, I do feel like I will have a better handle of progress on the following routes since I have a better set of expectations and tools on how to get through this stage (compared to when I initially started Druk's route, and I was like what are all these Feelings?? Why am I Struggling so much??).

That being said, WE ARE OVER HALFWAY DONE WITH THE SCRIPT! It currently stands at 200k words including the demo, and with how each of the routes have been shaping up, we have about 150k left to go. Wow!!!!! It is crazy to know I've written that much for Alaris, and this feels like such an exciting milestone to know that I'm over halfway there for the script!

We also have just about wrapped up Fenir's developmental edits, so that makes Kayn and Fenir's foundational versions of their routes done (all that would be left at this point is line tweaking and/or revisions based on beta feedback)!! Overall, this was a really exciting month for writing updates, and I'm so happy to feel back on track with Alaris development <3 I also finished my dissertation proposal in case anyone is keeping track of that HEEHOO

Art

Most of my attention for art was (un?)fortunately on Intertwine this month AGAIN. I really had anticipated being able to dive right into Alaris and irl work this month after Otojam ended. But the reception to Intertwine made it so I needed to dedicate some time to "marketing" artwork aka the artwork I like to make when reaching certain milestones of support (e.g., 1k downloads, etc.). Obviously these aren't necessary, but I like to show my thanks and appreciation in some way, and the artwork is what feels best conveys my gratitude.

Because we hit milestones relatively quickly, I ended up having to make those pieces faster than I anticipated prior to release. So I spent the first half of this month mostly on intertwine "promotional/apprecation" artwork. Near the tail end of this month though, I've prioritized Alaris artwork and have made progress on both the Kickstarter physical rewards and some CG sketches!

sneaky peeky of pretty mermay Aisa

Vui continues to hit it out of the park with the backgrounds. Most of them are spoilers at this point. But I do have one that isn't too bad of a spoiler! And because you all have been so supportive and patient with me, I show hehe

vui and his bg mastery: a preview of the dragon springs

The demo mentions dragon springs (I..... think......... LMAO), and here is a preview of what those dragon springs can look like. Wonder what the context will be in which we visit them, teehee! I'm in love with the way Vui brings the fantasy world of Alaris to life. I am so grateful for him ^^

Market Research

My wrist was feeling ~delicate~ this month due to Otojam crunch and then post-release pieces. So I don't have any actual art pieces to showcase this month for market research. I did play Otojam games and started Cupid Parasite (ryuki and allan my beloveds). But crescence's wrist needs to relax LOL. So no art pieces more than necessary for this month!

I will send some love to my besties over at Ravenstar Games though! If you haven't heard, they have a game currently in development called Lost in Limbo. It looks sick as hell, and the team is unbelievable talented and hardworking. This month to celebrate Barbie, they were able to sneak this promotional piece in, even while working on their Master's ((Do you see...... a familiar group of people..... heh))

Alaris x Lost in Limbo x Barbie the collaboration of the century

That's all from me for now. Thank you again for all the support and love on Intertwine! I've truly cherished all the fanwork, reviews, kind messages, etc.

That being said, while it was a bit of a struggle getting back returning to the Alaris world initially (I was literally like what.... was the plot of this again... LMAOsazodujf), it's been so rewarding to return to my OG gang. The intertwine release and return to Alaris work has also been strangely sentimental since it's reminded me how far I've come in the two years I've been in this dev Thang. As always thank you for your continued support (and for supporting Alaris since it's inception when I was a Wee Dev), and I look forward to bringing you more updates in the future <3

See you all next month, and stay safe!

[traegorn]

I need to stop doing this to myself.

(A Rant Where Trae Has Written Too Many Books This Month)

So since most of you started following me because of Witchcraft or podcast stuff, I realize a lot of you don't know how much fiction writing I do.

Primarily what I've published are comics. The big one is UnCONventional (which ran from December of 2009 to December of 2019), but I also did a steampunk comic called The Chronicles of Crosarth (which I put on hiatus in like 2018 intending to come back to... but I haven't, and I make no guarantee that I will even though over 650 of the 800 planned pages are done). Crosarth is... fine? The art isn't great in either of these, but UnCONventional carries itself with the humor.

But that's all old stuff. You may be like "Trae, what have you been producing for the last four years," and the answer is "not a lot." I got major creative block with the pandemic. Peregrine Lake, the "Northwoods Gothic" comic I was supposed to launch in 2020 (which has some characters from UnCONventional in it) didn't materialize when I said it would. What storytelling energy I had went into Stormwood & Associates and The Meatgrinder (my two actual play podcasts), but that was it.

And then 2023 happened, and the juices started flowing again.

Peregrine Lake is moving forward -- but with me just doing the writing. My urge to draw has not returned, but my urge to write has. A friend of mine, Ethan Flanagan, is drawing it, and I've written the first year of comics. It likely won't launch any time soon (the artist I'm working with is busy as hell so we want to get a shit-ton of the comic done before we launch it -- we have like the first month and a half of the comic ready?). But yeah -- it's happening. I hoping for Spring, but we'll see.

The other thing though is that I've started writing, like, novels. I've always had like twenty ideas in my head, so I figured I'd give it a shot. I decided to start with the idea I cared the least about (in case I fucked it up): A queer urban fantasy story.

In the last month and a half I've written complete drafts of two different novels in this setting, and am halfway through another one... and have another one outlined.

I, uh, had some ideas.

If you're asking yourself "Hey Trae -- what the fuck? That's a lot" you need to know a few things that aren't obvious. At one point in college, in 72 hours, I produced over 40 pages of text between three research papers. All were for 300 level courses, and I may have disassociated while writing them because I frankly don't remember most of it. But, like, they were decent papers.

One of those papers is in Google Scholar.

Anyway, yeah. I haven't been sleeping great because I've been obsessively writing, but you might ask "Why didn't you just write one and get it ready to publish?" That's a great question. Because I wrote a book, and when I was 3/4 of the way through it I realized something very important: This book would make a great sequel to a book I haven't written. I've been writing book two in a series where I haven't written book one yet.

Well fuck.

So I finished that draft, and I went and wrote book one. Now that book? That book I'm getting ready to publish. I expect to have it out in January. Part of my editing process involves setting what I think is a completed, good, revised draft down for a couple of weeks and then returning to it with fresh eyes. We're in that waiting period right now.

But I still had a bunch of energy.

So the first thing I did was a revising draft on book two (the one I wrote first), but I finished that. And had more energy. And more stories in this setting kept popping up.

So I started a third book. And I'm halfway through the first draft of that book. But then I realized yesterday... shit, this isn't book three.

This is book four.

I need stuff to happen before we get to this story.

So now I've outlined the actual book three, and am working on literally both of these books at once (I'll take a break for Christmas and then go do a final edit on Book One).

And... I'm just like... why am I like this?

I need to stop myself for a few days and get more sleep.

[myths0f01d]

Ok so few months ago I can't remember when. I went through a faze of reading every merlin cross harry potter fic I could find. Including merthur. It's a small list. A really really small list. It's amazing though. I grew up obsessing over harry potter and then merlin. So obviously I devoured the fics and then grew sad when there were no more. So I started writing my own. To be fair it was a very complex story line I chose to write so it didn't last long. I think I have the first half of the first chapter down but I have no hope even for that. But now. As the flame is rekindled. I'll be thinking it out more and writing it again. I say this in hope. But I have no idea since school is starting soon for me.

