I've Had This Little Idea In My Head For A While Now, So I Decided To Sit Down And Plot It Out.

Arthur: *calls John a Sour Puss*

Me: *proceeds to lose my fucking mind*

reblog this if your icon could kill a man

Good writing tool, gonna make my personal whump writing challenge really fun

i made a whump wheel

want to beat up a character but don't know how you wanna do it? same here, friend. behold, the whump wheel! it currently has 60 different prompts/tropes on it and is ready for use! 🎉 i...love this thing. it is wonderful for writing exercises. (if you wanna know what's on it before using it, take a peak at the screenshot below)

Draw this awhile ago and figured it was about time to post, Especially since I’ve not been present enough to really provide much of an explanation to all of this.

This here is Sen, one of many survivors of a major devastating incident that took place in his home city of Nirashi when he was about 6 years old, and it results in some truly nasty after effects on Sen and the world as a whole… by the time the story gets started, Sen is 15, homeless and doing his best to keep the fact that he could potentially blow at any moment and take the world out with him as close to his chest as possible. Until that is, he meets a swordsman who might just be able to help him.

I've been wondering for a long time which one of my OC drawings i should be posting first, and then I drew this shitty masterpiece and i figured we only live once so why the hell not?

I'll probs do character sheets later, but I have hands and a bunch of fully formed characters saved on my laptop so i may as fucking well make that you're problem.

(the tired millennial's name is Hokama Tora btw)

There's kind of a lot coming after this too, so... heads up. Been working on these poor assholes and writing a hell of a lot of notes on worldbuilding and character dynamics and plot.

Asks are open if you know... if you wanna... maybe... know more...

Ver important psa for my fellow writers

Guys what happened to Passerine??

It’s just??? Gone???

Self-deprecating inner monologue & backstory that involves several years of lethargic depression

Shut up, I don’t have a problem (･_･;)

Reblog with your most common writing cliche

I’ll go first. All my characters have a habit of Raising a Single Eyebrow. 

Screw it, here's how Martin meets Jon in my Monster au

He’s making tea when he first sees it. An early morning, his mother still asleep and the haze of just past sunrise settling over the world as he pulls the kettle with him to the sink to fill it up. His mind about just as foggy as the air outside, wiping sleep from his eyes before setting his gaze through the window above the sink; and he has to do a double take at the shape that’s standing under a tree behind the fence line.

He turns off the tap.

He can’t make out much of the details from where he’s standing, but that hardly matters in the face of its impossibility. A black shape with almost undefined edges and a shape that could have been human but… wrong, somehow. Fundamentally wrong. Like staring into a shadowed void that made his eyes water when he tried to look closer, a lack of tangibility looking like cracking static or a bug in the very nature of reality, a glitch personified and absolutely covered, head to monstrous toe, in glowing, never once blinking, bright green eyes. Fingering, with impossible clawed fingers and predatory intent, through decaying box of old books and magazines and things from the attic he’d left there with still every intention to throw out.

And then the thing's head turns, snaps its hundreds of eyes all at once to focus on him as he ducks down behind the counter. Eyes wide, unstable as he lowers himself on the floor, back pressed up against the cupboard under the sink and brings a shaking hand to press against his mouth. The heavy weight of a thousand eyes all focused on him in that moment, as his mouth goes bone dry with a thing that stands what feels like right behind him. Just waiting, and watching him, and seeding his dread and just waiting for that one movement, that once excuse to crash through that window and end him before he can even let out a scream.

It takes hours of nothing happening for him to work up the nerve to move again. To pull himself up over the counter enough to peek and see the spot by the tree empty. It doesn’t bring him the relief he thought it would, not with the still constant impression of that thing still watching him, now unseen when before he at least could have had the knowledge of where it was.

It's gone now, he can't see it and oh god that just makes it so, so much worse.

