Nobody tagged me, I just wanted to do it bc I saw @sundaynightnovels doing it hehe. Doing DW, of course
Rules: Bold the themes in your WIP(s)
addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life| coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfillment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality| social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth
The eyes stared out at him from the small hole, seeming to disappear as he and his light passed by. A low warning hiss broke the stifling silence in the space, and he could imagine lips wrinkling, whiskers pointing stiffly upward, sharp teeth gleaming in the dark.
>>
Through the haze of alcohol, he had long before registered that his drunkenness made his horse, Malcolm, nervous and jumpy. His gait was short and fast, hooves clicking against the stone path in quick succession, though they were only at a walk.
>>
“How did you know I wouldn’t say something to the Captain?” Alistair asked. His voice was calm but his hand was shaking, lit cigarette jittering between his fingers.
I was really feeling a tag game that mixed music and writing!! So I’m making one, here we go gentlefolks:
Open your preferred music-listening thing (for me, it’s Apple music), shuffle your music library five times, and list the five songs you get along with a character, couple or group of characters from your wip that it fits best! If you like, go the extra mile and describe how/in what ways.
1. King and Lionheart by Of Men and Mice
“And in the sea that's painted black,
Creatures lurk below the deck
But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart.“
Daphne heckin’ Donovan because boy is she ever a lionheart.
2. Turning Out by AJR
“Am I ready for love?
Or maybe just a best friend
Should there be a difference
Do you have instructions?”
Hayden bc he has a very idealistic idea of love/relationships and very little experience so I could see him questioning himself the second something doesn’t go as smoothly as he assumed it would.
3. Florida Kilos by Lana Del Rey
“Guns in the summertime,
Drink a cherry cola lime.
Prison isn't nothin' to me,
If you'll be by my side.”
Conrad and Rosemary Fitzgerald by a long shot, ohh boyy. The Cocaine Couple over here. Not dealing it or makin’ it as the song implies tho.
4. Madness by Lucius
“I had a dream where
You were standing there
With a gun up to my head
You were asking how it felt, to which I said
‘I can not lie, there is a tingling down my spine’"
Certainly Clay, with that danger-excitement feel and the mention of running from things.
5. Some Journey by Suzanne Vega
“Because if I had met you on some journey
Where would we be now? “
I struggled with this one at first but now it is clear to me that this song fits Alistair and Emily best, especially since the whole reason Alistair ended up in California was because they moved there in an attempt to “fix” their marriage and Emily had always wanted to live in California. Would Emily have ever left New York if circumstances were different? Would they still be together if Emily had met Alistair after he served in the army and not before? Would they have gotten together at all?
Tagged: @transboywrites @cawolters @katerinarevel @agnesfagen @requiemesque @storyteller-kaelo and anybody else who sees this and finds it interesting!!
Tagged by @writingonesdreams, @storyteller-kaelo, and @transboywrites! Ooooof
Warning for below the cut: I talk about the themes in DW and why they are there/how and if they connect to me personally, so proceed with caution for mentions of the following: abuse, anxiety, PTSD, drugs, addiction, alcoholism, crime & murder.
1. When starting something new, how much do you know about the story before you start writing?
Difficult question to answer, since I haven’t really started that many things! With DW I just threw together a bunch of characters I had made with a really vague plot and went from there. I do have One(1) Secret Project that I’m putting a lot more effort into planning. Overall though, knowing my character/s is probably the most important to me before I start writing!
2. What draws you to your WIP(s)? Why did you choose to write that/those over anything else?
Well, with Daydream Walking, I just had a handful of characters I REALLY liked and REALLY wanted to write about, so I threw them together with a sketch of a plot and some more characters I enjoy. (Previously I had developed the characters for roleplay!!)
Many many of the themes that show up in DW mean something to me personally. For the crime/murder themes, I’ve simply always enjoyed true crime, murder mysteries, and a good whodunit! The drugs/addiction and toxic masculinity/regular masculinity/many a way to exist as a man directly connect to me, as a trans man with family members affected by drug abuse. Additionally I have used drugs as a crutch in the past- I wasn’t quite addicted, but I had a bit of a bad habit and it wasn’t necessarily doing me any good. I’ve also acknowledged in the past how easy it would be to slide into alcoholism, especially if I hadn’t been raised the way I was involving alcohol- re: how to drink safely/in moderation.
