#it’s so much easier to write where he isn’t ghostface

[stephstars08]

I feel like I come up with more stories where Ethan isn’t ghostface than ones where he is ghostface….🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢 oops…..😬

[unnerving-presence]

Hi I'm the anon that has send the request about the reader killing the killers, and I loved it!

Can I ask for a part two? Where the entity takes notice of how powerful the reader is and makes them her vessel of sorts, giving them powers and whenever Killers are misbehaving, she sends the reader to..... "teach" them a "lesson"

Same Killers please if you could 🥰

Wow I am so messed up

Of course :) I resisted the urge to elaborate on the readers power but the entity basically merged with them so they have the power of the entity in a way and they’re not as sympathetic so it’s easier for them to put the killers in their place

I love this concept so much I literally have to hold back from writing too much. if you couldn’t tell i love torturing the killers lmao

warning: graphic depictions of violence and gore. this is basically just torture stuff so if you are not comfortable with it please do not read!

Part 1

༒༒༒༒༒

Kazan Yamaoka/The Oni:

As brutal as you were, Kazan never expected the Entity to make you it’s servant. He hasn’t talked to you much ever since you’ve been restricted from going into trials, so the only way he would really know about you serving the Entity is if another killer told him, or if you had to punish him yourself.

For the first time in his life, he’s actually been afraid of someone. Nobody has been able to (alone) take him down. Now seeing as someone like you can? He’s not terrified, if anything he sees you as a little badass, but he does not want to get on your bad side.

He’s never seen you punish a killer, but he has seen the aftermath. The Hillbilly, better known as Max Thompson Jr., decided that he wouldn’t listen to The Entity, decided that he’d kill the survivors the way he wanted. All of them died too quickly for The Entity to feed on their fear, and she was not pleased. Needless to say that the poor man’s cries of pain could be heard for miles, and Kazan would never forget the way Max was desperately trying to keep his organs in place as he struggled to get back to his realm. You wouldn’t even give him the sweet release of death after you were done with him..

This is nothing like when the mob attacked, not even close. This was a new type of pain, pain that makes you wish you were dead. Kazan was never one to give up so easily, but in your grasp he feels so helpless. He doesn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. He feels so vulnerable with his mask off, with his armor tossed to the side. His jaw is now broken, and his ribs feel like they’re going to snap at any second. You’ve barely started, and you’re already making him regret his actions in his last trial.

“I’m not going to kill you, but I am going to make it hurt.”

Michael Myers/The Shape:

At first, he doesn’t really seem to care that much. If he’s not the one in pain, it’s not really his problem. He still holds a bit of a grudge against you, meaning he stalks you, so he’s known since the start that you’re serving The Entity.

He’s surprised that you’ve gotten this far just from killing him, though he is a bit jealous. You don’t really scare him that much considering your small stature. If anything it’s kind of cute to him. Just a little thing like you running around and giving killers a little bonk on the head for not doing good in trials is a thought that almost makes him smirk. Of course those thoughts were before he’s seen you punish a killer. Now that he’s really seeing it in action, he understands why The Entity made you it’s servant. Though he is far from scared of you, he is a bit impressed at how the other killers feel a bit more uneasy when they see you pass by, some even fleeing to their own realms.

Michael can do almost anything he wants in The Entity’s realm without being punished. Hell, he even kills the survivors too fast for the Entity’s liking and comes back from a trial unscathed. Now with you by The Entity’s side, Michael isn’t as free as he used to be. Michael doesn’t know that however, and doesn’t really seem to care. Atleast he didn’t seem to care until he was the one in all those other killer’s shoes.

It’s been what seemed like hours and Michael looks like he’s on the verge of tears. With his own knife, you’ve managed to do quite a bit to him. His mask is removed, face terribly bruised with a nose bleed that seems like it could go on forever. He’s lost a couple fingers, and the remaining digits no longer have nails. His arms and chest are littered with large and small stab wounds alike, ones that you dig your fingers into when it seems like he hasn’t quite gotten the message that he isn’t in charge here. Michael’s vision occasionally blacks out, only to be woken up by a bash on the head with the handle of the knife. You’re not sure how much he can take, but you are sure that Michael will never forgive you for this.

Summoning a sharp tendril, you swiftly pierce it through Michael’s leg, waking him and receiving a loud grunt as he stares up at you with a tired but furious gaze.

“Wakey wakey Michael, I’m not quite done with you yet.”

Danny Johnson/Ghostface:

This man is so jealous. He was a killer way before you did anything special! Technically he does serve The Entity, but not in the way you do. Danny probably thinks you’re not all that since he’s probably still mad as shit that you embarrassed him like that.

He hears some of the killers talk about you like you’re a nightmare come true. Of course Danny calls it all bullshit and says you’re probably not as ruthless as they say you are. Honestly he just isn’t ready to accept that fact that you have more power over him than he does, and he’s not very fond of the fact that he can’t be an asshole to you anymore.

