Definitely makes sense, just be on lookout for situations where you use it twice in the same paragraph or something (it can happen).
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Oh yeah, for sure. Also, mini rant here because I can’t rant enough about it because it’s all I’ve been doing for 3 days now. Intimate scenes are probably the hardest thing to write in an IF. More difficult than fight scenes, imo. You have what gender the PC is, you have what gender the RO is, you have each person’s preference for more dominant or more submissive; and then even after all that, it’s not one of those that you can just put a *goto label command at because it all completely changes the dynamic of the scene and the relationship sometimes.
I vastly underappreciated how much work needed to go into this, and I’m only doing one to two pages of it and not a full scene. I cannot imagine how long it would take me for a full scene, it’s actually so bonkers.
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That’s really interesting, but I think I get it! A playlist kind of feels like and ongoing story were a specific artist or album tends to have one strong vibe with it – I think that would be useful for nailing a specific part of a story.
The disco Elysium soundtrack makes me more excited to get my hands on the release of Honor Bound!
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I think part of it is also that towards the end, I get fatigued by the general playlist as I’ll have been listening to it a lot for over a year, so I like to zero in on one artist/album.
I need to keep an ear out and see whether any of the soundtrack songs suit the playlist! (and not get too distracted playing Disco Elysium by mistake, haha!)
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My semester just ended, so I don’t have anything to share as a snippet. But I did learn something that’ll be useful.
In one of my projects, the MC has resorted to truancy, alcohol, etc after her mother’s murder. I was worried that it was too cliche for a teen character. But according to my developmental psychology textbook, teenagers who lose parents are more prone to delinquency than other teens. So, it’s a trope for a reason
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Imo, everything has pretty much become a trope. At this point, a piece of writing or entertainment shouldn’t be judged on what tropes it has, but by how well those tropes are done.
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Congratulations on completing the semester, @Anna_B!
I’ve been deep in coding today so don’t have anything to share; it’s very complicated laying out how much different characters like, or are enemies with, the PC, plus figuring out whether the ones who like them will have wanted to move in with them, etc. It’s a lot!
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Good news is I reach 5k Bad news Is I have a terrible headache so I have to stop my attempt.
I am dissapointed but It is not so bad. I will try to do a better proyect before month ends and Put a link in this thread. It will be also my first game both in spanish and in English.
So still, it is an interesting goal. I try to keep a positive view… Trying but not succeeding.
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Seconded! There’s only so much point in trying to be original, seeing as there’s nothing new under the sun. I think the more valuable endeavour is to present the essence of tropes, or ideas, or any of the innumerable things they can be called, as interestingly as possible.
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I dissagree they are lots of really original games and products.
The issue is people uses same formula same ro same setting and memes memes everywhere. I will now censure myself. But Nobody forces to a horde of people to write same genres almost same names almost carbon copy art that sometimes in steam I almost buy the game I wasnt looking for.
There is in the game market now a big focus on trends and what will sell my patreon. So like copying Studios they all end with same formula game.
It is not a problem originality is dead, it is originality is being butchered in the name of popularity and profit.
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Since you’re all posting lovely fragments from your projects, and I’ve spent the last few weeks in the world of constant edits and rewrites, I thought I could at the very least mention that I started working on a new project as well, and it’s going to be mixing cosmic horror with a haunted manor (and romance).
I also have to say that I was surprised to see multiple recent threads mentioning horror.
Well, either way, here’s a tiny fragment from me (first draft, obviously). 
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Hey Everyone!
I hope you all are having a happy, healthy, and productive month of May. May has been the right cross to the jab set up by April, a proper kick in the pants. My computer crapped out (not sure if it was my MB or HD), and I ended up losing my character profiles, world-building notes, timelines, etc. It’s about six months of ongoing work and probably around two or three hundred pages of notes (my WIP has an ensemble cast). So, yeah. That wasn’t a great start, but on the bright side, I wasn’t a complete knucklehead and was saving my actual project files on Dropbox, so thankfully, I’m still in business there.