The space under the tree is empty, the yard itself is as lonely as he's come to expect but he can still feel those eyes. And he stands, staring through the kitchen window, trying very hard to find it again with frantic eyes swept over the yard, picking through and focusing on every dark corner and hiding place. Expecting, with some awful dread for it to be very, very close all at once from where it’s hiding, to smash through the window or to appear right behind him, even as the feeling of hundreds and thousands of eyes all focused at once still persists, has him pinned down where he's stood. Waiting for him to make a move, for him to do… something. Something he's not sure of, and that fact alone makes him very afraid. That one wrong movement, one wrong action and it's all over. And he can't see it but oh god, he can feel that it can see him.

And in that moment, all he could think beyond the fear as he backed away from the window slowly, shaking under the feeling of that relentless gaze trained on him and waiting to strike, was that when it did inevitably come, (as by now he was sure it would even as it bided its time) all he could do was just hope it would be quick and painless.

The relentless choking dread whispered a very, very different story.

After a few more hours of thumbing through books and not daring to step back into the kitchen or anywhere near a window, the feeling faded. Slowly, no discernable moment where it all cut off, maybe just enough to not notice him so much… He worked up the nerve enough to move, to push through the door and past that threshold enough to step outside and search for a minute or two, to make sure before he gripped his shoulder bag tighter and started his trek to work.

Never stopping once, tense as all hell, jumping at shadows and trying very hard to resist that urge to look over his shoulder, or to entertain that constant fear and feeling of eyes, watching from just out of sight.

The box of books was gone. At the square of empty pressed grass all he could do was swallow it down, and squeeze the straps of his bag again, and keep walking.

Being a primarily angst writer is so fucking funny, I just got these texts from a friend exactly 5 minutes apart

This is why I like character driven plots, there’s reasoning behind everything a character does that’s tied to who they are as a person, and you can see that used to great effect in Aurora.

It really helps too that these are very clearly multifaceted individuals with their own strengths, weaknesses, similarities, differences… they are their own people and it’s really interesting to see that, not just in how they contrast each other in their responses, but in why and who they are even before we know anything about backstories for 2/4.

It’s just good writing my man.

What did Kendal tell the others? Why has Falst jumped to the conclusion that Kendal has to be broken out immediately and is being used as a hostage? Why are they so on edge if theoretically Kendal will be released once they leave?

The gist is that he's being imprisoned until they leave, don't freak out, it's fine. Pretty simple message.

Erin recognizes a power play when he sees one. Zuurith has snatched and imprisoned Kendal, and even if he's supposed to be released once they leave, it's not ideal. Erin does not have the authority to challenge Zuurith directly over this, and if he tries, he risks dragging Asera into an actual intercity conflict. This puts himself and Kendal squarely in the sights of Asera and the mage academy, something he's trying to avoid until he's got his own business more under control. He also risks drawing attention from the Paladins if he does anything too dramatic. Erin needs to trust that Zuurith will release Kendal as promised, because if the diplomatic option fails, his only other options have catastrophic collateral impact.

Falst recognizes an abuse of power when he sees one. Kendal is a lot like him in some ways. Falst knows the security a city provides is conditional and easily misused to harm people the city doesn't like. With Kendal imprisoned, no matter how diplomatic they claim the process is, Zuurith now has leverage over all of them, and is clearly using leverage over Kendal to keep him restrained. This city has made its intentions very clear, so it's time to defend themselves. Underneath, he also deeply dislikes the indication that if he was in Kendal's position, Erin wouldn't hesitate to leave him behind.

Alinua is torn. She knows that this isn't something she can fight. She's not a diplomat, she's not even halfway experienced with nuanced social situations, and Kendal specifically told her this is his problem to solve because nobody else can. All she can do in this situation is brute force and divine fiat, and brute force will cause more problems than it fixes. But she hates leaving Kendal in this situation, especially since she knows his self-sacrificing habits make him an unreliable judge of how much danger he's actually in.