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amarynthian-chronicles · 3 months

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Our Guest Chapter 1

Vampire!Sun, Vampire!Moon, Vampire!Eclipse x Hunter Reader

(You arrive at a sinister and luxurious castle with the innocent intention of checking why its mysterious residents haven't been paying any taxes or utilities for the past several centuries. Very useful excuse for a vampire hunter to have when trying to do some good old infiltrating. The three vampire lords however, fully intend to capture and seduce you, but that is a bit difficult when you keep asking them about their financial books. Will they be able to make you theirs? Are they onto your little schemes and playing along? Will you finally get that plate of cupcakes? We'll find out)

“There is a beautiful and delicious darling waiting at our castle door, brothers.“

“This is practical, normally we have to go out and hunt for one of those. Apparently the whole process switched to free postal service.“

“I can taste the tantalizing sweetness in their veins even from here. All shall envy our fortune, no other lord of the night will ever have access to such nectar.“

Three vampiric aristocrats were huddling together behind the velvet curtains, trying to get a discreet peek at the unexpected visitor that had rung the castle doorbell, disturbing their nocturnal activities. The boys had been on their best behaviour. Trust them.

Prior to this, Marquis Moon had been composing a new sonata, writing notes in expert penmanship before playing the piece beautifully, but no beloved was there to hear it. Viscount Sun had just been in the middle of painting a new masterpiece, creating wonders with each stroke of his brush, but he had found himself in need of a model to pose for him.

Grand Duke Eclipse's craftsmanship was unmatched when it came to jewellery, his combinations and designs of precious stones and metals resembling physical manifestations of poetry, yet no beauty had been available to wear them, no delicate fingers to offer home for his rings nor lovely neck he could adorn with gold and rubies.

How convenient of you to come and solve their problems, dear Y/N!

You stood at the door, umbrella in hand, calm, smiling, without a care in the world. Possibly wondering why it was taking so long for someone to come to the door. Truth be told, it was a pretty big castle, maybe the residents just needed time to get from one side to the other, you never know.

The three brothers eyed you through the window with hunger, lust and curiosity. It was quite cold outside and your cheeks were red. You were doe-eyed, delectable, theirs for the taking.

Moon's preternatural senses were sharper than those of his brothers, capable of detecting even the smallest of details when it came to analysing a living creature, perfectly appropriate skills for a hunter of his calibre. He could hear the stable rhythm of your heart, memorising it as if it were a beat of a musical piece, something he should use in composing. He could make a whole symphony with your heartbeat as inspiration for tempo, the flow of your sweet blood serving as inspiration for the flow of his music.

Moon spoke, his voice almost a raspy whisper:

“Most unusual, not a single trace of fear in them. Posture almost immaculate, joy and confidence in their bearing, almost as if they just entered an amusement park. Shall we give them a little scare? The steady cadence of their heart could use some excitement, every calm melody needs a good crescendo from time to time.“

Viscount Sun huffed, disagreeing:

“Fear adds such a bitter taste and ruins both the palate and the palette. Various emotions change the chemical components of the nectar of life, different combinations create different flavours, similarly how different colours form various new shades on the canvas. Just look what a soft little thing they are. Such a delicate disposition, definitely not made for this type of weather nor your sadistic chasing games, Moonie.“

“Do not spoil my fun, Sunny.“

“Why chase when you can entice?“

“That is a very interesting way of admitting that you are tragically bad at tracking prey.“

“If only you were as good at throwing compliments as you were with throwing insults, you wouldn't have to chase anyone in the first place.“

Eclipse held up a red beryl gem and gazed at it, as if silently asking a question. A green mist appeared within, whispering to him in a language only he could understand. He listened intently, maroon circles appearing in his golden eyes for a swift moment, before disappearing. All in due time.

Sun and Moon were still having their little argument and he decided it was time to put an end to it:

“Enough, we cannot keep them waiting out there forever. They will freeze before any of you gets a chance to do anything at all. We should warm them up.“

As you were waiting for someone to finally deign to answer the door, you took your time to admire the castle's exterior. You were very fond of such aesthetic and your inner scholar felt like a cat that had fallen into a whole basket of catnip.

Even in the dark of the night and heavy rain, it was fairly easy to discern that it was a place of splendour, its design a combination of Renaissance and Gothic architecture. There was a wide variety of turrets and towers, marvellous rose windows, loggias and galleries, facade ornaments containing statues of figures from Classical antiquity.

Nevertheless, Beauty always had an interesting tendency of holding hands with the Grotesque. Therefore, something lugubrious reigned in the air, a perpetual feeling of gloom, as if there were an echo of forgotten funeral bells, suspended between reality and imagination. Life and Death, Luxury and Decay, all of it intertwined in a shameless orgy of contradictory concepts.

October rain was a perfect proverbial cherry on top. Honestly, there was no better time of the year to make a little detour at such a place. It just didn't hit the same if one were to visit a sinister chateau in June.

The season of Autumn had arrived like an old friend, having just gotten out of its elegant carriage, clad in russet cloaks and vermillion capes, bringing gifts, ripe grapes and apples, calling for harvest and summoning everyone to bask in the final rays of golden sunlight before stern Winter shrouds the land with snow.

However, your particular journey had a few setbacks, forcing you to use all of your negotiation skills to get a local taxi driver to get you to the desired address.

The aforementioned driver was currently sitting in the parked car, keeping the engine running, waiting for your further instructions. He was looking at the building's imposing structure with an expression of visceral fear and the only thing holding him from simply driving away was the suspiciously large amount of cash you had given him to bring you there in the first place.

How lovely, all of our main characters were so trustworthy.

Other than your sudden presence, all had seemed to be perfectly peaceful in our dear castle, not a creature stirred. The bats were napping, the owls nesting, the spiders were wondering whether they should protect their web designs in the central intellectual property system. All was calm. Well, a few poor fellows in the dungeons may not have been having the best time of their lives, but you can't make everyone happy.

You had gotten yourself well-acquainted with the names and ranks of your targets. Pardon, “auditees“. Although, considering the nature of your visit, both terms could equally apply, the revenue and audit business was a cruel one. You had done extensive reading on the subject of their suspicious “economic activities“, along with all the macabre phenomena that had been connected to them. You should be feeling some sort of anxiety over the whole task, but honestly, you were rather giddy. You loved a challenge. What a wonderful way to spend the spooky season.

The heavy door opened in front of you. You looked upwards at the looming shadowy figure, a pair of golden eyes glowing in the penumbra, a deep husky voice greeting you:

“Do my eyes deceive me? A bright morning star is visiting us, is it dawn already? Welcome, welcome, bringer of light.“

“Good evening, sir. Please accept my sincere apologies for disturbing your household so late. You are the Grand Duke, I presume?“

“What a polite little thing you are. Indeed, you presume correctly. Now, why are you here in the middle of nowhere at such an ungodly hour? Lost your way?“

The vampire lord was looking at you as if you were the last scrumptious morsel on that side of the known universe, which could be interpreted as both flattering and unnerving.

Before you could answer, you noticed that two additional figures appeared at his side, a gaze of menacing crimson and one of ardent blue. You spoke, tone chirpy and cheerful:

“The Marquis and the Viscount! What an honour, I only heard the best about your artistic talents.“

“Oh, did you come all the way here for an autograph, dearest? Or perhaps a private performance?“

You smiled at them, tilting your head like a kitten that was trying to charm its owner into getting treats.

“May I come in? I will make it quick, I promise.“

The three of them gave each other a look, grinning as if thoroughly amused.

“Interesting, usually we are the ones asking such a question. Come in, come in! Do tell us, are you a tourist? We love tourists that desperately need assistance with directions. Adore them, very much so.“

“You love to help them?“

“Hm? Ah, yes, yes. Definitely love to help them.“

“Actually, I have been sent by the Revenue and Audit Bureau, I am here on official business. The usual, suspected tax fraud, unpaid utilities and so on. “

They definitely didn't expect that. Oh, no, no. Confusion reigned for a solid minute, before you casually presented your very legitimate credentials, letting them read. Sun was the first to break the silence with a slightly hysterical laugh. He reached to give you a little pat on the head.

