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HOW HIGH: THE 25 DOPEST RAP SONGS ABOUT DOPE

Rock The Bells Staff

Published Wed, April 20, 2022 at 12:00 AM EDT

Lotsa people are smoking weed today. Lots. So in honor of those who love to smoke weed, we decided to join the most predictable tradition on the internet and give you a list of stoner songs.

From Snoop Dogg to Devin The Dude, there are artists whose legacies have become synonymous with making inspired weeded-out classics. Obviously, there's more to guys like Devin and Snoop than marijuana anthems, but they proudly tout their love of the sticky, as do fellow emcees like Redman, B-Real and Curren$y. But there are some classic rap weed songs that come from unexpected places (KRS-One?! Jay-Z?!!) you might not have really ever noticed are definitely weed songs. So yeah, we included a few of those, too.

And sorry—you won't be seeing "Because I Got High" because nobody really smokes to that song, bud...

#26

"BROWN SUGAR" (UMMAH REMIX) - D'ANGELO [BONUS SONG]

Our BONUS SONG pick is a celebrated classic guest spot! Or in THIS case, a dopeass remix from J. Dilla, Q-Tip and Ali Shaheed that sounds even more weeded than the original.

#25

"MARY JANE" - THA ALKAHOLIKS

"I can't hold it in/I gotta let it all out." Those words are so appropriate and "Tha Liks" celebrate their favorite girl. Yes, weed-as-a-beautiful-woman is an overused metaphor (you'll see it again on this list) but it's popular because it works.

#24

"AMERICA'S MOST BLUNTED" - MADVILLAIN

MF DOOM and Madlib deliver a weed anthem that could only come from Madvillain. Their 2004 album is a classic and one of the best tracks is this off-kilter ode to burning.

#23

"BLUEBERRY YUM YUM" - LUDACRIS

It's almost an underrated weed classic, but Luda perfectly captures the joy of smoking the finest weed. Needing snacks from the store, bemoaning how your homies are smoking trash—this is life.

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#22

"FEELIN' IT" - JAY-Z

The Jigga Man has never really been known for stoned-out rap, and even has stated that he isn't really a smoker; but this standout from REASONABLE DOUBT is a pretty convincing ode to getting high. He acknowledges his conflict ("...look I know I contradicted myself...") in the song itself.

#21

"SMOKE SOME WEED" - ICE CUBE

One of the best tracks on 2006s woefully underrated LAUGH NOW, CRY LATER, Cube gets his smoke on, advocating for that good green while name-dropping famous smokers from George to Bill Clinton.

#20

"DRO IN THE WIND" - TRICK DADDY FEAT. BIG BOI AND CEE-LO

It's the perfect anthem for not givin' a fuck. This Jazze Pha-produced southern smoke classic captures the vibe of burning one on a warm day, cruising with your homeboys.

#19

"STILL SMOKIN'" - MYSTIKAL

Who can't relate? Mystikal has always been an underrated storyteller, and here, the Louisiana legend sits you down for a stoned tale about getting stoned.

#18

"MARY" - CURRENSY

Like Snoop, like Reggie, and like Devin, Currensy has become one of Hip-Hop's most famous advocates for the green. The NOLA emcee is also one of the most prolific on the subject—single-handedly debunking the myth that weed makes you lazy.

#17

"PACK THE PIPE" - THE PHARCYDE

The Pharcyde have always been some of the coolest oddball stoners. And on this epic from their first album, they contrarily advocate for dumping papers altogether in an era where blunts rule.

#16

"BUDDAH LOVERZ" - BONE THUGS-N-HARMONY

The Cleveland collective got to wade heavily into the "N-Harmony" part of their moniker on this standout from E.1999: ETERNAL. How stoned where they when they recorded this? Very.

#15

"SMOKE BUDDAH" - REDMAN

OK, so full disclosure: we had the psychedelic funk of "Rockafella" on this list, but--c'mon, yo. This is a Redman weed anthem of the highest order (get it?!) He's one of the most famous and loudest advocates for herbage in Hip-Hop. Nobody does weed rap (especially of the East Coast variety) better than Reggie Noble.

#14

"BITCH, DON'T KILL MY VIBE" - KENDRICK LAMAR

Kendrick's lush and melodic ode to not letting anyone fuck up your chill. The song is about being in a good space, and substances are definitely mentioned, even though it may not be a "weed song" in the truest sense. It certainly feels like it.

#13

"WE GET HIGH" - DEVIN THE DUDE AND COUGHEE BROTHAZ

Devin has given us so much. When it comes to weed anthems, there's nobody quite like the Texas legend. And this comedic classic with Coughee Brothaz (from 2010's Suite 420—released on April 20 of that year.)

#12

"MAD-IZM" - CHANNEL LIVE FEAT. KRS-ONE

Every "Teacha" you know smokes at least a lil bit. KRS links up with New Jersey duo Channel Live over a hypnotizing loop as the emcees spit lyrics about smoking the finest tree.

#11

"ROLL IT UP, LIGHT IT UP, SMOKE IT UP" - CYPRESS HILL

The legends from East L.A. show up on the soundtrack for the most beloved stoner movie of the 1990s. Of course, Cypress Hill laced Smokey with this weed anthem. OF COURSE.

#10

"MARY JANE" - SCARFACE

Featured on his 1997 album, The UNTOUCHABLE, “Mary Jane” is also one of the best (if not underappreciated) beats in rap. Produced by Face and Mike Dean, Face’s spaced out lyrics about his love for Mary is a weed classic.

"HANDS ON THE WHEEL" - SCHOOLBOY Q FEAT. A$AP ROCKY

Q and Rocky team up for this Kid Cudi-referencing ode to getting blazed. It just sounds like a hazy night; this right here is bleary-eyed brilliance.

"XXPLOSIVE" - DR. DRE FEAT. HITTMAN, KURUPT, NATE DOGG AND SIX-TWO

The album was technically the sequel to THE CHRONIC, y'all. The Good Doctor resumed his weed-friendly antics on 1999s 2001 and although "The Next Episode" was a BIG hit, this is the song that makes you want to take a hit.

"GOOD TIMES (I GET HIGH)" - STYLES P

The LOX rhymer got to kick off his solo career with this classic. One of the 2000s most popular odes to toking up, Styles doesn't give you a laid-back groove, instead he gives you a triumphant weed theme song.

"DOOBIE ASHTRAY" - DEVIN THE DUDE

What Snoop is out West; what Redman is in the East, Devin The Dude is that for the South. Meaning: he's the go-to guy for stoner rap. Devin is a character unto himself and DJ Premier tapped into his Texas roots for this classic.

"HITS FROM THE BONG" - CYPRESS HILL

Over a sample of Dusty Springfield's "Son Of A Preacher Man," B-Real and Sen Dog take smoke straight into tha chest. One of the best stoner tracks ever made.

"WHATEVA MAN" - REDMAN

Redman makes another appearance, on one of his most popular singles. MUDDY WATERS is a very weed-friendly album from start-to-finish, but this single embodies the spirit of the whole album.

"GIN & JUICE" - SNOOP DOGGY DOGG

Given its title, you'd be forgiven if you labeled this DOGGY STYLE classic a drinking song. But it's NOT, really. At least not totally. Remember, the hook is smoking weed AND getting drunk. Pay attention, people.

"CRUMBLIN' ERB" - OUTKAST

"...only so much time left in this crazy world..." They were barely out of high school when they recorded their debut album, but 'Kast already sounded world-weary. Or maybe they were just really, really stoned.

"I GOT 5 ON IT" - THE LUNIZ

In 1995, there was no more popular song to roll one up to; the smoking anthem from The Luniz made them stars and became a staple of cloudy dorm rooms everywhere. Salute this classic and it's just-as-classic remix.

#hip hop 50 #today in hip hop history #todayinhiphophistory #hiphop #hip-hop #hip hop #hip hop music #hip hop history #hip hop culture #music #history #music history #television #rap #rapper #emcee #mc

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crow-stars · 2 years ago

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i've found the anthology books from twisted wonderland, but the ghosts thought it would be amusing to hide the rest of the books from me. i thought i'd give you all this one from the members of heartslaybul while i find savanaclaw's and the rest. have fun, dears!

❦summary; time spent with the ones you hold dear during the holidays is more than you could ask for

♪the characters in this story; riddle rosehearts, trey clover, cater diamond, ace trappola, deuce spade, gn!reader

✎word count; 3,307

❀what do the ghosts say?; titles under each character, all relationships are ambiguous (can be seen as romantic or platonic) unless stated, lotsa words, just fluff and warmth for all parts

☛the author's notes; i do not know how to make pies in the slightest, so sorry for any inaccuracies in trey's part! also really sorry as this will be the only christmas one that will be published

☪look at the catalogue?

❝A CUP OF INNOCENCE❞

Warmth is all that surrounds you in the Heartslaybul kitchen as Riddle sits nearby, watching you at the stove. There’s a saucepan full of milk on one burner and another full of chocolate chips on a burner that isn’t turned on yet. On the counter nearby are a few more ingredients to add, candy canes, vanilla, and many more sweet goods to add on. You slowly stir the milk to prevent a film from spreading over it. Leaving the milk alone for a bit on lower heat, you start on the chips, turning on the burner and beginning the process of melting the chocolate.

“Why must this take so long? Surely there’s a quicker way to do this.”

You turn to Riddle, who looks interested, but impatient nonetheless. You laugh softly, shaking your head at the impatience of Riddle.

“Patience. Taking your time with hot chocolate is what makes it good.”

When you had first asked Riddle if he wanted a cup of hot chocolate, he had looked at you in confusion. He had said that he’s never had a cup of that before, saying his mother claimed that hot chocolate were ‘cups of sugary poison’. In all honesty, what hasn’t Riddle’s mother said about the agony of too much sugar? That was when you declared that Riddle was going to have a cup of hot chocolate and you dragged him to the Heartslaybul kitchen without protest from the housewarden.

This is what led the two of you where you are now, you at the stove and Riddle watching in anticipation. You finish up with melting the chocolate and check on the milk, finding it to be a satisfying temperature. Turning off the burners, you rummage through the cabinets and find two mugs, placing them down in front of the housewarden and smiling at him widely.

“You are going to love hot chocolate Riddle, I swear.”

You take the saucepan of melted chocolate and pour an equal amount in both cups, then grabbing the saucepan of milk and doing the same with the milk. You can see Riddle watching, rising a bit from where he sits with interest. While you begin mixing the two substances in the mugs, you turn to Riddle again.

“Do you want any candy canes in it? Oh, or maybe some vanilla!” Gesturing to the spread of add-ons, seeing him stare intensely at all the sweets he could possibly add to his drink.

“I think I’ll take the peppermint.”

You’re quick to grab one of the red swirled mints and drop it into the now mixed liquid, adding your own additions before mixing them into the drinks.

After adding a good helping of whipped cream to both mugs, you bring Riddle’s hot chocolate to him, placing it in front of the housewarden and eagerly awaiting his response.