I have the summary written and maybe the title? I'm not sure.

Also fun fact about me. I have never stuck to reading a 100k fanfic until I read 'Emrys Ascending' by tricksterity on ao3. Probs one of the best merthur fics I've ever read. Go check the fic out. You won't regret it. Trust me.

Anyway here's the summary for my own one. Sort of. Or the main outline?

Many years ago, around 300 years to be exact, Merlin placed the crystal of Neahtid in vault 713, in the lowest part, at the time, in Gringotts wizarding bank. He thought it would be safe there.

What he did not expect was that approximately 200 years later would he be informed that it had been taken, then attempted to been taken again. Now chasing after a half giant, a child and a wacky Headmaster and some unforeseen lurking evil Merlin is forced to venture out into the wizarding world once more.

Though now in hindsight it was not a smart idea to attend the school as an 11 year old boy, apparently it raised a lot of questions when you appear out of nowhere.

It also does not help when a few older years resemble suspiciously to close to Arthur and the knights, so its no wonder he’s so distracted.

There's going to be loads of shenanigans by the way. I want it to mostly be funny fluff and light hearted. Obvi there has to be angst on some parts. I still have a lot to refine and go through but the base idea and what I want for it is there

Here's the old summary (first draft)

Long ago merlin put the crystal of neahtid in vault 713 in the depths of gringotts Wizarding bank.

He thought it's be safer there.

It's not his fault a half giant, a child and a slightly less marbles then there should be headmaster stole it.

And it's certainly not his fault when he thought the best plan of action was to go undercover and take it back. As an 11 year old.

Only to find out the past has come back to haunt him. In the form of of a few 3rd years scattered across houses.

Because really, Guise isn't around anymore to tell him it's his fault. So he'll believe it's not.

That is until he hears a familiar laugh in the forbidden forest.

Ok so maybe it is his fault.

Destiny can go shove it honestly, merlins not amused.

Tell me witch one you like better

[avelera]

26 and 29 for the writer asks?

26. Is there something you’ve written that you would never want your family to see?

Oh jfc, yes, of course. Anything related to kink, specifically.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

Honestly, there are so many scenes that got cut from "Giving Sanctuary" including Ch. 21 from Dream's POV, that I've considered doing a side fic in the series just to collect all such scenes along with the behind-the-scenes meta for the fic for easy reading by future readers.

That said, there was one section I wrote that just... never really found a home in later drafts, whereas some I wrote might still end up being fodder for the sequel, this bit sadly just never really fit with the pacing for the final chapters.

Basically, it's an extension of the praise kink bit, in which Hob asks for Dream to go into a bit more detail about what he finds attractive about Hob, since after a hellish 80 years, Hob is still sort of struggling to understand what he brings to this relationship that Dream wants. Dream obliges and waxes poetic about Hob's physical virtues in a way I think is very pretty but I vacillated on whether it was in character for him to speak at such length and the tone was very... epic and it was sort of hard to come back from when I wanted quicker, comfier and more domestic banter to close out the story rather than grand declamations. Still, I'm proud of some of it, so here ya go!

---

In truth, it wasn't just this past month that left Hob feeling undesirable. He hadn’t felt like much to look at these past eighty years.

He knew it was mostly in his mind. He knew his body did not change and he’d looked far worse tramping through the muck on campaign while still a mortal man, his hair long and beard as thick as it was now, for much the same reason of a lack of ready baths or interest in keeping up appearances, and still had no trouble finding an eager farmer’s son or daughter to bed down with for the night. He knew, in his mind, that he was well set-up for a man, even handsome.

But eighty years of neglecting himself, only half of that through lack of options? Those added up.

Eighty years of loss, sixty of desperation growing steadily into starvation, into filth that he could never seem to be free of…. Even when he was picked by that customer at the brothel, it had hardly been for his looks that night, slovenly as his appearance had been, so much as for being a willing mouth, for the obvious fact he was desperate enough to accept such coin and not cause a fuss with the law. No sweet words then. Most of his customers were more interested in keeping the price low if they spoke at all, telling him he was nothing much, nothing more than available, at hand, and desperate enough to be bought. Hob had his pride but there were days, nights, each equally dark in his memory where all of that was only words. Once, he had been proud, once he had been fair, once he’d not been filthy. It was hard to have pride as anything more than a reflex after such harsh years. 

So, aye, he was a little selfish right now. He saw the hunger in Dream’s eyes, unmistakable now that it was set loose, and he wanted to preen beneath that focused attention. But just as much, and far more pathetically, he wished to hear Dream tell him he was fair. To put words to those looks on Naxos that Hob could finally see for what they were. 

“Please?” Hob said, faintly, that lingering coward’s instinct to speak so softly that he might take any words back, to pretend they’d never happened if he went too far. If he gave away too much of his own fallen state, so far from the proud soldier that Dream first met three hundred years before. “I’m happy to return the favor. Gladly I would speak of how the sunset burnished your hair with bronze, made it shine more beautiful and precious than fine silk. How I have longed to kiss the curve of your jaw, which puts the statues of the ancients to shame. I could write poetry, if perhaps not well, to the sight of your bare feet as you walked in the sand, or the feeling of your hand in mine when you walked beside me, more beautiful than one of God’s angels, and the way your skin seems to glow as if you were carved from the moon’s light. Actually, you’ll probably have to ask me to stop if you don’t want to hear it. But, I’m…trying to be honest. With you. Now that we’re doing that, and the fact is… yeah, it’s been a while. A long while, actually. And I’ve… missed it, maybe? So, crazy as it must sound, I know, for one so handsome as the man before you to say, I could use a bit of… umm. That.” 

“That,” Dream echoed softly but before Hob could stutter an explanation of that, of his silly need for—for reassurance, a bit more lover’s banter, perhaps some light fussing over him, just to quiet the nervous, ragged-edged part of him that still wanted to lash out at any touch that wasn’t Dream’s, and that still could not fully believe at times that Dream would ever want to touch him at all, no matter how much he’d imagined it over the years, only to then scoff at his own hubris. But now, Dream leaned forward and silenced those voices all at once by smoothing a hand up Hob’s shoulder, over his throat to cup his bearded jaw and lean down, kissing him sweet and certain. “You say that I am the one who asks for too little and yet, all you request of me is that I speak of your beauty aloud, when I have thought of little else of late?”

Hob swallowed, his mouth already dry, and nodded. Dream’s smile curled up at the corners, indulgent, amused, but no less hungry. 

“Very well,” Dream said and leaned in close to whisper in Hob’s ear. “Shall we begin with how you thought yourself insignificant in my eyes, simply because I have known the love of goddesses and queens? I have known greater beings still as lovers, Hob, those with beauty crafted by divine hands for that purpose, and yet there is no other I desire more than you in my bed or beneath my hand, shuddering with the pleasure I wish to grant you.”

Hob’s breath stuttered out in a sharp, punched-out noise and already he could feel heat flooding his face, so swiftly it left him dizzy. “Flatterer,” he chuckled breathlessly. “Prince of Stories, indeed. I suppose that means you do love me in truth, if it’s tricked you into thinking me as fair as all of them.” 

“Love paints what we know with fresh colors, aye,” Dream rumbled and nuzzled his nose to Hob’s cheek. “But if there is trickery involved, then you have been bewitched as thoroughly as I. You see me as one who is soft, as one you claim is easy to love. If you would believe me so, then may I not call you fair, Hob? May I not call you beautiful and speak the truth?”