“Are you now, my pretty? We still love making new friends, even when they come from financial institutions!“

“The taxi is waiting for me with my baggage still, so I won't take long and will just ask you a few preliminary questions. This visit was really just intended for me to announce that I would be conducting this procedure in the following days. I will be making a few additional visits during the week just for the sake of the inspection, then I shall be on my merry way with the report.“

“Nonsense! We cannot let you go back on the road in this weather. Besides, the local hotel is more terrifying than a graveyard at the witching hour. Do stay with us, we have plenty of comfortable chambers, we cannot let you fly away like a little comet in the night.“

“Oh, you are very generous, but that won't be necessary. Business aside, it is still a great pleasure to make your acquiantance.“

You extended your hand to them, expecting a firm and professional handshake. What could possibly go wrong there?

Everything.

Your eyes widened when the Grand Duke took your hand and kissed it, taking his sweet time. By the time he released it, your cheeks must have gone through several shades of red.

“The pleasure is all ours, morning star.“

As if that wasn't enough to make your heart skip a beat or ten, the Viscount and Marquis joined the fun, as well, each of them placing little kisses on your knuckles.

Alright, apparently neither side would be playing a fair game.

They knew exactly what they were doing. Their gestures and ministrations provided an excellent distraction, making you drop your mental defenses for a few precious seconds, enough for them to work their spell on you as you began to lose yourself in their eyes.

Several firm rules existed when it came to dealing with vampires and you just messed up the most crucial one: do not let yourself be mesmerized.

And yet.

Combine that with your natural curiosity and desire for knowledge, and there you have it, a freshly baked disaster, straight out of the oven.

Suppressing your fascination with the three of them had suddenly become a very difficult task. You had never seen such facial structures nor anatomy before. True, you had seen your fair share of weird things in your short little life, but you were still very much taken aback.

The three aristocrats possessed celestial features reminiscent of their heavenly namesakes, a perfect union of Beauty and the Grotesque, allowing such an appearance to be more alluring than simply awe-inspiring. The brothers were preternaturally handsome, of impressive height, wolfish grins always present, everything about them was perfectly tailored to entrap both willing and unwilling victims.

Sun's canines were discreet but still very sharp, appropriate for someone whose primary role was to lure and enchant. Moon's were far more prominent and intimidating, the rest of his teeth possessing a similar razor edge, fit for a predator meant to deliver efficient results. Eclipse's were the sharpest and most lethal, establishing his status of being the most formidable and terrifying member of the group.

Rich scents were lingering in the air around them, amber, vanilla, cardamom, rose oil, lovely, oh, so lovely.

It took you a solid several seconds to register the fact that you still had to use your words to speak, but the glow of their eyes was so magnificent, magnetic, such ethereal beauty, entire worlds were present in them, promising pleasures untold.

It was as if the concept of time had suddenly been shattered like a fairy tale mirror, seconds became centuries. How long had you been silent and simply standing there in pure adoration?

And yet, a certain part of you suddenly awakened, grasping the rest of your soul by the hand and pulling it out of the mindless haze, showing that it had power strong enough to escape the tendrils of darkness. You had a task, after all. Let's remain professional.

Unbeknownst to you, the brothers were somewhat shocked with your ability to get your mind back on track, even after direct exposure to the hypnotic power of all three of them. True, they had only been using a low level of their mind control magic, but it was still impressive, considering that most humans would simply choose to remain in the comforting embrace of oblivion. Why on earth would anyone choose to return to the cold fields of reality?

During all of that, your grip had slackened on the umbrella's handle and a suspiciously strong wind current blew it away right out of your hand before you even had time to realize what is going on, leaving you unprotected from the pouring rain.

By the time you had finally returned to your senses, you were partially soaked from the deluge and the wind was really not doing you any favours. You made a cute sneeze, followed by another.

“Pardon me. Now, as I was saying-“

Another adorable sneeze. You honestly hoped that this wouldn't make your reputation suffer one day.

Eclipse casually commented, smirking:

“You won't be able to last the drive to the hotel like that. Unless you are prepared to deal with potential pneumonia.“

Before you could protest, Sun eagerly trapped both your hands in his grasp, giving them a little squeeze and massaging them as if trying to warm you up. He didn't let go even when you tried to pull away.

“Goodness, darling comet, your hands are so cold. You will catch your death out there, we must insist that you stay here with us for the whole week. It is very cozy and comfy inside, we can build you a whole nest of blankets after a nice hot bath. Moonie, go get their things and give the good driver some extra compensation, will you?“

You blinked as Moon passed by with a speed that was certainly not normal by any means. You could have sworn that you felt the most tender of caresses along your cheek, a motion so swift that your eyes could barely catch it, but your nerves certainly did. It was difficult to supress a shudder.

Enthusiastic and almost mad with glee, Moon got all of your things from the car, hastily throwing a bag full of jewels in the taxi driver's face as additional payment, ignoring the man's muffled yelp, before dashing right back at the door, carrying your baggage as if it weighed nothing.

A few moments later the only thing that was heard was the rain falling and the sound of the car tires shrieking as it drove off, leaving you alone with your eager and enamoured hosts.

You made a little squeak of surprise as you were suddenly pulled inside, the door closing and making a dramatic echo in the stormy night.

A few words were in order regarding the noble residence. The whole castle served both as a comfortable home and as a convenient trap for newcomers. It was true that the classical process of hunting provided a wonderful thrill, a tingle so exquisite that nothing could compare. Chasing and tracking chosen prey, what a delight, sensing the beating heart, the warmth of blood, bliss beyond description. However, there were times when it seemed appropriate to play a more elegant game, inviting and letting the victims enter the web willingly.

Therefore, our handsome vampire lords had a habit of organizing ostentatious dance parties, having a very strict dress code where all the guests had to dress in accordance with the fashion of the late 18th century. A grand feast would be prepared, fireworks, concerts, luxuries that would place kings to shame, a decadent display of wealth and desire. The celestial vampires would then proceed to charm and seduce their victims, one by one, all of them giving themselves, mind, body and soul.

If all went well, and usually it did, the experience could be pleasurable for all those involved. One drinking from the neck, the other two relishing the sweetness on the pulsating wrist arteries. If things were a bit more amorous, all of them would nibble and drink the precious blood from the inner thigh area.

Sharing was caring, after all.

There was something beautifully intimate about the whole process. Drinking life. Hungry licks and bites, gestures of both a lover and a murderer. For an enemy, tearing out the heart and drinking from the source seemed like a worthy way of evening an old score, but for allies it would always be a pleasant little bite and a quick drink, leaving the victim alive and well.

They harboured a heightened appreciation of the human body. Flesh was aesthetically pleasing, beautiful, pulsing with life, warmth, all those wonderful things that were ready to be stolen. Blood illuminated by moonlight, blood illuminated by early rays of dawn. Art, it was pure art.

Furthermore, the brothers had additional powers conveniently associated with their artistic skills. Temporary enthrallment was a wonderful tool, but they created their own ways of ensuring a more permanent bond with those they allowed to live, assuring that no matter where they run, they could always be called upon and summoned like obedient pets.

Sun would sometimes use some of the precious blood as an additional pigment ingredient for his paintings, no different from Moon at times combining it with ink to write musical notes as he composed. It served as a type entrapment of the person's mind, having a part of them forever bound to them, their soul captured in their art, their music.

If Moon were to play a piece written with the blood of one person, they would immediately succumb to the pull, making haste to heed their master's call no matter what. Similarly, if Sun were to paint with that specific colour containing the blood pigment, he could make the person do whatever the picture was showing in that current moment.

Eclipse's ability was the most potent, he was capable of trapping the entire soul of a person in jewels, ensuring absolute control over their mind and heart whenever he wished. In death they would remain his prisoners, their spirits and energy his to use as he pleased.

Such magic was terrifying even in the world of vampires and therefore a majority of them had acknowledged the celestial brothers as royalty among immortals.

Now, let us return to your fun little predicament with those very sane individuals that certainly only had your best interests at heart.

Moon made haste to bolt the doors as soon as you were inside, of course. Sun's giggle was slightly maniacal as he winked at you.

“Security reasons, my pretty. You never know what beasts are lurking out there, dangerous times we live in.“

You pouted, removing your soaked coat and trying to get your hair to somewhat dry by combing your fingers through it.

“Oh, yes, that is quite true that one can never be too careful, my dear sir. In fact, I think I saw a few life insurance agents on my way here. Truly frightening creatures, the lot of them, wouldn't recommend meeting them in a dark alley under any circumstance whatsoever.“

Moon's voice was close once more, it seemed almost as if he moved as swiftly as a shadow, one could miss him within a single blink.

