Or send “drabble please!” and I’ll use a generator to decide.
# and a number: inspired by the first full sentence on that page in the book I’m currently reading (if using a generator, use a sentence from the page you are currently on/last page you read)
♬: based off the first song that comes up on my itunes after putting it on shuffle
✉: based around the last text I sent/received
△: inspired by the plot of the last movie/tv show I watched
I’ve always been really adamant that I don’t have depression.
I have a massively growing anxiety bank, and I have a lot of shit wrong with me, but I don’t have depression. It’s the one part of the mental dishealth lotto I didn’t get.
But fuck. I’m not really sure anymore. If I’m around other people, I can be energetic, busy, perfectly ‘fine’ (in quotes because that’s not even it. I’m actually a wreck and want to cry all the time, but I can fuck around and pretend it doesn’t hurt to move every muscle, or that my thoughts don’t make me want to go to sleep and stop existing). But when I get home, when I stop being around people, I melt. I become useless. I have had food sitting in the microwave for like 20 minutes, beeping every two to remind me that its there. I know I should eat. I know I need to eat. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. But I am so fucking exhausted and typing this bullshitty, attentionseeking rant is more energy than its probably worth and fuck. I just... I want to sleep. I want to sleep and not wake up tired. I want to not be in pain. I want to not be worried about everything. I want to take what I’m given and be happy with it. I want to learn from my mistakes and just be content that I can’t fix everything. But no. I’m laying in bed, crying, because I can’t fix anything and the things I could fix, i have no energy for.
fuck mental illness. Fuck every aprt of it.
I keep swaying drastically between angry and hysterical. Jesus. I’m so tired of this. I fucking miss you Jack, okay? I love you. I have always always fucking loved you, you massive fuck-wit. I broke up with you because I couldn’t take care of you. I wasn’t you parent, I wasn’t your caretaker, and making me into one wasn’t fair to me. But YOU decided to leave! YOU LEFT! YOU DECIDED TO TAKE THE COWARDS WAY OUT AFTER I MADE EVERY CONCESSION. I MADE EVERY SACRIFICE... But it doesn’t even matter...I broke up with you, and I said, ‘hey, lets wait a year and see how it turns out’ because I wasn’t entirely sure you weren’t going to kill yourself after we broke up... that and I knew I loved you... I thought, somehow, that I was protecting you. Giving you a chance. Giving you the hope.... It was stupid. I know that, don’t you think I fucking know that? Don’t you think I know now that was a horrible choice? ...But I thought I was doing the right thing. And when I knew where I stood, that I couldn’t backpedal and be in a relationship with you again, that I wasn’t ready... I told you. I told you as soon as I knew. I wasn’t playing a game, I was upset and scared and angry and resentful and sad and... I wasn’t playing. I was protecting myself after trying too hard and failing to protect you. I respected when you asked for no contact, and when you reached out I was so happy. I thought ‘hey, I could get my friend back!’ but... I knew I had to proceed carefully. And then... then it turned into a fight, a bitch-fest... and you said we couldn’t even be friends. And I panicked. I have been panicking for days. I think about us not talking ever again and I can’t breathe, it’s fucking dramatic, I know it is... but my heart aches. It hurts and I’m scared. You accuse me of not caring about you... but I do Jack. I... I just needed to care about me a little bit too... look how that turned out though. Now we’re both miserable. haha... actually I don’t know how you’re doing. You might be doing great... I hope you’re doing okay.... Really... I would take misery and panic attacks every day for the rest of my life if I had a real promise that you were happy. I’m not even really trying to play the martyr. I know I am, but I’m not trying to. I just want you happy. I want you to have a family, and have MMO nights. I want you to make star pasta for your children and talk to them about unions and history like your dad does to you. I want you to share your children’s love of legos and I want you to be a successful bartender. You’re going to be a great man Jack... I just hope you can let go of the anger long enough to find him...
I miss you so much Jack. I have missed you every single day since May 18th. I have been petty, vindictive, angry, resentful and plain pissed off. But I have always loved you. Sometimes... that just isn’t enough though. We’ve both got our mistakes under our belts... I just guess we pushed too hard this time, and there isn’t enough forgiveness in us to fix it. i can’t fix it i can’t fix it i can’t fix it.... i used to be able to fix it... i used ot be able to fix anything....
II don’t even believe in soulmates, but I know that I found mine early. And even though it didn’t work, and may never work... I don’t regret my time with you. I want to, because tha tmakes it easier. But I don’tt.
Writing Drabble: Something having to do with spies?