“… Yeah? Go on, then,” Hob said in a choked-off whisper, and could hardly believe his own boldness, to fish for compliments so from his stranger. But Dream, not a stranger at all anymore, but his lover, his beloved, only huffed in amusement at his words, his breath hot on Hob’s skin, and he spoke as one reciting poetry, poetry about Hob, and if this was to be the future between them, Hob wondered deliriously if he’d found the one force strong enough to be the end of him. 

“I would place you among the divine in fairness of form without hesitation, my love,” Dream breathed, voice caressing the words my love as if to savor the taste of them, and sent shivers all through Hob at those words. “For yours is a beauty crafted by this life, by this world, by the soul that drives you ever forward and the mind that sees the glory of this existence, and by the great heart that moved you to share that glory with one so lost in darkness.”

Dream traced one hand downward to find Hob’s, to draw it up to pin to the pillow beside his head, their fingers intertwined. And as Dream spoke, he studied Hob’s fingers laced through his, and punctuated his words with kisses to each fingertip. “Your hands have known honest labor, and harshest toil, and they have known war, just as thoroughly as they have known the sweetness of a lover’s touch, and the gentleness of holding your infant child. They are hands that have known purpose, and pain, and that are nevertheless kind with their touch, when by rights kindness could have been robbed from you, long ago, and none would blame you for it.” 

At some point, Hob realized he’d begun to tear up, and only felt it when a tear slipped down his cheek. But perhaps Dream had learned the lesson of his tears while they kissed, that they need not always speak of pain, because he did not pause, or offer apology, but only leaned close to kiss the droplets from Hob’s cheek, before he continued.

“I have inspired the greatest sculptors and yet none of their masterpieces move me as deeply as the beauty of your face. No simplistic perfection of ideals could capture the variations, the multitudes within you. So quick to laugh, quick to know, and to see what others do not. There is wisdom in your eyes and cunning in your brow and there is joy, both given and taken, often, and freely shared with all, in your lips. You have drained the marrow of life and with your tongue you speak silver beauty, though you name yourself no poet. And your form… your body, your limbs, softly downed and hewn with ancient toil and upon battlefields where none yet live who know their truth save you, has been the source of my daily longing and my nightly ache. How I have longed to touch you, beloved, and to taste you, the sweat of your brow, the curve of your smile, and heat of your desire. I wish to feel the shiver of your pleasure beneath my hand, more precious than the touch of the divine, and to taste you upon my tongue. Must I beg to touch you now, Hob? Or may I finally know peace for the hunger I have suffered since the night I first dared allow myself to want you?”

“Fucking Christ, yes,” Hob gasped and arched up to capture Dream’s lips, moaning into his mouth. His face was afire and if he wasn’t hard before he was aching now, scrabbling after Dream’s shoulders to drag him down so he could kiss him more soundly, latching on to him. God, if Dream started talking again like that he might lose control on the spot from sheer bliss. “Do whatever you want to me, anything, only do it now, I beg you.”

Dream rumbled with pleasure, like a cat discovering a warm hearth rug, ran his fingertips up Hob’s side and through the dense black fur of his chest, then stretched out over him, following the movement with his eyes as if entranced, until his hands reached Hob’s shoulders, where he smoothed his palms along his skin, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry, and his own arousal evident digging into Hob’s hip. 

“You need only ever ask, Hob, and I shall give you all. My heart. My constancy. My love for all of time, if you will have it,” Dream murmured, voice as steady as ever, but there was the faintest blush of color building on his cheeks. 

“Yes,” Hob hissed but then the clawing need inside him grew desperate at the thought that Dream might see it only as sweet nothings, as the banter between lovers, and not as it was meant, as a vow inscribed into Hob’s very bones. He cupped Dream’s cheek, drew his gaze so they were looking deep into one another’s eyes and said again, “Yes, Dream. Yes, I will have it, all of it, everything you have to give, I want it. You can’t drown me, love, can’t burn me in any way that matters. I want you as much as I want to live. I know that now, after this month without you. Don’t hold back for my sake.” 

Dream shuddered, almost seemed to flinch as if Hob’s words were an arrow that had struck him deep and unexpected. Yet his breath quickened, for all the many times he’d said it was unnecessary. And for all Hob’s urgings, he seemed to hesitate now, as one offered a gift too rich to be believed. 

[whinlatter]

Any hint on when the next chapter is coming? cause IM SO EXCITED AND THIS NEEDS A COUNTDOWN !!! 🫶🏻

ok so! chapter 11! thank you sm for being excited! i'm excited, too!

i have had a few Qs in the inbox about when it's coming, so will give you the lay of the land here. basically i've got good news and bad news (depending on your perspective)...

the good news is - the plan is to share it next week at the latest, and possibly earlier, if i get the stuff done tomorrow that i'm hoping to. if the last chapter was the party, this chapter is the hangover, and it's all blowing up, babyyy. this chapter has some of my favourite scenes i've written in it, including some that have been written for absolutely ages, and it was an absolute treat to write it. the only reason it isn't out already is that i got cold feet about how well it worked as a standalone chapter having cut the original chapter ten in two and posting part one as chapter ten. i felt the part of the original chapter that became chapter 10 worked much better as a standalone chapter (including with a crescendo to a cliffhanger), but the remaining part needed a bit more shaping and restructuring if it was to work as a proper chapter in its own right. so since posting chapter 10 i've been rewriting and reshaping what was the second half of chapter 10/now chapter 11 so that it works better on its own. i think it's much better for it, and also has given me more space and breathing room to add some new scenes and develop others.

the bad news is - after i've posted chapter 11 i'm probably not going to be able to guarantee an update for chapter 12 until january. i've been updating with long chapters pretty regularly once a month since march, and i don't want to hang onto chapter 11 arbitrarily when it's basically done/just to post it mid-december to stick to schedule. but this does mean i won't be sharing another chapter (chapter 12) in december, in all likelihood. this is mostly because i've got a big real life phd dissertation full draft deadline at the end of the year (still amusing to me that in both my job and in my hobby i am just scrabbling to put together overdue chapters i misguidedly promised people), so want to make sure i can make that deadline while still keeping the beasts train moving. it does also mean that in the timeline of the fic, we'll be at new year as actual new year happens, which is sort of satisfying to me in its own way. i hope this is a good enough deal - chapter 11 early (and it's a meaty one too) as a trade-off for having to wait a little bit longer for chapter 12? that's the plan in my mind at the moment, anyway.

thank you for asking anon & thank you for being all aboard the beasts train. can't wait to share chapter 11 with you very soon! 🫶

[jtl07]

jtl07 fics, summer 2023

Kinda liked doing the half year recap in June and had planned to do another one at the end of the year, but since I had quite the posting spree this month, decided to do one now.