His hands curled around the mug, his eyebrows raising at such warmth emanating from the ceramic. With an encouraging nod from you, Riddle brought the mug to his lips, nose wrinkling at the whipped cream tickling his nose.

Then, he took a sip.

Almost immediately, Riddle’s eyes shot open as that first taste touched his tongue and you had never seen such a sparkle twinkle in his grey eyes before. It was like that of a child who had gotten the first taste of something so deliciously sweet.You yourself felt like you could awe at such an innocent sight.

“Do you li-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Riddle tips the mug up, taking the liquid chocolate in big gulps. You almost drop your own cup in surprise with how quickly he downs the drink. You almost worry that he’s burnt his tongue at this point.

Riddle, thankfully, brings the mug away from his lips, having apparently drank the whole mug in one go. He lets out a happy sigh, smiling down at his drink while completely ignoring the little whipped cream mustache along his lips and the white that tips his nose.

Now this sight is truly endearing and you stare at him, quite happy with the results of the hot chocolate making. You’d be happy to make him another cup, just to see that childlike innocence in his eyes again.

❝DIPPED IN CHOCOLATE❞

You had only been scrolling through Magicam, looking through the tags for Christmas, and you had spotted a delicious looking chocolate pie that was decorated for the holiday.

You couldn’t help but show Trey the decadent sweet, gushing about how pretty it looked and probably how good tasted and now you were in Heartslaybul’s kitchen with him, bowls littered across the counter and flour dusting both of your aprons. Of course, before all this, you guys had to go to Sam’s and get all the materials needed for the pie.

Now, back in the kitchen, you were crushing peppermints and candy canes to sprinkle on the top while Trey created the filling of the pie. There was a previous attempt that was in the trash where you tried taking the reins that time, but had mistakenly mixed up the salt and sugar, an honest mistake seeing as the two containers looked dangerously similar, resulting in a very different pie than expected.

So, Trey banished you to crushing duty, giving you the rolling pin to use for your pleasure. The job he gave you was fun at least, putting the candies in a plastic baggy and absolutely destroying them while he put the new crust into the oven.

“How’re you doing over there?”

You lift your head from where you’re massacring candy canes, sending the vice housewarden a smile.

“I’m doing good! Almost done with this batch.”

Trey gave you a proud smile that made your chest fill with happiness, the both of you turning back to your original tasks.

It was sort of calming, in a way, the repetitive motion of moving the rolling pin over the baggy, grinding the candy not too fine but not too big either. And, sometimes, you’d sneak a quick peppermint past your lips to suck on. You can hear the whisk tapping against the edge of the bowl, letting you know that Trey was hard at work.

The kitchen was silent except for the noises from your work, whisking, rolling, mixing, crushing. It was nice. Despite the initial hesitancy and the first attempt at the pie, right now in this moment, you were enjoying yourself.

“Hey, don’t crush your finger.”

You yelp at the sudden voice right next to you, almost whipping around and whacking the rolling pin into Trey’s side if not for his hand grabbing your forearm to stop that from happening.

“Trey!” You heave a sigh as you turn to look at him, who laughs softly at your exasperated tone. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people with a literal whacking tool.”

Another laugh and you can’t help but chuckle along, playfully whacking Trey’s shoulder before shooing him back to where he was before. Soon enough, Trey calls to you once more, declaring that the crust was done and it was time to let it cool. You’re happy that you’ll get to eat this pie soon enough, motivating you to finish the last few candies and crush them.

When you finally finish crushing those candies, you turn to see Trey placing the crust into the fridge, grabbing another bowl that was filled with what you assume to be the whipped cream. This time, with your own task done, you get to watch the vice housewarden as he uses his whisk to stir the whipped cream into a more fluffy looking substance.

“When will it be done? It’s taking so long!”

Trey chuckles at your whine, taking the whisk from the whipped cream bowl and gently tapping the tip on your nose.

“Be patient, alright?”

You yelp at the sudden cold touch, blinking a few times before wiping the topping off and putting the tip of your finger in your mouth. The taste is delicious, sweetness and sugar melting onto your tongue and making warmth curl into your chest.

Eventually, the pie is finally done after so much waiting, with you both sprinkling the crushed peppermints on top together. When it came to cutting up the pie, Trey gave you the first slice, one that had a lot of whipped cream and peppermints on it. The result was delicious, the chocolate taste smooth and the whipped cream adding some more sweetness where the chocolate would lack with the crushed peppermints giving a bit of crunch.

Trey cut a slice of his own and the two of you moved to Heartslaybul’s lounge to enjoy the fruits of your labor together, talking and laughing together about any topics you two pleased.

❝THE SNOW THAT FALLS❞

The snow was finally starting to fall at NRC, decorating the grounds in a powdery white covering. The trees almost sparkled if you looked at them in the right angle, truly looking magical. Of course, with beautiful scenery, Cater just had to get some good pictures. And of course, he couldn’t do it without you, his Magicam partner in crime, willingly or not.

The cold nips at your skin and you rub your hands together to warm yourself, following Cater through the snow filled outside. He looks as cheery as ever though, a small skip in his step and phone at the ready to capture the perfect shot.

“Cater, it is what the hell AM in the morning, and we’re out here taking Magicam pics.”

Cater laughs, wrapping an arm around you and hugging you close. “Oh come on, don’t you wanna hang out with your bestie Cay-Cay?”

You lean a bit closer to Cater, relishing the warmth that he gives off before answering back. “Maybe if you didn’t drag me out in the cold, I’d be hanging out with you willingly.”

The two of you then giggle at your words and continue walking. Cater stops a few times to snap a picture of a tree that looked like it was sparkling with the snow covering its branches. Most of the time, you’d stand back and watch, trying to keep warm. Other times you were a participant in the photographing, taking a picture of Cater in front of whatever he deemed his backdrop.

He was taking another picture, crouching and standing to try and get a good shot when Cater turned to you, pausing in his photography. “Hey!”

You look up from where you’re blowing hot breath onto your palms, looking to Cater with a curious tilt of your head. This is when Cater suddenly takes a picture of you, the flash of the camera momentarily blinding you.

“Wha-? Cater, what was that for?”

Cater grins at you, turning the phone screen to face you and show a picture of you. You’re looking at the camera, hands raised by your mouth and cupped together. Your eyes look bright and there are light speckles of snow that dust the photo, making it look like the perfect Magicam pic.

He waves the phone around for a bit, giggling. Meanwhile, you can feel your skin warm at the sight of yourself. “Aaaw, don’t you look so cute~”

You resolve to roll your eyes, arms crossing. “I don’t look that good in that picture Cay.”

Cater laughs, walking over to you and cooing at you as if you were a child, calling you adorable, cute, this and that. You groan as such attention and push the Heartslaybul student away, smiles apparent on both of your lips.

“Alright, alright, shut up!” You then grab Cater’s phone, pulling him in for a side hug. You’re quick to snap a picture of the both of you, smiling into the camera as Cater is quick to catch on and smiles as well.

The picture that comes out of this is a bit blurry, but you two still look at it with glee. It’s not exactly Magicammable, but it’s still nice nonetheless.

You and Cater walk together back to the main school building, joking about this and that. Later, while scrolling on Magicam yourself, and decide to check Cater’s personal story, lips curling into a smile when finding your picture there.

❝TINSEL AND TEASING❞

“Uugh, this box is too heavy!”

You could already feel yourself rolling your eyes, smiling despite as you pull out some more ornaments. There’s a crochet angel that you didn’t know existed, turning it in your palm carefully. “You’re fine, it’s just a few decorations.”

Ace next to almost drops the box right next to you, earning a surprised yell from you at the loud sound. You lift your head to glare at the Heartslaybul student, who returns your glare with a cheeky smile. The crochet angel is swiftly thrown at his face and he lets out a small “ack!” as it hits his nose. You laugh, turning back to the box in front of you to continue digging through it.

The snow was starting to fall at Night Raven College, so that meant that it was that time to put the tree up and start decorating. You managed to drag Ace into helping you decorate the mini tree you had in your room, although with a lot of bargaining.

Sam’s was selling some ornaments for dirt cheap and you couldn’t resist the urge to take the deal. Though, this now meant that you had to sort through the ornaments for what you wanted and didn’t want. You could only hope that some other students would take the leftover decorations.

Ace crouched down next to you, watching as you went back to sorting through the ornaments, watching silently with those ruby eyes of his. You take out another ornament, finding it to be a small little basketball. The black lines have glitter on them that sparkle lightly in your room’s light.

You smile at this, showing it to Ace. “Oh, this one’s yours!” You get a pout in return as you place the ornament in Ace’s already outstretched palm.

“Really?”

Despite his irritated tone, Ace still takes the basketball ornament and walks to your mini tree and puts it right next to the one that you declared as yours. You chuckle softly at the sight and continue your sorting.

For a majority of the time, Ace was only watching, scrolling on Magicam or complaining about how long you’re taking. But whenever you ask him to move a box towards the door or hang up some ornaments, he does it without much complaint. He does, however, complain about how apparently boring this whole endeavor is.

After what seemed like the millionth time, you sigh and turn to Ace, a not so pleased look on your face. “You know, you can leave if you’re so bored.”

This gives your usually noisy companion pause, thumb hovering over the phone screen. Thankfully, he bounces back, snickering at you. “If I left, you’d be all alone and probably get all sad.”

You scoff, readying another ornament to throw. When you do, Ace is prepared, blocking the little star decoration with a pillow.

“Ha! Missed me!”

He didn’t expect the next one you threw, a little snowman that hit Ace smack dab in the middle of his forehead. He curses and you laugh again, humored at your companion’s misfortune.

“Head shot!” Ace gives you a frown at your cheer, tossing the ornaments back to you with huff. You laugh again, taking the decorations back and putting them into the box.

Ace does eventually have to leave your room, dorm duties calling him back and it leaves you in your room, staring happily at the decorated tree. You had turned off the lights to allow the lights on the tree to glow in the dark light. And clearly, in the light, you can see yours and Ace’s ornaments hanging next to each other.

❝SEASON'S TREATINGS❞

The vendors at the farmer’s market were always quite kind whenever you visited, recognizing you as an NRC and treating you, usually, kindly.

This Sunday, you had decided to drag a friend along for some seasonal shopping. Deuce walks along next to you, a bag for your groceries in hand with you holding the shopping list. The cold nips at both of your skin, blowing at your necks and biting at your cheeks.

“Why do you need so much stuff?” Deuce scratches at his head as you read over the list again, trying to calculate how much each item would cost. You only pat Deuce’s shoulder, smiling at him.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s for the holidays.” You smile at him. “I’m planning on doing something for all my friends.”

He nods, humming as he continues to walk alongside you. You drag Deuce to the first stall on your list, talking with the vendor about prices and attempting to haggle for a bit of a lower price before paying for an agreed upon price.

For most of the trip, Deuce provides a source of filling the usual silence, discussing things that have been happening during school, plans for the winter season, and the like. Soon enough, one bag filled with veggies and breads turns to two bags, the other filled with much heavier produce. Then two turned to three, filled with sweet treats and more fragile produce.

