Latest Posts by xlili-lyraterx - Page 3
Whale Shark Gliding Through Bioluminiscent Algae _ Mike Nulty
How to write good horror.
1- DON'T EXPLAIN WHAT THE HORROR IS. DON'T EXPLAIN ANYTHING. no context = more scary. "oh but it is just a ghost- " YES. you know that, I know that, but things are way more scary if you don't explain it. let your audience scare themselves trying to figure it out! the first FNAF game didn't explain anything it was just "ok these machines are kind aggro". that is part of what made it popular! (And truthfully this reason is why i dislike the other games in the series) i can't name how many horror movies i immediately lost interest in because it was explained. "oh no! there is blood dripping from the walls! " its demons or ghosts or whatever. you explained it. it isn't scary now that you explained the joke. if you have to explain what it is, explain it at the END of the story or near the climax at best. (or better yet, don't explain at all) 2- restraint is key i know it is tempting to show organs and blood dripping from the walls and someone eating out a corpse or whatever but don't outright show that kind of stuff ALL THE TIME or else your audience becomes desensitized to it, and if horror fans are reading/watching your work, chances are they are going to think this is weaksauce. you need to be SUBTLE when building up suspense in your story. don't show the real scary bits until the end of the buildup/ 3- normalicy and familiarity is key i am going to use bugsnax as an example. bugsnax has no gore and can be considered child friendly, but what made bugsnax scare people is that it has the facaude of a cutesy little game. doki doki lit club has a simmular principle where its like a normal dating sim but you are caught off guard and things feel off. this is a valuable tool. 4- be original and understand why the more popular ones are popular in the first place everyone has done analogue horror. why ? because we are all so used to modern technology that older televisions and tech seem kinda creepy. Blue_channel by gooseworks is one of my favorites. It gets right to the point, and while it DOES explain what the product is, it doesn't go "oooh death and scary!!! oooooooh!" it lets the audience make up their own horrifying reason as to what is happening here. saying "oooooooh look murder your parents ooooh!" isn't scary, and putting a glitchy tv filter over it isn't going to make it more scary. and finally 5- describe the unfamiliar i know i just said familiarity is key but that is only 1/2 of the equation. Everywhere at the end of time depicts the sounds of memory degrading in an alzheimers patients. this is an experience that no one could relate to except for those who are experiencing it (and sadly, those people are either dead or mentally comatose) this is also why lovecraft horror is loved, because we can only imagine so much before the lack of understanding drives you insane. hope this helps, for the love of all that is good, please stop writing bad horror.
I hate to say this, and like, rain on everyone’s parade, but after scrolling past three posts about it on a writing tag …
If you are looking up synonyms to exchange words out in your story with the purpose of sounding smarter, more sophisticated, or complicated to your reader, you are probably abusing the thesaurus.
Now, if you *want* to do this, I mean, you can write whatever or however you want! But I just want you to know that this is frowned upon if you are trying to write at a professional level.
I have an old article on this somewhere …
If you want to look at the original article…
https://www.septembercfawkes.com/2018/08/how-to-use-thesaurus-properly.html
Tag your villain!
No to overwriting
In my last post, I mentioned things you don't need to worry about when writing your first book, including going into excessive detail.
Today, I want to dive deeper into one of those aspects: the idea that you don't overwrite in your first draft.
When you're embarking on the exciting journey of crafting your first book, it's easy to get caught up in the desire to make every sentence perfect, every dialogue sparkling, and every description exquisitely detailed. While these are certainly important elements of great writing, they don't need to be perfected in your initial draft.
Here's why:
Flow and Creativity: Your first draft is where the magic happens. It's where your creativity flows freely, and the story unfolds without restrictions. Overthinking and overwriting can disrupt this natural flow and stifle your creative voice. First drafts are for doing. For getting the idea down!
Stress Reduction: Focusing too much on perfection in the first draft can be stressful and overwhelming. It might even discourage you from continuing. Remember, it's okay to let your ideas flow without immediate scrutiny.
Revision Comes Later: Writing is a process, and revision is a critical part of it. You'll have ample opportunity to refine and improve your work in subsequent drafts. This is the stage where you can fine-tune sentences, fix grammar, and add the right level of detail.
Progress Over Perfection: The goal of your first draft is to get your ideas down on paper. It's more about progress than perfection. Don't let the pursuit of perfection hinder your progress as a writer.
Happy writing!
