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lilac-and-lemon-whumps · 2 years

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Whatever I Decide

@themerrywhumpofmay Day 7: “Relax” Comfort | Branded | Trembling

Micah leaves his room for the first time.

Part 1 | Masterlist

Cw: it as a pronoun, vampire whumper/dubious caretaker, human whumpee, fear of punishment, references to scars and forced eating, allusions to past whump (asphyxiation, whips)

Diego was hungry.

It wasn’t too bad yet, though he knew it would only grow the longer he waited. Faria had invited him out to feed at one of the local BOT bars—blood-on-tap, some new generational fad that sounded a little too hipster for Diego’s tastes. Whether he wanted to spend the evening drinking mildly stale blood or not (“Ethically sourced,” Jonah, Faria’s partner, would laugh), and was leaning much further toward not anyway, Diego couldn’t leave the house unattended yet.

While he had no idea what exactly he was going to do with the pet he didn’t ask for but was given by the state regardless, he didn’t want to see the poor thing hurt itself or, Crowley forbid, find a way to escape and only get itself killed in the end. The paperwork would be a nightmare.

A knock on his door reminded Diego of the second reason he couldn’t go out tonight and instead had to favor one of his blood packs from the fridge.

“Mr. Silva?” The representative from the pet center stood at his door, package in hand. She handed it over along with a slip for him to sign off on before nodding in thanks and retreating back to her car. Diego didn’t bother to close the door but simply sighed and unwrapped the package where he stood in the entryway.

So. The moment of truth.

The bubble wrap crinkled when he pulled out the item. He quickly glossed over the chain, looking for any identification.

Annnnnd there it was.

“—Chow?”

Diego frowned. The collar he held was stained a dark red, soft yet firm leather with a little pendant hanging from the center in the shape of a bone. It was on this pendant that the word “Chow” lay, engraved silver that must have cost his sister a pretty peso for. It looked more like something one would put around a dog’s neck, but then again, Diego knew his share of friends and colleagues who treated their pets just the same.

Diego was tempted to call Faria. In the past couple of weeks, she’d become his sort of confidant when trying to figure out how to handle the strange creature. Until today, Diego had no name to call it by, and not for lack of trying. The human refused to tell him its name, and if it reacted any other way than the usual blanching and curling in on itself when Diego asked, Diego would have had half a mind to punish it for being so stubborn.

But…Chow? What a stupid name for a pet. Gabi may have had refined tasted in other outlets of her life, but apparently that did not extend to naming her things.

“Perfect,” Diego muttered. When the state representative called to say they’d salvaged a few more of Gabi’s belongings in the remains of her car, one item that looked to be nothing other than a pet’s collar, Diego had been almost excited. He would take any information on the pet, seeing as his sister left nearly squat for him to figure out when it came to maintaining the human she’d had for the past however many years.

Even the human’s documentation was nowhere to be found. If he were stupid, Diego would have pried more into it. All human pets are supposed to come with a standard buyer’s contract, blood type, name and age if applicable, etc. The representative’s suggested Gabi had probably just misplaced the documents when alive. It was a polite out for the much more likely reality that Gabi had purchased the human illegally.

As closest kin, Diego immediately earned possession of Gabi’s belongings. Which, of course, included the human.

Even in death, his sister was making Diego’s life complicated.

Micah had been studying the skin of his wrists when the door to the enclosure swung open. He didn’t hear the sound of a key, but before he could wonder if it had been unlocked all along, his new owner walked in, a familiar object hanging from his left hand.

Micah froze.

“You’re awake,” his owner said in lieu of greeting. His eyes followed Micah’s to the object in his hand. “Oh. You recognize this, don’t you?”

Micah looked between the collar—his collar, the red one that Miss Silva would put on him for their public outings. Sometimes, most times, she’d tighten it until he could barely breathe and he had to lay his head on her knee when he thought he’d pass out—to Mr. Diego’s face. Was he angry? Jealous, knowing the collar was a reminder that Micah used to belong to someone else? How did he get ahold of it?