Even though you insisted on taking at least one of the bags, to lighten the load, Deuce insisted on carrying all the bags. He said he was strong enough to carry them all, telling you that you only needed to worry about your shopping.

You still insisted and Deuce eventually cracked, giving you the lightest bag out of the three. While not completely satisfied with this, you continue on with your trip.

The vendors this Sunday had a lot more produce and varied products for sale. There were handmade clothes, dolls, jewelry, almost anything that you could think of.

“Oh, Deuce!” You get Deuce’s attention from where he’s looking at candies, walking over to you and the stall you were at.

You point at the object in your hand, a small chick plush that still hides in its shell. The shell was faintly fuzzy, soft to the touch. The yellow fabric of the chick was even softer, comforting to the touch and so addicting to feel. “Isn’t it so cute?” You almost want to hug it, but refrain from doing so as you haven’t paid for it yet, so you only pet it. Deuce looks at it in awe, smiling at the plush.

“Yeah, it’s really cute! Do you want it?”

You ponder for a bit before asking the price. When the vendor says forty thaumarks, you cringe at the amount. Deuce hears it also, lips pursing at the price. With a sigh, you reluctantly placed the plush back onto the stand.

“Another day.” You sigh again, linking arms with Deuce to bring him away from the stand. “I can buy it after I save up.”

Deuce gives you a look, head turning back a few times to the stand with the plush. “A-Are you sure?”

You give him a nod, leading him away. “Yeah. Let’s finish our shopping, okay?”

And that you two did, continuing to walk through the market and crossing things off your list. On your way back to NRC, the snow started to gently fall, accompanying the slowly setting sun. You make your way to your dorm, putting away the day’s shopping in the dorm kitchen, humming a seasonal tune as you put the final groceries away.

The receipts are at the bottom of the bags and you grab them, looking at the prices and the totals. Then you come across a rather short receipt with only one item listed on the paper.

Chick Plush, 40.00

Surely, this one isn’t yours, you’re sure of it. Your mind trails to the only other logical solution and you smile, laughing softly under your breath. Now you know your present.

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danpuff-ao3 · 3 years ago

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Fic Writer Wrapped - 2021 Edition

Thanks for the tag @severus-dramatic-gothic-nerd

Also will be going with "fic published" to keep things straight!

How many stories did you complete?

23 posted. 1 is a wip and 2 are drabble collections I'm adding to as inspiration strikes! Which leaves...20 complete!

What is your total word count for the year?

64,774

What fandoms did you write in this year?

Harry Potter

Did you write more, less, or roughly about what you expected?

Waaaay more! Especially considering the huge chunk of writer's block I dealt with around the middle of the year.

What’s your favorite story of the year?

Oh this is such a hard one! I wrote 23 things so like....how to narrow it down? Okay I'm gonna stick to my usual nonsense and list more than one. 😂

Collateral Damage (Draco/Ron) - it was the longest fic I wrote in 2021 and not even for my OTP! It was a blast to write, not only as a fun prompt to explore, but also learning how much I love Draco's POV (and how easy it came to me!)

Spaghetti (Harry/Snape, kind of) - which means Severus doesn't actually appear in the story. It's a story that is both about Harry and his friends (present) but also Harry with Severus (thoughts/feelings about his relationship coming through when he tries to tell his friends.) It's a concept I've been wanting to write for a while, Harry's friends not reacting well to Snarry, and finally made it come alive! And I'm really, really happy with the finished product.

Loverboy at Play (Harry/Snape) - wrote this one in a day for Kinktober and I love it!!!! I wrote so many kinks and concepts I'd been wanting to for a while and they all came together magically for Kinktober! (Why did it not occur to me to combine virgin!top!Harry with Parseltongue kink before then, I have no idea.)

What is your most underappreciated story of the year?

Hard to say! The stories that didn't do well, I didn't really expect to do well. (Gen stories, rare pairs, content warnings, etc.) But I'll list 3 that I love that I wish more people loved, too.

Spaghetti (Harry/Snape) - yup, one of my faves made it to this list 😂 Mostly because I love it so much and I wish more people loved it as much as I do. But I think "Harry's friends reacting badly to his relationship with Snape" is a pretty specific concept that likely I'm the only one dying for more of. 😂

Choice (Harry/Snape) - deals with touchy subject matter like mpreg and contemplations of abortion. There's no real plot. Just lotsa thoughts and feelings. But it's a story that meant a lot to me that I still love dearly and think about often. Another one I think is just too specific to what my heart needed and not what other people care about. 😅

Teardrop in Your Palm (Scorpius/Harry; background Harry/Snape): I think the specific combination of ships is too odd, and the non-con aspect probably drove people off, too. Oh and the underage bit. But I love this story, dang it! Angst and all. Another one I wrote in a day for Kinktober!

Biggest fanfic-related disappointment of 2021?

Probably the fact that I didn't finish smile with sweet surprise. Chapter 1 went up May 5 and....now it's January 2022. 😂 At least I'm making progress with it finally.

Biggest fanfic-related surprise of 2021?

Boxes & Baubles got more love than I expected! Enough love that it had a podfic made of it as well as a Russian translation! I'm very glad because I love that story a lot, I just wasn't expecting it! 😄

Also the fact that I busted out of my writer's block with a vengeance during Kinktober! 11 of those 23 posted fics were written from October to December!! 27,001 words of what I wrote and posted in that time period. I wrote way more than what was posted in that time period!!!!

Something you look forward to working on in 2022?

More of smile with sweet surprise! I'm pretty determined to finish that fic this year. Final product should be 4-5 chapters so...doable I think! (But I also thought that last year so 🤷‍♀️) I have lots of fics I'd like to work on. Another Yes, Daddy story. Another Draco/Remus story. Some other ideas sitting in my 2022 Scrivener project. But I especially want to plot, at the very least, one of the longfic ideas I have.

Tag yourself and do this if you like!

#fic writer wrapped 2021 #danpuff writes

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: You Had Me At Jell-O (baon)

Summary: Edge trusts Stretch with so many things. His heart, his soul, his very life. Even his kitchen...but that might be about to change.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Humor, Domestic Bliss

Notes: Thank you so much for all of you still reading! I know updates have been erratic and I haven't been as good at replying to comments as I could be, but please know I treasure each and every one. I still love these boys and I love playing in their world.

I've been missing some humor with these boys lately, please enjoy.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

As much as Stretch still liked to joke about the quality of his cooking (some jokes never end and old comedians never die, they just can’t stand up anymore), there really wasn’t any truth to it these days. He’d truly been practicing, events of culinary destruction were behind him, and if his attempts ended at the slightly overdone end of the spectrum more often than not, they had at least firmly moved out of ‘burnt to charcoal’ territory. Reasonably edible, that was a goal that many home cooks aspired to and Stretch could take his place amongst their ranks.

In any case, it made it less unusual for Stretch to spend time in the kitchen and Edge didn’t think much of it that afternoon as he sat at his desk in the living room and worked through a little paperwork. Not until he went for another cup of coffee, his mind absently split between the newest overseas trade negotiations and delicious, liquid caffeination.

Both thoughts came to a screeching halt right along with Edge as he froze two steps inside the kitchen, hardly noticing the door swinging shut behind him. One socket twitched as he stared at the unspeakable horror that dared to take up space on his kitchen counter.

Gelatin at least he recognized. Not a favorite of his, but it was often served as a treat down at the Y. This was not like the little plastic cups with their foil lids that the Human children gobbled down. This mold was huge and round, a geometric mountain of quivering goo. The outer ring horrifically blood-red and there were…things…encased within it, unidentifiable objects entombed in a wiggly sarcophagus. Nestled into the center of the ring was a curdled white gunk that threatened to ooze from its confinement and who knew what destruction it might wreak if it escaped from its gelatinous prison.

It sat there, alone, as it glistened threateningly in the overhead lights.

“hey, babe!” Came from the other side of the kitchen as Stretch stood up from where he’d been looking in the refrigerator, slamming the door shut with a clatter of the jars and bottles within. “i see you’ve met. say hello to my little friend.”

Edge did not take his gaze away from the shimmery intruder to his once-safe kitchen as he said, slowly, “Stretch, I’m aware that you have a wide variety of friends and acquaintances from all walks of life. This is your home and you’re allowed to have guests over. But I’m afraid I must insist that none of them bring infectious diseases with them, your expertise is in physics, not viral disorders.”

“heh, yeah, but i’ve got experience in going viral, which this already is!” Stretch said gleefully. He walked over to the counter right by where the awful thing sat. Edge resisted the urge to pull him to safety. “this, my heart, is a molded gazpacho sour cream salad.”

“That is not a salad,” Edge said, decisively. On that point, he was certain. “It has none of the shape, form, or accoutrements of a salad. If it ever were a salad, it lost the right to the title after its years-long imprisonment in the back of Bela Lugosi’s pantry.”

“nope, it is definitely a salad, per my good pal the dictionary,” Stretch held up his phone with a waggle, “i checked, merriam and webster are on my side. now,” He took a pinch from the little bowl he’d gotten from the fridge, tossing a sprinkle of what Edge recognized as chopped parsley over the nightmarish concoction. So far it was the only thing in the entire dish he recognized, and he wasn’t sure if that lessened his horror or not. “my twitter groupies are waiting patiently, and not so patiently, for your opinion. whatcha got for me, babe.”

“My opinion?” Edge asked, disbelieving, “My opinion is that you discovered a plague-riddled moldsmal and brought it home for vivisection, which is incredible cruel to their family, I expect better from you.”

Stretch gave him a look of mock outrage, silent laughter shining in his eye lights. “i’ll have you know this is an actual recipe from an actual book that YOU happen to own, ‘the best served cold’ cookbook, as a matter of fact.” He slouched down to lean on the counter, dangerously close to the so-called salad as he propped his chin on one hand. “so what do you think of that?”

“I think that the publisher needs to fire their health standards committee and I need to vet my cookbooks more carefully before they can fall into your treacherous hands.”

“too late now, my hands have been alllll over it,” Stretch leered. He was nearly shaking with barely stifled laughter. “c’mon, babe! everyone is waiting.”

“Waiting?” Edge demanded, “For what, a catastrophic meltdown because if that’s happening, we need to get to a minimum safe distance immediately.”

“you only need to take a bite. one little bite.” That placating tone very nearly masked the words and understanding came with a horror all its own.

“You’re actually expecting me to taste this? Hold on.” Edge pulled out his phone and made a show of calling out, and it was a show, because they both already knew he was going to taste it. Of course he was; he’d do it with a sigh and probably plenty of regret, but he would. A single bite of some godawful presumed salad was a small price to pay for Stretch’s delight.

Stretch only sighed, shaking his head with a grin, “okay, i’ll bite, who are you calling.”

“Our life insurance company, it might be best for you if I raise the current payout.”