Seven years after, I see you again 😚
Collection
Mary Ruefle, from Trances of the Blast; “Abdication”
There is an epic adventure coming up … are you ready to join an icleandic camper van adventure...#coastlines #winter #coast #roadtrip #planetearth #iceland
So I’ve had this scene from Cryptid Sightings stuck in my head since I read it. This guy deserves his smooches tbh
No Lights Allowed by Ben J
This artist on Instagram
Wishful Drinking
Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader
Summary: After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you'll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don't anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.
Or, drunk shenanigans galore!
Word Count: 3.5k
Author's Note: I don't know what this is, y'all. I haven't written anything in more than a month, and it was so tough to even write this, but I wanted to write SOMETHING. As always, hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts, and likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.
ALSO! Dream logic applies here, in that you're still drunk when you reach the Dreaming.
Listen.
You know that certain coping mechanisms, like, say, going out clubbing with your friends and getting crazy drunk for the first time in a long time, aren’t exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! You’ve been struggling a lot, in both your professional and personal life. These hardships are only compounded by the fact that the one person (or person-shaped being) in your life that you thought you could count on, your Morpheus, has been too busy to have time for you.
Literally. He said those exact words to you a mere three days ago, when you had found him in his personal study (a study that he almost never used) after what felt like a day spent chasing him around the Dreaming. You meant for it to come out as teasing when you took note of the fact that you hardly saw him around lately and that it felt like he was purposefully avoiding you, but he had sighed and glared at you before saying, “I have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.”
You glowered, but, as he said, he was too busy to see it. Fine, you thought as you turned around and stalked out of his study. Leave him to his business.
Cut to today. When your friends asked if you wanted to go out with them, you almost said no, having gotten accustomed in the past couple of months to the routine of going to bed by nine o’clock in order to maximize time spent in your lover’s realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to just continue sitting around in the Dreaming and hoping that Morphues would come out of whatever funk he was in. After all, why should you make an effort when he won’t? You’re not about to beg for his attention.
With that in mind, you texted back that you very much wanted to go out with them and proceeded to get ready for a fun night out.
The plan was to have a couple of drinks, dance for a bit, and stay out of the Dreaming just long enough to make Morpheus sweat a bit.
But then shots had been ordered.
And your friend bought you a drink because they knew you had had a tough week.
And you bought yourself two drinks.
And a group of guys bought you another round of shots, and though you all laughed at the fact that they were not getting anything out of this, you still took them because you weren’t about to turn down free alcohol.
This leads to you and your friends stumbling out of a bar at two in the morning, holding each other up as you do. Definitely not the plan, but what’s that one quote about plans and mice and men?
“What about a mouse?” your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.
“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.
Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who don’t get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficulties–you dropped your keys multiple times on the walk to your front door, and there might be a you-shaped indent in the entryway wall from where you fell into it when trying to kick your shoes off.
When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. You’re so drunk that the room feels like it’s spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.
“Fuck, I’m so drunk right now,” you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.
You don’t mean to fall asleep, really. You know that you need to crawl to the bathroom to wash your face and find enough dexterity to change clothes before hopefully sobering up just enough that you can make it to the kitchen to grab painkillers and water for the inevitable killer hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. The floor is just so soft, though, and you work yourself into a trance-like state by staring up at the ceiling fan and watching it go around and around and around. On one blink, you’re staring at your ceiling.
And on the next, you’re staring at another ceiling, one that’s not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.
It’s easy to get lost in the magnificent colors swirling above you (especially in your current state), and you do, until you hear someone calling your name. When you look away from the universe, you see the love of your life looking at you, though at present, he is not reciprocating the heart eyes that you are always looking at him with.
“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.
“Morpheus, my love!” You throw your arms out and grin. “I’ve missed you.”
“Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I sent Matthew to find you hours ago when first you were late, only for him to report that he could not find you at your home.” You’re a little surprised that Matthew hadn’t managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.
“Aw, you’ve missed me?” It makes sense, of course; after all, you’ve missed him, so it’s only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.
It’s obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheus—a tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right now—that he’s fighting a war between wanting to scold you and wanting to hold you and check you up and down for wounds. Morpheus crosses the room towards you, and you ready yourself for the inevitable lecture you’re about to get, about how you’re just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that you’re away from him (y’know, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, you’re actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being that’s meant to be your lover).
But that’s not what happens.
Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. He’s hugging you, not the other way around. He’s never done such a thing before, and you don’t know how to react. What you do know is that any of the residual anger you had been feeling drains out of you like water from an unstoppered bathtub. You really didn’t think that being away for—the math isn’t mathing for you currently, and you don’t actually know how long it’s been—a couple of hours would affect him this much.
“You are the one most dear to my heart,” he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. “Of course, I missed you.”
“Oh. When you said you were ‘too busy to entertain’ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldn’t notice I was gone.” Though you don’t mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.