General stats

Total on this pseud: 12 (all avatrice / Warrior Nun fandom)

Fics posted (chronological order):

to all the girls (to you, to me) -- or: Ava watching people fall in love with Beatrice, including herself

leave it all behind (I’ll see you on the other side) -- or: Ava comes back - healthy, whole, quiet. Too quiet.

the long, delirious, burning blue -- or: the moody Top Gun 2 (Maverick) AU

another little peace (restful pieces): something old, something blue -- or: the girls buy cereal; or or: Bea learning the difference between safety and familiarity

looks for you in everything (finds you there) -- or: Switzerland vignettes based on items found in their bedroom

Enhanced Beings Tech Support transcripts -- or: What if there was technical phone support for “enhanced beings” like halo bearers?

another little peace (restful pieces): lets you see the wonder of it all -- or: Ava meets a member of her family

another little peace (restful pieces): like a boat -- or: Beatrice plays Stray Gods

late night vigil -- or: camila learns about beatrice's strap; she helps in her own way

another little peace (restful pieces): to always wake up to you -- or: avatrice proposal based off of SimplyKorra's fantastic headcanon

another little peace (restful pieces): perchance to dream (no more) -- or: Ava wakes up from a dream

can't go back -- or: Five times Beatrice tries a food for a second time

(More numbers, thoughts, and some plans below the cut)

More numbers

Total words: 36720

Shortest: 685 (to always wake up to you)

Longest (one-shot): 5987 (the long, delirious, burning blue)

Average/Median word count: 3060 / 2019

General thoughts

Nearly 10k more words in the past 3 months than I wrote the first half of the year - I guess being in a safe space after your life has been turned upside down makes a difference, huh?

I still don't know what happened this month - specifically, the two week period from 8/14 - 8/26 where my fingers were just trying their best to keep up with the stories pressing in my brain lol (willing to bet it's somethingsomething healing and how it can take many forms, like this kind of intense spike)

Fun fact: This is only the second time I've written a one-shot over 5k words this year (3rd time ever in my many years of writing fic). It's always interesting to look at the average / median word count because it's been firmly in the 2k range. I still want to challenge myself with longer work, they just take time and energy yknow? Under 3k, I feel really comfortable now, which is a cool feeling

Fic that surprised me:

Honestly, everything that happened in that intense two week period (i.e. everything posted after "the long, delirious, burning blue") was a genuine surprise. Every time one of those ideas happened, I felt like I was just trying to keep up. I was really glad to have the space - emotionally, physically - to write those stories.

And I guess what surprised me also was just how wide a range they all were. I've been trying to work on just "writing what will get written" and learning to turn off the judgemental voice in my head that says things like, "you should be writing more," or "you should be writing better ideas." It was a surprise that these ideas just kinda flowed without much friction, yknow? I'm taking it as a sign of growth :)

Fic that was the hardest to write:

Oh gosh hands down leave it all behind (I’ll see you on the other side) - I had to discard full drafts and start over from scratch multiple times to get to what's actually posted. I had tried different perspectives, different settings, different points in the story, but I just kept getting stuck. I think part of it was because when I write, I usually start with a vibe or an arc - with this one, I was starting with the turn, the twist - which I don't often write either. So writing this kind of story was new on all fronts

can't go back was also a bit frustrating to write - I've been dealing with a sudden recurrence of brain fog so I know part of it was that, but idk, I feel like it could have been tighter thematically

Fic that I'm proud of:

Definitely the Top Gun 2/Maverick AU, the long, delirious, burning blue. I mentioned this in a comment that when I first had the idea, I'd expected it to be more of an action fic - I don't often write action, so I thought it'd be a good opportunity to practice. But, as with most of my work, it ended up quite moody, more a reflection of grief and duty.

Why am I proud of it? Because despite my initial intent, and my initial disappointment when I realized the direction it was going, I allowed myself to go with it. Writing this piece helped me accept where I am in my writing, to accept the stories I choose to write and how I write them. This fic was not at all what I had expected, but it turned out to be exactly what I needed

Runner up: looks for you in everything (finds you there) - the final word count shocked me, honestly, I didn't expect to write so many vignettes. But I was mostly proud of the diligence behind this and letting my sappy side run free lol

WIPs in the wings

Lol my WIP list is hella long - and that's not counting a whole separate document I have that's just prompts. I still have some Supercorp ideas that I've not yet fleshed out that are more on the "experimental" side that play with form and formatting - I've also some avatrice ones in "genre" as well.

Surprisingly, I've a couple AUs I've been turning over in my mind - I blame playing Stray Gods for making me remember some video games I'd grown up playing lol Oh and I've been pondering how to do a litrpg/gamelit style fic as well.

There's a couple longer one-shots that I've been pecking at but are going to take me a while to finish - there's one that's sort of a sister to every leaf that falls (never stops falling) (not a continuation, more like a sister in terms of vibe and tone), and another that explores Ava having a new ability (will I ever stop being enamored with Switzerland era? The answer is no lol).

But mostly, I'm just going to vibe with happens - "write what will get written" and all. We'll see where it all goes!

If you've read this far, thanks a ton for your support and going on the ride that is my fics lol - much appreciation to y'all!

[outpost51]

The 51 Post

Figured I'd start some kind of digest!

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed:

I've got a taglist form now! Because who doesn't love a good form?

BRHP: Chapter 14 posted; Atria learns the meaning of touch starvation and really, really misses her dad.

WIP Intro: Caught in the Crossfire (18+)

WIP Intro: The Arsonist Chronicles (18+)

WIP Whenever (Open Tag): BRHP chapter 15 snippet; pop pop is having a time time

Crossing Over: the 5th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; a new player has entered the fray, and a familiar face reappears.

Vampire Council lore and vampire origins lore

Aria/Omega snippety snip

This Week's Jams:

friends like these || Brassie [spotify/youtube]

Little Girl Gone || CHINCHILLA [spotify/youtube]

EVERGREEN || PVRIS [spotify/youtube]

Eyes on Fire || Gold Souls [spotify/youtube]

WHEN THE PARTY'S OVER || Cami Petyn [spotify/youtube]

Lizard Lady || Laura Doggett [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns:

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 15 should be coming out later today, with 16 slated for release sometime late this week or early next week. I'm finally in the chapters that don't require a ton of rewrites; most of what I've been doing is adding content. The whole thing is outlined through chapter 30 though! Since this is my entry for WIP Big Bang, updates will "stop" at chapter 18, since that's what I had published before the rewrites. After that, you'll have to wait for the release date! Which also means I have to wait for the release date for the serotonin, and that's going to be a nightmare.

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

At this point, it's just a matter of making myself work on it. About a third of chapter 9 is written and the entirety of Act II is outlined.

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

nervous laughter

Stellar Parallax

Fuck, I missed this WIP. I missed Jane especially, she's so fun to write -- I'm about a third of the way into chapter 9 and it seems to be flowing pretty well? I just wanna get to the part where she and Saren beat the shit out of each other LMAO

Lighthouse in the Fog

Dunno if y'all saw, but the lighthouse keeper stories have a tag and a tentative title now! It's going to remain as a series of loosely connected shorts, and that may very well be what I end up doing with Xatal as well. Anyway, we have some lore groundwork laid! Look out for the 6th short later today!

In the Works

I still have questions in my inbox that I am absolutely getting to! I've also got a bunch of unanswered tags in my drafts and Notion. Losing a week and a half of planned answer time threw my schedule WAY off. Submission for SSSC #006 is in the planning stage. Hannah and the MILF Squad Get Up To No Good is about 30% written and fully outlined. I have... so many Kryterius prompts left to fill, and so many more spotify wrapped prompts left, send help. Still working on separating out the Daddy Issues smutshots, hoping to finish up the rewrites for the F!Shali one before the end of July. TIPYNTS is most likely going to come out in October, and by then I'm hoping to have a backlog of chapters to make posting more consistent.