Danny has never heard nor seen you give one of the killers a lesson, but he has been given shockingly precise details on just what you can do to them. He’s never heard of a survivor having this much power over the killers. Well I guess he couldn’t call you a survivor anymore now, could he? Nonetheless he seems to forget that there are consequences for his actions, especially after a trial he didn’t do so well in.

Danny hasn’t known fear until this day. He displeased The Entity, and now he pays the price. He can no longer see, but he can feel. He can feel the way you pry his mouth open and slowly cut his tongue open. He can feel just how strong your bond is with The Entity, how much you’ve changed. His throat burns from how much he’s been yelling in agony. He coughs up blood as it travels into his lungs, making it more difficult to breathe by the second. It was already worse having you kill him in a trial when you were a survivor, now this torture?

“I love that look of despair on your face.”

Frank Morrison/The Legion:

As if you couldn’t get any scarier to him, now you’re serving The Entity. He hasn’t talked to you ever since you last saw each other so he really has no idea of what you’re doing with The Entity until somebody goes up and straight up tells him.

From what he’s recently heard, you’re now going around teaching killers not to displease The Entity? Sounds odd that all of this is happening in such a short amount of time but it doesn’t make it any less scary for him. He hates being scared, but knowing that if he tries doing things his way will get him punished makes him kind of worried as he tends to go a bit overboard in some of his trials.

His friends are lucky enough to not experience the horror of being tortured into submission, but they have been told what it feels like. He tries his best to comfort Susie and tells her that as long as she does things the way The Entity wants, she will be okay. Needless to say The Legion is very scared of you. Please go easy on them they’re only teenagers (except for Frank of course)

It was bound to happen someday. Frank got too angry at those pesky survivors and wasn’t thinking straight. Not even in a trial, he managed to kill 2 of them. He would learn soon enough that killing isn’t allowed outside of trials. The rest of The Legion are huddled up in a corner. Susie is sobbing into Joey’s chest as he slowly rubs her back, trying his best not to look at what’s going on in front of him. Julie can’t seem to look away, pure shock seeming to be the thing holding her still. Frank feels like all of his bones are on the verge of shattering. How is he even alive at this point? His organs aren’t in place, scattered across the hard wood floor, leaving a sour smell behind. The only thing keeping him up at this point is the hook that is impaled straight through his shoulder. He wants so badly to just die, but The Entity is the only thing keeping him alive at this moment. No matter how much blood you spill, it’s not over until The Entity says it’s over.

“Oh Frank, you know this is far from over..”

[angelharness]

Thank you for giving me the chance to talk about this asjshw, I hope to get the chance to write a proper fic to explore my interpretation of him, but as I’m still constructing it, I’ll just take this opportunity to ramble! And throw in some headcanons

WARNINGS: none? usual ghostface behavior

DANNY JOHNSON / THE GHOSTFACE

• I think he would actually grow attached to the reader, but isn’t sure why he does, or even what feeling it incites in him really. It’s easier to come to terms with his unlikely fondness for you when it’s an ambiguous, debatable concept. He doesn’t take the time to define it, but it’s perhaps closely akin to affection.

• Where he and Michael are in many ways similar in their dynamic with the reader, Ghostface doesn’t see you as a plaything in the same way Michael might. He doesn’t keep you in constant fear; he lets up, gives you room to breathe so that the fright he does pose is comparatively more effective. He’s not one to ‘tire’ of his partner either.

• A man of signature-ly few words. I don’t think he’s as talkative and smarmy as many write him; he barely ever speaks actually, not even to taunt you, which works, for somehow his mocking (but wordless) gestures are just as sharply insulting. You’ll find his silence is more powerful than any spiteful or provoking words, and he is very aware of this, utilizing it to dangerous success.

• I don’t see him being fond of nicknames and I personally can’t stand dollface. I think, on occasion, if he’s feeling sentimental, he’ll use a shortened, cutesy version of your name.

• Pre-Entity, he’s a lot more talkative and can keep up the caring boyfriend role expertly while continuing with his work on the side. He keeps his unsightly hobbies well under wraps—anything you come across you are meant to see. He thinks it’s fun to keep you a little unsure, but never outright suspicious.

• Again assuming this takes place before the Entity’s Realm, he’s surprisingly good with housework and domestic chores. With his work (both forms) you’d expect he might dump it all on you, but he does a good job consistently pulling his weight. A pretty solid cook and dedicated cleaner, but you often question his impressive collection of heavy-duty cleaning supplies. Danny knows how to sew, as well, something he originally learned to keep up his Ghostface robe but a skill he utilizes for more standard procedures as well. If you go to him with a tear in your clothes he’ll offer to fix it up.