“Are you alright?” he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.
“Aw, dream boy” you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. “I’m okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”
Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. “You smell like a pub,” he notes.
“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”
He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. “Are you inebriated?”
“No, I’m drunk,” you correct very matter-of-factly.
“That is–” he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.
“Oh, dear,” Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.
“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!”
You crane around Morpheus to be able to see your favorite librarian, but you almost fall over in the process. Before you can tip too far over, Morpheus is there to right you again. When he does, he looks down at you with quite the serious expression on his perfect face.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.
“Vodka. Rum, maybe?” You think back on your drinks for the evening, though it’s hard to think back that far. “Yeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.”
“You put yourself in this state?”
“Yes?” Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? “To be fair, I didn’t think that my drunkenness would…” You search for the word that you want to use, but it’s just not coming to you! “Uh, carry over?”
“Please tell me you managed to make it home safely?”
You nod. “Sure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.”
Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldn’t have? Is there a rule you don’t know about against sleeping on floors?
Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, “This dream is over.”
You’re awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. It’s impossible to stop yourself from touching him when you’re sober, so it’s not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when you’re drunk.
“Hi cutie,” you greet, laughing in delight when he flushes just the slightest amount.
He grabs your hands and kisses the back of both before setting them against your chest. “Why are you sleeping on your floor?”
“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.
“That is not a good answer.”
“It’s the one you get because it’s the one I have.” You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesn’t comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.
“Might I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?”
“But I’m comfy,” you groan. Morpheus is not buying what you’re selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. “Fine.”
Morpheus holds his hands out for you to take and helps you to your feet. Too fast, apparently, because the room begins to spin and your stomach tilts dangerously, making you clap a hand over your mouth.
“Oh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,” you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheus’s shoulder while you try to breathe through sudden nausea. You will not throw up on your super hot eldritch nightmare king boyfriend, you command yourself. Not tonight, and not ever.
“What is wrong?” Morpheus sounds panicked, and you want to reassure him, but you hold up a finger in the meantime.
When the nausea finally passes, you take a deep breath and slowly look up. “Okay, I think I’m good now.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. It’s my fault, but I’ll be okay.”
“Are you well enough to move?”
“Yes, I promise.”
To prove your point, you let go of his hand and start walking heel to toe as the police require during field sobriety tests (honestly, you’re a little surprised that you can actually do this right now). You can practically feel your lover's amusement behind you, but it proves to him that you are capable. Morpheus lets you walk to the bathroom on your own power, and you think the only reason he doesn’t sweep you off your feet is because he’s worried you’ll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though.
You sit on the lip of the bathtub, watching Morpheus move about your bathroom as though he knows where everything is; he probably does, you realize, whether it be from that endless wealth of knowledge about everyone and everything that he possesses, or just his familiarity with your home. After rummaging around for a few moments, he comes back with a washcloth and your favorite pajamas. The sight of the familiar material makes you tear up, and you sniffle loudly.
Morpheus looks up in alarm. “Are you okay?”
“You remembered my favorite pajamas,” you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s come directly to see you off to his realm, and you’ve probably worn those pajamas twice. Yet he remembered the one-off comment you had made about how they were your favorite because of course he did.
His face softens. “Of course I did.”
You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. “Sorry. I’m okay! Just drunk.”
Morpheus hands you said pajamas before turning the faucet on and letting the water run. He seems to realize something after a moment and looks at you helplessly. “I do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?”
You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. “It’s good now. Thank you for asking.”
He begins to run the damp washcloth gently over your face, a barely-there smile appearing on his own when you wrinkle your nose at the cool sensations. Where this situation would be awkward with anybody else, it feels entirely natural with Morpheus. You’ll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when you’re still half drunk.
Even if you wanted to, you can’t hold yourself back from saying, “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, you’re the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” The words are heavy on your tongue, but you’re pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through ‘anthropomorphic’.
“You are still under the influence,” he notes.
“So? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”
“‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Jean-Jacques Rosseau,” he supplies.
“Sure, that. I’d tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.”
“Perhaps.” He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.
Instead, you’re the one taking your own clothes off, though not for any fun reason. Getting changed is not as difficult a task as it would have been when you first arrived home, with the benefit of time naturally sobering one up on your side. Morpheus still keeps a hand held out, just in case you lose your balance and need something to grab onto, but after you’ve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.
“Thought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,” you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.
“Apologies.” His tone implies that he’s not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. “I simply couldn’t resist.”
He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you don’t think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus has—all-consuming and passionate. He told you once that many of his relationships had ended because he had been seen as too intense, too obsessive in his love. Bring it on, you had told him when he expected you to back down. To date, you haven’t regretted that.