The theme of abuse also ties directly back to me. Quince’s abuse and anxiety, and Alistair’s PTSD, all sort of exist as coping writing, though Quince’s abuse doesn’t exactly mirror my own and Alistair’s PTSD has a different source than mine. I was thinking about this recently and I think I need those things to be different from what happened to me and what I deal with, to be from a difficult angle, otherwise it’s too much for me.
3. Favorite writing spot? Why?
I find enjoy a spot where I can sit up straight yet comfortably without moving around too often, where I can set my laptop on a flat surface that isn’t too high up.
4. Share your favorite line of what you’ve written so far!
Ohh that’s tough! I have about 30,000 words so far, so my favorite part of what I’ve written so far is possibly some of the newer stuff:
Alistair hesitated. Miles slurped coffee out of his mug. A phone rung somewhere in the building and a car started outside. Trust me. He heaved a sigh and put out his cigarette. “Okay.” He dropped his voice further and looked Miles in the face for the first time since he’d entered the room. “Thirty minutes after we’re off duty. I’ll be parked on Gerard Street.”
5. If you had to choose one OC to bring to life as an actual person, which one would it be and why?
Tossup between Clay Calloway, flamboyant charisma gay, and Miles Crawford, kind gentle gay.
6. Are you looking to get published? If so, do you hope to make it a career?
I would like to but I’m not in a hurry!
7. What’s something you would read but would never write (or the other way around)? Any reason?
Ahh, I don’t know!! There’s some things I actively avoid reading so I would NEVER write them (incest for example)
8. What’s something you are most proud of about your work so far?
Gosh, it’s existence? And probably the emotional aspects of things and the relationships I’ve managed to build up and upon!
9. Badly describe your WIP(s) in one sentence
Three dumb boys have BIG problems feat. magic, guns, timetravel, and so much crime.
10. Why did you want to be a writer?
I don’t know, I just always have been? I started writing when I was pretty young, like maybe 8 years old? Been writing more consistently and constantly since maybe 2009? It’s a similar situation with art haha
Tagging: I’m not sure who has and hasn’t done this one at this point, so if you haven’t and you wanna go ahead and say I tagged you!
Once he was able to move around, he wanted only to move until pure exhaustion weighed him down and pinned him in place. Being stationary was the highest form of torture, or so it felt to him. He inched his way from his childhood bedroom, down the hall to his father's den, and back. Between trips he laid back in his boyhood bed, or reclined in his father's worn leather chair and took in the den.
His father had been dead for years, yet the den was spotless. It wasn't deceiving, however, as it would certainly have been closer to a disaster if his father was still using it- papers and pens and coffee rings and full ashtrays everywhere. His mother kept the large cherry-wood desk, which took up nearly a third of the floor-space in the small room, spotless. The shelves above were full of tidy, straight cookbooks of varying sizes and ages. The tall walls were lined with knives of all kinds, all sizes, all materials, even some that were hard to describe or pinpoint, in fact, hard to see. For the stretches of time that Clay was stuck immobile in his father's den, until he had the strength to move or his mother assisted him back to his own quarters, both old and temporary, he thought he must have examined every single knife in the room, if only visually.
I felt driven to write a little something for Valentine’s Day featuring Alistair Sheep and Miles Crawford, one of the Main couples, or arguably The Main Couple, in my novel-beast wip Daydream Walking. I’m super happy with how it came out, to the point where I have to include it in my first draft, so I hope you enjoy it too! Here is a playlist for them, and the writing is below the cut since it is rather long.
Come On Closer by Jem
You sit back now
Just relax now
I'll take care of you
Marlene On The Wall by Suzanne Vega
Observe the blood, the rose tattoo
Of the fingerprints on me from you
Like Real People Do by Hozier
I had a thought, dear
However scary
HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON’T by Fall Out Boy
The distance between us
It sharpens me like a knife
Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! by Cher
In my flat all alone
How I hate to spend the evening on my own
Say Amen (Saturday Night) by Panic! At The Disco
Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent
Mama, can I get another amen?
Shiver by Maroon 5
And I shiver when I hear your name
I think about you, but it's not the same
Storm Song by Phildel
I'll send a storm
to capture your heart
and bring you home.