Next, in the conspiracy of the universe conspiring to keep me from writing, the house I’ve been renovating for the last year plus is almost done! I’ve been working long hours to finish this thing (I’m so very, very sick of it) and finally get paid. And finally, both my sons play travel soccer, and their seasons are now fully on, which I signed them up for (why do I do this to myself?), and which I insist on being at every game and catching a bit of every practice (seriously why?). I sometimes feel like Tyler Durden from Fight Club, and I’m beating the shit out of myself.
Anyway, enough complaining. Thanks for letting me vent (as if you have a choice 
)
The short of all that above is I made pitifully little progress on my project, but for my snippet, I thought I’d share a piece I wrote for one of my writing groups’ assignments. The goal was to relate and develop a character’s backstory and personality by writing a scene where they are in a ‘counseling session’, either an official or unofficial one.
Summary
In the dark mead hall of Brimir’s Step, the atmosphere was thick with woodsmoke and the sweet smell of fermenting mead. At the far end of the room, Steinar Hudir sat in solitude, his massive hands cradling a tankard as though it were a lifeline. Strands of deep brown hair, tinged with gray, fell from his ponytail, framing a face carved with the deep lines of hardship and loss. His piercing brown eyes lost themselves in the amber depths of his drink.
Bjorn, the burly barman, approached with a fresh pitcher, refilling Steinar’s tankard with a practiced hand. He noticed the faraway look in Steinar’s eyes—a look that spoke of battles fought and burdens borne. “You’re hitting the mead hard tonight, Steinar.” his tone was friendly yet tinged with concern.
Steinar looked up, his gaze distant and haunted. “Some nights, the past doesn’t stay where it belongs,” he admitted, his voice a low rumble.
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” as he sat opposite Steinar, inviting the tale.
Steinar hesitated, then sighed, the floodgates of his memories creaking open. “I was in Bergheim when it fell. I had dreams of joining Thalmar’s Reavers. Thought it’d be my way out… or up.”
Bjorn’s interest deepened. The Reavers were legendary, and their trials were brutal. “Didn’t go as planned?”
A bitter laugh escaped Steinar. “No. I was the best they had and fought harder than any other recruit. But the commander had it out for me. Took every chance to knock me down, made sure I never wore their colors.”
The words seemed to weigh on Steinar, each a reminder of a path blocked. “The night of the attack, I should’ve been with someone I cared about. Instead, I lost myself in the bottom of a bottle and another woman’s bed. By the time I got into the streets, the city was burning, and soldiers were everywhere. I looked for her, but I couldn’t find her. I wasn’t there to protect her. I should’ve been there for her.”
Bjorn remained silent, providing a steady presence as Steinar navigated his past’s painful waters.
“Things happened that night… things that changed her. Set her on a path that’s growing darker. Now, she’s drawn to the fight against those who took everything from us. And I… I fear where that might lead,” Steinar said, his voice thick with worry.
“Hatred is a heavy burden to carry,” Bjorn said, pouring himself a drink before continuing. “But sometimes, it’s the fire we need to push for change.”
Steinar shook his head, his gaze fixed on the table. “I worry about the cost, Bjorn. About what it means for our family and our quiet life here. If her fight brings the war to our doorstep…”
The conversation paused as a drunken patron staggered over, sloshing his drink onto Steinar’s lap as he bumped against the table.
“Watch it, old man,” the aggressor growled, his eyes gleaming with malice.
Steinar’s body tensed, but his voice remained even. “No harm done. Let’s keep it peaceful.”
The man smirked, stepping closer. “Heard you were tough once. Prove it.”
Steinar sighed, a resigned sound that carried weight. “That’s not my life anymore.”
The man swung a fist with a grunt. Steinar dodged, his movements smooth and effortless. “I’m not looking for trouble,” he said.