“There could be some other monsters wandering around, shining comet.“

“Such as?“

“Do you happen to know which creature of the Night feeds on the essence of the living, stalking and doing all it can to attract prey?“

“The HR department?“

Ignoring his confusion, your focus shifted to the grandeur of the interior. They weren't lying, it was undoubtedly cozy and wonderful to behold. Comforting heat was coming from the fireplace. Thick carpets with elaborate patterns were present all over the hardwood flooring. Walls were decorated with intricate tapestries and paintings, golden sconces, cabinets containing Venetian glass and crystal figurines, not a single surface was left bare. Vaulted ceilings, frescoes painted in each available bit of space, creating a wonderful effect that only a mad artist could concoct in a fever dream of divine inspiration.

Which is probably what had happened, considering Sun's habits.

However, elements of the supernatural and macabre continued to linger. Some paintings had eyes that seemed a bit too alive, while others would become more and more disturbing the longer you looked at them. Statues appeared to be capable of changing their pose at a whim and it was easy to miss the motion itself within a mere blink. Shadows cast from the fireplace were not following any law of physics, undulating and writhing on the floor as they please, sometimes creating monstrous shapes.

Marvellous. Beyond description, fascinating. Had it not been for your task, you would have gladly spent a whole eternity studying the components and properties of the whole structure.

You were brought back to reality when you realized that you were still very much shivering and that you really needed to get your hair properly dried.

You gasped as you suddenly felt Eclipse wrap his cloak around you from behind, pulling you closer to his form, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. Goodness gracious, was that a secret additional pair of arms he had?

“Sir!“

“There was no time to fetch you a blanket, consider this an urgent alternative.“

“Don't you think this is a bit of a compromising position?“

“Preposterous, that must be the feverish delirium talking. This cruel weather is detrimental for soft flowers such as yourself.“

“I suppose by this logic it must the delirium that is squeezing my hips right now?“

He purred in your ear:

“Relax, morning star, you need warmth, we cannot allow you to get ill under our care.“

“I think I am very warm now, though.“

“Hush, be still, let us take care of you.“

Viscount Sun made sure to get your attention once more.

“You know, sweetness, many have pursued us for various reasons, but tax evasion was never one of them. This is going to be a fun new experience for all of us.“

It was perfectly within your right to struggle and act indignant in order to free yourself, but you were aware that you had to be diplomatic and collected for the moment. Antagonizing your hosts would yield no results and would certainly make your job far more difficult than it needed to be.

You had to remain professional, it was a task like any other. Yes, your hosts were not really the best examples of sanity nor did they seem to be aware of the concept of personal space, but you couldn't let that distract you from your duties. Someone had to be mature in the whole situation, after all. You cleared your throat, trying to appear as dignified as possible in your current position.

Adjusting a bit, ignoring the fact that you were still being held tightly by four arms, you managed to reach for your pocket to get a little notepad and a pencil. It was a rather comical scene to behold, since you had limited options and an even more limited space to maneuver in, but by some miracle you were able to make a few scribbles on the paper. Such an action required the same skill level one usually achieves when trying to get work done with one cat asleep on their computer and five additional cats on their lap and head.

Sun was very much offended with you playing with the paper and pencil instead of letting him warm your hands. You spoke:

“Alright, I will need some basic information for now, such as source of income, registered businesses, unregistered activities that may go under the radar of the government. You do realize that there is an unusually large cemetery on the way here that is not even on the map?“

“I can answer all of those for you. Accumulated heirloom. Pleasure is our only business and business is doing well! As for the final one, well, it is such a tragedy how incompetent cartographers are these days, my dear.“

“Regardless, I still have to conduct a thorough investigation and write a report, it is a formal requirement. Also, it will be necessary that I take a tour around the place simply to inspect the installations. Since none of the utilities are being paid for either, I must see whether you have self-sufficient power sources.“

“Now, now, you can't explore all on your own, that would be against our rules. And you don't want to be a little rulebreaker. You cannot enter certain rooms or parts of the castle without our permission.“

“Understandable. You three can guide me during my stay, then.“

“Moreover, communication with the outside world is highly discouraged. So discouraged, that it is forbidden, actually.“

“May I ask why?“

“You may! We won't answer, but you definitely may ask regardless, your voice is so pleasant to listen to. Do you sing?“

“I am still processing the “no communication with the outside world with no explanation whatsoever as to why“ part, give me a moment. I think I need ibuprofen.“

“Oh, we do have that!“

Soft cloth suddenly fell on your head and you realized it was a towel. You slowly looked upwards, finding yourself face to face with Moon who was now shamelessly hanging upside down from a cord, crimson eyes as menacing as ever and grin impossibly wide.

You spoke, unsure how to even react properly:

“What on earth are you doing?“

“I was feeling excluded. And you needed something to get your hair dry.“

“How did you even get up there? You were at the door barely a few seconds ago.“

“In a very clandestine and stealthy manner, as is currently being demonstrated. Impressed?“

“Fine, yes. Happy?“

Moon giggled like a wicked imp, relishing the situation. Teasing you was slowly becoming his new favourite activity.

“Are you good at playing hide and seek, my everlasting aurora?“

To his surprise, you actually did ponder the answer to his question for a few moments. Finally, you smiled at him:

“The classical game has a predictable pattern, so I actually did invent my own twist once. I would count, the other person would hide, and then I would simply proceed to steal cookies from the kitchen without anyone knowing. Really practical. Free sweets, nobody knows who the culprit is, perfect cost-benefit analysis.“

Oh, he loved that. Moon definitely appreciated some good old-fashioned mischief and he felt an even greater desire to discover what made you tick. He reached with his hand, tracing along your jawline with his claws, before pressing the palm of his hand to your cheek, his wicked eyes never leaving yours.

“Naughty, naughty. You must be punished.“

“Retroactively?“

“With interest.“

“Good luck with calculating all of that. If you start early, you should be done by the next decade, give or take a year or two.“

Moon's mind was already imagining all sorts of scenarios that he had every intention of bringing into reality.

What a delight it would be to have you, play with you, chase you, catch you, taste you, forever and ever. Your blood was tormenting him, you were the golden apple stolen from a magical garden, ripe and delicious. He did not care how many pomegranate seeds it would take to ensnare you and chain you to his world.

One had to admire the dedication, at least.

He was familiar with that sly streak. Finally, a kindred spirit. You had something guileful within you, as if a joyful scherzo were constantly playing in your soul, lively and vivid, truly akin to an ethereal aurora borealis in the night sky, teasing mortals with its unreachable beauty.

Needless to say that Sun was simply not having this and he had to ruin the moment by intervening in the most mature way possible: by taking your pencil away.

“What is this I see? A hawthorn pencil? Quite sharp, I see. No, no, we can't have such a vile thing as hawthorn wood here, absolutely not, in the trash it goes where it belongs.“

You had every intention of arguing with him, but you were once again distracted with the fact that Eclipse was now diligently getting your hair dried with the towel as if you were a kitten they had found outside or something. Goodybe reputation, it was nice knowing you, write a postcard.

“I must say, nobody ever insulted my pencils before.“

Sun went over to the nearby desk, fiddling with some parchment until he found what he was looking for, returning with a triumphant grin on his face and a quill feather in his hand.

“You shall write with one of these.“

“I don't even know how to write with ink without making a mess.“

“Come now, I am sure you are a fast learner.“

You shuddered as he teasingly slid the feather along your cheek and neck.

“Oh, stop.“

We were all familiar with the saying about everything being about the journey and not the destination itself. Perhaps you could allow yourself some enjoyment in the whole affair. In all technicality, you did manage to get in the castle, so it was going well for now. Moon summoned a few ghostly servants to command them to get a comfy chamber prepared for you, as well as some dinner. You were rather tired and hungry, after all.

Eclipse gave your shoulder a little squeeze to get your attention.

“Now, morning star, since you are already here, could I interest you in some pretty necklaces you may like?“

You pondered his offer for a few moments, before shrugging, letting yourself relax.

“You know what? Sure.“

(continuation also on AO3)

#vampire sun #vampire moon #vampire eclipse #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #eclipse x reader #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf eclipse #five nights at freddy's #daycare attendant x reader #daycare attendant #vampire au #jester's privilege chronicles #amary's chronicles

56 notes · View notes

rosewaterandivy · 9 months

Note

I love your writing style and after stalking your blog I found out that you studied English. Got any writing advice for someone who's still trying to figure out and develop their own style? I feel like I have so many ideas but the execution is 👎

Hello sweet thing! 🥰 Thanks for reading and a quick disclaimer before I dive in here: I don’t really even understand my own process/style yet and that is perfectly fine. I think it’s important to take risks in writing to develop skills and see what vibes with you and what doesn’t. So, while I have two degrees in English, I’ve never taken a creative writing class— just wanna get that out there. Now, onto the advice!