Mr. Diego approached until his legs hit the side of the bed. He dangled the collar in front of Micah’s face, who could only watch as the collar’s silver bone with the damning inscription swung back and forth like a ticking clock.

“Chow.” Mr. Diego slowly drew out the word. “Is that your name? The one you refuse to tell me?”

Mr. Diego didn’t sound mad, but his words were enough to send Micah’s heart racing. Ever since Micah had been forced to disobey and eat what Mr. Diego gave him, Micah was waiting to be punished. Miss Silva favored the whip and her nails, but the unknowing of what Micah’s new owner would do was worse.

And the other day, Micah had been so sure Mr. Diego was going to—to feed from him. Micah had awoken at some unknown time, wrists sore and bleeding from the old ties his owner had been using. When Mr. Diego had taken Micah’s wrists and brought them to his mouth, so, so close to those fangs that haunted Micah’s worst fears, his new owner had simply licked the wounds until the cuts and scratches healed.

Micah knew, rationally, how vampire saliva and venom could work. And while Micah had been a good dog with Miss Silva, who never drank from him or drained him dry like the other bad animals she’d have shipped in, she also never licked Micah’s wounds closed. A punishment was a punishment, after all.

If Micah was being punished for eating, or for the few times he’d spoken, he had no idea when that would be. But now, maybe he was catching on. Mr. Diego had found his old collar. Surely he was going to put it on Micah, perhaps see how tight it could go until the dark swallowed Micah once again.

(Six notches. That’s how many Micah could take.)

(Micah knew that as much as Miss Silva had.)

“You’d think I put you in a freezer with how pale you are,” Mr. Diego murmured. He set the collar down on the bed’s side table. Micah tried not to look surprised. “I need to ask you some questions. If you’re not going to speak, I need you to at least nod or shake your head. Can you do that for me?”

It was a trick question. It had to be. Pets were too stupid to communicate with their owners. But if Mr. Diego was asking him to…surely the punishment for following an impossible order would be lighter than disobeying?

Slowly, and feeling like he might throw if he had anything of substance in his stomach, Micah moved his head up, then down.

“Oh, good boy,” Mr. Diego’s eyes lit up. Micah started. “Just like that. I’m going to free your hands, and then we’re going to go in the main room and talk. Or, I’ll talk. Nod for me again if you understand.”

Main room? Micah was leaving his enclosure? Distantly, he felt himself nod for his owner, but the uncertainty threatened to drown everything out.

Calm down, he told himself. You deserve any punishment he decides.

“I should’ve tried asking this way the first time.” Mr. Diego unlatched the new leash that had come in for Micah. Micah much preferred these over the old ties, which had cut into his skin every time he moved wrong in his sleep. These new ones were much softer, and had enough give for Micah to move his arms where he liked rather than be strung out like a doll.

Once Micah’s hands were free, Mr. Diego picked up the collar again. As much as Micah tried, he couldn’t hide his sharp inhale quick enough to not draw Mr. Diego’s attention.

“Let me guess,” his owner mused, waving the red leather. “You don’t like this, do you?”

Another trick question. It didn’t matter what Micah liked. If his owner wanted to collar him, then Micah should be honored to be so cared for. Now that Miss Silva was—not here—Micah was Mr. Diego’s to do with as he pleased. Micah’s wants and likes had nothing to do with it.

“What did I say?” Mr. Diego tsked. With his free hand, he ran his thumb over Micah’s lips, drawing down to his chin. Maneuvering Micah’s head himself, he moved Micah’s head side to side, then up and down in a faux nod. “Nod for me, or shake your head. I do not enjoy repeating myself.”

Micah waited a beat before realizing what his owner intended. Pressing his lips tight together so not to accidentally make a sound, Micah slowly shook his head and waited to be slapped for his insolence.

But nothing came. Micah hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he felt the pad of Mr. Diego’s finger tapping at the side of his temples in a silent command.

“Why,” his owner said quietly, “are you so afraid of me?”

Micah blinked. And then, because he had no idea what else to do, he nodded.

Mr. Diego scoffed but he didn’t say anything more. Nor did he fasten the collar around Micah’s neck, or slap him for taking so many liberties, or tell Micah to get into position. Instead, he looped the collar around his wrist and, before Micah could think to react, picked Micah up in his arms.