You don’t think you ever will.
Now that you can see the end of your night in sight, tiredness begins to seep into your bones. Though your bed is just right through the bathroom door, it feels miles away. With that in mind, you ask, “Will you carry me?”
“Were you not worried that you would feel sick?”
“Yeah, but I’m tired.” You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. “Just be careful?”
“Always,” he promises.
And careful he is, slowly picking you up and waiting until you nod to carry you to your bed. He sets you down gently, You’re thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before you’ve even realized you have them in the first place.
Crawling under the covers after finishing your water, you motion for Morpheus to sit next to you on the bed. He does as you ask, and you move your pillows so that you can sit up and lean on him. When you’re comfortable, you say, “Thank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasn’t what you had planned.”
“You need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.”
Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his hand carding through your hair, and you start to feel yourself inching closer to the Dreaming. Something keeps you from truly falling asleep, though, and when Morpheus shifts next to you, you realize what it is: the conversation’s not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.
Finally, he figures it out. “Might I ask you something?”
You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.
“Earlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,” ‘this’ being getting very drunk, “because of what I said?”
“No. I mean, I went out because I was mad at you, and I figured that me being a couple of hours late would make you learn your lesson, but I got drunk because I wanted to have fun with my friends and let loose.”
“And did you?”
“Maybe a little too much,” you admit cheekily.
“I apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have been…feeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.”
“It’s okay, Morpheus. You’re busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldn’t be so needy.”
He shakes his head. “It is not okay. I should never talk to you in such a way, and you should never feel as though I do not want you around. I do want you around, always.”
“People say things that they don’t mean. That doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When you’re feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. I’m here for you, and I want to support you however I can.”
“I love you,” he says. The fact that he’s being so open with his emotions is a pleasant surprise; it took him so long to be the first to say it, and even longer to be comfortable with it. You smile up at him.
“I love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
Morpheus turns your bedroom light off without you needing to ask (seriously, you love him so much), and you close your eyes. Then, a thought hits you.
“Hey,” you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. “Can you get drunk?”
“No.”
“Why not? I mean, isn’t there special alcohol for preternatural beings? You’d think gods and goddesses would’ve figured out a way to get turnt by now.”
Though he doesn’t want to give in to your rambling when you’re meant to be trying to fall asleep, he can’t help but indulge you. “Gods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.”
“What? That’s so fucking lame. No. That’s–that’s an injustice! I’m so sorry.
“I promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.”
You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. “Wait.”
“What?”
“You mentioned other gods and goddesses. How many are there? Are they all real? Is actual God real? I mean, I know the devil is real, you kicked their ass for your helm, but for some reason that’s more believable than–”
“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.
“Ugh, you’re no fun!”
“I am not afraid to use my sand if need be.”
“You wouldn’t.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, you’re the first to give in. “You have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I mean–”
You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.
What looks like a scene out of a J. R. R. Tolkien novel is in reality the natural phenomenon of Horsetail Fall at Yosemite National Park. In February each year for about two weeks, the angle of the setting sun, along with the shadow from El Capitan, come to the edge of the falls and set it ablaze. I met people who had been chasing the Firefall for years so I feel very lucky to have arrived when the conditions were perfect.
7 Types of Internal Conflict for Your Protagonist
External conflict can always make readers more interested in a story. The fist fights, car chases, and fictional battles might make them hold their breath, but so can internal conflict. Check out the primary types of internal conflict your protagonist can experience to add more depth to your stories.
1. Morality Conflicts
Everyone eventually reaches a point where they question their morals. We have to believe in our morals as individuals to prioritize them. It’s not enough to have your parents or other leaders in your life tell you what’s right and wrong. You won’t hold the same morals until you choose them on your own.
Characters also reach these crucial points. It’s part of their character development like it’s part of our personal development.
Your protagonist may only grapple with one question of morality in your story or they could encounter many. The morals will most likely align with your theme so they make sense within your plot.
Example: Your protagonist is a scientific researcher and leading a trial that could result in a cure for a new illness. They know they shouldn’t take bribes and wouldn’t compromise their career, but someone who nearly qualifies for their trial offers a life-changing amount of money to get included even though they’ve already been ruled out. The protagonist has to choose—do they stick with what they trust is morally correct or do they take the money and use it to help pay for a family member’s legal battle in criminal court? Do they view it as potentially saving two lives at once? Or do they reject the bribe and face whatever consequences could have possibly been avoided?