From the Skwad:

Door's always open! 18+ writing server for both fanworks and original works! Camp is starting soon! We also have a flash fiction challenge and three bingo cards running until the end of the month!

@teamdilf continues to absolutely baffle me with her productivity here we go: A Cheesy Situation is now complete, ch 16 of Alice's Adventures in Andromeda is live, ch 18 of The In-Laws and the Grandparents is live, A Night in the IKEA dropped which I'm absolutely dying over, and that's not even all of it. holy shit J i don't know how you do it but i'll have whatever you're having thx

@thetrashbagswasteland dropped ch 4 of the Sunseeker rewrite and I'm adsfdafdadsf yes. thank you king

@sparatus is tearing me to fucking pieces with Make Less the Depth of Grief. i hate you (i love you)

@uraniumwriting also obliterated me with their FFF entry.

@wrathbites is back and I'm literally beside myself I missed the Vampire AU so fucking much.

oops @commander-krios got me invested in Star Wars please look at this.

@starknstarwars updated Smuggler's Ruin aaaaaaaaaaaaa

A few of our members participated in Shenko Summer!! @dandenbo wrote Volta and @mrsd-writes wrote both We Got Here the Hard Way and Forever Home!

@regalbois dropped a new original oneshot and has been going bananas over Bioshock lately and gifting us MORE mlm deliciousness, ch 3 of Magnum Opus went live last night.

@inflarescent has a new wippppp aaaaaaa -- intro post for The Roulette Paradox here!

@discoeffect updated Far From Any Road and I am devouring the first book so I can read this one!!

Around the 'Blr:

Have you checked out the Writeblr Directory or Writeblr Cafe yet?

I'm literally still thinking about @captain-kraken's Heitha translator.

@void-botanist dropped some witch lore I'm eating with a spoon.

@tc-doherty ALSO popped off with the conlang.

The dates IRL are lining up with the dates in @elshells's Agent Ace EXCITING also a new chapter is dropping probably by the time I post this lmao

@liv-is dropped this GOLDMINE of relationship writing tips also TIL what Liv does for a living not sorry

@writernopal first of all made me absolutely CRY being sweet in the tags last night and also dropped an aasoaf 3 sneep while i was composing this thank you my friend i needed the energy snack

did y'all see Find the Word XVIII from @artdecosupernova-writing i'm going FERAL

@tabswrites's Silver Sentinels has a second chapter, I am VIBRATING

@oh-no-another-idea just slid in with this little diddy that i LOVE.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Outpost Updates Taglist: @tabswrites @writernopal @freedominique @asher-orion-writes @liv-is @starknstarwars @captain-kraken

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

[dustofthedailylife]

Hellooooo, it's yo girl with an update!

Let's start with the meh news first...

I don't know how much I'll get to writing within the first couple of months of 2024 since my final (and I mean final final ever) exams are coming up at uni and I'm therefore studying my brains out for my degree. I have some stuff in the pipeline already that I really want to write for Genshin and HSR but I might be a bit slower with that. But I am still writing and actively trying to squeeze some time for it in! You may also always entertain me with asks if you fancy.

I've decided to move the garden event I had started to another date. Meaning: I'll cancel it for now. I know I haven't written anything for it really but my health got in the way in the latter half of 2023 and now real life is kicking my ass - I'll reintroduce it as soon as I have the time (& hopefully also health) for an event again. I'm super duper sorry. I had every intention to write something with the prompts you sent and also really loved the concept...😭 All of the meh stuff out of the way though!

I have started working on a personal original project and I have started drafting the story a couple of days ago. I'm planning to release it as a webcomic. I'll keep you posted! In my usual fashion, it will be romantic & angsty and include exclusively OCs of mine. Would mean the world to me if some of you would also check it out, once I'm ready to release it into the wild 🥺🫶🏻

I posted a poll about that last week and you voted that I shall keep you updated on it here as well. People who aren't interested in it will get a hashtag to mute as soon as I've thought about one. Will inform you about that, too.

Aaaaand that's about all for now. Stay awesome and most importantly healthy 💕 Don't forget to hydrate or you'll end up looking like a raisin <3

[prettylittlelyres]

Ladies Don't Write Music - 15th November 2023 - update

I'm on track for NaNoWriMo because I hit 25,000 words for the month today! I'm so pleased. Attempting NaNoWriMo at all this year was a huge gamble because I haven't written over 25,000 words since February 2023, and even then I only managed just over 37k... but I've written 25k in the last two weeks and a day!

I also finished writing Chapter Twelve today, and brought it in at 5,000 words exactly. That's both immensely satisfying, and a point of pride; it's the fastest I've finished a chapter on this manuscript since I started drafting it at the end of July. The full manuscript is now just over 60,000 words long, and I want to do some more writing before I go to bed.

Below the cut: a celebratory excerpt, my NaNoWriMo 25k badge, and the cover I designed at the start of November, because I'm proud of that, too.

I clapped the right tempo, and counted Fräulein Schneider in.

She began, halting here and there, but, in general, playing very well.

“I’m not sure if you need a teacher,” I said, as she came to the end of the first page, “You sight-read just fine, and your sense of rhythm is strong.”

Fräulein Schneider beamed at me. “Thank you!” she said, “But it’s… it’s the pitch that I struggle with. Did I really…” She looked down at her hands. “Did I really play that correctly? I keep thinking I was pressing the wrong keys, but I don’t like to look at my hands when I’m sight-reading, or I lose my place in the music.”

I shook my head. “There was nothing wrong with the notes you played,” I said, “Considering it was your first time with the piece, actually, it was excellent.”

Louisa raised her eyebrows, and looked from me to the sheet music, and then back again. “That’s… That’s a surprise,” she said, “I’ve always thought I was, well… quite bad at the harpsichord. I practise, but the music never makes any more sense than it does when I start learning a piece. My last two teachers gave up on me, but I keep playing anyway because Papa and Mama said it would be a good way to entertain my husband one day.”

“Doesn’t it sound good to you, at least?” I asked, “I mean, do you like the way it sounds, even if it’s a little confusing?”

She smiled. “Yes, very much… but I worry that it doesn’t sound so good to other people. Full of wrong notes… Who would enjoy hearing a piece they recognise mangled out of shape?”

I tapped the page she had just played. “You certainly didn’t mangle this,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, covering her face with her hands, “That’s a relief!” Then her eyes widened as she dropped her hands to her lap. “Goodness me, how embarrassing it would have been if I’d played it badly in front of its composer.”

“Badly, not at all,” I assured her, sitting down next to her at the bench, “A little slowly, perhaps, but…” I played the first few bars as they should have been played. “That’s what it’s meant to sound like. And what you played was close enough. Honestly, Louisa, if you practise for even half an hour every day, I think you’ll have the first page fluent in less than a week. Your hands will learn it, even if your ears don’t.”

I decided a while ago that Johann Schneider's character would be tone-deaf, and would enjoy watching music performed for the movement. He has a younger sister and I thought it would be interesting to explore her having the same difficulties. Johann isn't a musician (yet), but Louisa plays the harpsichord and has a lot of trouble feeling confident in what she's playing because she's never sure she's got the right pitch. Luckily, her proprioception is excellent (as is Johann's, which is why he can dance so well), so she can put her fingers on the right keys without needing to see them. This is what Katharina's trying to help her see here, in this ad-hoc music lesson; she doesn't need to hear what she's playing to be able to play it well.