The aggressor, fueled by drink and pride, didn’t relent in his assault. He lunged again, and this time, Steinar acted. A swift kick to the groin halted the man’s advance, followed by a heavy mug to the head that sent him crumpling to the wooden floor.
The hall fell silent. Steinar sat back down, fixing his eyes on his mead as if nothing had occurred, the murmur of conversations resuming around him.
Bjorn, having watched the brief altercation, let out a low whistle. “You still have it. Not that I’m surprised.”
“Wasn’t my choice to prove it,” Steinar said, staring into his drink.
Bjorn nodded, understanding the depth of Steinar’s struggle. “Maybe it’s not just about shielding them from the world but preparing them for it. And maybe standing by her side is how you do that.”
Steinar considered Bjorn’s words, his eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. “Perhaps you’re right,” though his tone carried little conviction. “But it’s about more than just facing the past. It’s about the danger we might bring upon those we care about.”
As Bjorn nodded and moved away to attend to the other patrons, Steinar remained seated, his posture tense amidst the raucous noise of the mead hall. The laughter and shouts of the other patrons echoed around him, contrasting with the storm of worries in his mind.
He glanced around the lively hall and then back to his tankard, feeling the weight of his unresolved fears. “I’ll stand by her,” Steinar whispered, his grip tightening on the tankard. “But at what cost?” Amid the hall’s clamor, his sense of isolation deepened, and he felt trapped between his commitment to his family and the shadows of a haunting past.
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If you want, you can work directly with files on OneDrive, which autosaves your progress all the time, so you never run the risk of your 'ware crapping out on you.
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Be me
Be almost done
Suddenly fail to write for a day
Why am I like this.
In other news, I saw smth about Moddy/Dash moving around? Does anyone know whats up there, I don’t want to be updating my work on a site thats going to down.
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@Robd5822
That really sucks. My computers is a moody little device, so I always use cloud services to make sure things like that are backed up – I have an external which I update monthly with the important bits. I hope the loss of data doesn’t hit your will to write too hard.
@apple
From what I know, Moody’s original server has been moved here and is under new ownership:
The site: https://cogdemos.ink/
The git for contributions: GitHub - EvilChani/cogdemos.ink: Modified moody.ink to fix header issues and save slots
Pretty sure Dashington is still up with no plans to go anywhere, but I’m not up to date with that one.
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To follow up on @LilacRebel’s post here is the latest (5 days ago) posting about it:
I’m sure @EvilChani will be making further details available as she gets everything running.
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MFW I don’t actually remember the name of my Moody account bc I haven’t bothered to check since a few months ago. I think I’ll just recreate a new account on the new site and upload everything myself, it’s not like I don’t have the files. TY @Eiwynn and @LilacRebel.
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Most of what I’ve been working on is too spoilery for me to want to share any of it before I share all of it. 
And/or it’s so thick with coding variation that it would be all but unreadable in a forum post. But here’s a mid-month snippet I wrote a few weeks back.
Summary
In the evenings, you hover close to any merchants in the Chesnery to hear what they think of the burning of the tithe-box. One night Farrac walks in with a stormy expression, followed closely by Haldine and her daughter Zellen. The two Rim refugees look more devastated than any act of arson alone could explain.
Maurs Innkeep notices at once, and heaves himself over to them on his hand-stilts. “Goodwomen? Ill news borne in with today’s rider?”
“A letter from the Syntechnia,” Haldine answers, in a tinny echo of her normal voice. “They’ve refused to renew my writ of trade.”
“Angels!” Maurs’s lips purse in shocked sympathy. “On what grounds?”
“They say I abandoned my appointed post of trade without seeking prior leave from a guild superior or the local aristoi.” She utters the absurdity without even the ghost of a smile crossing her lips.
*fake_choice
#“Prior leave?” I explode, @{(haldine = 3) trying to quell a pang of guilt|feigning sympathy}. “Your wife was murdered by rebels!”