2. Self-Identity Conflicts
Your identity is something that morphs with time. People rarely settle on one version of themselves forever. Life makes us reconsider things from different perspectives as we go through periods of challenges and peace. Characters also grapple with their identities when faced with similar situations. It makes them take a stand, hold their ground, or chase new goals, which is much more interesting for readers.
Example: Your protagonist considers themselves an optimist because they’re a firefighter who has saved many lives. When they realize their chief has been starting all the fires their station ever fought, your protagonist begins to view people more pessimistically. It affects how quickly they’re willing to risk their life for others, which results in challenges and a character arc they wouldn’t have experienced without this fundamental change in their identity.
3. Religious Belief Conflicts
It’s much easier to stay firm in your religious beliefs if nothing challenges them. If a challenge or major question arises and your beliefs hold firm, that makes your identity stronger. It doesn’t always happen that way though.
When your protagonist faces this type of internal conflict and realizes their opinions or feelings contradict their religious beliefs, it can take them onto a path that shapes a new identity. These choices are hard but real. Readers who are going through the same experience or experienced the same questions before will get absorbed by your story because it’s relatable.
Example: Your protagonist attends a religious gathering every week. The group fundamentally believes their religion exists to help those in need. Prejudices begin to invade that group, so people start choosing their own well-being instead of helping others. Your protagonist watches their religious family pick sides and has to question if they really believe in helping others or if they choose the familiarity and safety that comes with the approval of their longtime religious family.
4. Societal Role Conflicts
Societies have predetermined roles or expectations for people based on factors like their gender, sex, and economic status (just to name a few). Sometimes these roles feel natural to people and other times they don’t. We all have to decide what feels best for us on an ongoing basis. Your protagonist may need to choose their societal role, reject it, or shape a new one to portray your theme in a relatable way.
Example: Your protagonist goes to a university for the first time. They’ve been encouraged by everyone they know to start forming a large friend group. That’s what people are supposed to do in college, their loved ones said. But your protagonist is an introvert and values only a few friendships at a time. They have to choose if they’ll push themselves to become a social butterfly or if they’re happier as the person they’ve always been.
5. Political Opinion Conflicts
Political opinions can create all types of internal conflict. You may believe in a certain candidate or party during one part of your life and support something completely different in another part. Those values change as we experience new things and meet new people. Characters can face the same internal struggles as they recognize changing values or reject opportunities for change.
Example: Your protagonist may have never formed strong political opinions. They meet a new person who becomes their best friend, but their government starts passing laws that make their best friend’s life much harder because they’re part of a marginalized community your protagonist hasn’t empathized with before. Your protagonist now cares for that community, so they have to decide if they’ll make different political choices that could ostracize them from the community they’ve been part of all their life.
6. Love Conflicts
There are numerous types of love—self-love, your love for your family, and your love of a potential romantic interest or current partner. These come into conflicts in stories all the time because people experience them every day.
The conflicts result in choices—does your protagonist choose to continue loving a specific person or do they fall out of love? Do they fight for that love or realize it never actually existed? These are just a few ways this inner conflict can play out.
Example: Your protagonist has three siblings. They’d give their life for their siblings because they’ve lived in an emotional and physical home environment that’s been unsafe all of their lives. However, your protagonist is also the oldest child who has to leave home when they’re 18. They have to decide how to best love their siblings—do they leave them at home with a parent who is a threat to their safety so your protagonist can achieve an education or job that pays enough to create a new home for them? Do they get the legal system involved? Do they get their siblings and run away together since your protagonist is now old enough to lease an apartment, pay bills, etc?
7. Personal Journey Conflict
Existential crises make characters come to life by breaking their identity apart. These moments are unfortunately a real part of life, so readers want them in their books to help them cope, understand the changes, and generally feel not alone in their hardships.
This internal conflict happens when we question why we’re in this world or what we’re supposed to do with our lives. Sometimes there’s a clear answer after we start searching for it, but other times there isn’t. How your protagonist’s internal journey to a new purpose unfolds depends on your theme and plot.
Example: Your protagonist spent their life dreaming of becoming a politician. They wanted to help people and change the world, but they lost their first three attempts at running for local office. The third loss devastated them. If voters don’t want them as a leader, what’s their purpose? Who are they if they aren’t a leader who changes the world through effective policies? The answer may come through the plot events that follow. If they don’t get an answer, sometimes it means their purpose already exists in their life and they’re overlooking it.
-----
Reading through the basic types of internal conflict will help you shape your future protagonists. If you align your desired theme with an inner conflict, the external events in your plot will be much easier to choose. Your readers will also connect with your story better because they’ll see real problems reflected in your protagonist’s character arc.
Defo gonna try this.