“seriously, i should’ve recorded this from the start, no one could deny your sense of humor anymore after watching this, funny guy.” Stretch’s grin faded, switching over to what Edge mentally dubbed his wheedling face, all wide sockets and pleading eye lights. “just one, babe, a single, solitary, teensy weensy bite, do it for—"

“Don’t you dare say this is for science,” Edge warned. “There is nothing remotely scientific about murder jello, not to mention that it goes against our strict policy of no science in the kitchen!”

“—for me,” Stretch amended smoothly. He raised one brow bone and held out a fork, “unless you’re scared.”

“If you’re trying to appeal to my pride, I’ll have you know that anyone who isn’t afraid of that is a fool or a liar.” But Edge snatched the fork away. One bite, that was all.

One.

He poked it gingerly with the fork tines and shuddered as it jiggled moistly. The petrified contents within pressed to the sides as it moved, like unholy demons trying to escape from their viscous hell. Surely Edge was not a minority in his belief that savory foods should not wobble with such gleeful irreverence. The smell was reminiscent of spoiled dog food mixed with unforgiveable sins, tied together with a hint of ketchup, and with a hasty gesture and a silent prayer, Edge tore free a small bite with his fork and ate it.

As it turned out, the only thing worse than smelling it was eating it. Edge did not gag, he sat perfectly still, focused on keeping that single bite down since the only thing worse than tasting it once would be a second, slightly used time.

“well?” Stretch prodded, phone at the ready, his thumbs hovering, preparing to transmit the verdict to the entirety of his twitter harem who were surely waiting with bated, and baited, breath. “how is it?”

Edge said nothing. He careful set the fork aside and picked up the tray, carrying it directly outside to dump it, tray and all, into the trash can, and firmly put the lid on top it lest it attempt to crawl back out from the dark plastic depths to which it had been banished.

Stretch followed him out, no longer bothering to stifle his snickers, “that good, huh?”

“I think the best word I can manage considering your character limit would be ‘memorable’,” Edge told him dryly. “If you ever attempt to murder me again, I’d appreciate a more straightforward approach. A simple knife in the back will do, there’s no need to create something that might unleash havoc on the entire town. We’ll be lucky if the trash collectors don’t quit in protest rather than empty it.”

“knew i could count on you for an honest review,” Stretch grinned. He gave the trash can a nudge with the toe of his untied sneaker, perhaps to verify that vile thing was staying down. But what he said next froze Edge down to his marrow. “welp, that’s a good start for my new weekly food review.”

“Weekly?” Edge sputtered. Apparently there was a limit to what he would do to make his husband happy and on this day, they’d finally found it, trapped within a gelatinous mass that had a taste reminiscent of a shrimp cocktail left at a nuclear testing site. “My wedding vows were for in sickness and health, I made no promises about helping you achieve internet points!”

“nah, relax, babe,” Stretch slung both arms around Edge’s shoulders and leaned in for a soft kiss, and that he didn’t immediately lurch away from the remnants that surely lingered on his breath was enough for Edge to permanently doubt his sense of taste. No wonder he didn’t like risotto. “i’m gonna have new guests every week. lotsa monsters and humans would love to help out, i just figured you’d be a good starter package.”

“Alternating people will increase your survival rates, I’m sure.” But he gave Stretch a light kiss of his own, lingering briefly, then leaning away to say sternly, “Going forward, I’d appreciate advanced warning if you’re going to use my kitchen for evil.”

“deal. c’mon, i made some actual lunch, too, it’s in the oven.” He tugged Edge along and he followed, with slightly less confidence than he might have had only ten minutes earlier, “plus, i got a great shot of your boots walking out to the trash can. your shoes are more internet famous than i am, babe.”

“Wonderful,” Edge could only sigh, “I’m glad that both my footwear and my nausea could be of service.” This was what he’d set himself up for when he’d married Stretch, a lifetimes’ worth of it, richer, poorer, sickness and health, in gelatin molds and the slightly overcooked tuna melts freshly pulled from the oven. All of it, for the rest of his life.

He couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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tm87lord · 4 years ago

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hii first i love love love your art, 2nd may i ask how you picked up anatomy? ive been trying a lot but i cant seem to get it right, any tips?? thank you have a nice day!!! stay safe :)

hellloooo thank you so much for sending me this aaaa!!!! thank you for the support always!!! hope you don’t mind me publishing this since i publish all my non-anon asks that have any tips and tricks in case it helps more people

also!!!! sorry this took a while to answer, it took a while for me to find the words and the doodles :( again also! this ended up being longer than expected...so i’ll put it under a read more just to avoid cluttering timelines! i’m not the best of teachers, but i really hope it helps! (if not, you can always send another message! i’m always happy to chat!) stay safe and have a great day too!!!!!

so the only ‘formal’ anatomy studies i’ve done (and still use) were from highschool where we learn the standard body proportions using heads, where the elbows rest, where hands rest and so on. the fundamentals so to speak—i won’t go too into this since this only provides the very basics of knowing whether something looks “off” or not (but you can read more (and see visual examples) about this here!).

i think what’s more effectively helped me improve anatomy lately is going out of my comfort zone and trying more dynamic poses? to me, when you try those, the fact that something looks kinda strange is easier to notice (since the mistakes aren’t very subtle), and from there it’s a matter of tweaking things here and there until it looks good enough to you!

at first i did this by of course looking up free poses like stock photos, but after a while i started taking my own reference photos! since it’s my own body, it felt easier to know what should go where to me? of course this still has its problems, namely, i draw a lotta big tall buff (the list goes on) jojo men, and i am but a puny woman next to their big ole anime physiques. but at least when i take photos of myself i can estimate what muscles should be bulked up for the character and adjust accordingly!

of course i can also understand if it might be uncomfortable for some to use their own body as reference, in which case using editorial photoshoots and magazines can also help out with more outlandish posing (to take a page straight outta Araki’s book), and of course you can always ask pals, use those little figurine dolls, or use some posing software (personally i’ve got no grasp of any of those, so posing for myself is the easiest for me!) i also think simplifying the body into standard shapes helps a lot! i tried to find and doodle on my wip sketches of art i’ve posted that best showcases my process, so i hope these help! i think the most important thing to note is how even the more difficult things like hands and fingers can be simplified into basic shapes that make lining them easier!

(also disclaimer: i really do not know how muscles work, usually i just put something on the page and it looks wonky, i look at my own arm for a bit just to see where a muscle should go, then i simplify it as much as possible into ovals and so on!)

after i’ve done a nicer looking sketch, i usually overlay a quick stick figure so i can see the most bare skeleton almost of my work, just to see if it looks proportionate enough in accordance to the whole basic proportion method i linked earlier! i also flip the canvas, like, a lot. i think it’s easier to spot mistakes like that! i think that’s the gist of how i managed to get better with anatomy since starting my jjba fanart! i think it also helps that the nature of the series includes all this wild posing anyway, so i felt the need to emulate that fun nature in my work! at the end of the day, it’s just lotsa practice and having fun just producing anything, really. i know i said this already but i seriously hoped this help wuugghggh if you made it this far thank you for reading hope you have a great day!!!!

tldr: try dynamic or outlandish poses just for fun! make your own reference photos! simplify shapes! draw stick figures! also flip the canvas to check for mistakes i suppose?

#ukiiyosage #mailbox #SERIOUSLY I HOPE THIS HELPED IM NOT THE BEST TEACHER OR TIP-GIVER REALLY

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tracle0 · 4 years ago

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hey hey happy storyteller monday yeehaw I am vaguely stealing the same kinda artsy themes as the ask you sent me this time round, but I was thinkin about your recent sonder updates and was curious about uhhhhh what sort of approach you take when tackling something in comic form as opposed to a novel? what are the different things you need to keep in mind, what are the parts of the process that remain similar, n how does your personal approach differ between the two? c:

You’re a thief. A scoundrel. I’ll have you tied up and held over a pot of soup for this crime.

By which I mean happy Storyteller Sunday! Thank you for the ask :D and a.... very good one tbh.

I think the simple answer is... there’s not a lot of difference?

I get an idea, I sit on it for a few months, then I get started Actually Making it. Wip4 (nearly has a name, stay tuned :D) is very much like that, and simmering to the point of writing it, just in time for NaNo. I daydream and plot and plan and theories for a long time before the story feels firm and solid. So that’s similar; I sit on these ideas for MONTHS.

I also.... doodle a lot for any story I want to tell. For Sonder-comic, it’s easier cause I already know what a lot of the characters look like. Atlas! Atlas looks exactly the same but with lil wizard shoes now. That’s the only difference! So super easy to draw. Even like.... Andy? With his slight redesign? Still the same guy, I can draw that, no worries. Wip4 wise, it’s happened as well; I think I added in two whole scenes cause I doodled something then went ‘well what’s going on here why is this happening’ and tied it into the story lmao

So yea; lotsa doodles. Lotsa me drawing something, going ‘why are they in this place/doing this thing’ and making up reasons, then tying it into the world. Recently drew Atlas and went ‘well why DOES Atlas hate spiders’ and fell down a whole rabbit hole that fleshed out worldbuilding and backstories and their personal beef with both spiders AND with Andy, so that helped.

Slight similarity, I plot both comics and novels a lot before starting them? At the moment, I’ve got a notebook for NaNo/wip4, and I’m just planning out each and every chapter; what happens, how people feel, bla bla bla. Very open to change, but it makes me feel better to know what to expect haha.

Comics are plotted more with me getting a bunch of post-it notes and drawing each page out in a thumbnail. That’s what I did for the one and only comic I’ve ever made over a long time, about crows (@iceskatingcrow if you’re curious lmao). This time, I’ll probably write things out as well, but I still like making a rough plan to follow.

Different wise, I think... I mean, I’ve never really made a comic like THIS sort of thing before, so it’s going to be a lot of experimenting. Seeing how other people do stuff, seeing what I like. I’ll probably make some test mini-comics with backstories and lore and stuff in them before getting started properly, which is similar-ish to me writing short stories to get used to characters voices, except with.... colour.

I also keep thinking of scenes and things that would happen, and imagining how I’d describe them with words, before remembering ‘wait no hang on this is pictures, dumbass’

Things I need to keep in mind; structure. Different angles of drawings. Backgrounds???? lmao it’s gonna be a fun journey. Sonder was my first proper novel, and now it’s gonna be my first proper comic.

Also: not to rush!!! Be calm!!! I’m going to be living my life at the same time as making this and publishing it into the world. If I work on something all day, every day, I’ll get sick of it again. Take my time, enjoy what I do and tell a fun story.

Yea :D basically I’m very excited to... draw. I’ve not been so excited for Sonder-related content in a long time, so this re-vamp is thrilling me. I hope I’ll keep enthusiasm long enough to finish it.