@{(viols = 0) “That doesn’t matter to them, ${alias}.”|Flinching away,}
#“That’s madness. Has word of the Commotion not reached them?”
@{(viols = 0) “That’s the problem, ${alias}—not for the guild, but the aristoi.”|Ignoring you,}
#I just shake my head silently.
Maurs’s brows knit in quiet anger. “What by Xthonos are they thinking?”
“I’m afraid I know too well.”
Haldine presses her hands to her face. After a moment, she collects herself enough to continue: “Aristarch de Ryle never liked to admit that the Commotion had spread from the Outer Rim into his domain. He talked about those who fled, whether noble or tradesfolk, as cowards and betrayers. But I’d thought things had gotten bad enough in the Norther Rim that even he…even he…” Her voice disintegrates.
“If the aristarch won’t attest to the massacres we fled, the guild won’t believe us. And without a guild passmark, we’ve no future here.” Or anywhere, you can read in Zellen’s flat tone.
“Now, don’t speak so hastily, young kuria Attwell. There are a number of underworked shafts and exposed veins at the Stannary. Even with no Syntechnia shawl, if your mother rented some of milady Alasais’s drudges, she could both usefully and profitably exploit those sites.” Farrac Strabaud clears his throat. “Three years’ yield should be enough to fully repay any loan you might require for the purpose. I am sure our lady would not ask an unreasonable rent for either land or chattel.”
Haldine looks up, tears streaming down her cheeks, clearly reluctant to hope for much. “But…the de Irde estate only has so many drudges, surely? Are there many to be had, without prevailing on the lady to buy another score or so? A loan for that could put me in debt for life.”
An uncomfortable look passes over Farrac’s face, so quickly you wonder if you’ve imagined it, before it turns into an awkward grimace. “You’ll be unsurprised, given the lady’s gentleness, to hear that there are some that could be working harder than they do! At least a score. If you wouldn’t object to my raising the matter with the de Irde…”
“Oh, kurios Strabaud.” Haldine looks about to throw propriety to the winds and embrace him. Instead, she just pulls Zellen into a hug and begins sobbing too hard for words.
*fake_choice
#I’m moved by Farrac’s willingness to help them, rather than letting them fail.
#I’m unsurprised. It fits with the spirit of Irduin.
#I wonder how exploitative the terms on Farrac’s loan will be.
Almost everyone in the caskroom has fallen silent, watching the merchants’ exchange. Maurs glances around, then raises his voice to reach every corner. “Goodwoman Haldine is more in need of a generous welcome than ever, neighbors. This is her home now, without question. Let’s be sure she feels it!”
A small, voluble crowd of well-wishers immediately surrounds Haldine and Zellen. Farrac Strabaud hovers benevolently to one side…but you think his smile looks more stiff and forced by the moment. As soon as attention has passed entirely to the refugees, he stalks out to the portico. You follow him, moved by sudden curiosity. “A generous act, kurios.”
The merchant glances at you with @{(viols > 4) a certain relief, though from this close you can see|disdain, but he clearly can’t resist giving voice to} the anger boiling just below the surface. “I’d have thought you’d understand if anyone does, ${ird_name}. It could happen to any of us. Our lives turned suddenly upside down, facing poverty as the reward for generations of hard work, because of…them.”
“The rebels?” You try to keep your tone casual.
“No, not the Xthon’damned rebels!” Farrac’s retort is close to a snarl. “Because of the whim, or to protect the pride, of…”
When he doesn’t finish, you venture, “The nobles.”
“We work so hard. Take such risks. Keep ourselves so very respectable.” Farrac’s mirthless smile broadens until it looks like it’s about to crack his face in half. “And none of it earns us a fraction of the honor that we’re supposed to give them just for being born.”
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Out of curiosity, how important is music to all of you in what you’re working on? Do you listen to it while you work, make playlists for stories or even specific characters in those stories, reference particular pieces in the text itself? I’m all of the above but I’d be interested to see where you’re all at.
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