Read. Read often and voraciously. This method is tried and true for a reason, and that’s because it works. When I’m lacking in the inspiration department, I read poetry, novels, non-fiction, works by other writers in the community, maybe do a deep-dive with some lyrical analysis— if you know, you know. Seeking out other voices to inspire and teach is paramount.

(Continued under the cut)

To grow as a writer (or, really as a person), you can’t exist in your own silo. You need to engage with other stories. On some level, you should be listening to other’s voices and studying their styles. Otherwise, you’ll stunt your development as a writer. You could also, inadvertently, reinforce bad writing habits, if you’re not expanding your horizons by consuming other author’s works.

And this conversation has been making its run in the community as well as my corner of academia, but I’d be remiss not to touch on it here: there is no such thing as originality in literature. Everything from the Carolingian Cycle to Homeric Hymns to tropes, etc. has already been said and done. But what matters here, truly, is how you can put your spin on something. Have soulmate AUs been done to death? Yes. Is that gonna stop me? Hell to the no! I love that shit, of course I want to engage with that trope and see what I can do with it.

Rhythm. Cadence, flow, whatever you call it— this is crucial to me as a writer and academic. And honestly? I’m still figuring this one out for myself. I tend to talk or ramble as I write, mostly to test out dialogue for how it sounds but also as an editing trick. I tell my students all the time, read your work out loud before assuming it’s all said and done! You’d be amazed at how many things you’ll catch by stumbling over words and phrases that the eye would skip over.

I think a lot of this comes from patterns I’ve picked up from reading. Because I read and listen to other author’s voices and styles, I’m more equipped to see mistakes in my own syntax and voice because I’ve diversified my exposure to other styles of sentence structure, etc. So, yes, this does go back to reading and finding other voices— but it truly does help!

Feel it out. First and foremost, I am a chaotic writer— my GDrive is a mess and I can’t even imagine how many WIPs I have that are just a single sentence or phrase at this point. But everyone has to start somewhere, and for most of us, that takes the form of a sentence, phrase, or occasionally, a single word.

I just kind of just go for it in the docs, to be honest. I’ll get frustrated, walk away, delete (keep a doc designated as a graveyard/junkyard for this purpose, trust me!), get distracted, etc. But that’s okay and to be expected with the creative process. Flow can’t happen without a little resistance at first.

Play with syntax. Would a longer sentence be more meaningful here? Shorter? What about repetition? Think about word choice as well— identify the tone and mood you want to project.

Word Choice. Specific words are used for a calculated focus or effect— think about it. Would you want to hear the smacking of lips from a few tables over on a first date? Or hear the sounds of your roommate going to town on an apple while you’re putting the moves on that hottie from said first date?

Readers can feel the significance and weight of a word, how much space it occupies in a sentence: they have real influence. It’s not just morphemes and phonemes and phonetics; words project experience and sensation, so it’s important to tie your words to your intent or the mood you’re attempting to create.

If I’m writing an intimate scene, I’m not going to use abrasive words that will jar the reader from the tone I’m working so hard to craft. I’ll choose soft words, immersive words — a little repetition, as a treat, so we can sink more gently into the scene. Mention light, texture, employ the softness the surrounds the characters and kinesthetic imagery (imagery describing the actions or movements of the body), but above all, keep it soft.

Synonyms are a wonderful thing! Have a word that’s too clunky for that specific phrase? Find a shorter one; too harsh, find a gentler one; so on and so forth.

This is where reading other stories will help (she says, circling back to point 1). Inevitably, it will diversify your personal vocabularly and your ability to string words together in sentences. The tricks I’ve absorbed by just reading? Innumerous, incalculable and lucky for me, they’re instinct by now.

Format. What’s the goal? If the scene is action heavy, keep the sentences short. Urgent. Focus on the senses we should be aware of in a fight scene. Looking for something more intimate? Stretch things out, suspend time and let people ease into the moment gently.

Short sentences can narrow your focus; longer sentences, the ones that ebb and flow and gather multiple senses, those are some of my favorites— so enriching and immersive.

What view is most important in a given scene? Would a character be more focused on the feel of their beloved’s skin against theirs or the how the hurt reflects in their eyes?

Synesthesia. Ah, yes, my favorite. Synesthasia is a technique adopted by writers to present ideas, characters, or places in such a manner that they appeal to more than one sense, like hearing, sight, smell, and touch at a given time. I am guilty of using this whenever I possibly can because I think being able to embody a scene is crucial to effective writing.

Sensory experience is something that helps me find my way in a narrative. It allows me to settle in. Think about the various qualities of differing sensory experiences, and their consequence. Every sense doesn’t need to be included, just because you can does not mean you should.

Plus, it’s quite convenient for implying intimacy. A character who notices that another character smells of bergamot, cinnamon, or home accomplishes a lot of things in a few words. It immerses the reader in the scene in a very real way; it’s a quick, easy avenue into establishing a history and a relationship between the two characters; and it implies something deeper than a passing acquaintance/platonic interest.

But, I’m also an olfactory snob, so what do I know!

Oof, yeesh, sorry for the ramble here! I think the truth of it is this: I don’t make a lot of these choices consciously. I get stuck somewhere and feel my way around until I can make sense of it again, laying puzzle pieces or clues that I hope others will be able to find when they read it.

I guess my main advice is to read. Read often and well, experience other voices and styles, go outside your comfort zone! If you lock yourself away in that silo or echo chamber, you’ll only reinforce one style or approach— you’ll miss out on so much beauty and creative experiences that the world has to offer!

To close, I’m going to list and tag a few works and authors I’ve found to be instrumental in my reading and writing experience.

Best of luck anon!

QuinAnderson’s The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut Fic

@loveshotzz , @carolmunson, @jo-harrington, @wroteclassicaly , @stevenose , @bettyfrommars (and I’m sure I’m forgetting some at this moment!! I’m sorry 😩) have their own special way of weaving a story, breathing emotion and life into it.

My fic rec tag

Poetry:

Crush by Richard Siken

Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz

Night Sky With Exit Wounds & Time Is A Mother by Ocean Vuong

The works of Louise Gluck, Elizabeth Bishop, Gloria Anzaldua, Slyvia Plath, Rilke, Ilya Kaminsky, and Jeanette Winslterson

Movies:

In the Mood for Love

Y tu mamá también

Moonlight

Atonement

#cee’s got mail!#cee’s advice

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 8 months

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In Vogue’s 1969 Christmas issue, Vladimir Nabokov offered some advice for teaching James Joyce’s “Ulysses”: “Instead of perpetuating the pretentious nonsense of Homeric, chromatic, and visceral chapter headings, instructors should prepare maps of Dublin with Bloom’s and Stephen’s intertwining itineraries clearly traced.” He drew a charming one himself. Several decades later, a Boston College English professor named Joseph Nugent and his colleagues put together an annotated Google map that shadows Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom step by step. The Virginia Woolf Society of Great Britain, as well as students at the Georgia Institute of Technology, have similarly reconstructed the paths of the London amblers in “Mrs. Dalloway.”

Such maps clarify how much these novels depend on a curious link between mind and feet. Joyce and Woolf were writers who transformed the quicksilver of consciousness into paper and ink. To accomplish this, they sent characters on walks about town. As Mrs. Dalloway walks, she does not merely perceive the city around her. Rather, she dips in and out of her past, remolding London into a highly textured mental landscape, “making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh.”

Since at least the time of peripatetic Greek philosophers, many other writers have discovered a deep, intuitive connection between walking, thinking, and writing. (In fact, Adam Gopnik wrote about walking in The New Yorker just two weeks ago.) “How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live!” Henry David Thoreau penned in his journal. “Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow.” Thomas DeQuincey has calculated that William Wordsworth—whose poetry is filled with tramps up mountains, through forests, and along public roads—walked as many as a hundred and eighty thousand miles in his lifetime, which comes to an average of six and a half miles a day starting from age five.

What is it about walking, in particular, that makes it so amenable to thinking and writing? The answer begins with changes to our chemistry. When we go for a walk, the heart pumps faster, circulating more blood and oxygen not just to the muscles but to all the organs—including the brain. Many experiments have shown that after or during exercise, even very mild exertion, people perform better on tests of memory and attention. Walking on a regular basis also promotes new connections between brain cells, staves off the usual withering of brain tissue that comes with age, increases the volume of the hippocampus (a brain region crucial for memory), and elevates levels of molecules that both stimulate the growth of new neurons and transmit messages between them.