* To say the human tensed would be putting it mildly. The pet—Chow? Such a stupid name—went from soft skin to solid stone in Diego’s hold the second he had the human wrapped in it. A very frightened, shaking stone, that is.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” Diego soothed. He placed one hand on the small of its back and rubbed gently as he made his way out of the human’s quarters and back into the main area of the ranch house. What surprised him the most wasn’t necessarily how small it was, because he could easily tell that just by looking. It was how light it was, even for a human.

Not for the first time, Diego worried about the pet’s eating habits.

He set the human on the couch beside him, and for a moment the pet stayed wrapped around him before it realized it was being put down. “There you are. Just get comfortable. I’ll say this now, because I’ve been told I need to be as clear as possible with you: you’re not in trouble—uh, Chow.” Despite the assurance, the human still made a face before quickly hiding the expression. Diego latched on to the information. Diego was slowly but surely learning what set off the human, so he wasn’t too surprised at how it tensed when Diego’s shoulder brushed its as he sat down. But it did finally nod, and Diego did not miss how its eyes quickly flit around the lit room, taking in the new space.

Probably, Diego realized, it was the first time it had seen a fully lit room since Gabi’s old house. He never bothered turning on the lamp in the human’s space.

“First order of business then. I want a name to call you by. Do you want me to call you Chow? Is that your name?”

The human wouldn’t meet his eyes. The silence stretched. Just when Diego was about to give up and move to the next question, mentally making a note to start a tally count for infractions, the human surprised him.

“My name is-is whatever you dec-decide, Sir.”

There it was again. His pet could talk. But despite this seeming accomplishment, it immediately shrank into itself after speaking, shoulders bowed as if to fend from attack.

Diego wasn’t stupid. The signs were all there since the moment he received the pet. The scars on its legs when they had to change its clothes. The two wounds on its back Faria had to stitch up. The way it cowered like a kicked dog, how it looked ill upon speaking, why it never ate by its own choice.

He remembered his friend’s words when they’d last spoken over the phone. Fair. Diego had quickly cut her off, not wanting to hear slander about Gabi no matter how hard of feelings they left off on before her death.

But looking at the broken, very much malnourished form of this pet, blue veins more visible than its sunken eyes, Diego had to swallow back a surprising rush of sympathy for the human. Diego had never been cruel for the sake of being such. He was a reasonable man, who approached the world as logically as he knew how. Logic told him humans were below them, to be used as nourishment or, at times, as pets for the very cherished. Logic told him humans were weak, unnaturally short and thin boned, common for prey animals.

What logic did not tell Diego, however, was the depth to which this human must have been treated to be so damn afraid all the time. It looked like the wind could put up a better fight than this pet. Even the humans in their colonies did not act this way before their superiors. Obedient, yes. Deferential, yes. But…but this? Abject terror and utterly irrational behavior…

For a species that was so determined to hide from harm and stay alive, it made no logical sense to deny food and willingly resist speaking when, by all accounts, it would be easier for both of them to not do so.

“I like it when you speak,” Diego told it. “Will you tell me why you always stop yourself?”

That was obviously not the right thing to say. Its wrist wounds from the other night were all healed, but it scratched at the invisible marks as if they still bothered him. Its upper teeth bit so hard into its lower lips Diego almost expected to smell blood soon.

Diego was much too old to react like a child who’d turn feral at their first taste of human blood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle his reactions around a bleeding human—he very much well could. It was just, well. Even in its current state, the human was admittedly adorable. And who could resist tasting a sweet face like that when it was just so ready to take?

The human did not seem to share Diego’s happy thoughts. It was pale and looking a bit green as if it’d been at sea too long. What wiry muscles it still had were coiled so hard Diego wondered if it was in pain by that alone.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Acting more on instinct than anything, Diego pulled the pet into his arms again, doing whatever he could to soothe it. Again, it tensed. Again, it froze, waiting for something.