• You think it’s so sweet how he insists on doing the laundry, remarking, sympathetically, how you’ve had a long day, urging you to rest and let him handle it. As far as you know, it’s a kind gesture. For him, though, it’s to keep you from seeing the browning smears of blood on his clothes.

• Loves talking about his work and is sure to fill you in on absolutely everything that’s happened. He has such a charming joy when he rambles, a delight that quickly becomes unnerving as he talks at length about the more unpleasant details of crime scenes and murder cases. It doesn’t help that he keeps clippings from articles he’s written all throughout the house.

• Entity’s Realm-wise, he doesn’t have much left to hide, so loves freaking you out. He breathes loudly behind you, accentuates his footsteps, leaves notes on walls or picked out in dirt; he sees this all as the process of courting.

• His favorite thing is to grab you off generators then let you go. He loves to see you scramble to your feet and snap to look at him all wide-eyed. You sometimes catch his shoulders shifting in silent laughter. He’s weirdly playful about it all like this isn’t some disturbing dance of lethal cat and mouse.

• In trials, he’ll fluctuate between targeting you, ignoring the other survivors who stumble out of the way in favor of chasing you across the entirety of the map and back, and then inexplicably ignoring you. Sometimes it’s mid-chase too, where he’ll screech to a sudden halt and turn tail to find a new subject to torment, leaving you panting, checking behind you every so often, straining your ears for the crunching of leather or muted footfalls despite his absence.

• Loves to leave you gifts. Keychains from other survivors, flowers, if he comes across any not long-dead, pretty coins or lockets, though you receive them all with conflicted feelings.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slashers x Reader(Mostly Chucky and Michael) || Oneshot

Title: Sometimes Its Best Not To Decide //or// She Will Always Unlock The Door

Notes: 

Chucky is in human form here. 

This is a strange ass AU where all the Slashers live in the same time(Including billy and Stu) that caters to my needs to write this shot. 

Plot: 

You want a normal life, but you will always let the dark in. Even if you don't want it. 