The way we move our bodies further changes the nature of our thoughts, and vice versa. Psychologists who specialize in exercise music have quantified what many of us already know: listening to songs with high tempos motivates us to run faster, and the swifter we move, the quicker we prefer our music. Likewise, when drivers hear loud, fast music, they unconsciously step a bit harder on the gas pedal. Walking at our own pace creates an unadulterated feedback loop between the rhythm of our bodies and our mental state that we cannot experience as easily when we’re jogging at the gym, steering a car, biking, or during any other kind of locomotion. When we stroll, the pace of our feet naturally vacillates with our moods and the cadence of our inner speech; at the same time, we can actively change the pace of our thoughts by deliberately walking more briskly or by slowing down.

VIDEO FROM THE NEW YORKER :: The Men Walking Every Block in New York City

Because we don’t have to devote much conscious effort to the act of walking, our attention is free to wander—to overlay the world before us with a parade of images from the mind’s theatre. This is precisely the kind of mental state that studies have linked to innovative ideas and strokes of insight. Earlier this year, Marily Oppezzo and Daniel Schwartz of Stanford published what is likely the first set of studies that directly measure the way walking changes creativity in the moment. They got the idea for the studies while on a walk. “My doctoral advisor had the habit of going for walks with his students to brainstorm,” Oppezzo says of Schwartz. “One day we got kind of meta.”

In a series of four experiments, Oppezzo and Schwartz asked a hundred and seventy-six college students to complete different tests of creative thinking while either sitting, walking on a treadmill, or sauntering through Stanford’s campus. In one test, for example, volunteers had to come up with atypical uses for everyday objects, such as a button or a tire. On average, the students thought of between four and six more novel uses for the objects while they were walking than when they were seated. Another experiment required volunteers to contemplate a metaphor, such as “a budding cocoon,” and generate a unique but equivalent metaphor, such as “an egg hatching.” Ninety-five per cent of students who went for a walk were able to do so, compared to only fifty per cent of those who never stood up. But walking actually worsened people’s performance on a different type of test, in which students had to find the one word that united a set of three, like “cheese” for “cottage, cream, and cake.” Oppezzo speculates that, by setting the mind adrift on a frothing sea of thought, walking is counterproductive to such laser-focussed thinking: “If you’re looking for a single correct answer to a question, you probably don’t want all of these different ideas bubbling up.”

Where we walk matters as well. In a study led by Marc Berman of the University of South Carolina, students who ambled through an arboretum improved their performance on a memory test more than students who walked along city streets. A small but growing collection of studies suggests that spending time in green spaces—gardens, parks, forests—can rejuvenate the mental resources that man-made environments deplete. Psychologists have learned that attention is a limited resource that continually drains throughout the day. A crowded intersection—rife with pedestrians, cars, and billboards—bats our attention around. In contrast, walking past a pond in a park allows our mind to drift casually from one sensory experience to another, from wrinkling water to rustling reeds.

Still, urban and pastoral walks likely offer unique advantages for the mind. A walk through a city provides more immediate stimulation—a greater variety of sensations for the mind to play with. But, if we are already at the brink of overstimulation, we can turn to nature instead. Woolf relished the creative energy of London’s streets, describing it in her diary as “being on the highest crest of the biggest wave, right in the centre & swim of things.” But she also depended on her walks through England’s South Downs to “have space to spread my mind out in.” And, in her youth, she often travelled to Cornwall for the summer, where she loved to “spend my afternoons in solitary trampling” through the countryside.

Perhaps the most profound relationship between walking, thinking, and writing reveals itself at the end of a stroll, back at the desk. There, it becomes apparent that writing and walking are extremely similar feats, equal parts physical and mental. When we choose a path through a city or forest, our brain must survey the surrounding environment, construct a mental map of the world, settle on a way forward, and translate that plan into a series of footsteps. Likewise, writing forces the brain to review its own landscape, plot a course through that mental terrain, and transcribe the resulting trail of thoughts by guiding the hands. Walking organizes the world around us; writing organizes our thoughts. Ultimately, maps like the one that Nabokov drew are recursive: they are maps of maps.

Why Walking Helps Us Think

By Ferris Jabr

#The New Yorker #walking #exercise #body #bodymind #Body Alive #thinking #Ferris Jabr

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mumblesplash · 6 months

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I saw u were the one who made the hope poem and can i say its amazing!!!!

So i justed wanted to ask how you got into poetry and how you write the stuff?

haha the first question is way easier to answer than the second, basically i've had a hobby of writing little rhymes and song parodies since i was a little kid

honestly i still hesitate to call it poetry because i very much do not have any kind of background in literature, just sort of a knack for rhyming? and as i recently figured out it's all more rhythm-based than anything. (and i mean Recently recently, i literally didn't know what poetic meter was until like a week and a half ago)

as for *how* i write it, i guess the best way i know how to explain it is i have the cadence as a blank template in my head and i rapidly cycle through different sets of words that fit into it until i find a line that both flows nicely and makes sense? some words or phrases will be obvious from the start, which makes it easier because then i just have to find the rest of the line

the hope poem was actually relatively easy in this regard, because the first four words of that post were 'hope is a skill hope is a weapon', my very-probably-dyslexic ass read it the other way around, scrolled down a few lines and saw 'hope is a plant you care for' and then '...or KILL' popped into my head bc i have chronic rhyming brain. the rest of it just sort of happened

#splashasks #anonymous #the rhyming comics on the other hand are MUCH harder #bc they have to work on so many different levels #and i don’t really have anything to compare them to #but that also makes them more fun for me

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sama-not-sam · 1 month

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Sama "the ambitious" Ali: task 002; the eulogy

It hadn’t occurred to Sama that Mrs. Tristan might expect all of the wards to speak at the funeral. She’d expected to hear something from those who’d been closest to him, Angus, Carmen, Estrella, and probably from Alison, but she certainly hadn’t been planning to speak herself. Sama was here because it was appropriate, because she wanted to honor Richard’s memory and all he’d done for her, and because she’d never felt like she could say no to Mrs. Tristan. She was not here because she had any right to Richard’s life. But, she’d never felt like she could say no to Mrs. Tristan, so Sama would have to come up with something to say.

Sama was a fairly confident public speaker. She wasn’t someone who gave speeches, but she could lead a meeting or present findings when the need arose. The main problem was she didn’t have anything to say about Richard, or at least not anything that couldn’t be said by someone else. It felt a bit like being asked to give a eulogy for a former boss, or one of her college professors. Sama wasn’t qualified for this, and worse, it wasn’t something she would get a second chance at.

All through the service, Sama went back and forth in her mind about her plan, if it was a good one or not, if it would look like she was honoring one of Richard’s passions or like she just couldn’t be bothered to try harder. She refused to acknowledge that she was more concerned about Alison’s judgement than anyone else’s. At least she could find some comfort in the fact that she was closer to the beginning of the speakers than the end. She could get it over with, if nothing else.

Sama waited until Jacob was back in his seat before standing, not wanting to rush anything. She held the book of poetry with both hands as she took to the podium. She tried to look at the other mourners, but couldn’t, instead focusing on some point in the distance.

“Hello.” Her voice sounded too quiet, even with the aid of the microphone, and she had to take a slow breath before continuing, louder and more confident. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sama Ali, one of Richard’s many wards.” Sama paused, losing her train of thought for a moment and unable to remember the transition she’d rehearsed in her head.

“I’m not a sentimental person. It’s not something that’s ever served me. I don’t have anything to share with you about Richard that you don’t already know.” She found herself unable to find a flow of words as she usually did, probably the difference between speaking to a group of coworkers and giving a eulogy.

Sama cleared her throat, and opened the book to the page she’d hastily marked with a bobby pin. She’d been thinking about poems about death since she first received Mrs. Tristan’s letter, and when she found out she was supposed to speak, Sama had slipped into the library in search of one in particular. Under the circumstances, it seemed like the best she could do.

“I thought, maybe, I could share something other than memories, something we all know Richard loved. This is a poem by Maya Angelou, titled When Great Trees Fall.

“When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety. “When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear.”

Sama began to find her footing as she read the poem, gaining confidence in the familiar cadence of one of her favorite poets. She began to look out over the gathered crowd, meeting the eyes of some of her fellow wards.

“When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. “Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves. “And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.”