#sts #asks #albatris #thank you for the question :D #I'm. excited. Very excited. Keep drawing atlas/andy and then going 'stop fakkin drawing them all the time draw other stuff'#keep thinking about worldbuilding and magic systems and character relationship and aaaaaaaaaa #axolotls are involved. This is very important. I love axolotls #also!!! lots of old characters remain!!#like olly is still there #sam!!!!!! Sam is still there god I LOVE sam she's basically the exact same #dolly! Also exists! relationships w/dolly and olly is different but they're still close :D #there's also Murdock.#.... mm and someone new! dunno who yet. I'm thinking a mute person?#just wish this had come at a better time tbh like I'm split between wip4 and this which is making my brain go brrrrrrrrrrr #Yea! Basically that!#maybe I'll make big long rambling posts and magic systems in this comic at some point #maybe not #I also need a new title smh #comic

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pairodicelost · 4 years ago

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something needs to change soon bc i have so much i wanna do and make, and the dead weight of my own body and the prolonged suffering i dip in and out of is just untenable

had a well and truly terrible mental health day on tues... monday night was acute suffering and rumination and DAMAGED GOODS feeling, I drunk drafted an email to [redacted] shedding light on [redacted] (amazingly articulate, graceful even? though a tad dramatic), I drank gin, I went to bed. set off by watching vids of a young person i follow having a manic sobbing laughing undressed spiral online which really just grabbed my heart by the throat. Tuesday I couldnt get up until 3pm, and Angel sneezed so I panicked, either lung cancer or dust from her bedding (which i’d been changing daily!!) so I deep cleaned her cage extremely, held her on me almost the whole time, spent hours with her really while I did it and drank coffee and swept the house and handwashed her cloths and sewed things for her cage and then suddenly, cried and cried for awhile while she crawled on my shoulders. then made rly good dinner bc cooking is now something i like????

facetimed my sister super grumpy from my bad day and she was sour too, bad day on her end, rude boss, lotsa pressure, but she practiced delivering her presentation of the neuroscience data she gleaned and described in her (first! ever!) published manuscript/experiment. somehow cheered each other up. went to bed sober and not too late.

I am struggling to write and struggling to paint, collage with words is completely off the table lately bc my brain just convulses and turns into a wet towel and cannot focus. I think I need to aggressively enforce a week of NO MAKING ANYTHING, its okay to just cook and watch movies and play with the rats. No drawing or painting and most of all no shame over that. my self worth is all wrapped up in it, im supposed to be wildly productive in all my downtime so that I est a body of work, all weekend and all week nights go to this second life which will emerge - and I just gotta stop and chill tf out with making that my identity and my everything. this is about cooking! im worried about money all the time (bad bad bad, youre supposed to exercise gratitude and act and believe as if you already have the things you want, you know this!) but I have an overflowing pantry and a full fridge and freezer (its a minifridge and freezer lmao) and lately, unable to finish projects or deal with words, I’ve gotten into cooking! and baking! it keeps the kitchen warm, too, and is profoundly comforting.

french onion soup, nondairy tomato soup, brussel sprouts roasted with potatoes dressed in balsamic + garlic with eggs fried in there, butternut squash

so something is level and good within me, i suspect a lot of things are getting there.

today:

1. get to fedex/office depot and make 50 copies of zine

1.5. mail 2 maya while there

2. pick up carriers for the babes

3. assemble zines at home to send tmrw

4. get rid of a ton of the paper scraps and ephemera I’ve been hauling around the country for ten yrs. collage and material belongings are stressful rn so best be rid of em. clear desk and files. make sewing stuff accessible.

5. prep batch of mail - for C in Fresno, R’s forgotten birthday card, MK’s thank you, grandparents, C + M, early bday to T??? and J in NC and E.

It’s funny though bc the new rat just hung with me for over an hr while I wait on hold with unemployment and I have little pulled-apart raspberries and carrot slices on an old open journal and my coffeetable is littered with envelopes and a banker’s lamp and nail polish pain meds allergy meds earache oil chapstick toothpaste lighter mouthguard and also an open bottle of charles shaw right next to a mcdonald’s cup i’ve been using for days to drink water out of bc the straw really helps, and super floral-smelling black tea i just made myself and I looked at this mess and thought to myself “is this happiness? i think maybe i’m really happy.”

#practically a journal entry

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forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years ago

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Writing Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me, @seek-rest!!

Fandoms:

*deep breath* Gilmore Girls, Wonder Woman, Star Trek, Inception, King Kong (2005), The Hunger Games, Riverdale, Deadly Class, Spider-Man, Peaky Blinders, and Marriage Story (2019).

Tropes:

Friends-to-lovers mostly. Lotsa banter, lotsa sex.

Number of fics:

84 published on AO3.

Fic I spent the most time on:

Either Sweetwater Boundary or Affinity War. I think I spent about six months on each, though For Now, We May Remain Silent will win by the time it’s finished.

Fic I spent the least time on:

It has to have been Je Ne Regrette Rien because that’s my shortest fic, but I remember flying through Lateral.

Longest fic:

At 117,065 word: Sweetwater Boundary (for Riverdale)

Shortest fic:

At 585 words: Je Ne Regrette Rien (for Inception)

Most hits/kudos/comment threads/bookmarks:

Hits:

Affinity War (58,007 hits)

Kudos:

Affinity War (2316 kudos)

Comment Threads:

Affinity War (684 threads)

Bookmarks:

Affinity War (613 bookmarks)

Total word count:

827,295 words

Favorite fic I wrote:

Shhh. Let’s just do a current top five:

Kid-Me-Not (for Spider-Man)

Preferred Pastimes (for Peaky Blinders)

It Ain’t Over Easy (for Riverdale)

the whole night and the next day together (for Marriage Story)

You Need Me To Be With You (for Gilmore Girls; also my first fic!)

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on:

The Achilles Kneel! And I am expanding it! Chapter two is in the works, babyyy!

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on:

From chapter two of The Achilles Kneel:

“I got you something else,” he confesses, turning away from the sink. She narrows her eyes at him.

“What is it?”

Peter just smiles at her and goes back to his backpack. It jangles a little when he picks it up, without the book in there to take up space.

“Peter,” MJ sighs impatiently.

He turns so she can’t see what he’s reaching inside for.

“Shut your eyes,” he says. It’s not harsh enough to be an instruction, like they played around with on that night. Not yet.

Tagging: @itsjacobperalta, @southsidewrites, @eowima, @spideyfic (I don’t know if any of you have already been tagged! If I didn’t tag you and you’d like to do this, please do!)

#tag game #my writing #affinity war #aka the champ in every category #For Now We May Remain Silent

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seenashwrite · 6 years ago

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I feel inept (or worse) with everything I have ever created. How can writers get to the point of confidence and certainty with their works? Is it worth trying to please the masses when we can't please ourselves? Am I poking the bear? It just seems you are a voice of discernment and I am trying to ask the write questions.

This is a tricky kebab to de-skewer, it’s stacked. But not impossible to stomach. It is not, after all, an alt-world crispy lizard.

Cool your jets, Sammy.

Hopefully it’ll be of relief to know that I’m not going to tell you to write because it makes you happy, and write for you, and then the readers will come. Not because it’s not true, but (a) because you know that, and (b) because it’s a bit of a pat answer. Touching on the second part of your question briefly - the whole chumming the water scenario - hypothetically, were you to do this, I waffle in my speculations as to what degree it would be successful due to the doldrums.

Whether it’s cookbook fic or the quality stuff you’re aiming for, people will be able to tell if you’re going through the motions. Well, some won’t, because they aren’t, um, discerning, to borrow your word, and others are just reading for some time-killing fun, and there’s a subset of those folks with wicked senses of humor, so the worse the fic, the better. Having said that, I’m a big proponent of assuming all readers are witty and intelligent, and via the writing, I’m going to treat them as such, and so they’ll know if I’m not feeling it.

So. Back to that ineptitude feeling part. Spoiler alert: I can’t fix this…

Double spoiler alert: …but you totes can…

Triple spoiler alert: …and there’s some concrete steps you can take to do it vs. trying to Tinkerbell it away with thinking happy thoughts. Because, blerrrgh. Fairies. Nah. #Dean approved

Oh, and also? Since I picked this scab off-and-on over the course of 36 hours when things I wanted to say popped to mind, it mutated. We shall split this into two posts.

Part One: So Do I Just Blow At This Fanfic Stuff?

PS: Dunno if you “know” me, but FYI this should hopefully be an easy read with lotsa snark and gifs interspersed and, oh yeah, potty mouth.

C/P for convenience:

“I feel inept (or worse) with everything I have ever created. How can writers get to the point of confidence and certainty with their works?”

I’m gonna ask a rhetorical question that’s yours to answer, because no one else can:

Why is that?

I mean in an objective sense, not in a blanket sense of “Well, Nash, you dumb bitch, my self-confidence blows”; what I’m driving at are the non-emotional factors. If we go emotion, you’re gonna start subconsciously lumping things in with the writing part (i/e - putting blame on yourself for other areas of life where you perceive yourself as not being “good enough”), so we should go the other route. Make this as fact-based as possible.

What facts are you basing this on? Do you publish stuff, and not get a lot of hearts/notes/reblogs/followers/etc.? What’re your metrics? Put plainly: Is this you being hard on yourself, or is there something concrete to back it up?

(A person who can’t act, for instance, should probably find something else to do after 20 years of auditioning with no parts. An artist who hasn’t been featured in a show or sold one painting. A chef who can’t make it past the line to sous. You get what I’m saying. There’s undeniable evidence there, because after a lengthy period of time, the chances that no casting director, no curator, and no head chef have picked up on the prowess of these special snowflakes is virtually nil. They blow. Their confidence has morphed into delusion. They need to accept they should stop trying to make fetch happen.)

Now, based upon this—

“Is it worth trying to please the masses when we can’t please ourselves?”

—I’m assuming that’s the case, that part about you having something concrete driving at least part of your self-assessment. My interpretation of your statement (and correct me if I’m not tracking with you) is that you think your style isn’t appealing to majority of the readership ‘round here, ergo it’s feeding this feeling of ineptitude. I can’t offer advice on fixing what other life aspects could be acting as the base of that feeling, but the pile-on feeling from the writing aspect of it, that we can work with.

I’d have to have more information to make a detailed, precise call on whether this is a skill-based scenario, namely - assuming you trust my tastes to a degree - reading your stuff. Which isn’t likely to happen unless you’ve got a sneaky way of recommending it to me via a friend or something a good bit of time from now when this isn’t fresh on my mind*, because I can’t know who you are or connect it to this conversation, or we’re automatically injecting bias.

(*It would have to be a really, really, really long time from now; I have a pretty sharp memory; it’d need to be too far out to be helpful for you in the near future.)

What I can tell about you without reading any of your stories is that you are above average in intelligence and are well-educated, whether formally or self-taught, based upon the words you used and how they are used - and if you thesaurus'ed it, you’re smart enough not to pick glaringly extravagant words - and you were succinct and expressed the issue well, with sincere concern that didn’t go all sad-sack Eeyore.

You can write.

But can you tell a story? Can you capture the essence of known characters and present this with accuracy? Do you have original ideas, which you can distill into interesting plots? Etc.? Again, I can’t know for sure. Now, a way that you could get a taste of what I’d call you on were I acting as your editor?