I have no idea where this came from. I assume a dream since I woke up in the middle of the night to write it, but I’m not sure. It also may have a fair bit to do with skyrim. oops. I may have been playing it too much this week. This piece is only 218 words, bringing my weekly count from last week to a total of 570. woo
No one I know has come close to my sister. There is not a person alive who could cause the chatter in a room to cease so utterly and completely as my sister when she enters a room. Only my sister could make a woman beg for punishment of her mistakes. Only my sister could drop a man to his knees out of fear with just a look. My sister is the sun, and the world, everyone’s world, revolves around her.
Except me. My name is Kiandra Rislet, and I represent a faction of thieves and assassins in my homeland who pull the most elite and powerful quietly from their proverbial thrones. (We also work for contracts, but that is a whole other thing that isn’t exactly well-fit into this introduction.) Ever since our foundation in the era of magic, so many years ago, we have been responsible for nearly every assassination, death or disappearance of a wealthy aristocrat who uses their status for unsavory acts or flaunts their coin as a replacement for wit or charm. We work in the shadows, use stealth with grace only possible to beings who were born into darkness. Most importantly though, we get the job done. We are the Organization of the Lotus. And we know everything. We have eyes everywhere.
Writing Drabble: Maia Cale (Started, not finished)
I just hit the word count I have to this week, and am having a hard time getting much more down. I had a worse falling out with my ex, and primary writing partner of the last decade, which has kind of affected me in weird ways the past 24 hours. I miss him, and writing is hard because we had the same mind as far as writing and stories go. Sigh. Word count at 352.
So, can you settle something for me? You never start telling a story at the beginning right? No, wait, that doesn’t sound quite right. I mean, when you’re writing one down. You don’t start at the very beginning. You start somewhere in the middle, maybe when someone is being chased by a murderer, or when there’s a yelling match going on- when something good is happening, and then you go back and retroactively explain how you got there, right? That’s what my dad always told me anyway. My mother was always in favor of a story having a clear beginning, middle, and end though. So I’m not ever sure how to start these kinds of things.
Oh well. I guess I might as well just get into it since you and I will be talkin’ for a while. My name’s Maia. I am sixteen years, four months, three days old, and yes, I am being that specific for a reason. My dad left about a year ago, and my mom got remarried, which was a big, dramatic scandal- but they aren’t really important to this story. What is important is that I am really into science. My dad was a scientist, but when he left, I took over the work in his lab. It’s been actually pretty great, all things considering. I always loved working with my dad on his various experiments, and he taught me how to rig bombs and junk when I was little- he probably wasn’t the most responsible parent, now that I look back on it.
Well anyway, yeah working in his lab has actually been great. Y’know. Except the part when I died. That kinda sucked. I always thought that I was going to die in a blaze of glory, some sort massive explosion where I take like fifty faceless opponents with me, ‘know what I mean? But no, I had to go and get run over by some truck or something. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention to what kind of vehicle it was. I was too busy having my body crushed under it.
The most in-depth 30 day character development meme you'll ever find ((Reboggle edition))
Since I’ve been asked about the most in-depth 30 day character development meme, and since asgardianthunder’s list was deleted, I thought I’d repost it for anyone in need. (clockchimesthirteen and vonboomslang)
EDIT: The original post is back, appologies for any confusion.
1. Describe the character’s height and build. Is he heavyset, thin, short, rangy?
2. How old is he?
3. Describe his posture. Does he carry himself well or does he slouch?
4. How is his health? Is he fit or out of shape? Any illnesses or conditions? Any physical disabilities?
5. How does he move? Is he clumsy, graceful, tense, fluid?
6. How attractive is this character physically? How does he perceive himself in the mirror?
7. Describe his complexion. Dark, light, clear, scarred?
8. Describe his hair: color, texture, style.
9. What color are his eyes?
10. Does the character have any other noteworthy features?
11. What are his chief tension centers?
12. What is the character’s wardrobe like? Casual, dressy, utilitarian? Bright colors, pastels, neutrals? Is it varied, or does he have six of the same suit?
13. Do his clothes fit well? Does he seem comfortable in them?
14. Does he dress the same on the job as he does in his free time? If not, what are the differences?
15. You knew it was coming: Boxers, briefs or commando?
Speech
1. What does this character’s voice sound like? High-pitched, deep, hoarse?
2. How does he normally speak? Loud, soft, fast, evenly? Does he talk easily, or does he hesitate?
3. Does the character have a distinct accent or dialect? Any individual quirks of pronunciation? Any, like, you know, verbal tics?