Sama closed the book and came back to herself, once again uncertain of her choice and unable to make eye contact. For a moment, she wondered if she should say something else, but she couldn’t think of anything, and certainly nothing more eloquent or poignant than Maya Angelou. So she just made her way back to her seat, back straight, shoulders square, eyes trained on the ground.

#wrhq.task #day0

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feytouched · 2 months

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hi ieva!! i was reading through your poems and i’ve fallen in love with the way you write all over again ( . ̫.) which poet(s) do you draw the most inspiration from stylistically / are your favourites if you don’t mind me asking? :O

hi! thank you so much ;w; <33

i would say my greatest stylistic inspirations are mary oliver and mary szybist (i think these are quite transparent, they inform a lot of my personal style), as well as simon armitage (i admire the way his language flows, he makes great use of cadence in his poetry), seamus heaney and gillian clarke (big inspirations in terms of the beauty of their descriptions of nature). i also love ee cummings though most of my poetry has little in common with that style, i admire the freedom of it. and then probably my favourite poet ever, rilke: i can't even begin to reach the transcendental quality of his writing, but i can admire it and strive towards it all the same, and it's been a guide and comfort on many occasions.

other poets i like: wendy cope (of course. i was here when every other post was a quote from the orange! and it was glorious!), dorianne laux (i think her style also influenced the way i write), basho (every now and then i reread on love and barley in a single sitting and it makes me feel things), louise glück, derek mahon... just some of the names gracing my poetry shelf

obligatory 'i haven't even written any poetry in almost two years so i'm not even really a poet any more i'm just a seed in the dark waiting for the drive to write to pour over me again' disclaimer !

#answered #poetry

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infernalhomo · 10 months

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why does how to be a dog annoy you

I'm so glad you asked! I got kind of carried away thinking about how to articulate why, so long answer under the cut.

TL;DR; it annoys me for mostly pretty subjective reasons. The composition feels muddled, the theme falls flat (for me), and I dislike anthropomorphization as it is used here.

First: form and prosody. I like poetry when it uses meter or rhythm well; when the underlying structure of the verse communicates the intended theme and emotion as much as the actual words, imagery and metaphors do. That's why I find these types of free verse prose poems to be kind of hit or miss (for me), and this one is a miss.

It feels unfinished and superficial. The sentences are clumsily arranged and feel disconnected from each other. It doesn't flow well, there's no distinct cadence, it neglects to use any common poetic techniques that would identify it as a poem (for me) — it doesn't read like poetry (in my opinion).

Second: theme. Whatever emotion or imagery it sets out to evoke; it doesn't manage to do it (for me). Andrew Kane writes on Rattle.com:

"This poem is [...] an exploration of what it would mean to both be a dog and to be a person who takes on the mantle of a dog’s life, which is to say, to be a person actively palpating the vastness and the limitations of their own empathy. [...] Above all, though, this is in fact a poem about dogs.”

I don't get any of this from it. To me it reads like a first draft; a train of thought from the perspective of a person who doesn't know much about the life of a dog or how a dog perceives the world, and hasn't really spent all that much time thinking about it either. There's no purpose to the dog imagery. It reads like a human writing about a human experience, hiding under a superficial dog metaphor. It's not about dogs at all.

Third, and most subjective of all: I hate hate hate this kind of haphazard use of animal anthropomorphization in poetry. I'm very autistic about animals and animal behaviour — have been since age 4 — so I've spent my entire life wondering and speculating about the internal lives of various animals. It's a topic that involves a lot of scientific research into how different animals take in and process external stimuli, and how that informs their internal experience of the world, and how that in turn might influence the way they make decisions or react to situations.

My opinion on the topic is that any attempts to literally "take on the mantle of a dog's life" in the form of poetry will fail, because we cannot accurately express the internal emotion of a dog in human language.

Using anthropomorphization as a literary vehicle to tell a human story is another thing entirely; it can be done well. But doing it well requires purposeful use of further poetic technique beyond the surface-level animal metaphor, so that the actual intended theme becomes apparent to the reader from under it. This poem doesn't succeed in doing that.

Also the whole thing just feels very bleak. It takes a very dim view on human-dog relationships. Like it makes me want to ask: do you people treat your dogs this thoughtlessly? Is this how you view the relationship between dogs and humanity; bleak, neglectful, violent control?

#ask #how to be a dog #thank you for the ask! i had fun answering #very long-winded amateur poetry analysis activates some neurons in my brain apparently

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losspeaks06 · 8 months

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BLOG POST #5 (Music & Rhythm)

This blog post has us focusing on the importance of music and rhythm in poetry.

I have loved and appreciated music as an art form for all of my life. As a DJ, I understand the relationship between music and rhythm. I get an amazing rush when I’m able to “command” the crowd when I play at parties. It’s similar to being in sort of “zone” where everyone in the venue/room vibes simultaneously. In that moment, I know just what songs to play, and what order to play them, so that every listener under the sound of my speakers, remain engaged..

Thomas Merton, author of “No Man Is an Island”, once said, “Music is pleasing not only because of the sound but because of the silence that is in it: without the alternation of sound and silence there would be no rhythm.” Even the philosopher, Plato, once said “Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul”.

Although poetry is pretty much up to individual interpretation when it comes to style and rhyme, rhythm is really important. Poems that don't have an obvious rhythm are known as free verse.

A great example of the power of music and rhythm comes in the form of rap royalty’s Sugar Hill Gang’s classic “Rapper’s Delight”. From the start of the song with the crisp sound of the drums and the driving baseline to the flow of the first verse,

“I said-a hip, hop, the hippie, the hippie

To the hip hip hop-a you don't stop the rock

It to the bang-bang boogie, say up jump the boogie

To the rhythm of the boogie, the beat…”

this song always takes me on a complete journey. The performers are telling a story through their unique and infectious cadence.

I hope that my love and appreciation for music and rhythm allow me to perfect my poetry as I continue to write.

✌🏾🖤⚡️

#poetry #music #rhythm heaven #vibes

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eroshane · 5 months

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Hello, My Kalelua Zachary.

In the symphony of existence, defining your form intertwines with the very essence of beauty. Words blossom with grace, your heart resonates in poetic cadence, and your treatment of me paints an exquisite masterpiece. Every facet of you is a sonnet of beauty in my eyes.

In the swift dance of time, I traversed the path from marveling at your graceful silhouette to the enchantment of falling in love, and now, as seven months gracefully unfold, I am filled with gratitude for this exquisite journey. Together, hand in hand, we face storms, fortifying our love against adversities. To Kalelua Zachary, you are my constant teacher, guiding me to grow and evolve. Eros Shane Refugio, today and always, I declare my profound love for you and my desire to shield you from this cruel world because my baby deserve to be happy as always.

HOW TO EYOSCHA SPENDING TIME TOGETHER

On our special day, may a river of goodness flow into our future. May our affections deepen, and our days be adorned with abundant happiness. Let's celebrate with haggu, kisses, and all the things that express our love and shared joys. Cheers to us! 💗

You are my desire, Take my hand.

Hand in hand, let's pen a new chapter in our love story on this special day. Amidst the winds of the future, may our love soar higher. May strength bind us together, and may we always complement each other's journey.

A SPECIAL POETRY BELONGS TO YOU

A WISHES FOR US

Happy 7th monthsary, my summer June.

Seven months have swiftly passed, yet each moment feels like a timeless melody in our shared symphony of love. On this special day, I wish us a celebration as vibrant as the hues of our journey together.

In these seven months, we've woven of memories – from the laughter that echoed through the days to the quiet moments when our hearts spoke volumes. Each day has been a new chapter, and I eagerly anticipate the countless unwritten pages ahead.

May our love continue to grow, resilient like the strongest tree, its roots anchored deep in trust and understanding. May joy be our constant companion, and may we find solace in each other's embrace during the challenges that may come our way.

Here's to the shared dreams that dance in our hearts and the simple pleasures that make our days extraordinary. May our love story be a beacon of inspiration, a testament to the beauty of commitment and the power of two hearts beating as one.

Happy 7th monthsary, my dearest. Here's to many more months of love, laughter, and unforgettable moments together.

I LOVE YOU AND ALWAYS DO EVERY SINGLE TIME IN MY WHOLE LIFE, KALELUA ZACHARY.