There is a *plethora* of objective criteria over at The Nail’s HQ, and I’ve recently re-done the pages so they are mobile-friendly (bless octomoosey and his brilliant designs). Like, seriously - they look okay on my laptop and huge-ass desktop monitor, but baby do they shine on phones. #bless octomoosey part deux The foundation of all of it comes from advice from pros, and whether I/we personally like their stuff or not, they’ve all been highly successful and managed to appeal to the masses while keeping a high bar. They don’t cater to the lowest common denominator. And even though I personally may not love all the fics I put on The Nail in a given edition (‘ships, too shmoopy, too angsty, whatever), they’re solidly hitting, at minimum, at least three of those “guiding standards”.

Great, so, there’s Nash’s Edit Yourself At Home! kit… which brings me to a disclaimer.

I don’t have mass appeal.

What I do have is a solid, loyal reader base who gives me phenomenal feedback (a handful of them giving me fantastic constructive critique when needed) on the reg, and I couldn’t ask for more. And because I am human and I like knowing people dig what I make and because, as a grown-ass adult, I am capable of assigning value to and caring about two or more things at the same time, I would also totes ask for more - not of them, I mean I’d like more people to join in. I would love to have that lil’ bottom left hand corner sporting a number in the hundreds within the day of publish. That’s motivating. That’s telling me people are into what I make. That’s telling me I am super good at—–

Wait.

That last bit… Does it? Mean that I’m super-good at it? Does that metric alone paint a good picture of my talent? Hmmmm. Well. How to put.

Oh, but fuck no.

And if that “oh, but fuck no” didn’t serve as a tonal lead-in, let me be clear that this is the part where Nash Shoves Logic Into The Closet And Locks The Door For A Minute, And Vents Her Frustrations, With Which You And Others Reading This Could Perhaps Empathize And Are Giving Me Virtual High Fives And Yasss Gurrrrl-s Through The Screen At Completion Of Rant.

[clears throat]

Have you seen some of the absolute garbage that screams through the Tumblrsphere like a cat with a bell on its tail? Holy moses, is it shit. Same shit, different title. One example of the problems: I don’t recognize Sam or Dean more than half the time. Then I see a bazillionty notes on it, a bunch of feedback on folks’ reblogs, ask-kissing©℗™ talking about how the writer captured the guys so perfectly, and they seemed just like they are in the show and… and… and… and… and I’m all:

ARE WE WATCHING THE SAME SHOW?!?! The men in many of these stories are mannequins/Real Dolls with the faces of JA and JP slapped atop. They are what the writers want them to be, not what the characters are, and it’s lazy because we have 13-odd years of scripts and visuals to glean from, and it takes consideration and practice to pull it off.

Same goes for working a reader insert, making that person juuuuust vague enough so that readers can actually, um, picture themselves in the role. But what do we get instead? Most of the time there is zero depth to ol’ Y/N. Zip. Nada. She’s so tough, she’s nigh on invulnerable (until she’s not, so she can be saved, and the Mannequin can pine in the meantime), or she’s so fragile and mousy and immature I wanna cunt punt her, or she’s the perfect pussy with next to no flaws, and regardless she’s getting moved into the bunker with an engagement ring and/or Winchester fetus,and ermahgerd, total window-closers.

But they’re clearly doing something right, and they took the time to give us a story free of charge, and….and…. and yet….

(I am aware I am abusing those gifs of late, I’ll get through it, but today is not that day)

Okay, okay, okay, what does this have to do with you - the answer is that you can actually use these atomic farts as a handbook, as well (which ties into Pt.2 of the question, and we’ll get there. Eventually.), assuming you decide you don’t want to chum the waters, and want to do your thing.

(1) The Nail pages are gonna give you some objective things to work with and aim for;

(2) those truly inept, supposedly based-upon-SPN stories are gonna give you some objective things to avoid like the plague;

And that combo will hopefully….

(3) get a draft out of you that has you sitting back and going, “I’m not 100% that this is gold, but I’ve sure got something shiny, here.”

It’s a feeling of trepidation, it’s not your ultimate goal of “confidence and certainty with [my] works”, but we’ve stepped out of the feeling of ineptitude, and that’s the point. You didn’t arrive at feeling inept overnight, that kebab’s got about four or five veg before it gets to the meat (and several are onions, always with the onions, MORE RED PEPPERS, UNCLE HANK!), so you’re not gonna get to that nice thick sirloin in one sitting, either.

Say, are you a vegetarian? This non-tofu kebab metaphor may be falling flat if so. But transparency and all, I confess I’d rather have alt-world lizard kebab than tofu. Dean, what say you?

He feels me.

One way you’re going to start feeling certain in your works—-

and listen, you know this, but I’ll say it anyway: nobody’s ever 100% certain

—-is when people zero in on specific things you did right, and if they stood out to a reader, they likely stood out to you, so it’s gonna be all “YES!” in your head. When this starts happening, make two documents:

(1) Fic_Feedback_Yes- sort the (positive, praising, specific-things-noted) comments by story - copy them verbatim- read whenever ineptitude feels start creeping back whilst writing/editing story

(2) Fic_Feedback_No- sort the (constructive critique, helpful, specific-things-noted) comments by story - copy them verbatim- read whenever ineptitude feels start creeping back whilst writing/editing story

“Nash, that’s the same fucking thing,” you say.

Yeah, I know. We ain’t here for ego-feeding, we’re here for confidence, and we don’t get confidence without being aware of not just what we’re nailing, but also of our Achilles’ heels. I joke about “filling the ol’ ego tank”, but it’s legit not an ego thing. Ego things we’re going to touch on in Pt. 2, how it can blind us, and then we’re cranking out stuff that, when cut into, is a dried husk like that turkey in Christmas Vacation.

(WHY do I keep talking about meat)

So, here we are, back to the numbers. Assuming we get you to mild trepidation stage - normal for writers getting into their groove - how do we get you to the point where your stuff is yielding commentary for your docs, for your growth?

Well, that won’t happen right away, people have to get a feel of you beyond your stories (we’ll talk about that in Pt. 2, as well), so initially it’s going to manifest as hitting the heart, maybe some generic “This is awesome!”-s, maybe some reblogs without commentary, and that’s typical, and we’ll take it, it still goes into your “Mass Appeal” metrics, lets you know you’re getting closer to a broader readership, that you’ve done something/several somethings right….

….which is a nice place to stop Part One. 😉

PART TWO

#Dear Nash #NONNERS #Not Tyler Durden #I swear #Writing Stuff #Writing Advice #Writing Tips #I know I said #I was taking a vaca #from giving writing advice #but this is a big one #that a lot of peeps #can relate to #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

7 notes · View notes

lichlover · 7 years ago

Note

shit shit ok prompts. like. id say feeblemind lup bc!!!! im very excited for it!!! but if you want fluffy ones either. lupcretia with the whole "elves are cats" thing or the ipre with cool socks? (the latter being bc. im wearing socks with bees on them and was like "oh shit this is adeline's lup!!!" so. lup with cool socks is now an Image in my Brain)

happy birthday, love!!! this is on ao3, by the way.

Intuition, Lucretia thinks, is like a dangling participle.

It’s when the sentence is perfectly capitalized and punctuated but doesn’t read as fluidly as it should. It’s when everything looks right, but something is wrong—wrenchingly, glaringly wrong, even though there’s not a word you can think of to describe it. It’s the kind of thing that drives English majors and novelists to the brink of madness. She should know. (She’s been both.)

The last time she’d told someone as such, they’d been incredulous. “That’s a metaphor practically asking to be broken,” they’d said. “Besides, sometimes you just know shit is bad, and it looks bad, and it’s just all bad. The world isn’t always trying to catch you off guard, okay? I’d say that’s a pretty paranoid way of looking at things.”

“It’s a simile,” was all Lucretia had said.

They’d waved her off, laughing.

Lucretia doesn’t feel much like laughing now.

The journey back is, for lack of any better phrasing, absolute hell. Barry offers to take them through the rift—it’ll be faster, he says; easier, and he wants to get them to a safe place as soon as possible—but the instant reality rips itself apart in front of them, Lup digs her nails into Taako’s arm and screams. It’s shrill and deafening and utterly terrified. It’s the worst thing Lucretia’s ever heard.

So they take the Starblaster. Lup refuses to let go of Taako’s arm. Her eyes dart from person to person, evaluating each of them with a sharp, unforgiving stare. When Kravitz goes to sit next to Taako, her ears pull flat against her head and she bares her fangs at him, growling low and deep in her throat. He backs off in a hurry, and Taako swallows hard and tells her that he’s fine, Lulu, for gods’ sake, you know him. She doesn’t seem to care.

Everyone gives them a wide berth after that.

Barry calls them up to the bridge after a heavy ten minutes of silence, and they oblige him because there can’t possibly be anything worse than silence. Davenport is there, of course—he’s perfectly capable of setting the ship to autopilot, as Lucretia and the others well know, but he’s looked a little haunted ever since they departed and they’d all known no amount of convincing would get him to leave the helm. Lucretia sees the hollowness in his eyes and has to choke back something welling up in her throat; whether it’s an apology or a full-on breakdown, she can’t tell. She won’t make him relive something she herself has tried very hard to forget.

“Feeblemind,” says Merle, as soon as the door hisses shut behind them.

None of them had wanted to say it.

Lucretia’s familiar, of course. She’s familiar with too many spells; knows them just well enough to recognize their effects without knowing much else. She’d watched the clever glint drain from Lup’s eyes and figured straightaway, and she’s sure the others had done the same. Perhaps that’s why no one had said anything. Because they’d all known, and knowing was so much worse than saying it aloud.

Feeblemind. The body is left intact (right) but the mind is shattered (wrong, wrong, wrong).

“You can cure it,” Barry says. “You can end it, with—with Greater Restoration, right?”

Merle looks tired. They’re all tired, but he wears it plainly on his face, and always has. “I can do it, but it calls for diamond dust, and this shit gets specific. Gems’ve gotta be at least a hundred GP, and for a full guarantee that this is gonna work, they’ve gotta be cultivated. Specially grown, y’know? This is a delicate spell, and if anything goes wrong, if this gets fucked up—”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up,” says Magnus, and he sounds angry. They’re all angry, Lucretia thinks. Angry and tired—and it almost feels like the old days again. “This is too important.”

“Obviously. So it’s… it’s gonna be a coupla days.”

Barry releases a small, choked noise into his hand. Davenport doesn’t look back from the helm, but he says, “Then we’ll all make her as c-comfortable as we can in the time we have. This isn’t rocket science, people. It—it’ll be over soon.”

There is really nothing worse than silence, but that’s what hangs over their heads for a few agonizing seconds before Angus speaks. He’s sitting at a console, looking thoroughly shaken and, like so many of the adults are, trying his best to hold it together. Lucretia, who’s been holding her expression steadfast since liftoff, can relate.

“This is my fault,” he says, almost quietly enough to be inaudible. “I’m sorry.”

The bridge erupts.