And then, after almost a minute of Diego waiting a patiently as he could (Faria would never let him live it down if she saw), Diego smelled the tell-tale signs of salt before he felt the drops hit his chest.

“You cry so sweetly,” Diego sighed, not unkindly, and completely unsure if that was a proper thing to tell a pet. He remembered Faria’s advice over the phone: treat it like a child. Speak gently to it. Tell it explicitly what it's allowed and not allowed to do. “But you’re allowed to make noise, little one. You’re allowed to speak, if you wish. I would like you to speak, if that means anything.”

Diego took inventory of the human while he had it so close. It’d been over two weeks since he got the poor thing, but he hadn’t truly studied it since those first two days when the pet had been drugged out of its mind for transportation. It’s hair was a bit matted, what once was probably curly dark locks tangled and grown out beyond what was healthy. He’d probably have to cut it, and most definitely wash it at the very least. To be honest, Diego had been avoiding the issue of bathing and had settled on wiping it down with soap every few days while it tried not to struggle. If the pet freaked out about food, what would it do if Diego tried to strip it?

“I’m…I’m s-sorry.”

The little hiccup of noise from where the pet had its face curled into Diego’s chest immediately drew Diego from his thoughts. He didn’t dare move, not wanting to give the pet any more reason to startle. Not for the first time Diego wished he were Faria, who could comfort any human with the slightest word. He just wanted a name, damn it.

But despite his own impatience, he couldn’t be annoyed for long. Diego wasn’t sure what it said about the human who, despite its obvious terror of him, had burrowed itself so sweetly into Diego’s arms as if Diego could protect it from the very thing it feared.

“Why are you apologizing?” Diego asked.

“‘Dogs aren’t suh-supposed to talk, sir.” Its voice was muffled where it spoke into Diego’s chest, one hand clenched tight into Diego’s button down. He was definitely going to have to dry clean it.

Diego focused on the matter at hand. “If I wanted you sorry, I’d let you know. Whatever rules Ga—whatever rules you were once told do not apply here.” Diego wasn’t sure how much the pet knew about its new state. Did it know that Gabi was his sister? Most likely not. Diego had avoided communicating too much with pet despite having two weeks to bring it up to speed.

In Diego’s defense, he had been terribly busy sorting out the funeral situation and deciding on Gabi’s belongings, whether to donate, keep, or trash the ridiculous hoard of material items she’d collected over the past seventy years. On top of that, Diego had to move his office work remotely while he figured out what he would do with the pet. Keep it? Sell it? Get a few weeks worth of his own fresh blood before ridding himself of the whole ordeal? The human’s food that it barely even ate was expensive, after all.

“Here, you are allowed to speak. In fact, that is a rule. You will speak when I ask you a question,” Diego settled on telling the human. “Understood?”

Diego could practically feel the human’s hesitation, as if sensing a trick. “...Yes, sir?” it finally breathed. It was more a question than an assurance, but Diego would let it slide for now.

He finally wondered aloud the thought that had been creeping up. “Was food another rule? Is that why you refuse to eat?”

No answer now, at least not aloud. What was that, a second infraction? Third? Diego mentally noted it for later, before hearing a small sniffle and then the quietest, Yes, sir, he’d ever heard.

Huh. Diego thought about the last time he’d seen his sister, what, ten years ago? What had she been thinking, getting a pet and hardly allowing it to eat? It was common knowlege that prey creatures had to rely on food much more often than their superiors. Where Diego could go days, maybe a week if he really pushed himself, without feeding, humans needed to at least once a day, two or three for maximum energy.

Besides. How did Gabi feed off a pet who looked this deprived of...of everything? Surely she didn’t keep it just to have it around.

“You are allowed to eat here. And speak. I need you healthy and honest, little one. How else am I going to get any use out of you?” Diego rubbed the pet’s shoulders as another wave of silent tears overcame it. Good hell, Diego wanted to sigh.

“Your old owner’s rules mean nothing here, alright? It’s like you said:

“It’s whatever I decide.”