Warnings: Swearing, mention of blood? mention of Sawyers?

~~~

It’s been months since I last saw them, so I figured I was okay. I could do this; I could take that last step into a normal life. My final, best chapter.

So, I took the plunge, the risk. I said yes to a nice boy, with glasses who wears a tie at the coffee shop and paid for my drink for me in the morning, and we went out earlier this evening. Everything went great, it was like a fairytale, compared to how the rest of my life has been.

When we nearly kissed is when things went downhill.

As soon as his nose brushed on mine, feather light and not heated at all - nice, -, that’s when the loud, barking knocks on my front door started. 

And I knew immediately who it had to be of course, but I still hoped it was just a really, really enthusiastic salesperson.

At 11 at night.

Of course, I was right initially, and the minute I opened that door all hell broke loose. Michael’s brought in from the rain, getting puddles of blood and water all over my damn floor and Chucky drops him on my perfect cream coloured couch. “What the hell happened to him??” I’m asking, hyper aware that he’s injured but Danial is still standing right there by the kitchen doorway, adorably confused. I round on Chucky, who doesn’t seem as concerned as he should be, seeing the situation. “What do you want??”

“Well, I tried to put him down when I found him but then he threw a fucking handful of mud in my face,” He wipes some of what’s left of the mud, off his face. “And kept trying to come here so I came along.”

“Why??” I wouldn’t have stopped the rude lilt to my tone just then if I could have. He just looks amused, at my anguish though and turns back to the bleeding murderer on my couch, which is turning red. I glance at Danial, fearing his reaction, then turn back pleadingly to Chucky. As if him and Michael leaving now will make things easier at all for my poor, now self-destructing ‘normal life’. “Can’t you just leave? Michael will be fine- Michael you’ll be fine. You always are. Take off the mask and go to Hospital- Chucky. I’m on a date.” I clasp my hands together and try to ignore the pinging guilt in my gut for trying to get rid of them, when I know Michaels in pain. But I told them, I can’t be a part of this anymore! I don’t want it; I don’t want his life!

“Aww, doll, you’re gonna abandon him in a time of need? Here I thought you were the good one.”

“Fuck you!” I am the good one, which is why I don’t want anything to do with this. First it’s Michael and Chucky, then I start getting dreams again, and Jason thinks its okay to come over when he’s lonely, I’ll get phone calls from Billy, and then I’ll have the whole fucking Sawyer clan in my home. As much as it hurts, and has downsides like leaving my friends, I cannot be connected to this anymore. I can’t say it enough! I want a normal life! And they know that! “Get out, get out of my house. And make sure to tell Drayton on your travels that this is not a stowaway home and to stop sending me letters with money, I don’t care how much he can pay me.” I put a hand on Chucky’s back and attempt to push him out of the house. I nearly succeed because he’s letting me by some miracle until he turns out of my clutches and back into the living room. Damnit!

I watch, hopelessly as he plops himself down in an armchair. And turns… to… Danial. “So, you’re the new toy?”

“U-Um, sorry? I-s that Michael Myers? Are you- “

“Charles Lee Ray, nice to meet you. Y/N tell you we’re old buddies?” A devious smirk reaches his lips, and he really is a concerning picture right then. With wild hair and a muddy coat. Oh crap, he’s getting mud on my armchair.  “No, I guess she wouldn’t. Too much of a priss to be connected to me.” A second passes and Chucky raises his eyebrows like he just remembered something. “Oh! Have you heard of Fredrick Krueger? He was on the news some years back, she’s pals with him to-“To stop him from talking, I grab a pillow and viciously hit him in the face with it.

Then I kneel down and put it under Michaels head, carefully. I guess there’s no getting rid of them now, the damage is done.

Danial looks to me, looking horrified myself even compared to his pale face. Quickly, I go towards him and try to explain. “I knew him as a kid, I don’t hurt people Danial- “What else can I say? Its best to be straight to the point and focused then to jabber on. I’ve done this all before.

Slowly, he nods. As if he understands. But he doesn’t look at my face, just the floor and occasionally he glances at either Michael or Chucky. “I think I need to go home, Y/N. I, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am.” I sigh, with a severely heavy heart as he walks past me knelt on the floor by the infamous Michael Myers, and leaves. As soon as the door shuts and the sound of rain is muffled, I turn furiously to Chucky. “You should be sorry, too.”

He levels with me, eyes going dark and smirk twisting into a dangerous grimace. “Look, Y/N, you let us in- “

“You pushed your way in! -“

“Irrelevant. You knew who would be at the door, more or less. You knew it would be one of us at least. You can try to pretend to be Plain Jane all you like, but when the wolf comes knocking on your door, you will always open it for him. Your soul is slate grey, get the fuck over it.”

I can’t agree with that because that life, is not what I want. But I can’t disagree either because the simple fact that Michaels hair between my fingers, as I comfort him mask-less makes me feel warm inside. Comfortable, in the right place.

While I get up and grab the medical kit, Chucky pulls out a cigarette and a lighter and lights up, and Michael shifts on the couch tiredly. “I didn’t come up with the Plain Jane thing, by the way. That was Ghostface boy.”

“So, this has been a topic of conversation??” I ask, sternly, half a decibel from vicious really. He chuckles, and nods, causing me to sigh heavily and start looking for Michael’s wound. Really, it could be anywhere. His outfits ripped up in places and there’s blood everywhere. Probably not all his, but it’s still very confusing.

He blows tobacco smoke into my living room. “Hehe, yep.” I find the wound and clear the area, to start cleaning it. Its on Michaels side, as if someone took a machete Jason style and wacked him right in the side with it. Not too deep, though. He’s just lost a lot of blood. I get a roll of toilet paper and get to work cleaning the area. It smells terrible. I don’t think people talk about the smell, enough. It really is rank. At least for me. So metallic, and totally unbreathable.