4. What language/s does he speak, and with how much fluency?
5. Does he switch languages or dialects in certain situations?
6. Is he a good impromptu speaker, or does he have to think about his words?
7. Is he eloquent or inarticulate? Under what circumstances might this change?
Mental and Emotional
1. How intelligent is this character? Is he book-smart or street-smart?
2. Does he think on his feet, or does he need time to deliberate?
3. Describe the character’s thought process. Is he more logical, or more intuitive? Idealistic or practical?
4. What kind of education has the character had?
5. What are his areas of expertise? What, if anything, is he interested in learning more about?
6. Is he an introvert or an extrovert?
7. Describe the character’s temperament. Is he even-tempered or does he have mood swings? Cheerful or melancholy? Laid-back or driven?
8. How does he respond to new people or situations? Is he suspicious, relaxed, timid, enthusiastic?
9. Is he more likely to act, or to react?
10. Which is his default: fight or flight?
11. Describe the character’s sense of humor. Does he appreciate jokes? Puns? Gallows humor? Bathroom humor? Pranks?
12. Does the character have any diagnosable mental disorders? If yes, how does he deal with them?
13. What moments in this character’s life have defined him as a person?
14. What does he fear?
15. What are his hopes or aspirations?
16. What is something he doesn’t want anyone to find out about him?
Relationships
1. Describe this character’s relationship with his parents.
2. Does the character have any siblings? What is/was their relationship like?
3. Are there other blood relatives to whom he is close? Are there ones he can’t stand?
4. Are there other, unrelated people whom he considers part of his family? What are his relationships with them?
5. Who is/was the character’s best friend? How did they meet?
6. Does he have other close friends?
7. Does he make friends easily, or does he have trouble getting along with people?
8. Which does he consider more important: family or friends?
9. Is the character single, married, divorced, widowed? Has he been married more than once?
10. Is he currently in a romantic relationship with someone other than a spouse?
11. Who was his first crush? Who is his latest?
12. What does he look for in a romantic partner?
13. Does the character have children? Grandchildren? If yes, how does he relate to them? If no, does he want any?
14. Does he have any rivals or enemies?
15. What is the character’s sexual orientation? Where does he fall on the Kinsey scale?
16. How does he feel about sex? How important is it to him?
17. What are his turn-ons? Turn-offs? Weird bedroom habits?
Beliefs
1. Do you know your character’s astrological (zodiac of choice) sign? How well does he fit type?
2. Is this character religious, spiritual, both, or neither? How important are these elements in his life?
3. Does this character have a personal code of morals or ethics? If so, how did that begin? What would it take to compromise it?
4. How does he regard beliefs that differ from his? Is he tolerant, intolerant, curious, indifferent?
5. What prejudices does he hold? Are they irrational or does he have a good reason for them?
Daily Life
1. What is the character’s financial situation? Is he rich, poor, comfortable, in debt?
2. What is his social status? Has this changed over time, and if so, how has the change affected him?
3. Where does he live? House, apartment, trailer? Is his home his castle or just a place to crash? What condition is it in? Does he share it with others?
4. Besides the basic necessities, what does he spend his money on?
5. What does he do for a living? Is he good at it? Does he enjoy it, or would he rather be doing something else?
6. What are his interests or hobbies? How does he spend his free time?
7. What are his eating habits? Does he skip meals, eat out, drink alcohol, avoid certain foods?
Associations
Which of the following do you associate with the character, or which is his favorite:
(This is the piece I just finished tonight. It is about my characters Liana and Nunnally, and was just an exercise in me being wordy, basically.) This piece is 590 words, and is the only piece I’ve written this week, bringing my weekly total up to a magical 590.
Step followed by painstaking step. Stride after arduous stride. In the large, airy room, a discordant symphony of monotonous steps and repetitive clicking of a pair of heels echoed off of the tall pillars that ran up to the ceilings, replaying the cacophonous sound until the melody hushed into a swift decrescendo. The pillars themselves were carved of dark wood, ornately detailed to depict entire seasons and a multitude of stories and tales. Delicate lines of gold and silver paint outlined the carvings, creating dimension in the art installations. The woman pacing every which way finally stopped in front of a westward pillar and craned her neck upward, surprised to see more artwork portrayed on the tall ceiling of the space. At the top of the post was a circle outlined in thin strokes of silver paint covering a thin sliver of another shape that was delicately outlined in gold. She turned her head toward the easternmost pillar, seeing a similar image with the sun in front of the painted moon.
“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Clever.” She said to no one in particular, in a voice that barely crossed the threshold of a whisper. She looked up toward the ceiling between the two pillars, noticing the crisscrossing of autumn leaves in bold reds and oranges, white pumpkins with dark green, twisting vines, and brown-tinted roses, with spring’s signature bright colored tulips, startlingly yellow sunflowers and cream-colored daisies, all painted in excruciating detail. “But only on the spring and autumn equinoxes.” She added, smiling to herself. “Twice as clever.” She said, running a hand through the dark hair that had fallen over her eyes.