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @deluxewhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @pumpkin-spice-whump @cicatrix-energy @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings

#yes this is a whole day late i do apologize it's been a busy weekend #vampire whump #whump #dubious caretaker #I really wanted to incorporate branding because I have a set scene in mind #But its too early into the story to add yet so ill have to wait for later #parts to look forward to: Micah finally gets a bath #Diego punishes Micah #to feed or not to feed from Micah #Branding!#Diego learns Micah’s name #Backstory on Micah with Gabi (miss silva)#fear of punishment #all of the previously stated are not in any set order I will get to each of them when I do (or whatever seem to be requested more lol)#Diego and Micah #the merry whump of may #forced eating mention #collar mention

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ljf613 · 2 years

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Look, I love Azula. Y'all know this. I probably have more thoughts, opinions, headcanons, and plot bunnies/fic ideas about her than any other character in the series.

But I have been seeing a lot of posts lately trying to reframe the entire series around her. And I need y'all to understand that Azula is not the main character. She is a side character who exists for the purposes of serving the story.

Whatever problems you have with how the narrative frames her (and I have plenty of my own), this was never going to be a story centered around Azula.

That's what fanfic is for.

#avatar the last airbender #thoughts #fandom critical #y'all need to chill #i cannot believe i have to explain this #atla is a fairly mature story #but y'all seriously need to read/watch something a little more grown up and learn how story structure works #this isn't just about azula btw #there's a longer rant here i may get into further later #characters' dying is (usually) not about writers hating them (this isn't marvel) but about how their death fits within the STORY BEING TOLD #same for every other element of a story #characters and scenes do not exist in a vacuum!#'character x was robbed!' 'ship y was cheated!' that's not what the point of the story is! that's not how you analyze media!#all queued up

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shadeswift99 · 1 year

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for the fic writing ask game, i'd say you're really strong in setting a tone (i.e. if there's a scene with a forced-casual feeling that has undertones of creeping dread, you do an excellent job setting it up and executing it!), and generally creating a compelling story!

Thank you!! Description and the pacing/flow of a scene are two of my most very favourite things to write, I'm glad I pull it off well as well as enjoying doing it

#ask #ask game #you know what actually the 'creeping dread' thing is hands down the most common example people give lol #I was just hearing from someone else today about a non-hermit thing i wrote that did that to them #idk why it comes so easy to me to know how to order things to create a Gaping Pit in people's chests but it is quite fun :)#i wish i could break down how i do it but i really cannot #except for maybe. always lead with a detail and not the cause of it?#the smaller and more unnerving the better #for example from earlier today #(tw blood description)#why say ''they saw a lot of blood in the room'' when you could say #''the hairs on the back of their neck stand up before they even round the corner''#''later they might realize that it was the smell that did it''#and THEN describe the blood #you're making the reader feel the effects of the unsettling before the absorb the cause #just like the character in the scene is experiencing it in a similar way #by delaying the answers and focusing on the senses it creates The Dread #....I don't know when this turned into writing tips with Shade #i may or may not be a little bit sleepy rambling #and also enjoying recently getting more comfortable with writing again

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aparticularbandit · 1 year

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eve is having a nice relaxing day in with claire, who has taken her wife’s birthday off so she can be very attentive. she will probably get out of bed at some point (because bathroom necessities eventually), but she is putting it off as long as she can and plans to just get back into bed afterward.

(and/or eve is still having a day off, but she and agatha are going out for a walk along a trail she hasn’t used in years then plan to eat at the little known restaurant just at the end of the trail. it’s cold, sure, but that just means they can huddle together for warmth.)

#musings #eve fletcher #agatha harkess #claire debella #agave #claireve #the valentines #i may or may not actually do some fic writing for this #i started one of them #but brain just #does not want to this right now #unfortunately #so instead some small scenes and images #and may post more later?#idk #edit: read as: eve is taking the day off and doesn't feel like giving me words for things #she is content and happy #and that's the important thing

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valiant-portabella-pirkko · 2 years

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Every now and then I think about the background lore of invoked legends experiencing the world through their revenant partner’s eyes. And, like...

Does that mean Scarlet was just as drunk as Mai Trin when we fought them?