My Moon My Man by Feist
Take it slow
Take it easy on me
Shed some light
Shed some light on things
The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends) by Snow Patrol
I want pinned down
I want unsettled
Rattle cage after cage
Until my blood boils
NFWMB by Hozier
If I was born as a black thorn tree
I'd wanna be felt by you, held by you
Feel the power of your hand on me
Bonus Couple Song: Your Man by Josh Parker
Bonus Alistair Song: Little Pistol by Mother Mother
Bonus Miles Song: Baby, You’re A Haunted House by Gerard Way
Content Warnings: Mentions of murder and death, some swearing. Also the presence of a weapon. There is no smut here!! But there is (hopefully) sexual tension, romance, and a good lot of kissing and touching.
Alistair was in the small, well-lit break room at the tail end of a long day, with a lit cigarette in his right hand and a cup of joe in his left. The shape of the room was long and narrow. One long wall hosted a number of square windows through which the harsh, bright afternoon sunlight shone, while the other was taken up by a kitchen stove and one long counter with cabinets below. On the stove sat a steaming percolator, on the counter beside the stove sat a wide, heavy ashtray, leaned against the counter next to the ashtray stood Alistair.
He was tapping ashes off into the ashtray when Miles ambled his way in. He had a way of moving that captured Alistair’s attention instantly; steady and confident, back straight, shoulders relaxed, pace consistent, like a well-trained hounddog at the height of his career. Miles settled in front of the stove and into pouring himself some coffee. “You should come home with me tonight,” he muttered, and jostled Alistair out of his thoughts. He took a drag off his cigarette as anxiety crawled up his spine.
They had never existed together, intimately, outside of Alistair’s apartment, except for the smallest of hints or touches that could not possibly be seen or heard by another human being. His apartment was safety, he knew every corner like he knew his own body, he knew the exits, he knew where he kept the knives, and he knew where every single dangerous creak, squeak, or groan existed in the furniture and in the floorboards and in the walls. “No,” he said on an exhale.
“Please,” Miles said without looking at him. The clacking of the spoon against Miles’ cup as he stirred filled the room. Was he being that loud on purpose? Alistair couldn’t help sneaking a look toward the door, wide open to the rest of the department.
“Why?”
“You’ll like it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Trust me.” Alistair worked his lips around the end of the cigarette, damp yet firm, and took another drag. “I’ll pick you up.”
“No.”
“Fine, you can follow me. Civilian cars, civilian clothes.”
Alistair hesitated. Miles slurped coffee out of his mug. A phone rung somewhere in the building and a car started outside. Trust me. He heaved a sigh and put out his cigarette. “Okay.” He dropped his voice further and looked Miles in the face for the first time since he’d entered the room. “Thirty minutes after we’re off duty. I’ll be parked on Gerard Street.”
Before Miles, with his curls and his staring, seeing eyes, could respond, Sinclair walked his stupid ass into the room, and declared: “Hey, guys! What’s happening?”
“Murder!” Alistair just barely didn’t yell. “Just talking about murder!”
“Happens all the time,” Miles confirmed grimly as he refilled his cup. “It’s really very unfortunate.”
Quickly becoming somber, Sinclair nodded. “It’s true. It’s very unfortunate. Anyway, let me in on that coffee action, Crawford.”
At 6:30pm, Alistair was sitting in his Ford on Gerard Street, in regular, soot-gray trousers and jacket. He’d managed to bathe, mostly to get rid of hat hair, and he hadn’t had a cigarette since dropping into his apartment. He idly chewed on the inside of his cheek and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he scanned the street for Miles Crawford’s cream Hudson.
He stopped tapping and sat up a little straighter when he saw the Hudson turn off of Golding Street onto Gerard. His car rumbled and chugged around him as Miles drove right past him without making eye contact or at all acknowledging his existence. When he could see Miles approaching the end of the street in his mirror, he pulled out and around to follow.
His anxiety lessened as he followed Miles through and around city blocks and out into the outer expanses of Port Cassandra. Soon the ocean and the city alike were obscured by trees both tall and numerous with thick underbrush groveling at their feet. Not only did Alistair feel calmer, now he was able to feel a spot of anticipation, a spark of excitement about where Miles was leading him. He had never been to Miles’ home, and he had never heard him speak of it either.
Eventually Miles pulled off the main road onto one both rougher and narrower, and Alistair followed. The road wound through the trees, and in places the branches reached out and scraped against the sides and roof of his car. He flinched only because of the noise, not because of the damage. His car was not one that was in mint condition, nor was it very new.
The trees broke slightly, and through them he could see slivers of ocean, flashes of beach, and, finally, a stout log cabin, all sharp angles and natural grains and colors, yet clearly weathered. The cream Hudson, light and shiny against the backdrop of the forest, the greenery, and the cabin, pulled up close to what was clearly the cabin’s rear before stopping. Alistair pulled up alongside and cut the engine.