Double Your Word Count: A Sprint Game
I cannot take credit for this idea–I read it somewhere on the NaNo forums last year, and since they’re wiped yearly the post I saw is long gone. Someone awesome who isn’t me came up with this, but I love it and want to share it.
Here’s what you do:
Set a timer for 5 minutes and sprint. Record your word count–I played this morning and got 188 words.
Okay, double that to set your goal for the next sprint, 10 minutes. I needed 376 words; I actually wrote 481. Go me!
Double that (my new goal is 962) and do a 20-minute sprint. Oops! I failed the first time, and only wrote 870 words.
If you fail at the goal, you have to try again instead of doubling. My second try: a measly 737. I was getting tired.
I took a break and did some tumblring, then tried a third time.
After a while, I realized I hadn’t actually started my timer, when I thought “Shouldn’t it have gone off by now?” and saw it sitting at 0:00.
But I’d written 1,443 more words, bringing my total for the day to almost 4K. Success, even if I wasn’t actually playing the game anymore.
(If I had reached that goal, the next step would be to double it and do a 40-minute sprint–I’ve tried that twice before and never managed to make it. Fatigue sets in for me, and my most effective writing-time length seems to be 15-20 minutes max, if I’m going for speed. Give it a try, certainly, to see if it works for you!)
"I hate you" as...
A guilty confession. I don't want to, I didn't mean to, but now I do.
An angry shout. Fists clenched, fury bubbling up inside until it finally bursts out.
A surrender. Exhausted, inflectionless. This is what you wanted, and you finally got it.
A joke; I'm giggling and so are you, and the words are so soft no one takes them seriously.
A warning; I'd never say that to you, and you know it, and now you know that something is very, very wrong.
A way of snarking back and forth with you. You've done something annoying, and I say I hate you, but we both know I don't mean it.
Defiance; you've won and we both know it, and I cannot stop you, but I will look you straight in the eyes, even to the end.
Wishful Drinking
Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader
Summary: After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you'll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don't anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.
Or, drunk shenanigans galore!
Word Count: 3.5k
Author's Note: I don't know what this is, y'all. I haven't written anything in more than a month, and it was so tough to even write this, but I wanted to write SOMETHING. As always, hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts, and likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.
ALSO! Dream logic applies here, in that you're still drunk when you reach the Dreaming.
Listen.
You know that certain coping mechanisms, like, say, going out clubbing with your friends and getting crazy drunk for the first time in a long time, aren’t exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! You’ve been struggling a lot, in both your professional and personal life. These hardships are only compounded by the fact that the one person (or person-shaped being) in your life that you thought you could count on, your Morpheus, has been too busy to have time for you.
Literally. He said those exact words to you a mere three days ago, when you had found him in his personal study (a study that he almost never used) after what felt like a day spent chasing him around the Dreaming. You meant for it to come out as teasing when you took note of the fact that you hardly saw him around lately and that it felt like he was purposefully avoiding you, but he had sighed and glared at you before saying, “I have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.”
You glowered, but, as he said, he was too busy to see it. Fine, you thought as you turned around and stalked out of his study. Leave him to his business.
Cut to today. When your friends asked if you wanted to go out with them, you almost said no, having gotten accustomed in the past couple of months to the routine of going to bed by nine o’clock in order to maximize time spent in your lover’s realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to just continue sitting around in the Dreaming and hoping that Morphues would come out of whatever funk he was in. After all, why should you make an effort when he won’t? You’re not about to beg for his attention.
With that in mind, you texted back that you very much wanted to go out with them and proceeded to get ready for a fun night out.
The plan was to have a couple of drinks, dance for a bit, and stay out of the Dreaming just long enough to make Morpheus sweat a bit.
But then shots had been ordered.
And your friend bought you a drink because they knew you had had a tough week.
And you bought yourself two drinks.
And a group of guys bought you another round of shots, and though you all laughed at the fact that they were not getting anything out of this, you still took them because you weren’t about to turn down free alcohol.
This leads to you and your friends stumbling out of a bar at two in the morning, holding each other up as you do. Definitely not the plan, but what’s that one quote about plans and mice and men?
“What about a mouse?” your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.
“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.
Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who don’t get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficulties–you dropped your keys multiple times on the walk to your front door, and there might be a you-shaped indent in the entryway wall from where you fell into it when trying to kick your shoes off.
When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. You’re so drunk that the room feels like it’s spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.
“Fuck, I’m so drunk right now,” you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.
You don’t mean to fall asleep, really. You know that you need to crawl to the bathroom to wash your face and find enough dexterity to change clothes before hopefully sobering up just enough that you can make it to the kitchen to grab painkillers and water for the inevitable killer hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. The floor is just so soft, though, and you work yourself into a trance-like state by staring up at the ceiling fan and watching it go around and around and around. On one blink, you’re staring at your ceiling.