Quietly, I excuse my actions to them both. “I just don’t think, that because I love you,” And, by that, I mean all of them. Someone had to in this life and I guess that’s me, despite everything they’ve done. That’s what I tell myself. “That I should be taken away from my life, because of it.”

“But, there’s a part of you that loves it. The chaos and danger. Every good girl does, and yours grows every time one of us contacts you.”

“How dare you be so deep.” I half joke, carefully cleaning closer to the gash so Michael won’t move. When I’m done with that, I throw the tissues indifferently to the floor, where Chucky already tread mud. Its not like it can get any worse. Not wanting to talk about this anymore, I start sewing up Michael, feigning the fact that I need to concentrate. I know Chucky knows that, at this point, I don’t need to concentrate when doing this -I’ve stitched him and the rest up enough times to do it with my eyes closed,- but he grants me a few minutes of silence, thank goodness.

When I finish, I wipe the area quickly, but carefully to get every possibly infected spot with a medical wipe and get up. “Michael, you should be okay in the morning. I mean, I would recommend to anyone but you that you should rest for a few more days, but I know you wont. So, I’m just putting that idea out there at this point.” Wiping blood off my hands and onto my jeans -date jeans!!- I turn tiredly to Chucky who’s just quietly chain smoking away on the chair. “Are you gonna stay tonight? Cuz if you are, you’re taking a shower. You already owe me 15 bucks to get the mud out of that chair.”

“A gracious offer, but I got a hiding place for tonight.” He aims a dirty smirk at me then, hinting at something about his new hiding place that I really don’t want to think too hard about, and then pushes off the chair. He walks on by me, but before he can pass, he stops and turns to me one last time. “Think about what I said, Y/N. You’re lucky you get to live both worlds- even with us crashing into this one too often. If it were up to just Michael or Jason, or even Freddy, and definitely those crazy hick Sawyers, you wouldn’t see normal life again. You’d be kept in a basement, or a coma. Be happy with what you have, because we love you too. But not enough to respect your freedom if you go too far.” He looks down at me carefully through his hair. “Got it?”

Same old threats… “Yeah, I got it.” … But they’re getting closer to being real, I know that. Not all the love and care in the world could change their inability to handle loss without a fight. And if it came to a fight, I would most definitely lose.

A few minutes after he leaves, I check on Michael again and find he’s sleeping peacefully on the couch. If I was honest with myself, I like him there. I like having him around- I like having them all around. A musty old forest zombie isn’t so scary when you come to feel safe with him around, and nightmares aren’t so bad when they include mostly bad puns and dad jokes. Just like a crazy, possibly incestuous, definitely cannibalistic and slightly off the hanger family isn’t unbearable when they leave aside a plate of veggies just for you because they know you won’t eat human.

I love them, and I want them around. And if I was honest with Chucky, I would agree that I couldn’t survive without the splash of danger and extraordinary in my life. But I won’t, because if I do then I’m locked in, but then again if I say it isn’t true then I’m lying to myself. And he might leave and take the rest with him. So, sometimes it’s best not to decide.

Finally, I turn off the light and whisper goodnight to Michael and go to bed.

[jessicakmatt]

Childish Major is Growing Up: The New New Atlanta

Childish Major is Growing Up: The New New Atlanta: via LANDR Blog

Childish Major turned 25 years old on July 4th, 2016.

For his birthday, he got something most of us only dream of—features from both Isaiah Rashad and SZA on his breakout track, aptly titled “Happy Birthday.”

When you think of The New Atlanta, you probably think of rappers like Future, 21 Savage and Young Thug. You’re probably imagining the detuned lilts of Metro Boomin, or Mike Will Made-It’s distorted “Ear Drummers” producer tag (Read that backwards, and Rae Sremmurd’s name might make more sense all of a sudden).

About 7 minutes from now, you’ll think of one name – Childish Major.

He’s worked with Isaiah Rashad, Jeezy, J. Cole (and his Dreamville imprint), SZA, Rick Ross, Rocko, and too many others to name. But now, Childish Major is becoming an artist in his own right.

He weighed in on vinyl’s role in a digital era, what rappers can do to help producers (and vice versa), and how to get those heads nodding in the studio.

I wanna start by asking you about the track “Happy Birthday,” with Isaiah Rashad and SZA. How did that come together, for you to work with those two?

Around the time Isaiah had announced signing with TDE was around the same time that I produced “U.O.E.N.O.”. So, we were coming up at the same time, but we built the friendship without working at all, just, really being a friend.

I started working on music as an artist, and then I would ask him, “What do you think?” He got “Happy Birthday” and was like, “Yeah, I’ll put something on there.” He did, and then time passed, and he was like, “I want to put this on my project, I think I’m gonna put SZA on.” So, he ended up doing that, thinking that it was gonna be on his album. My birthday came around and I was like, “Man, I wanna drop this song.” So I hit him up like, “Is it cool?” He was like, “Yeah.”

So I just put it out. But yeah – it was friendship first, then the music came after.

There’s a lot going on in that beat. How did you put it together?

I got this VST called Kontakt, and it has a Mellotron simulator, which is an electro-mechanical tape piano.

I was playing around with some chords, which were the chords for “Happy Birthday.” Then, I went in and chopped the breakbeat, laid that on there, did the bass line and everything else. It was actually probably one of my quicker beats.

Where did that break come from?

To be honest, it was in a pack and it wasn’t labeled at all, actually. It was in one of those unlabeled packs.

What’s your process like when you’re looking for samples?