He got out of his car with some effort. The slamming of their car doors seemed loud and intrusive out here. He came around to greet Miles between their two vehicles. “This is where you live?” There was a touch of awe to his tone that he did not intentionally put there.
“Yeah,” Miles said. He was holding a rather large paper bag in one arm. He was wearing brown trousers with a blue, casual button-up tucked in. “My father left it to me when he died.”
“Oh.” He was a bit shaken by this. Miles had never spoken of his father before. “I didn’t know your father was dead. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. He wasn’t a good man.”
That made it the opposite of fine! Alistair gingerly, slowly stepped close to Miles and set a hand on his shoulder. Before he could say anything, though, Miles kissed him on the mouth. He gasped and stepped back, quickly taking stock of their surroundings and seeing . . . no one.
He turned back to see Miles wearing a shit-eating grin. “Let’s not talk about that right now. Come home with me, Alistair.”
A shiver ran up his spine and he found himself smiling back at him. “Okay.”
It turned out the bag Miles was carrying contained wine, crackers, cheese, and apples. Alistair hadn’t thought to bring anything aside from himself and the condoms that lived in the pocket of the jacket he was wearing, so he sliced the cheese and apples and displayed them on a plate with the crackers while Miles filled two glasses with wine. Of course, filling glasses with wine didn’t take much time, so after that he stood back and watched Alistair work. And drank wine.
Alistair still wasn’t used to being watched in a good way. He was always so worried about being seen and found out. “What are you looking at?” He asked as he set the dirtied knife and cutting board into the sink in the cabin’s kitchen. The inside of the cabin was small but clean and cozy. In the living room there was a wide, short couch with a matching coffee table.
“You,” Miles said as Alistair walked past and set the plate of crackers, cheese, and fruit next to the open bottle of wine and his own waiting glass. “The look on your face, determined. The way you do things. It’s very . . . “ His voice was breathy, low and loose. “Effective.”
Alistair picked up his glass in one hand and stood up straight, looking Miles in the face. Dark eyes, relaxed and calm, stared back at him. “Yeah?”
Miles pushed off the wall he was laying his weight against and came around the coffee table. He laid a hand against Alistair’s chest and pushed gently. “Yeah. Sit down, relax.”
Alistair obeyed. Miles wiggled himself into the space between him and the arm of the couch, and threw his arm over Alistair’s shoulders. “Drink,” he said into Alistair’s ear, his hot breath ghosting over the side of his face and the smell of wine hitting his nose.
He made physical effort to relax as he took a long sip of red wine. He leaned into Miles and relaxed into the couch. “I feel you have done all the work here,” he admitted, eyes on the wine wobbling in his glass.
“Not all of it,” Miles said, so close to him. “Just most of it. But don’t worry about it, I chose to do the work. I just wanted to get you out here, I thought you would like it.”
He sighed, trying to expel the shreds of tension that fought so valiantly to cling to the inside of his chest. He took another sip of wine and turned his face to Miles’. “I do like it.” He leaned more heavily into Miles, practically laying all the weight he could on him, and looked him in the eye before downing the entire glass of wine. He set the glass gently on the table, beside the bottle, with a small ‘clink’. “I just need you to fuckin’ kiss me before I have to go smoke a cigarette.”
Miles cradled his face with one hand and kissed him. It was a gentle, soft, close-lipped kiss. It was the sort of kiss Alistair remembered giving and receiving for the first time as a teenager. Then, it was an experiment. Now, it was a taunt.
Alistair turned his head, opened his mouth, and Miles pulled back.
“Wait,” Miles said.
“What?”
“I love you.”
For a long moment, he was thrown speechless. He probably looked like a deer in the headlights, or like an idiot, or maybe both. He wasn’t expecting it- although, if he were to think about it, it wasn’t surprising from Miles. And it wasn’t like he had never thought about how he felt about Miles, sex aside. There was a lot to their interactions now that could not be discounted as just . . . buddies helping each other out.
Like the wine and the cheese on the table, and the way Alistair had made sure he didn’t have disgusting cigarette mouth before he got here, and how Miles had practically negotiated him out here because he thought he would like it. Thought he would like it- no, Miles thought he could relax here. And he was right.
He leaned forward and pressed one more chaste kiss to Miles’ lips, and then another to his cheek. “I love you too,” he whispered against his skin, and shivered, but he wasn’t cold.