#GW2 #Guild Wars 2 #Scarlet Briar #eod spoilers #end of dragons spoilers #I'VE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS BEFORE BUT. i literally just remembered this LMAO #like... honestly i would kinda laugh if it was less a matter of 'scarlet is crazy and uncontrollable'#and more a matter of 'she was fucking drunk and made poor choices' DJHDJ #i can only imagine how THAT conversation went later #god i really need to do some drabble writing with the two of them because like #we were so robbed of whatever nonsense went on behind the scenes #[Scarlet vc] mai could you PLEASE stop giving us hangovers thank you <3 #sorry Mai there is no point at which she stops talking #Scarlet Briar Stance of Never Shutting The Fuck Up(tm)#my posts

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viir-tanadhal · 2 years

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pet shop boys versus america is still just a really cool tour book name. it already says so much

#while psb literally may have more 1 to 1 conversations #vs america has chris heath grappling with either injecting himself into the story or remaining the present but outsider perspective #with the tonight show incident #like that whole section alone. the foreshadowing.... the build up.... the tension and behind the scenes drama after chris walked off #now thats journalism #because it is interestinf reading him struggle over whether to reason with chris or just document it #pete was on chris' side either way #but i do think chris heath was in the right to talk with neil and explain WHY chris walked off #and it wasnt just some move to slight him or purposeful to put him in an awkward situation #i will defend chris' reasoning for walking off #also its interesting seeing them think over what would eventually become very 2 years later and the foreshadowing there #of wanting to do something different #its just a good book

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astrxealis · 2 years

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emet is so wow for being kind of a mix of sephiroth + ardyn but much better

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚#idk. emet and shb thoughts. they did that expac SO fucking good.#i barely have any gripes about shadowbingers tbh... i can't think of any rn >.< in terms of story at least!#he's SUCH a compelling and amazingly written character. defo one of the best out there ( may be a bit biased but yeah )#ffxiv in general for sure has one of the best stories out there >.<#at least especially with my preferences! but emet for sure is a no brainer. he's such an amazing character #i don't want to delve into spoilers bcs not all of my followers play ffxiv ^^; the opposite tbh. most of y'all don't lol but dwdw #i will never stop advertising for ffxiv tho <3 it's not a perfect game but it truly tries it's best ( bless the devs )#i'd say he's much better written than seph and ardyn both & has done more in damage too! also has the best reason for being the antag #also. his character is like ardyn but more ??? yeah. he's canonically even a theater guy so yeah #wait did i say this yet. but yeah for sephiroth... tbh the biggest reference i'd make there id that emet has a similar scene #but there's more meaning in it. like uhh... what do you call it? oh yeah. his hunched back #idk the details in the characters of ffxiv really amaze me tbh #euwufsijdodnskdnksjs still not over shadowbringers. oh MAN. it's been more than a year #then again i still think abt all the expacs kind of daily so :') <3 #don't bully me or anything btw LMAO i don't hate sephiroth or ardyn + emet isn't perfect still ^^ but yeah. yeah.#also i nerd a lot abt these stuff and think a lot abt them so ... >.< <33 it makes me happy hehe #tag later #??? tbh these are just my random thoughts while i'm sitting in my seat at 2 am and listening to pop music LOL #but yeah. wld love to expand on this more in my notes or whatever even if i'm unorganised hehehe

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burntoutdaydreamer · 6 months

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Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

#writing #creative writing #writer problems #writing advice #writing community #writing a book #writing problems #novel writing #on writing #writing tips #writing help #writers on tumblr #writers block #female writers #writers of tumblr #writers blog #adhd writer

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cakeinthevoid · 9 months

Text

Prologue - The Raid of Luar

I still feel like a bit of an intro is needed... Luar is a moon to Icarro, and is dependant on the larger and more environmentally diverse planet to supply them with the necessities of life. Tensions have been growing between the two worlds, despite Luarans essentially being Icarrans that have evolved slightly differently as a result of spending generations on the moon. Luarans have more of an affinity for magic and manipulating the energies of the world, much to the annoyance of Icarrans. Icarrans make up for it with their fierce military and incredible technologies though...