When I was first starting off, I guess I had a lot more patience. I was really into it—searching on the internet, going through old vinyl YouTube rips. The related videos just all start to open and then, you keep going through them, and just download and download and download and download. That’s how it was in the beginning. Now, I know people that make original samples and I play stuff, too. With all the different samples that I got, I have packs in my library that, to this day, I still haven’t been through yet. These days, I just try to find something new in there.

To be honest, it was in a pack and it wasn’t labeled at all, actually. It was in one of those unlabeled packs.

So you just made yourself an archive of samples and sounds that you like, and you dig around in there.

Yeah, just from other persons that I come across or work with, exchanging libraries and stuff that they haven’t used and passed on to me. It’s pretty much just come from collecting throughout the years.

A lot of hip hop production relies on really classic techniques like sampling vinyl, but DAWs and software are making it really modern. How much of your technique is that traditional approach to production, and what kind of modern techniques are you using?

I think it’s off and on. Taking the vinyl, ripping it and sampling—that wasn’t a part of my everyday production method. But it’s something that I do every now and then, I have to be in the mood for it. Sometimes I just want to get in the studio and just go at it. So, it’s a part of it but not a part of it.

But, on the other hand, I am always recording. So during the song, I’m in the post-production part, and I’ll add a tambourine, or some wooden blocks, things like that.

Jeezy was the first person that told me, “Never just give somebody the beat and that be it. This is just as much mine as it is yours.”

So sometimes it’s live percussion, but the rest of it is all digital?

Yeah. For the most part, I’m pretty digital. But sometimes I’ll have a guitar player come in or have other musicians come in.

Old school production approaches, like vinyl flips—is that still relevant? Do people still need to be doing that?

Yes. I wish I did it more, but my patience is not as good as it used to be. But I think it should definitely stay. If you don’t know how to do it, learn how to do it just in case.

You never know what it might change as far as your sound.

I wanted to ask you more about collaboration. Let’s say you’re producing a beat, and you’ve got a rapper that’s gonna jump on it. How finished is the song before they get in there? Do they have input on the structure of the song, or are you giving them a finished beat?

It’s different every time because every artist is different. Have you ever heard of Jace from Two-9? Working with him, he never wants to sit in during the process of making the beat. He’s gonna walk out. So, with an artist like that I just wanna have it ready, or I go through beats. But there’s other artists like J. Cole who want to sit and see me make the beat. Not to tell me what to do—but it allows him to change his ideas and switch his ideas as the beat builds. He doesn’t hear it one way. So it depends on the artist.

Jeezy was the first person that told me, “Never just give somebody the beat and that be it. This is just as much mine as it is yours. Tell me if you like something, tell me if you don’t like something.” When I’m in the studio, I’m vibing off of the artist, or the people in the room. So every time I add something to the beat, I’m looking around to see if those heads are nodding. And if they’re not nodding how I want them to nod, then I switch it up until they do.

I’m pretty digital. But sometimes I’ll have a guitar player come in or have other musicians come in.

With the track that J. Cole produced for you—did you have any input on the production at all?

No, actually, I just let him write. As far as the sequencing of the beat, he gave me the MP3 at first, and I just took the MP3. When I write, I usually change the sequence of the beat. So, it’s an MP3, it’s a two-track, so I can’t really go into the stems like that. And he’s super busy, so, it’s like… if he already gave me a beat, I’m not gonna bother him about that.

But I would take it, take the intro, the outro, and just flip the things around that way, doing as much as I can with what I have. Me being a producer, that’s not that hard.

What was that like for you, to sit on the other side of that table, to be on the artist side of that arrangement?

With J. Cole, it’s very easy. I’ve hopped on other people’s production before, but with it being J. Cole, and coming off of producing something for him, it’s like, “Man, all right, this is real.” Not only is this real, but he’s a real and a genuine person, and he’s a man of his word—he could have let me have the beat and then not cleared it. He believed in me, and that means a lot.

You have to learn how to take that artist and say, “Hey, I know you don’t wanna be in a box, but we gotta put you in a box just a little bit to make the song understandable.”

You have a unique perspective because you’re both a producer and artist. As an artist, what can you do to make things easier for the producer you’re working with, and vice versa?

Really, it’s being both that helps. Being both of them makes perfect sense. As a producer, even if I’m not contributing any lyrics, I can still hear melody, I can still hear where to fill in different spaces as the artist.

So for an artist who’s never produced before, the best thing they could do is to get a little bit familiar with production? That way they know what the other person’s going through.

Yeah. The best thing as an artist would be to get familiar with sequencing and song production. Obviously, everybody’s song structure isn’t the same, but just getting a feel for how a song should feel.

Start there, then go up from there, and then expand. But you wanna know the basics. As a producer, there’s artists that you work with that are totally against the grain—where they can’t tell what’s what, as far as the song sequence. You have to learn how to take that artist and say, “Hey, I know you don’t wanna be in a box, but we gotta put you in a box just a little bit to make the song understandable.”

Follow Childish Major on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, SoundCloud, and Spotify. Don’t sleep on his newest track, Supply Luh.

Childish Major will be producing beats live at A3C Conference in the Loudermilk Center.