And on the next, you’re staring at another ceiling, one that’s not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.
It’s easy to get lost in the magnificent colors swirling above you (especially in your current state), and you do, until you hear someone calling your name. When you look away from the universe, you see the love of your life looking at you, though at present, he is not reciprocating the heart eyes that you are always looking at him with.
“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.
“Morpheus, my love!” You throw your arms out and grin. “I’ve missed you.”
“Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I sent Matthew to find you hours ago when first you were late, only for him to report that he could not find you at your home.” You’re a little surprised that Matthew hadn’t managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.
“Aw, you’ve missed me?” It makes sense, of course; after all, you’ve missed him, so it’s only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.
It’s obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheus—a tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right now—that he’s fighting a war between wanting to scold you and wanting to hold you and check you up and down for wounds. Morpheus crosses the room towards you, and you ready yourself for the inevitable lecture you’re about to get, about how you’re just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that you’re away from him (y’know, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, you’re actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being that’s meant to be your lover).
But that’s not what happens.
Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. He’s hugging you, not the other way around. He’s never done such a thing before, and you don’t know how to react. What you do know is that any of the residual anger you had been feeling drains out of you like water from an unstoppered bathtub. You really didn’t think that being away for—the math isn’t mathing for you currently, and you don’t actually know how long it’s been—a couple of hours would affect him this much.
“You are the one most dear to my heart,” he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. “Of course, I missed you.”
“Oh. When you said you were ‘too busy to entertain’ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldn’t notice I was gone.” Though you don’t mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.
“Are you alright?” he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.
“Aw, dream boy” you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. “I’m okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”
Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. “You smell like a pub,” he notes.
“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”
He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. “Are you inebriated?”
“No, I’m drunk,” you correct very matter-of-factly.
“That is–” he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.
“Oh, dear,” Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.
“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!”
You crane around Morpheus to be able to see your favorite librarian, but you almost fall over in the process. Before you can tip too far over, Morpheus is there to right you again. When he does, he looks down at you with quite the serious expression on his perfect face.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.
“Vodka. Rum, maybe?” You think back on your drinks for the evening, though it’s hard to think back that far. “Yeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.”
“You put yourself in this state?”
“Yes?” Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? “To be fair, I didn’t think that my drunkenness would…” You search for the word that you want to use, but it’s just not coming to you! “Uh, carry over?”
“Please tell me you managed to make it home safely?”
You nod. “Sure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.”
Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldn’t have? Is there a rule you don’t know about against sleeping on floors?
Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, “This dream is over.”
You’re awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. It’s impossible to stop yourself from touching him when you’re sober, so it’s not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when you’re drunk.
“Hi cutie,” you greet, laughing in delight when he flushes just the slightest amount.
He grabs your hands and kisses the back of both before setting them against your chest. “Why are you sleeping on your floor?”
“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.
“That is not a good answer.”
“It’s the one you get because it’s the one I have.” You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesn’t comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.
“Might I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?”
“But I’m comfy,” you groan. Morpheus is not buying what you’re selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. “Fine.”
Morpheus holds his hands out for you to take and helps you to your feet. Too fast, apparently, because the room begins to spin and your stomach tilts dangerously, making you clap a hand over your mouth.
“Oh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,” you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheus’s shoulder while you try to breathe through sudden nausea. You will not throw up on your super hot eldritch nightmare king boyfriend, you command yourself. Not tonight, and not ever.
“What is wrong?” Morpheus sounds panicked, and you want to reassure him, but you hold up a finger in the meantime.
When the nausea finally passes, you take a deep breath and slowly look up. “Okay, I think I’m good now.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. It’s my fault, but I’ll be okay.”
“Are you well enough to move?”
“Yes, I promise.”
To prove your point, you let go of his hand and start walking heel to toe as the police require during field sobriety tests (honestly, you’re a little surprised that you can actually do this right now). You can practically feel your lover's amusement behind you, but it proves to him that you are capable. Morpheus lets you walk to the bathroom on your own power, and you think the only reason he doesn’t sweep you off your feet is because he’s worried you’ll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though.
You sit on the lip of the bathtub, watching Morpheus move about your bathroom as though he knows where everything is; he probably does, you realize, whether it be from that endless wealth of knowledge about everyone and everything that he possesses, or just his familiarity with your home. After rummaging around for a few moments, he comes back with a washcloth and your favorite pajamas. The sight of the familiar material makes you tear up, and you sniffle loudly.