I'm quite enjoying playing around with parallels between Johann & Louisa Schneider and Katharina & Hans Schmidt. In both pairs of siblings, you have the older, more serious one having trouble meeting people's expectations, in contrast with the younger, more humourous one having very little trouble at all. The pairs also mirror each other in their strengths and weaknesses: Katharina and Hans have audiovisual projective synaesthesia and perfect pitch, so can hear and see the music they're making; Johann and Louisa are literally tone-deaf (Johann completely, Louisa almost completely) and music for them is a much more visual thing than it is for most people. Then there's Katharina, whose coordination is so bad it causes problems, being the opposite of Johann, whose coordination makes him an excellent dancer who then has problems because he finds constant poorly-veiled requests to dance at parties very tiring.

[danpuff-ao3]

Ending Mutuals March on a very special note. PI, @perverse-idyll, my longtime writing crush, and now my friend.

It was love at first sight when The White Road was first posted. I can't remember when I first read it, but it was around the time it was posted for sure. And I've read that fic every year since. At least once a year, if not more. By the time I read When the Rose and the Fire Are One I knew it was true love!

PI's stories have been deeply meaningful to me for a long time. And I have always admired her skill. Prose? Gorgeous, stunning, perfect. With great knowledge and great passion she strings words into gorgeous treasures. Raw stones left to their rough glory, or shaped and shined as needed. Not only a gifted wordsmith, but a wise and empathetic person who understands the human condition, and the complexities of emotion. Someone with great love for beloved characters, but also great understanding. Love born of understanding, which is everything I long for!

We love the same characters, and the same OTP. She does such justice to these characters, and their dynamic. She's always written Snarry exactly how I needed it. I have treasured her works for many years, and they have been my favorites for many years. Of course, in those earlier days I was much too shy to let her know just what her works meant to me.

Then, in recent years, I had my first interaction with PI. On Reddit, of places. I recced one of her fics and she responded to it which blew my mind a bit, since her Reddit name isn't perverse_idyll, lol! So...I tried to be chill, which if you know me, you know how hard that is! Me, but an overenthusiastic fangirl trying not to scare off her faves, haha! If I remember correctly, I finally set about drafting a comment on The White Road not long after that. Long overdue that one!

Then...time went on. During a very rough period with an old fandom group, I turned to PI's works for comfort. And in November 2021, the same month I left that old fandom group, PI's episode on @fanficmaverickpodcast (Ep. 25 interview) was released!

I was over the moon excited to listen to it! But the sort of excited that meant I couldn't dive in right away. I had to run around and squeal a bit and settle myself down in order to listen. It is a long episode, two and a half hours long, but well worth it! The host, ChaosBlue, is a dear friend of mine now, and a very professional and charming host. And perverse_idyll was a fantastic guest, with so much insight and enthusiasm for fandom and for writing. 10/10 recommend it. I ran around and shared the episode everywhere I could.

And then...Reddit. PI shared the episode on Reddit, with encouragement for others to reach out to ChaosBlue to do their own episode. And...I did! God, that's a whole other post in of itself and how amazing ChaosBlue is, but basically...I felt pretty audacious! I had to work myself up quite a bit to reach out. And as hard as it was to reach out, I don't think I'd have found the courage to even think about it without PI's little note. It both inspired and comforted me. And doing my own interview for the podcast was such a great (and terrifying!) experience that I'm glad I did. (See: ep. 32 Interview)

From there...it came over time. PI was so kind and supportive about my interview. I found the bravery to reach out to her directly at some point. And though she is quite the busy lady, she is always so giving of her time and energy in responding when she can! PI is such an encouraging, generous, compassionate, supportive spirit. One I feel very blessed to know. She has so much clear respect and admiration for other creators. So much love and dedication to fandom, however busy or wild life may be.

Other fandom experiences reminded me of why they say to never meet your heroes. But PI spared me from being too wary of folk. PI is an excellent reminder that, sometimes, the creators we admire are even better humans.

PI's works were so meaningful to me for so long. And PI as a person has just as much impact! Thank you for being my friend, PI. Thank you for everything that you do. Thank you for all that you give to fandom; for all that you create, and all the support you give. And thank you most of all for being there for me. And showing such kindness and gentleness in times I needed it most, whether you knew it or not.

Here's to you, my friend. Time for me to wipe my eyes and drop some recs! Maybe by the end we'll have forgotten what an emotional mess I am LOL.

The Afterlight

Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Work in progress. Background case. Mutual pining. Friends with benefits. Denial of feelings. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Eventual happy ending.

Y'all cannot know how thrilled I was when PI posted a new fic. This one! And though it's only just begun, I already feel in my bones it will be a new favorite! PI as ever provides Snarry exactly the way I love it!

After surviving the Battle of Hogwarts, a long convalescence, and a short trial, Snape walks free and promptly vanishes from Wizarding society. Six years pass before he shows his face again. A lot can change in six years, and a romantically disillusioned and inebriated Harry hits Snape up for a friends-with-benefits arrangement. After all, they share an experience most people have never had: they both know what it's like to be dead. Their liaison works surprisingly well until Harry's reckless behaviour as an Auror leads to unethical practices and personal calamities, and things start to fall apart.

Candles Lit Against the Dark

Minerva/Wilhelmina. Minor Harry/Severus. Rated: G. Words: 13,585. Old friends. Postwar. Heavy drinking. Fond bickering. Snapecase 2023.

Many feelings. Very realistic and bittersweet. With all of the realism of life, for all of its rough edges, uneven paths, and the love found along the way.

It's been a few months since Minerva's retirement, and she'd promised Wil a dinner out. Before she knows it, friends start turning up on her doorstep and then at the pub, not least among them a certain spy who came in from the cold.

In Infinite Remorse of Soul | And Mine the Gall

Albus/Severus. Harry/Severus. Revenge. Obsession. D/s undertones. Afterlife. Incest (ish.) Dub-con. Twisted love.

I am obsessed. This is dark and fucky and weird and wonderful and gorgeous. The sequel, And Mine the Gall, features one of the lines that has most haunted out of every fic I've read. Love it love it love it!

Albus Dumbledore never makes the same mistake twice. Certainly not in love.

No Room for the Weak

Eileen POV. Rated: T. Words: 10,444. Dysfunctional family. Mindfuck. Pre-Snarry.

Love love love love love this. Some Snape family history. Eileen is great. Very fascinating look at the woman who bore and raised Severus.

There's a Boy Who Lived and a boy who didn't, and even a mother can't always tell them apart.

The Son

Regulus POV. Rated: T. Words: 5,422. Unhappy families.

First there were two sons. Then there was one.

Warm

Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 11,323. PWP. Fluff & smut.

PWP feels wrong for this. So much sensuality and tenderness and good god the LOVE here. Also, I'm sorry, but Harry and Severus existing as themselves basically is plot, but I digress....PI says it's PWP so it's PWP. I'm not going to argue with her!

Severus still suffers the after-effects of Nagini's venom, especially in winter. Harry knows just how to warm him up.

When the Rose and the Fire Are One

Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 81.619. Confinement. Dysfunctional Relationships. Spinner's End. Dubious consent. Sex magic.

Cool magic stuff. The best OC I've ever met (Odile, my beloved.) Ideas of Spinner's End and Eileen Snape that have lived in my head ever since. Big angst and fuckery. Great characters. Great relationship development. Everything is just...A+, chef's kiss, amazing.