The attack barely lasted a minute. An Icarran terrorist—soldier, she amended, he was in uniform—had blown open the door to her building and in seconds Diana was pinned to the walls and bleeding out on the mosaic tile. Elder Kacian's suggestion to begin learning defensive and offensive magic rang mockingly in her ears. She had never felt a need to learn magic as a weapon. She preferred the simple castings and interesting spells—and she became a force to be reckoned with as the most skilled Lights Caster in her town. Not to say she had no skill in other domains—she truly considered herself a versatile mage with respectable skill in all magic disciplines.

How naive. She had simply froze as Icarrans invaded her home and nearly killed her.

Luarans had the same weakness as Icarrans, but to a significantly greater extent. Nickel and Iron—what their weapons were made of—were some of the most damaging of all the metals that harmed them. Gold and Silver were one of the very few safe ones—some even wore them as piercings.

The thought of piercing her body with any metal had always repulsed Diana.

Now she was well and truly nauseous from the nickel spear impaling her wrist.

Short enough to be launched from a cross-gun, the spear was still long enough to have pinned her left arm above her head to the wall. The pain radiated all the way to her chest, her core.

She needed to get it out before they came back, or her abilities would remain severely limited. The worst consequence of the metal was how it impeded magic and energy flow; in combination with the blood loss, she didn't think she could cast an illusion, let alone teleport to safety.

The Icarrans were moving through the street with a terrifying efficiency, spear guns and blasters going off like clockwork. It was chaos outside. People running in all directions, children crying, voices cutting off abruptly—

She could only listen to every explosion, every scream with horror. She couldn't move. She knew she had to get up, but her neighbour's last words to her after she had healed the fatal wound on her leg had been to stay put. Magnola said she would return to remove the spear from her wrist—lest she risk permanent damage to her nerves or bleed out in her own attempt to remove it. It was not an immediately life threatening injury, she had said. Then she had left the crumbling building in search of other Luarans to save. Every minute mattered when someone was bleeding out of an artery.

Magnola had run out, spotting a man across the street beginning to slump. She slid on her knees to his side, hands already outstretched to manipulate his life force and heal the bloodiest cuts. From her point of view, Diana had not seen any Icarrans on the street. A heartbeat later, she heard shouts and Magnola's head was rolling on the bloody street.

Diana felt the bile rise sharply in her throat. She blinked, as if that would dispel the image of her neighbour's head rolling. Madam Magnola, who gave her sweet treats after the longest days at school, who gave her the biggest pieces of pie on holidays—Magnola who had a daughter of her own.

She distantly thought of her own mother, who was on the other side of the moon. She hoped she still was anyway. There was no way to know now; the Icarrans had torn down the communication towers soon after they bombed the airstrips and ship ports.

Where were the ships? Why wasn't there anyone coming to help? Luar's military was only a fraction of Icarro's, but it was still a military—what happened? Why was it getting quieter? What was that droning noise?

Diana couldn't think straight anymore. Everything was blending together. She thought of Magnola whenever she tuned into the sharp pain in her wrist, only to realize she would not be coming back. She watched her die and yet she could not accept the idea that it could happen that fast. She saw Magnola killed again, right in front of her. She was already dead. Healers couldn't bring people back to life.

Oh stars, she thought. I'm dying, too.

#ehhhhhhh #not terribly pleased with this one so I may rewrite it later #still goin in the masterlist though cause it's better than nothing lmao #I was trying to do a writing warm up with the prompt 'the attack lasted a minute'#and ended up doing a bit of a scene from Running Like a Light #honestly the more I think about the more I'm realizing that as much as I want to write a proper opening scene like this #(because the raid is the catalyst that really starts the story)#I am likely going to do it in flashback style #It'll probably flow better because I have EXPOSITION and LORE to give you #ilke I didn't even mention Luar blood is purple or the Icarran reason for killing them via deadly gashes to arteries so they bleed out #honestly ridiculous how much worldbuilding I have for Icarro and Luar when we're hardly going to spend any time there #calling this a prologue rn too #my writing #running like a light #Diana #Magnola #Magnola has existed for like an hour but I already have a backstory for her too lmao

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