He felt Miles exhale, heavy and fast, like he was relieved, and then he was laughing a bit under his breath and his arms were tight around Alistair and he was kissing up his neck and nibbling his beard.
“Oh, my God,” Alistair managed, and he wasn’t unhappy. He was smiling again. He looked out at the darkening sky through the cabin windows, and he saw the trees, and he heard the night distantly. He could not deny that this felt nice.
“I thought you’d freak out,” Miles admitted with his face pressed into Alistair’s shoulder. There was humor in his voice, though it was a legitimate concern.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” he muttered.
Miles lifted his head and kissed him, and this time his mouth was open. He tasted like wine. His tongue was clever and his teeth were careful. Alistair’s mouth was his for the taking.
Alistair surged out of his grasp, but only to throw himself into his lap. He tossed his bad leg over Miles and shoved his right foot against the floor to push himself into position. They only ceased kissing for the moment it took him to reposition.
He ran his hands up Miles’ neck and into his short, curly hair, cradling the back of his neck. He felt Miles’ hands on his waist, massaging their way down through his clothes. He bit gently at his lower lip, and Miles gasped.
“Alistair!” He exclaimed, and pulled his gun out of its holster at his hip. “Really?”
“Quince!” Felicity’s voice woke him, cracking through his slumber like lightning through a dark cloud.
Full Name ↳ Quince Benedict Heller
Gender & Pronouns ↳ Male, He/him
Orientations ↳ Bisexual/Biromantic
Age ↳ 35 Years
Appearance ↳ A tall, slouching white man with curly ginger-red hair and green eyes who often dresses in a plain style and is rarely seen smiling. According to Clay, he “stinks of concealment magic”.
Brief Personality Description ↳ A quiet, nervous man whose alcohol problems are common knowledge and whose marital problems are not. He is fond of books and well-liked by animals.
Occupation ↳ Clerk at the Hall of Forms and Records
Associated Stone/s ↳ White Opal
Knowledge of Magic ↳ Advanced
Control of Magic ↳ Weak
♦ Mini Playlist ♦
Close 2 Me by Gentleman Hall
Not Your Fault by Awolnation
Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers
Horns by Bryce Fox
Can You Feel My Heart by Bring Me The Horizon
Hit Me Like a Man by The Pretty Reckless
Full Playlist ❦ Wip Intro
Taglist: @transboywrites @cawolters @requiemesque @agnesfagen (ask to be added or removed!)
Residence ↳ Astervale, New York
Birthplace ↳ Someplace, California
Family ↳
Felicity Royce > His jealous and controlling wife of 15 years.
Nancy Heller > His mother who died when he was very young.
Clive Heller > His disappointed mushroom farmer father.
Mickey Heller > His protective twin brother who stayed in California and works in the family business.
Bonus: Name Meanings ↳
Quince is of French origin and means the fifth-born and/or is an apple-like fruit.
Tagged by @storyteller-kaelo! Thanks! It took me a hot second to think up some facts I probably haven’t revealed anywhere yet.
Rules: Give five little-known facts about your WIP(s) then tag five people
Naturally I’m doin’ Daydream Walking.
1. Quince met Felicity in Magic College in his home state of California and they have been married for 15 years. He was a much more confident man, though still very mild-mannered and serene, when he initially moved to New York with Felicity.
2. Alistair is somewhat estranged from his parents and one of his siblings, for a variety of reasons, but mostly because his father is overbearing, judgmental and seemingly cannot be impressed.
3. Clay’s sister, Gale, was closer to their father than Clay was before he died. There is about 8 years between the two of them, when Clay was young his father worked a lot and wasn’t around much, he was home more when Gale was young, so Clay and his father never quite bonded.
4. The means of timetravel in DW is an enchanted dagger that was among Otis Calloway’s (Clay’s father’s) collection when he passed away.
5. In the wizard-dominated future of 4146, it is customary for people of any gender to wear cloaks and robes, often intricately designed and colorful, and to wear gemstone earrings. Additional accessories like necklaces and rings are also common. Close-fitting clothes and visible skin are considered provocative, though there are many times and places where it is acceptable to wear specifically a loose shirt and shorts (considered underclothes). For example, at one point Clay strips down to his underclothes in front of two other Enforcers to jump into a hole in the ground, and in The Beehive, the nightclub near the Government Building in Astervale it is expected that everybody wears only their underclothes inside.