Harry's haunted by guilt. Snape's warded by roses. Each must free the other in order to free himself.

The White Road

Lily POV. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 47,877. Afterlife. Romance. Redemption. Voyeurism. Incestuous vibes.

Longtime favorite. One of the first fics that fully blew me away. I read this and thought "this does not belong on the internet, this belongs on a bookshelf."

One day, comfortably set up in the afterlife, Lily Evans Potter switches on the telly and gets hooked on the Harry Potter show.

for an explanation about Mutuals March, or to figure out why i wrote you a thing, please check out this post.

[nomi--sunrider]

⭐ for the fic writer's ask!

Ah, a behind the scenes for Then, Now, and Always. Let's see....

Oh I know! I'll unpack the scene that got me the most negative feedback I've ever received on anything I've written: The Duel from Chapter 25: Battle of the Goddesses.

(I haven't talked about Then, Now, and Always in like a month, so be prepared for an essay.)

I thought up the silent Tally/enraged Alder epic duel very early on in the drafting process. Literally, it's in the first, very very rough draft in my docs, which is about 15 pages long and half-summary, half- little bites of scenes.

The reason I wanted them to have The Duel is twofold:

It's genuinely the most tragic thing I could think of for two people who love(d) each other. Y'know? Like Anakin and Obi-Wan on Mustafar. Badass scene, but you're fully aware of the tragedy all the way through. It's supposed to hurt that these two women who once loved each other are now on opposite sides of a war and forced to do battle.

2. I thought it would be fucking awesome.

Part of the inspiration of Then, Now, and Always was this scene:

Tally Craven's hottest scene in the whole show imo. What was I gonna do, give her an enhanced witch baton and not let her use it to full effect? And who else was she going to fight who mattered? It had to be Alder.

Also, Alder's headbutt was dumb. You can quote me on that.

Look, if nothing else, Alder and Tally fight in the actual show. And that fight is important, it does have narrative and thematic relevance, and there is a damn good reason it happened. Unfortunately, that fight is also LAME. Seriously, it is the lamest thing ever! And not even because Tally gets her ass kicked in seconds! The scene is shot cleverly, with perspective shifts and quick camera cuts to veil the fact that the actors and stunt doubles aren't really doing that much. It's the only time we see an actual scourge battle that might have given some indication as to why it's the weapon of choice for witches and why witches make such deadly soldiers. And then it's five seconds long and nothing special.

So I wanted to write a cool fight scene for the fic. Not a spar, by the way. Sparring scenes are popular in fiction, but I personally think they're pointless (unless the author is trying to accomplish something unserious). Literally, a spar is a fake fight. A fascimile. It isn't real. I wanted to write something very, very real. And that led to a lot of the narrative wrapping around making Battle of the Goddesses possible.

Someone on Discord posted during a TNAA discussion "Oh Alder would never hurt Tally." The thing about that is a.) canonically, she can and she has, and b.) For Then, Now, and Always, that's actually not an unreasonable assertion to make. Alder is carrying one hell of a torch. Therefore, I had to make Alder angry enough to actually fight Tally with no holds barred and every intention of beating her.

And that ended up making Chapter 24: Judgment, what it is. In that same very early doc, I had this Petra line.

Literally, that's all. I had no idea where I'd put it or for what reason, but it felt important. I knew about the Ozarks twist from the start, so I knew that someone had to call out Alder for her judgment eventually. Then I realized that, since my plan when I started drafting TNAA was to fix everything, including mandatory freaking conscription of a persecuted minority group, I had the perfect, perfect opportunity to make Alder vicious enough to kill.

Tally's trying dissolve the Salem Accords. That was her endgame the whole time.

Now Alder's angry enough to fight to the death and make the duel truly epic, Tally's goal is much broader, the fic has the chance to move into deeply philosophical, big-picture territory, and I get a pair of dope-ass chapters out of it. Eight birds, one stone. I was so happy.

Zooming back out, I think part of the reason a lot of folks were upset by Battle of the Goddesses pertains to my theory that fanfiction is like ice cream. Easy to eat, requires no effort, delicious and instantly satisfying. The main romantic pairing isn't supposed to fight each other to the literal death, even if it's fucking awesome and deeply symbolic. Duels/battles/wars between two love interests are common fare in sci-fi/fantasy because of their intense thematic and narrative heft, but not in fanfic. That's serving roasted sweet potatoes and kale at an ice cream parlor. It's too much for a lot of readers.

Finally, I think a lot of readers were upset about Alder losing the fight. Here's the thing:

It's not interesting if she wins.

Just like it's not interesting if Goliath beats David or if Jamal doesn't win the jackpot in Slumdog Millionaire. It's a story. The underdog has to win against all odds by their cleverness and mettle. Yes, I too, am sad that Sarah Alder's trauma was never addressed. She's a traumatized, damaged victim of the narrative and her story is a tragedy, start to finish. I think a big draw of the Talder ship is that it allows us to protect and humanize Alder in a way the show never did. Few people want to see her be the victim of even more pain in fic.

This doesn't change the fact that General Sarah Alder is brutal, unyielding, and violent. She's a three hundred year old soldier and her entire existence is war. She is not a good person. To defang her without earning it would be OOC. Trauma doesn't make good people. Healing makes good people. And there's no indication in canon that Sarah Alder has healed in any way, shape, or form.

If you've read this all the way til the end, that's very kind of you. Thanks for letting me ramble!

Why her character arc in Then, Now, and Always really doesn't start until Arc III lmao. When Alder is on her knees, defeated and disgraced, but instead of Petra and Tally going for the kill like they did in the show, they both offer a hand to help her back up. Alder heals because she's given the chance to do so by the people around her. Because I chose to not, y'know, immediately kill her off after tearing her from her pedestal. Genuinely, I have lost so much sleep over all of the amazing, transformative character work the show had in its damn lap and chose to ignore.

[crescencestudio]

Devlog #34 | 08.27.23

Hi everyone!

Another month has flown by, and we are already entering the month of September soon! It's crazy it's already Fall......... Hope you all have been doing well <3

Since we're getting into the latter half of the year, I wanted to sit down and talk to you about the usual monthly progress as well as do a check in on where Alaris is sitting. This is a longer one, so without further ado, let's dive in, shall we?

Writing

We continue to move forward with writing. But it's extremely refreshing this month since I've Finally moved into Etza's route! Already, the route is feeling relatively different from the past three routes I've been writing---not necessarily because the past three routes are repetitive, but moreso because Etza's route (and the Fae ones moving forward) is very different regarding plot content. I can't say much more than that because then we start getting into spoiler territory. But it's been exciting since Etza, Kuna'a, and Aisa have always been the "final stage" of writing for Alaris to me.

I'm aiming to have Etza's first draft done by the end of next month. We'll check in next month to see my progress, but that's my goal at least! I also wrapped up the finishing touches for Druk's route this past month and moved his onto developmental editing, so we are just moving into New Stages all across the board yay!

Art

Most of my attention was actually on art this month though! Specifically, on finalizing Kickstarter merchandise so I can ship it out. I finished the updated Mermay prints as well as the character postcards.

they r beauty they r grace

I will have some extra prints that I'm happy to send off. Obviously, you will have to pay for them LOL. But if you're interested in any, I'll have an extremely limited stock. Patrons will get first dibs, so if you are interested but aren't subscribed to my Patreon, I'd recommend getting on that for this upcoming month since I will not be restocking the Mermay prints ever again!