With love,

Eros Shane Refugio

#Spotify

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compacflt · 1 year

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my apologies if this is too simple or juvenile or personal a question but HOW did you become such a proficient writer? and do you have any tips or pointers to keep in mind? i know you must do a lot of reading and a lot of writing, but your skill is just incredible to me. your prose!! your cadence!! when we get around to talking about it is genuinely one of the best things i've ever read and i'd eat it if i could!!!

this ask was so sweet thank you!! rly made my day when i needed a boost. Hope you don’t mind i took a couple days to think about it cause no one’s ever asked me for writing advice before

idk how i became a “proficient” writer bc I really don’t write that much. something about my fic gave me brainworms and i went into overdrive but that’s…not my usual MO. which is why it’s weird for me too. admittedly i am studying english/creative writing as my second major at uni, but i haven’t learned anything in any of my classes you couldn’t learn by just reading and writing on your own. honestly i should’ve stuck with my IR major instead, i find structured cw classes a complete waste of time. but here are some little tips i thought of that would’ve helped ME:

This is more a “do as I say not as I do” because I’m really bad at habits like this, but keep a diary. You can write about the big events (went to the store, did homework, got laid etc.) but that’s boring—focus on the details (watched someone at west side market throw a glass bottle of olives at a rat, broke a pen and permanently stained my dorm desk and won’t get my deposit back which pissed me off because I move out in a week, this guy’s breath smelled like lemon pledge and it made me wonder if he drank window cleaner before kissing me etc.). Real life is really interesting! How can you write about interesting real life in an interesting way? It’s a good way to practice. You don’t have to do a big reflection at the end of the day or anything. It’s okay to jot down something you saw & then immediately forget about it. It’s the act of figuring out how to translate life into words that’s important

If you type, learn how to type FAST. This is just my experience, but I think typing faster makes your cadence, clause length, dialogue, IDEAS flow better/more naturally. We think in words/sentences, not letters.

This is a super lame tip that’ll make you roll your eyes, but read poetry. Poetry is all about how words/ideas/images sound and interact with each other. Don’t get hung up on one poet—im not really recommending any for precisely this reason—read poetry you love (for me, Ada Limón, Jack Kerouac, Frank O’Hara, ghazals etc) AND read poetry you hate (for me, Rupi Kaur, Emily Dickinson, Whitman, etc)! Read all genres you can get your hands on. (I think there are like “great poetry anthologies” you can find for free online if u don’t know where to start. Also you can’t go wrong with subscribing to/reading a variety magazine like the NYer. It’s pretentious but it exposes you to all kinds of weird topics, ways of writing about them, etc.) Figure out how certain combinations of words and punctuations make you FEEL, and why, and why the writer chose (or not) to make you feel that way. Figure out which literary sounds you like and which ones you don’t. For me, i figured out that I REALLY like alliteration, comma splices, zeugmas, the rule of three, and

“he’s [verb]ing again… yeah compacflt’s characters are [verb]ing again… big shocker”

If you have an idea for a piece, figure out what it is you really want to get out of it—to say something? to experiment with a different style? to see your fav characters do something? to have fun?—and then figure out how, on a technical level, you should write to match that goal (this is where the poetry training comes in handy). If you’re just writing to have fun, don’t listen to any writing advice (incl. mine), because most of it is bullshit and over-generalized and will make you feel bad about yourself. Just take the advice that you think will work for what YOURE trying to write.

But if you’re writing to explore some political idea, then you should think about HOW to best write about that idea. What would be a convincing story/allegory/scene to engage with this idea vs. not convincing. I talk on this blog all the time about how disappointed I am that my very-adult-grown-up attempt to deal with the dynamic of “immovable internalized homophobia vs unstoppable falling in love anyway” is rendered a little childish/immature by some pretty unconvincing plot points like the characters buying a house together—I really should have considered how that plot point would interact with the characterizations I’d built already (hint: poorly). You can think of writing as kind of a military structure if that helps—you have strategy on the overarching campaign (plot/character growth/allegory/theme) level, the battle (scene that advances the above) level, and the tactical (sentence-level construction/syntax/wording) level. They all have to work together. If a scene is failing to properly engage with the idea you’re trying to convey, you’re losing a battle that will weaken the overarching campaign. Same thing if you choose a weird word in a sentence/write in a style or tone that’s weirdly out of place with your idea—it makes your engagement with the theme/idea less convincing. just try to be purposeful and consider your strategy on all levels of your work as you’re writing it!! At the very least it’ll make editing easier lol.

But then again when I read my own writing from just a couple months ago I cringe out of my skin, so like—just also accept that it’s a process and we’re all just making it up as we go along. Be proud of being embarrassed of your old work, because it means you’re growing. Own that shit. When I finished writing WWGATTAI i thought it was the best thing I’d ever written, and maybe it was. But since the day I finished working on it, it’s the worst thing I’ve written since then. That’s a great feeling. Not to be like writing grindset obviously bc it’s supposed to be fun—but if what you want is to get better at writing, the strategy is to WRITE a whole bunch of shit, and then own your embarrassment about how much you’ve grown since you started. And know you’re still always growing and learning. there should never be any “goals” where skills are concerned 👍🏽

#fake it till u make it #the good part about fiction is all you’re really doing is makin shit up #no rules!!!#fiction is just trying to sell a lie right #so it’s all on a sliding scale of convincability (at least that’s how i judge fiction)#and figuring out how to convince people of your lie is where the art is #anyway.#not top gun #asks #writing tips #idk how to tag this #also i love ao3 because trying to get published traditionally genuinely made me hate writing/MY writing #i have indeed had the cliche 100+ form rejection letters experience #unfortunately writing is also one of those things where you can see it as a competition so easily #(admittedly a small part of why i don’t read other TG fics—i don’t wanna read people doing it better than me😭)#BUT you tailor your experience to have a healthy life. it’s not a competition if you don’t make it one. put yourself first

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joehillssimp · 7 months

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Hermitfam is baaaad.

Like it's passable when you consider it's a 30-40 something year old white guy writing and performing it, but like... aside from that it's baad.

The backing beat is good, I like it. However, the chill vibes don't really match the speed Impulse pulls right after the intro poems. It honestly feels more like the backing beat for a singer than that for a rap song, missing the heavy percussion and.... BEAT, that that is typical of the genre.

Even more chill rap songs like Young and Wild and Free(Wiz Kalifa, Snoop Dogg, Bruno Mars, etc) have a set percussion and rhythm that guides the song along and helps to set the pace for the artists performing on the song. And that is really the core of the problem with this song.

Impulse doesn't know how to stay on beat, and doesn't seem to understand that the performer is supposed to stand out, but still fit into the overall composition of the song.

I won't talk about the opening bars, those are more spoken poetry and an introduction than anything. But the first real verse, despite being the strongest one, with a consistent flow, has the problem of not quite matching the backing track.

I don't much to say about it other than that, it's the best part.

Then the chorus comes in with Impulse kicking it up about half a notch speedwise, returns to that thing he did in Hermitgang where he tries to shove too many syllables into one bar, making the whole thing sound jumbled and rushed, like he didn't take the time to actually smooth out the little bumps in his writing before recording.

After that, the next 2 verses have this kind of spoken word, beat poetry, vibe to them. Which is fine, if he hadn't tried to open the song itself with speedrap.

Now it's not uncommon for rappers to have 1 verse, or a bridge in a different style than the rest of the song, but it's hardly ever the first verse, and usually when they bring on a guest, who's voice adds variety and it supposed to act as a high point in the song, before having another chorus or whatever to finish off the song.

It's a climax. So musically, Impulse has the Climax right at the start of the song, and then the rest a kind of chill slide down a lazy river. And i should say, there is nothign wrong with a slower flow, a lot of rappers from the east coast are hella successful off their slower flows, but once again, their flows are on beat, with a consistent cadence and blend with the backing track.

So when he starts off fast, and then slows down for all his other lines, which are at most 12 syllables each, it feels like he couldn't figure out what to say about the rest of the server, or that he was padding for runtime so the song would reach that 2 minute mark. Not to mention completely leaving out TFC.

And I think, that aside from there being no rhythm to the song, Impulse's voice isn't properly balanced by the rest of the beat. Impulse's voice, I wouldn't say it's high pitched, but it's very close to the tonal range that the rest of the song exists in, and so they use volume to make him stand out. It would have been better if perhaps they had taken some deep bass, and used that to set some kind of rhythm, with higher melodies that create a space for Impulse's voice to stand out, while keeping all the audio levels at reasonable levels.

As it stands, Impulse is so loud you can barely hear the beat, especially during the chorus.

I'm not good at explaining my thoughts but yeah uhhh...

In regards to impulse's writing...

Think of the consonants in a word, or line, to be like a drum beat. The way each one is stressed and unstressed, creating each hit and pause in the percussive melody.