“It’s not your fault, Ango—”

“—nobody thinks that—”

“It’s on me,” says Barry, dropping his hand from his face. “I should’ve had my eye on her.”

Kravitz shakes his head. “Necromancers are tricky bastards. I know that, I should’ve taken extra precautions. Besides, I’ve actually hunted them down before, so if anyone’s to blame—”

“You’re all being selfish,” Lucretia says.

They all look at her but she doesn’t back down, because she’s spent a century with them and their judgment and at this point, she couldn’t possibly care less. “You’re being selfish,” she repeats, and she can hear her voice shaking. “Acting like all of this is your cross to bear. It’s no one’s fault, alright? Something shitty happened, we’re dealing with the consequences like adults. This isn’t the time to be arguing over who gets to be the martyr.”

Nothing but silence can follow an outburst like that, and silence is the last thing Lucretia needs. So she turns on her heel and leaves. She doesn’t stalk or stride or hold her head high because she knows she’s right—in fact, she doesn’t know it in the least.

She doesn’t really know anything anymore.

The first day is a different kind of hell, one built out of frozen dinners and overcrowded guest bedrooms and Barry and Kravitz’s shouting match over who goes with Merle; or, more importantly, who stays.

Lucretia doesn’t catch all of it, but it’s impossible not to hear.

“—so what happens if I leave and she gets worse?”

“You’re talking like we’re not all capable people, you have to know that—”

“I’m her husband, gods dammit!”

It only quiets down after Taako stands up, storms to the other end of the house, and gives them both an earful because you fucking idiots, you’re scaring her, figure out what the hell you’re doing or shut the fuck up. Not fifteen minutes later, they both emerge into the living room and announce stiffly that Kravitz is going with Merle, and Barry is staying behind, and thank you all for being so patient, but they’re just a little shaken up and they only want the best for Lup. All of them do.

Lucretia sits in an armchair too big for her in a space more domestic than she’s used to. This is the third time she’s been to Barry and Lup’s house, and the first time she’s been there with company. It’s a shockingly innocuous property. The garden out front is well-kept and blooming with all sorts of unusual flora, and every room is enormous and airy and spilling over with natural light. (Every room, of course, save for the necromancy lab, which Barry has informed her she’s not allowed to see for plausible deniability.)

He’d shown her the floorplan back when the house was a couple of blueprints and a far-fetched ambition in the aftermath of Story and Song. “Gotta have lotsa light, lotsa space,” he’d told her. “Means the world to her. Uh, especially now.”

It’s beautiful—the sort of house Lucretia had imagined having all to herself a century ago, back when her endgame had been a novel published under her name. She looks at its lofty ceilings now and thinks it would be far too lonely for her taste.

Somehow Lup’s presence makes it even lonelier. She’s taken up residence on the couch, curled into a shallow corner, pupils thin and ears at attention as she surveys the room around her. Everything that moves or raises its voice above a whisper incurs her suspicion, and when Magnus accidentally ventures too close, her lips curl back in a snarl. Lucretia notes how as soon as he steps back, she looks to Taako with concern written starkly across her face. It makes sense, to an extent. Protection has to be one of the oldest instincts in existence. The fact that it survives, even when the rest of her personality is ripped apart, is harshly appropriate.

The rest of her is vacant. Where life and warmth once brimmed in Lup, there’s just—nothing. Lucretia catches herself staring once or twice, sucked into the hollows of Lup’s eyes, and has to tear herself away. It’s wrong. It’s worse than wrong—it’s like someone’s violated a law of the universe and gloated about it.

It doesn’t matter that pieces of the necromancer are rotting in that field.

Lup is gone, and they’re struggling to get her back.

On the second day, Barry collapses.

They all count themselves lucky that Lup doesn’t see it. Magnus carries him to one of the downstairs bedrooms and says he’s going to go and get some fuel for everyone, which Lucretia hopes means coffee, because they’d all drained the supply on the first day. He leaves, and Barry is across the house, and Angus is with Carey and Killian, which they’d all decided on without having to put it to a vote. They don’t know where Davenport is and they figure for now, he wants to keep it that way.

So that leaves Lucretia with Taako and Lup, except Lup isn’t herself, which leaves Lucretia with Taako.

She’s been trying not to think about it.

It only takes a couple agonizing minutes for one of them to break the quiet. “You should check on Barold,” Taako says, and he says it a little more aggressively than he needs to, but it’s also the most he’s spoken to Lucretia in a year and so she’ll take it without complaining.

“He’s fine,” she says. “He hasn’t slept in two days. I don’t want to wake him up.”

Taako rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t dispute her. He has his fingers threaded through Lup’s, and Lucretia watches as his knuckles whiten ever so slightly.

“Why are you here?”

“She’s my friend.”

He scoffs. “That all? What about your—your arrangement, or whatever?”

“The arrangement,” says Lucretia, coldly, “is none of your business. And I’m really not in the mood to be judged for my adult decisions.”

It’s one of the only things that had survived from the Century—an understanding, an open relationship. An arrangement. They’d talked about it after Legato, after Lucretia was so sure everything was about to take a turn for the worse, and agreed because it was too easy to be worth breaking any hearts over.

She’d wondered if Taako was privy to it, and now she knows.

He’s silent for a moment longer, and then he says, “She doesn’t deserve you.” It’s not meant to sting or catch her off guard, Lucretia knows—for Taako, it’s simple and solid as any other fact.

And she’s not going to dispute him.

“Lup deserves to be happy.”

“Now there’s something we can both fuckin’ agree on.” He sighs and tips his head to rest it against Lup’s, and she nuzzles into his loose curtain of hair, closing her eyes in an unexpected display of peace. Lucretia is sure she sees Taako’s eyes shimmer, but then he blinks and clears his throat and the moment is gone.

She doesn’t get to see him very often, which he would say is entirely on purpose. They’d sealed a single, likeminded pact between them to get along for the sake of Angus’s birthday, but Angus’s birthday is over now—it’s been over for what seems like fifty years. And here they are, getting along by virtue of necessity. It feels right.

Lup’s stomach rumbles, and Taako sits up and curses under his breath. “She hasn’t eaten since… shit,” he mumbles, and Lucretia knows he’s talking to himself, but the fact that he’s willing to do so with her sitting right there is something, at least. “I’ll get a meal going, see if I can get her to eat… uh, Lu, c’mon, we’re goin’ to the kitchen.”

He stands, but Lup doesn’t follow. She remains stubbornly seated, looking up at Taako with those horrible, blank eyes, and looks a little like he’s personally offended her.

“Lup,” he says. “C’mon.”

This time he tugs a little insistently on her hand, and her ears pull back again as she releases a low whine from the back of her throat. Taako drops his grasp, sucks in a shaky breath, and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s a pressure cooker of exasperation, Lucretia thinks, to use a metaphor he would approve of. He also has thick, dark circles under his eyes and a familiar twitch to his mouth that she knows is the harbinger of a full-on breakdown.

“Fuck—Lup, please—”

“Go make the food,” says Lucretia. Lup’s ears twitch towards her, and she looks over without any of the feral hostility they’ve all gotten used to. “I’ll watch her.”

Taako stares her down. She knows he wants the next words out of his mouth to be why should I let you, but she also knows he’s too exhausted to push back. Instead, he holds out a finger like it’s an arcane focus and says, “If you—if you pull any shit—”

“I won’t—”

“—I swear to gods I’ll make you wish we never saved your ass.” He drops the finger and turns back to Lup. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

There’s no response, of course. Taako sighs and heads to the kitchen, although not without a pointed glance over his shoulder. Lucretia doesn’t bother returning it in kind.

That leaves her with Lup, except Lup isn’t herself, so—

A faucet turns on down the hall, followed by the sound of a cabinet slamming heatedly shut. Taako cooks when he’s stressed. He has the manic energy Lucretia’s never been able to muster, the impulse to do something and then the compulsion to actually do it. They share inattention and nothing else. She has a book in her lap, a small fiction she’s been struggling to get through between running the Bureau of Benevolence and the persistent desire to sleep the rest of her life away, and for the last several minutes she’s been thumbing over the pages and wearing her skin raw. It focuses her. (Granted, for what, she’s not entirely sure.)

A hand lays over hers, and Lucretia almost jumps out of her skin. Lup’s eyes catch hers, still dim, still hollowed out like two black holes where stars used to reside. It’s too easy to slip into celestial metaphors to describe her.

She doesn’t say anything—mutism is one of the symptoms, as they’ve started to refer to them, like this is a stubborn virus or some other affliction. But she folds her fingers gently through Lucretia’s and pulls, tipping her head towards the couch, and the empty space where Taako had taken up residence next to her.

“Oh,” says Lucretia, because she can’t think to say anything else. “Oh, you want me to…?”

Lup doesn’t understand her—another symptom—but she continues to press her stare. What else can Lucretia do but oblige? She slides the book carefully off her lap and joins Lup on the couch, folding her legs underneath her. As soon as she gets situated, like Lup can sense it, she nudges gently at Lucretia’s shoulder and leans in.

(And they’re back on the Starblaster, and Lup’s fingers snag gently in Lucretia’s curls as they sit against each other under the dim glow of the stars. Any moment now she’ll ask a question in her low, resonant voice, and Lucretia will crack a self-indulgent smile and respond, and say something that would embarrass her for cycles to come if not for the fact that they keep no secrets from each other.)

Instead Lucretia freezes. Lup doesn’t seem to notice. She doesn’t close her eyes, but her ears stoop to a gentle incline and her breathing evens from its short, choppy exhales. It reminds Lucretia of honey-gold mornings and sun-warmed skin between tangled sheets, and it’s wrong; she knows this, even though something about it feels numbingly right. She shouldn’t be wanting Lup’s hand curled lightly in her lap, or her weight against Lucretia’s chest.

She shouldn’t be wanting it and yet she wants so much. She wants Lup back and right now, this is the closest she’s going to get.

The clamor from the kitchen fades into white noise. Lup rests in the curve of her shoulder, and for once Lucretia doesn’t ache with the need to flex her fingers and fold them into her palm, or thumb over the pages of her book. She lets the world phase just slightly out of focus because she, like everyone, is more exhausted than she realizes. They hadn’t given her something to do in the aftermath. She’d become a sentinel of her own accord.

It’s appropriate, she decides, for her inclination; protecting the ones she loves for better or for worse.

Lup is warm. She’s always been warm, like magic is constantly running hot through her veins, and even in this state Lucretia can feel the power thrumming faintly beneath her skin. It’s a vibration; a distinctly choppy hum. There is both a power and a fragility to it that together is unlike anything Lucretia’s ever heard.

The reason she’s never heard anything like it is, of course, because it’s not actually arcane power that Lucretia can feel through the fabric of her blouse.

It’s a purr—a soft, oscillating rumble that spills from Lup’s throat and radiates outward in tiny vibrations. Where they land, goosebumps scatter across Lucretia’s skin, and cautiously she tips her head to verify the sound. As she does, Lup’s eyelashes flutter, and the purring—because that’s what it is, without question—jumps noticeably in volume. She leans toward the crook of Lucretia’s neck on what looks like instinct, like the same gravity that seems to hold them in orbit around each other is at work once again.