Morpheus looks up in alarm. “Are you okay?”
“You remembered my favorite pajamas,” you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s come directly to see you off to his realm, and you’ve probably worn those pajamas twice. Yet he remembered the one-off comment you had made about how they were your favorite because of course he did.
His face softens. “Of course I did.”
You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. “Sorry. I’m okay! Just drunk.”
Morpheus hands you said pajamas before turning the faucet on and letting the water run. He seems to realize something after a moment and looks at you helplessly. “I do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?”
You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. “It’s good now. Thank you for asking.”
He begins to run the damp washcloth gently over your face, a barely-there smile appearing on his own when you wrinkle your nose at the cool sensations. Where this situation would be awkward with anybody else, it feels entirely natural with Morpheus. You’ll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when you’re still half drunk.
Even if you wanted to, you can’t hold yourself back from saying, “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, you’re the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” The words are heavy on your tongue, but you’re pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through ‘anthropomorphic’.
“You are still under the influence,” he notes.
“So? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”
“‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Jean-Jacques Rosseau,” he supplies.
“Sure, that. I’d tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.”
“Perhaps.” He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.
Instead, you’re the one taking your own clothes off, though not for any fun reason. Getting changed is not as difficult a task as it would have been when you first arrived home, with the benefit of time naturally sobering one up on your side. Morpheus still keeps a hand held out, just in case you lose your balance and need something to grab onto, but after you’ve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.
“Thought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,” you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.
“Apologies.” His tone implies that he’s not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. “I simply couldn’t resist.”
He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you don’t think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus has—all-consuming and passionate. He told you once that many of his relationships had ended because he had been seen as too intense, too obsessive in his love. Bring it on, you had told him when he expected you to back down. To date, you haven’t regretted that.
You don’t think you ever will.
Now that you can see the end of your night in sight, tiredness begins to seep into your bones. Though your bed is just right through the bathroom door, it feels miles away. With that in mind, you ask, “Will you carry me?”
“Were you not worried that you would feel sick?”
“Yeah, but I’m tired.” You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. “Just be careful?”
“Always,” he promises.
And careful he is, slowly picking you up and waiting until you nod to carry you to your bed. He sets you down gently, You’re thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before you’ve even realized you have them in the first place.
Crawling under the covers after finishing your water, you motion for Morpheus to sit next to you on the bed. He does as you ask, and you move your pillows so that you can sit up and lean on him. When you’re comfortable, you say, “Thank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasn’t what you had planned.”
“You need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.”
Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his hand carding through your hair, and you start to feel yourself inching closer to the Dreaming. Something keeps you from truly falling asleep, though, and when Morpheus shifts next to you, you realize what it is: the conversation’s not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.
Finally, he figures it out. “Might I ask you something?”
You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.
“Earlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,” ‘this’ being getting very drunk, “because of what I said?”
“No. I mean, I went out because I was mad at you, and I figured that me being a couple of hours late would make you learn your lesson, but I got drunk because I wanted to have fun with my friends and let loose.”
“And did you?”
“Maybe a little too much,” you admit cheekily.
“I apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have been…feeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.”
“It’s okay, Morpheus. You’re busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldn’t be so needy.”
He shakes his head. “It is not okay. I should never talk to you in such a way, and you should never feel as though I do not want you around. I do want you around, always.”
“People say things that they don’t mean. That doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When you’re feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. I’m here for you, and I want to support you however I can.”
“I love you,” he says. The fact that he’s being so open with his emotions is a pleasant surprise; it took him so long to be the first to say it, and even longer to be comfortable with it. You smile up at him.
“I love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
Morpheus turns your bedroom light off without you needing to ask (seriously, you love him so much), and you close your eyes. Then, a thought hits you.
“Hey,” you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. “Can you get drunk?”
“No.”
“Why not? I mean, isn’t there special alcohol for preternatural beings? You’d think gods and goddesses would’ve figured out a way to get turnt by now.”
Though he doesn’t want to give in to your rambling when you’re meant to be trying to fall asleep, he can’t help but indulge you. “Gods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.”
“What? That’s so fucking lame. No. That’s–that’s an injustice! I’m so sorry.
“I promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.”
You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. “Wait.”
“What?”
“You mentioned other gods and goddesses. How many are there? Are they all real? Is actual God real? I mean, I know the devil is real, you kicked their ass for your helm, but for some reason that’s more believable than–”
“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.
“Ugh, you’re no fun!”
“I am not afraid to use my sand if need be.”
“You wouldn’t.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, you’re the first to give in. “You have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I mean–”
You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.
new ask meme! anonymously assign me a vibe