For people not familiar with music theory, even drums have tones and pitches, and when you write a rap song, your voice becomes a part of the drums, who's tones support the melody, rather than the melody themselves like in normal singing.

And I listen to how Impulse phrases his words, and how he places his stresses and pauses, and it creates something akin to a child just beating a drum however they like, getting tired but still hitting, and then doing whatever they want on the chorus as well. it's not a good sound.

And the worst part is that I KNOW that impulse plays the drums. I KNOW that he should have a better understanding of rhythm and cadence than that shown in the song. Which makes this as a whole more disappointing.

Maybe he just doesn't understand how that all translates to writing.

I genuinely believe impulse could have made a better song, writing, cadence, overseeing the creation of the beat so it matched his creative vision....

I dunno it feels rushed.

And it sounds like a bad song.

#impulsesv #hermitfam #hermitcraft #blaze has spoken

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thestarlightearth · 10 months

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The One Call

I received this particular poem one oneness after a year or so of intense physical, emotional, and mental healing, where all of my fears about receiving divine information and sharing it with others was amplified (from what I understand, this fear was primarily from the old energy of past lives and unconscious patterns/false beliefs we might not even realize we have.) When I was a teenager, I wrote a ton of poetry in this way, where I simply allowed the words to flow through me and I just wrote. In one of my poems from back then, I referred to this phenomenon as a "secret divinity" that "seeps into my brain most nights and writes for me."

I stopped writing poems for many years (though I did expand out into fiction - namely fanfiction - which is great!) but I am happy to say that I am healed enough to allow the words to flow through me again! (I am still healing though, and so it is a work in progress.) This is a poem about how we all contain the "call to love" inside of us, and like the cadence of a phrase of music, it is that "home" place that all of us are eventually guided to, where unconditional love permeates all things, and anything less than that means there is still some more journeying to go (and the journey is a beautiful thing!!)

From what I understand, the "home" place they speak of is inside of us, not outside of us. It doesn't mean escaping to another planet or another galaxy - it's about bringing that love into our human here, on Earth. It is our Soul, our divine birthright. That love that we all remember in hindsight from other galaxies and planets and realities is the same love we are working to bring in here.

Everyone is made out of that same love energy - even people whom you might not expect - and we are all heading forward, together, into a bright and shining future. Everyone has that call to love and oneness inside of them, we all possess the sacred knowledge, it's just that we are all waking up at different speeds. So, let's honor all people, at all stages, wherever they are at, for we are all on unique journeys and are all healing at our own pace! 💙💙💙

You can follow me on Instagram and TikTok: https://www.instagram.com/thestarlightearth/ https://www.tiktok.com/@thestarlightearth

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tsugarubecker · 1 year

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will I get canceled by all other bylers if I say that the end of i’m tearing you asunder made me feel like i just had a hookup and then they rolled over and walked out of my apt? 😂 Definitely needed a longer conclusion / a slight jump into the future as some aftercare, there…

With that said, what a good fic!! Some of the prose was a little funky but so much of it was flowing, heartstring-pulling poetry. I’ll admit it was kind of an emotional roller coaster for that reason 😅 But so many instances of sparkling prose… I definitely got sucked in ☺️ I grew to really love the author’s unique voice, as well. In addition to their colorful, evocative vocabulary and varied cadence 💕

I feel like it bodes well for season 5 that some of my favorite fics - fics that have a strong grasp of El and Mike and Will’s characters and their motivations - predict some very similar things. El is going to prioritize her own journey, and she’s also gonna Get It (and might even help) where Mike & Will are concerned. Mike stammers a lot, gestures and flails in gangly awkward ways, has a bunch of scribbles for brains and is tired of losing Will. Will doesn’t believe Mike could love him and will doubt him every step of the way until it’s proven beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Considering these are conclusions so many intelligent people have drawn - and shown in various ways (gifsets, fanart, fanfiction, analyses, etc) - I really feel like collectively we are making some smart predictions based on the evidence we have so far. And that’s a good feeling. (That is it say: the future of byler endgame looks bright fellas.)

I also feel that itua and adats - two of the most well known byler fics, to my knowledge - are really nice foils to each other. Or companion pieces, kind of. ADATS delves into Mike’s psyche, whereas ITUA delves into Will’s. They both linger in small moments and small touches that put the reader directly into the feeling (the yearning, to be specific).

Anyway if you want to judge me for my opinions on fanfiction you can read my fics. Long story short I really loved “im tearing you asunder” and am pleased that I finally got round to reading it. And thrilled to know the byler fandom’s excellent taste, from “a dream always the same” to “im tearing you asunder” to stranger things itself, remains unchanged 🤗

#tw sex mention #tw sex joke #cw sex #byler #byler tumblr #byler fic #byler fic rec #byler fanfic #byler fanfiction #byler fic analysis #fic review #i’m tearing you asunder #itua #stranger things #stranger things season 4

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caltropspress · 11 months

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RAPS + CRAFTS #14: SKECH185

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

Hey, I’m Willie McIntyre Jr. but on stage I am SKECH185. I grew up largely in Chicago, in neighborhoods on its South Side, but I am now a New York resident for the last 9 years. I am a part of a 6-man crew called Tomorrow Kings, a duo called War Church, a duo with producer Jeff Markey and have worked with various labels (Galapagos4, Fieldwerk, ReServed, Backwoodz) over the last 18 years. My most recent project is entitled He Left Nothing For The Swim Back.

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

A lot of my writing is done at coffee shops. Being at home is far too distracting because there is always something to clean or arrange, etc. I usually start my day by hitting the gym and then writing for a couple of hours. There is no guarantee that I will write a full verse or a verse that I love when I write, but I write daily as a matter of improving my techniques or experimenting with new ways to phrase things or deliver lines. I maintain a level of discipline with it in hopes of being able to steadily evolve my style.

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

I will write in my head and in my phone but all verses eventually make it on paper. It's the only way I can finalize and edit and it's the only way I’ll remember the cadence or timing of some bars.

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

I write in bar-looking structures but some lines are two bars that I will leave as one long line because it is a complete thought. I do a lot of scratching out and writing new pieces and notes in the margins too.

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

There is no real time I can think of. Sometimes you can just tell it's working. Sometimes you're trying to be aimlessly intelligent and miss the mark. Sometimes simple for effect is lazy. I will always perform surgery on a verse and pull out lines that work. I tend to write bar by bar so every bar can stand on its own as a thought. I rework material all of the time and I will mine from old verses if what I’m writing at that moment fits with older material.

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

I’ve only done op-ed type of writing and, perhaps, poetry for school.

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

I edit verses anywhere from 2 to 5 times and I do different types of edits (edits for flow, originality, accuracy, progress, and ambition).

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

I usually write in silence. I will listen to a beat and memorize the pockets, tone and drum pattern then write in silence until I have an idea about how I want to structure the song.

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

The beat will often tell you to write to it. With that in mind I will also hear beats and I will recognize a verse or song that was written that fits it. I rarely keep a stream of consciousness rhyme but that will often be a jumping-off point. There aren’t too many constraints in my rhymes; my chorus and bridge structures depend on how much I can pull out of the beat based on how it services the rhyme approach or subject.

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

Every rhyme is an experiment and exercise of some sort. That is what keeps it fun for me.

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

The first verse on “High John The Conqueror Speaks” on my War Church album Gunship Diplomacy. It was one of the moments in which I felt like I actually contributed something new to hip-hop. It was something that only I could have done.

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

“At a distance, even the greatest man is just an ant.”

While getting my degree, I had to take an art history class in which we spent a brief moment learning about painters who focused on painting scenes of the sublime. The idea of realizing nature and the universe is so much of a humbling experience that I had to throw it in a rhyme.

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

None of that matters to me at all. As long as it sounds cool that is all that will be remembered.

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

Groups like Protomartyr, Radiohead, Coltrane, Miles Davis, Moses Sumney, Animal Collective, Arms… A lot of post punk, a lot of comic books. Podcasts. Old Dick Gregory interviews. I have, as of late, been obsessed with watching interviews from the 60s and 70s because there is something to seeing a person speak about something when they don’t know when the next time they will speak is. There is gravity to it that I find important still.

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

My biggest fear is making something that people can find somewhere else. By the time it gets recorded, I’m confident in performing it in front of a full house based on the quality. I worry about making songs that sound similar the most.

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

Teddy Faley and my brothers in Tomorrow Kings

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

I don’t have an agenda but I am very opinionated. I just want to illustrate what being human means to me and maybe start a couple fires along the way.

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

Photo credit: Fresh Kils

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