The same gravity that nestles in Lucretia’s gut and aches like it’s been a century. A day and a half is nothing compared to a hundred years but right now, it feels entirely as if the two are the same.

So she tucks her head over Lup’s and listens to her purr. There’d been an occurrence over the course of the mission—only once, because to Lup and Taako intimacy was sacrosanct. But she’d been curled up against the headboard, Lup lounging across her lap, and gently massaging an ear. And just like that, like a switch had been flipped, Lup started purring. She’d realized it after a moment or two and propped herself up with an embarrassed grimace, face distinctly pinker than it should have been. “Hey, Luce,” she’d said. “I’d appreciate it if you, uh, kept that to yourself. It’s kind of a…”

“An elf thing?” Lucretia had guessed.

She’d been right, as it turned out; a little-known racial quirk that elves liked to keep under wraps. Lucretia respected her wishes, and after that night, she didn’t hear it again. Apparently it had been long enough that she’d forgotten about it altogether.

She remembers two things, now:

Elves purr when they’re content, or

they purr when they’re distressed.

Lucretia looks down at Lup and can’t even begin to fathom which of the latter it would be.

She abandons that train of thought and reaches up to smooth a hand over Lup’s hair. Lup doesn’t protest, so Lucretia lets her fingers slide through the loose strands and gently massage her scalp. The purring gets louder. It’s a completely involuntary thing—she’s sure of it—but there’s a small, selfish part of her that thinks, she knows it’s me. This is for me. Lup doesn’t understand the nuances of her relationship with Lucretia or what they’ve been through together, but she feels safe. Safe with Lucretia. Safe enough to purr.

Taako is so quiet that Lucretia doesn’t even realize he’s there until he slouches into the armchair where she had been. She jumps, and Lup’s ear flicks attentively, but the purring’s tempo doesn’t break.

“Food’s cooking,” is all he says. There’s a bitter edge to his tone that she thinks, for once, isn’t directed at her.

Lucretia’s eyes fix on the ring fitted perfectly to Taako’s finger. It’s a cluster of bright pink tourmaline encased in transmuted silver, brilliant enough to catch the light and throw it in prisms across the room.

“I’ll get up,” she says.

He waves a dismissive hand. “You’re chill. Lup’s comfortable, so—so just stay where you are.”

“You don’t—”

“Lucretia,” he says, “I don’t give a flying fuck what I’m—about how I feel right now, and neither should you. This ain’t about me.”

The pointed look that tangles in Lup’s eyelashes tells Lucretia everything else she needs to know.

She doesn’t try to argue further. For one, it’s an argument she’s not going to win, and for the other—for once—she hasn’t the faintest idea what they would be arguing about. So she starts to card her fingers through Lup’s hair again, and Lup continues to purr, and Taako stares vacantly in the direction of the kitchen as if there’s something he’s forgotten.

That night, Kravitz and Merle portal in through the front yard. Lucretia and Barry are there to greet them, and the latter’s shirt is stained and his hair is sticking up in sleep-thick spikes, but right then he looks more awake than ever.

Diamond dust glitters in the valleys of Merle’s palm as he lays his hand on Lup. The air thickens with the scent of ozone. Taako’s fingers are laced tightly through hers once more, and he doesn’t say anything, but she can see his shoulders shaking.

The effect is instantaneous.

“Well, shit,” says Lup, when the light returns to her eyes. She sees Taako sitting next to her first and pulls him into her arms, and just like that, the room heaves a sigh of relief. Barry takes her face in her hands and kisses her hard, and Magnus barges past and sweeps them all into a hug, ignoring Taako and Merle’s harmonious complaining. Kravitz manages an awkward pat until he, too, is pulled headfirst into the embrace.

Lucretia stands in the doorway. The world is quiet and dark outside and the neighbors’ well-kept lawns glimmer with a late rainfall.

She leaves.

Or she tries to, at least, because she only gets as far as the porch before the door swings open behind her and light from the hallway spills around her feet. “ ’Cretia,” Lup says. “Where’re you going?”

A best of silence, and the door closes of its own accord. It’s just them, now, standing in the dim glow of the porch light with the faint buzz of crickets in the distance.

“I missed you,” says Lucretia.

Lup steps forward and takes her gently by the shoulders. “I missed you too. So why don’t you stick around? Taako’s making dinner.”

“I can’t.”

She sighs. “If you think they’ll be weird—”

Lucretia shakes her head. “It’s not them, it’s me.”

She knows Lup won’t argue with that. Instead she drums her fingers against Lucretia’s sleeves and says, “You were there the whole time, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Lup leans forward and presses her lips lightly to Lucretia’s, and despite herself, Lucretia leans in. She really has missed Lup—missed this—the way she has to rock forward on her tiptoes to reach her and the way Lup smiles against her mouth and the way she feels nothing else, except the ebb and pull of the kiss itself. They might have spent an eternity standing there on the porch, half-drowned in golden light and shivering slightly in the chill. Lucretia knows she wouldn’t mind.

But all the best things must come to an end, and Lup pulls away with a small, dazed grin.

“My girl,” she murmurs. “Missed you like crazy. You really won’t stay, huh?”

“I can’t,” is all Lucretia says.

“Okay.” She hops off the porch and sits on the stoop, then pats the concrete next to her. “Sit with me for a little bit, then. Tell me about what I missed.”

Lucretia does. She sits down and doesn’t bother sugarcoating it, because she knows Lup will hate that even more than not knowing. So she unflinchingly recounts the seconds after Lup fell and how Taako and Barry’s spells had ripped the necromancer apart. She tells Lup about the way she’d screamed at the sight of the rift and how she’d bared her teeth at anyone other than Taako who’d come close. She recites bits and pieces of Barry and Kravitz’s argument.

Lup listens without comment. When Lucretia stops—whether it’s just to stop or to take a breath, she isn’t sure—she says, “I’ve got these… impressions. Like vague memories, emotions… it’s like everything’s blurred.” She grins ruefully. “Kinda hard to make acute observations when your intelligence takes a fuckin’ swan dive, huh?”

Lucretia doesn’t respond at first, and Lup notices. “Everything okay?”

“What’s wrong with you?” says Lucretia.

The crickets seem deafeningly loud just then, filling up the space with their incessant chirping and almost overpowering what she says next. “You weren’t yourself, and it was fucking terrifying. And it didn’t even make any sense, because one minute you were growling at everyone, and the next you were—”

Her sentence hangs like a woman off a precipice. “You were… it doesn’t matter. You just—you’re cracking jokes and kissing me and acting like none of this happened, and it did happen, and it scared the life out of all of us, and I don’t know how you can be so—so chill about all of it when a spell literally destroyed your mind.”

“Oh,” Lup says. That’s it. Lucretia’s just started to kick herself for being stupid, for reprimanding Lup just minutes after she’s come back to herself because she doesn’t deserve that, gods dammit, when she says, “Y’know what? That’s fair.”

Lucretia blinks. “Um—um, yeah. Yeah, it is.”

She leans back on the heels of her hands, gazing up at the edge of the overhang and beyond that, the brilliant spread of stars. “I’m not gonna lie, Luce. I feel like shit. But when you fix somebody, they’re supposed to be fixed, right? No exceptions. No side effects. You forgive and forget and you—whoops, sorry, babe,” she says, because she catches Lucretia’s flinch, because of course she does. “Bad choice of words. But my point is that it shouldn’t be this hard to suck it up and move on.”

“Lup?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“It’s been five minutes.”

Lup chuckles and releases a long sigh. “Sure has.”

They sit in silence for a few moments. Somewhere behind the house, a carriage trundles by, accompanied by a couple raised voices and someone’s airy laughter. As the voices fade away, Lup says, “It coulda hit any one of you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah, it is,” she says, and doesn’t snap, even though her voice gets noticeably sharper. “There’s a scenario out there where the spell hits you, instead. Or Taako. Or Barry, or Angus… I could go on and on, and that, right there?” Lup’s finger jabs at an invisible spot in the air. “That’s the point. The fact that the spell hit me and not anybody else. I’m happy to take the hit—hell, I’m thrilled if it means no one else has to go through that.”

There’s no way Lucretia can counter that without compromising her beliefs. “You’re a good person,” she says. It’s not a hollow sentiment, but it does sound like one.

“I’m pissed off is what I am,” says Lup, but she puts a hand on Lucretia’s thigh and squeezes.

“I’ll get over it,” she murmurs. “Always do.”

They spend another few seconds in silence, although the way they pass, it could have been measured in eternities. Lup’s thumb presses absentminded circles into the side of Lucretia’s knee.

“Barry passed out,” she says suddenly; affectionately. “Dumbass. He always likes to say he’ll sleep when he’s dead, and since he’s a lich already that doesn’t mean jack, so…”

Lup falls silent for a few moments more, and then she says, “When did you last get some sleep?”

Lucretia thinks. She hadn’t so much as closed her eyes on the Starblaster, and the night before she’d gotten about five hours on the tail end of an enormous amount of paperwork. Suddenly the leaden weight in her limbs makes a lot more sense. “It’s been awhile.”

“Then you’re a dumbass, too,” says Lup.

Fair assessment.

Their intimacy from earlier in the day sticks sharp and clear in Lucretia’s mind. She’s been wrestling with how to bring it up, like there’s any way she can casually discuss the mechanics of want under Feeblemind, and it occurs to her then that the best way to mention it is just to mention it. So she takes a soft breath and says, “You purred.”

Lup’s ear twitches as she glances over. “I what?”

“You purred,” Lucretia repeats. “When we were… um, you seemed like you wanted me, uh… near you, so I went to sit with you, and you purred. And I felt like I should, uh. Say something? So. There it is. You purred.”

It’s in a note somewhere in her journals, that elves’ pupils expand just so when they’re taking in new information. Lup’s eyes look like two small moons. “Oh,” she says, a little more meaningfully than people usually say such things. “Well, I, uh… I’m comfortable with you. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Lucretia supposes it does.

“Yeah,” she admits. “I guess so.”

“Well, there you have it.” Lup’s tone is flippant, but the tips of her ears are a rosy pink. She tucks an arm around Lucretia’s shoulders and pulls her close, and Lucretia gratefully relents to the pull. It’s like giving in to fifty years of fear and uncertainty and memories she still can’t keep herself from reliving, but because she’s in Lup’s arms, none of it matters anymore. It’s over, she thinks. It’s not okay but it’s over.

Lucretia’s intuition tells her that any moment now, someone is going to come to the door to check on the two of them. The sacrament of their moment will be broken, and the agony and trauma of the past few days will come flooding back in.

It’s like a dangling participle—paranoid, inevitable.

But they’ve weathered much worse together.

#helloyoubeautifulsoul #ask #the adventure zone #taz balance #lupcretia #fic #mine #we out here doing a hit on the best girls!!!

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