A3C is the world’s biggest hip-hop industry festival and conference, taking place Oct 4-8 in the heart of downtown Atlanta. This year’s lineup includes over 1,500 artists including Nas, Ghostface Killah, Just Blaze, SABA, Kirk Knight, A-Trak, and more.

Come say hi to folks from LANDR at the Creator Complex on Oct 6, and we’ll hook you up with free mastering and distribution.

Buy your pass today. Use coupon code landr33 for 33% off!

The post Childish Major is Growing Up: The New New Atlanta appeared first on LANDR Blog.

from LANDR Blog https://blog.landr.com/childish-major-interview/ via https://www.youtube.com/user/corporatethief/playlists from Steve Hart https://stevehartcom.tumblr.com/post/165375723019

[69tell-blog]

Windowpane [EXCERPT]

1st Chapter, Villa Vance.

         I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, probably Julia, my brother’s girlfriend. The three of us just started living in this apartment about a month ago. I still haven’t unpacked all my things and boxes crowd my room. I’m happy that Terrence isn’t selfish and that Julia can stand me. If not for those two I don’t know where I’d be. It’s been rough for me since graduation; my degree seems not to have made finding a job easy at all, and I’d settle for fast-food or retail, but I hate dealing with people. It’s awkward and sometimes embarrassing for me. In a perfect world, I’d have a desk at a prominent magazine or newspaper company. Alas, The freelance gigs I’ve been so loyal to are paying less & less now. Money is tight.          Her footsteps get louder; she pauses briefly before turning the doorknob, without a knock.          She walks in; her face is flushed. I can tell she’s upset about something, or someone.          “My God Vill, do you ever plan on cleaning up around here? I mean seriously, it’s like you haven’t unpacked a single thing. Are you living out of a box? She asks. “And another thing, when are you going to start working? Me and Terrence can’t pay for this place alone you know!”          “Well, I’m trying my best & that’s all I can tell you. I know money is tight, I know I’m not working. I’m sure I’ll find a job soon, I’ve been applying to a lot of publications. Don’t let my junky room distract you; I’m getting everything straightened out, believe it.”          I say that I’ve been trying, but the truth is, I haven’t applied myself at all. I haven’t filled any applications out. This white lie is all I need to buy some time until I can find something I can bear. To me, it seems selfish to be so choosy when I know Terrence and Julia are handling most of the bills. I’m optimistic that I’ll come across something soon and if not… there can’t be an “if not.” I’d never let them know the truth; they couldn’t understand. I just need a little while longer.          “I’ve got an interview with Express tomorrow morning.” I lie.          “Well, that’s a start I guess.” Her tone softens, and she becomes a concerned mother, worried that her scolding has hurt her child’s feelings.          “You know I don’t mean to get so worked up, but Me and Terrence can’t afford to keep splitting these bills alone. We have other places we need to spend our money Vill, and we’re counting on you for relief.”          “I know Julia, I know. I’m trying my hardest to pull it together.”          “Okay.”          She walks out, closing the door behind her. I’m relieved she didn’t ask what Express was, I wouldn’t have had an answer. It’s just some company I saw in a magazine before. Julia’s concern is a sign that I need to make a move soon. I figure that as long as Express is a part of my lie, I may as well look into it. I pull the magazine out from one of the boxes I rummaged through last night and flip to the last page. It reads “Express — Highway to life, now hiring. Call 1 333 999 9966.”          I grab the house phone, but before I can lift a finger to dial, I hear a knock, an entrance more subtle than the last.          “Come in,” I answer. No response.          “Come in!” I shout. Still, no answer.          I get up to check and see who’s knocking and why they didn’t they just walk in. I crack the door a little and peep through the opening; no one is there. Probably Terrence is playing a joke on me, though it isn't very funny. I shrug it off and get ready to redial the number.          Then, another knock on the door.          “Terrence I’m in the middle of something, stop kidding around!” I shout.          He didn’t respond. I quickly get up to answer the door once again, this time more furious and agitated. I fling the door open and out pops Terrence from behind a corner. He’s wearing a Ghostface mask.          “Am I supposed to be scared?”          “Haha, you fell for it last time.”          “Which is why it didn’t work this time. I was right in the middle of an important call, so I’m not going for any of your shenanigans. Julia just got on my case about not having a job, so this is serious. I think she’ll be less flustered once I land something; I'll pull my weight around here too.”          “Well, guess what Villy. You don’t have to worry anymore! You can keep all your money buddy. I’ve got everything covered. I thought my shenanigans might brighten your day since you’re always moping around here looking depressed and shit.”           “What are you talking about? How can you have everything covered? Do you know what you're saying? The rent here is way too much for one person to handle, and I know that call center isn’t paying that much.”          He begins to explain his luck at being offered a position with a new organization called Express. The same company I was about to call and apply. He's ecstatic to tell me the salary and how much fun the job is. Oddly, he never sheds light on what the job entails. When I ask, he changes the subject, over and over, every time I ask. There’s nothing I want to know more than the type of work involved. Every ad I saw was bereft of anything more than a cheesy slogan.          I had heard enough of Terrence's stories. It’s good that he found a high paying job but if he covers everything I’ll feel like a freeloader. I hurried to end the conversation. When he finished talking, I praised him and continued my phone call with Express.          "Hello—Express Career Services, my name is Jenny. How may I help you?"          "Yes, Ms. Jenny, I'd like information about any job openings you have."          "Okay sir, may I please have your name and SSN?"          