We also continued to get backgrounds from Vui. These are spoiler territory, so I will not be showing them this month teehee. But they're beautiful per usual Vui fashion!

Check-In

Now that we're in the latter half of the year, I wanted to talk to you all about overall Alaris progress and some more specific parts of development.

As of right now, we have about 210k written for Alaris (including the demo). And the end estimate is about 350k. For art assets, we have 20 CGs out of an estimated 48 CGs finished and/or sketched out. For BGs, we are on background 18 out of 25. The GUI is for the most part finished, save for some small finishing touches. And we have 6 out of 8 original tracks completely done.

If it's not clear, Alaris will definitely be a 2024 release rather than an end of 2023 release, which may be disappointing news for those of you eager for Alaris. But realistically, even if I make absolutely cracked progress on the assets from now until the end of the year, I would still need time to polish the full game, especially considering how long it took me to polish intertwine for Otojam, which was significantly smaller. And that's excluding my team members, who I don't want to force into a crunching position. All that being said, I hope to get some playable content to you all before the end of the year, namely the updated demo and maybe Kayn's beta build!

I wanted to take a moment to mention one thing concerning the updated demo. As you all may know from past devlogs, I've updated many of the assets for the enhanced demo. Initially, I had wanted to release the updated demo quite a while back, but there was one set of assets that ended up getting held up in production. For full transparency, since I've talked about the updated demo for a while but haven't been able to show much more progress beyond that, I wanted to touch on (generally) why it's been held up, mainly because I don't want you all to think I'm just Not Delivering on it!

My GUI artist is the same person who made the Alaris logo (re.Alice). She's wonderfully talented, which is why I wanted to work with her for the Alaris GUI as well! As many may know, sometimes life happens and so without getting into any specifics, this is what has been holding up the enhanced demo since I haven't been able to update and code in the new GUI.

Based on recent updates from Alice, I'm hopeful that I'll be receiving the new GUI this upcoming month, and I'd love to release the updated demo (T e n t a t i v e l y) in October! Of course, when the September devlog comes around I'll be able to update you all more concretely. But I wanted to communicate where things currently (and have been) standing since I've been wanting you all to experience the updated demo so badly but didn't want you all to feel like I've been forgetting about it/dropping the ball on it/etc. etc. etc.

Thank you, as always for being so patient and supportive of me! As we head into this final half of the year (jesus), I hope the progress I've been making behind the scenes for Alaris will start to come to fruition through the enhanced demo and some playable beta builds of the individual routes <3

Market Research

I did ~some~ market research this month, but it's honestly been pretty sparse, mainly because my usual market research time was actually replaced by Jam Time this month.

Specifically, if you didn't get the chance to check them out, I helped with two games this month for a 10 day jam. I think they're both pretty top-notch if I'm allowed to humbly brag since the teams behind them were very talented!

The first is Oblivisci Memorias

After receiving a mysterious request, you create a potion meant to erase memories. But the process is a grueling one, and as you add ingredients to your potion, you may find yourself reminiscing on memories you thought you had long since suppressed.

And the second is Titan Arum

Alone, you find yourself catsitting in your family's new house as they traipse through Europe. But incidents slowly signal to you that something's... off about this house. What story exists behind its walls? And more importantly, are you brave enough to uncover it?

[a-force-dyad-in-space]

A Fanfic Update

Hey guys, I thought I should give you an update about what's going on Ongoing-WIPs-wise just in case you've had some worries.

The short of it is that the writing juices haven't flowed well for a while now and I'm trying to get them back but it is a struggle. I've worked a bit on this fic or other but haven't made significant progress in a few months. I absolutely hope that will change soon but I unfortunately can't force it. It doesn't help that I'm going through some stuff IRL right now that I have to take care of (I am unfortunately an adult who has to do adulting and pay bills and shit 🥲). I try not to be too stressed out about it, but the more time passes the more the anxiety sets in. Wish me luck. 💪🏻

Anyway, here's a fic-by-fic overview, split up by fandom.

THE UNTAMED

The Angsty SongXue Fic — I'll be honest, I've written a little bit since I last updated you guys but I still haven't finished the buffer chapter (at this point I'm thinking about posting chapter 51 even though 52 isn't done yet), so nothing really new here. I really want to get back into a writing flow but so far it hasn't really worked. I am still working on it, though, so don't worry, I'm not going to drop it.

The It Follows AU — I'm ashamed to say I didn't even realize I posted that fic almost two years ago and I still haven't written the second half. I'm so sorry it's taking so long! I definitely still want to finish it! I might rewatch the It Follows movie before I do that, though.

The Observer Series — Oh yeah, remember that smutfic series I started a few years ago of which I've only posted part 1 so far? Yeah, I still need to work on that. I did write chapter 1 of part 2 a while ago, so it's not like it's forgotten, I just need to get my ass up and write the rest of part 2 before I can post it. 🙈

The Color Rush AU — Okay, technically I haven't posted that one yet but I did share a snippet along with a gifset a few years ago, so you guys know it exists. I haven't worked on it in a long time, though, and I don't know yet when I will find the spoons to continue writing it but I'm still intrigued by the premise and want to give it a go. Thank you for your patience!

The Somewhat Sweet, Somewhat Angsty XuanXian Fic — Again, haven't posted that one yet but I've been posting about it, so you guys know it exists. Nothing new on this front. I did want to rewrite the whole thing because I wasn't really happy with the way I wrote it thus far, so I'll probably go back to it at some point and do that, I just don't know when yet.

WORD OF HONOR

The Xie'er Deserves the World Fic — Listen, guys, I love this fic so much, I just haven't worked on it in a while. I'll probably re-read what I've written so far and go on from there, I've just been struggling with the latest chapter ever since I started writing it years ago. It's not dropped, though, I will get back to it! Pinky swear!

SAILOR MOON

I've mentioned here and there that I'm working on part 1 of an epic that is based on a doujinshi I started when I was 13 or 14. Unlike my other WIPs, this one really is 100% self-indulgent to the point where I don't even care whether people will read/like it once I post it when it's completely done. I'll just put it out there to make my teenage self happy because this story has been simmering in my head for over 20 years, and so that my IRL friends can read it if they want to. So, this one will be a long way out, but it exists. I'm only really mentioning it because I've mentioned it a couple of times before and because it's the fic that's been on my mind the most lately.

STAR WARS

You didn't think I forgot about TROBS, did you????? I did work on several beginnings of a draft during NaNoWriMo last year and I'm getting more and more of a clear picture of how I want it to go. For those unfamiliar, TROBS (or The Rise of Ben Skywalker, though I already changed the name of the fic again) is my attempt at an Episode IX fix-it fic that essentially replaces TROS. This one has been simmering in my head since early 2020 and I really want to get it out of there and onto the page for catharsis. I've even held off on reading any other TROS fix-its because of it, even though I've heard there are some really amazing ones out there (and I can't wait to read them once I've gotten my own out of my damn head). I really need to finally finish that beast. Wish me luck. 🥲

UNPOSTED WIPs

I still have so many notes for other fics (mostly for The Untamed) that I want to write at some point. Will I be able to get them all on the page? I honestly don't know, but I'll see where they take.

Anyway, that's all!