Social security? That’s peculiar. I’m not inclined to divulge the information, but since Terrence got the job, he must have gone through the same process.          "Oh… yes ma'am, of course. My name is Villa Vance and my So—"          “Villa Vance!” She exclaims. Sir, please meet me at my office, tomorrow at 5:00 p.m. sharp. Thank you. Click!          "But where is your office? Where do I need to go?" I was talking to myself; she had already hung up the phone.          It seemed promising, in fact, I almost had a little hope that things would turn around. Now, I'm back at square one. Why couldn't the lady just tell me where her office was before she hung up. How could she expect me to know where to go or how to get there.          The phone began to make a dial tone. I had forgotten to dismiss the call. I click end and flop onto my bed. The plan was to go to college, get a bachelor’s degree in English, then snag a job writing for a company or teaching. The plan failed. In reality, I’m sitting in a room full of boxes with no clue what to do next. In a moment, every depressive thought of my future begins to creep into my consciousness, so the walls close in and my brain feels too big for my head with every analysis fighting the other for a space to occupy. From college, life has never seemed this volatile. I’m used to a set routine with predictable outcomes. Now, I truly don’t know what’s to come next or how well I can handle it. I’m already unstable. Tonight will be cold I know. I should get to bed.          Writing is the only thing that ever helped me relieve stress. Before I go to sleep, I have to write in my journal. It’s something I’ve done since I was a little boy. By documenting what happens in the past, I can remember it easier than a mere memory. My memory is frail. I write in detail, lest I forget a single instance.          I grab my notebook and a pen to jot down everything that took place today. When I woke up this morning, I found that my cell phone had stopped working. For some reason, it wouldn’t cut on. Next, I couldn’t find the remote to the TV, even though I distinctly remember putting it on my nightstand before going to bed last night. Which was right after I looked through a box of magazines, where I found the Express ad.          I continue to write about my day until the ink in my pen runs out. Of course, the ink would run out. With everything going wrong, why would anything decide to go in the right direction? I don’t remember having another pen in my drawer, but I check anyway. I open it up to behold a bright red pen I never knew existed, Express is printed in small white words on the side. Before I reach to pick the pen up, I hear a voice. It shouts in my ear, “Express!.”          I jolt back and quickly check my surroundings. Maybe I had been awake too long. My clock says 1 a.m. as if I’d been writing that long. At any rate, How did this pen get in the drawer?          “Walk toward the window.” The voice calls. And like a fool I follow. I walk to my window and peek through the blinds to see no one.          This better not be another one of Terrence’s tricks. No, it couldn’t be.          “Open it!” The voice shouts.          But I won’t move, I’m not willing to open a window for a voice alone. I don’t know who or where the speaker is. I’m reviewing every concept of reality introduced to me, trying to disprove them all to explain how and why this is happening.          “This is for your own good.” It whispers.          Suddenly, My hand moves to the window without my permission. I slide the lock to the left and slowly raise the glass. My body is no longer under my control. It has a will of its own. Terror and confusion have replaced any sense of security and common sense I had. The chilling wind from the draft of the open window bites my lip with a gust that is much more bitter than it should be. The calling voice spirals from a whisper to a mumble. Finally, an obnoxious shout breaks my thought.         “You are no longer a part of this world. Listen to my voice to uncover great wisdom. You must understand before you walk blindly. I am here to lead you, accept my presence and follow my will. Let your body do the work. Put your mind to rest.” It claims.          Before I knew it, I climbed out of the window. The wind whipped so rapidly that it hurt to hold my eyes open, so I kept them closed. I'm now dangling from the third floor of an apartment building without a hint as to what will happen next. My body is frozen, I can't see, and a seemingly benevolent, but eerie voice is dictating my actions. It told me to let my mind rest. It feels like this voice knows me. Does this entity have control of my body? Something I thought was a joke at first has changed into a phenomenon I can’t fathom, let alone explain. If I am no longer a part of this world, then what world have I entered?          I've been dangling for at least ten minutes now, and the voice hasn’t yielded another command since. My arms have yet to tire out, and despite a severe, arctic wind, I’ve resisted hypothermic shock.          Then, all motion of the wind stopped, and something began to counteract the bitter cold. It was dark outside, but now I feel rays of light surround me. My eyes remain closed; I begin to imagine the environment around me. It feels like I’ve arrived in a place where sunshine and light are persistent and dazzling. What is this world?          I'm no longer dangling from the window of an apartment building, but now standing straight up with little space between my feet. My back is erect, and my head is tilted slightly up. My eyes are still closed, but this is by choice. I'm not ready to see.          The voice calls me by my first name. I'm not willing to answer this soon. I don't feel like I should have to speak, I’m the one expecting answers. After a long pause, the voice seems to fade away, while murmuring what sounded like a rant. I stand here, quietly and patiently, as my life whirls around in my noggin. I think about Terrence and Julia; the debt and trouble I'm in. I question the possibility of all this being a dream. I convince myself that it is indeed an odd dream, which gives a good reason as to why I have not yet opened my eyes. Perhaps, once I open them, I'll be in my room lying on the bed.          That's it; it's time to stop this dream. I'll count to three and open my eyes. One... Two... Th— “Are you ready Villa?” The voice interrupts.