“Yeah, well. What can I say? I am a sucker for the details.” Another woman said tightly as she approached the dark-haired woman from the doorway between the northward and eastern pillars. Looking between the two, it could have been hard to tell the two apart if not for a simple few drastic differences in their appearances. While one had dark hair that bordered on black in color, the other had hair so light blonde that it was nearly white. Their eyes, while similar in shape and placement on the planes of their faces, were radically different in color. Paired with the dark hair were shining ardent eyes with dark pupils that instead of starkly contrasting to the shining color of the iris, were a seamless gradient. Conversely, the woman with the white hair had bright aureate eyes that contrasted unnaturally to the darkened pupils.
“I have to say, Liana…” Started the dark-haired woman as her eyes glanced over the woman passively and onto the highly embellished and perhaps even ostentatious room around her. “I actually do like what you have done with the place.” She said, finally locking eyes with the woman stiffly approaching her.
“You’re dead.” The woman addressed as ‘Liana’ said quickly, her words audibly tense.
“Is that what I am, now?” Asked the dark-haired woman, walking toward Liana, her steps light, hips swaying. “Standing here in front of you, and not in the ground.”
Liana’s fists clenched, and she kept her eyes trained on the dancing woman. “I killed you, Nunnally!” She bellowed suddenly, rage filling her whole body, making her lurch forward a few steps, but stop abruptly before she came in physical contact with the woman, still skeptical and hesitant about what seemed to be the walking dead in front of her.
“A real shame you couldn’t even do that correctly, now isn’t it?”
(This is a piece I was writing about something that might happen to my GURPS character, Taylor Oleander, as discussed by myself and my GM. It is currently still unfinished, and not particularly accurate for the game portrayal of her, but I was taking artistic liberties.)
This piece is 211 words long, and was part of my 1185 weekly word count.
The chattering of the crowd gathering in front of the pedestal grew in volume as a disheveled young woman in a thin layer of underclothes was led slowly up the stone steps by two men. Each man held onto her with a hand on her back and one on each of her arms, holding her up as her head bowed deeply forward. Her feet dragged lazily behind the rest of her body, resulting in her heels being kicked by her escorts periodically. The sound of the crowd rang louder through the small square, the sheer volume of their jeering causing the sound to bounce off buildings and hit the woman’s ears forcefully. “You know,” she said in a hoarse whisper, looking at the man to her right. “You really must be a terrible performer. They’re booing, after all.” She said with a smile that was controlled, but exhausted. She felt just a tad of pride at the very slight twitch in the man’s lips.
At the top of the platform, the hands on her back moved to rest on each of her shoulders, attempting to push her down. She resisted, smirking with a nugget of triumph before she felt a blow to the back of her knees that forced her down.
(This is a piece where I started to explore a character I’m having a particularly hard time writing, due to a breakup and noncontact with my exfiance/best friend/writing partner, where I let her go, in a spiritual, closureish kind of way. These stock characters I write with have been in development for the past ten years, and are basically my children. It’s been hard to write them without the support of my writing partner, but I’m determined to push through it, I guess. /ramble.)
This week I had written this piece, which was 975 words long, and it was one of the two pieces I worked on during the week.
Darkness settled over the dining room table like a cloth, draping every inch of surface in thick shadow. It was hard to tell where the table ended and the matching wooden backs of chairs pressed against the tabletop began. Individual items on the table, plates set out so carefully and silverware placed with dainty fingers, were lost in the engulfing darkness. The house was eerily still, the settling of the foundation having ceased and the chirping of animals outside the walls having followed suit. Even the wind outside the sole window, the one that let in the slightest sliver of light that evaporated under the weight of the darkness surrounding it, was hushed and muted from the inside.
The gentle whispering clink of a porcelain teacup against its saucer was the only sound that echoed like a shot in the space, betraying the presence of the woman sitting just out of sight. Dark crimson eyes dully started into the darkness in front of her, and as her eyes adjusted, she realized that she was able to appreciate the fluttering dust motes that danced in the light above her head, and she was beginning to be able to discern the shapes in the darkness. “What am I doing here?” She asked aloud, seemingly addressing herself.
“I would say that you are moping alone in the dark.” Replied another voice said from the other side of the room, male in tone. The darkness concealed his presence, but the questioning woman turned her head toward the voice, a faint smile crossing her face before dropping the effort, her expression becoming impassive again.
“Not moping.” She replied shortly. Her hands pressed against the polished wood of the dining room table, and she tapped her nails on the top briefly before her palms flattened.
“Thinking too much then, perhaps.” The male voice offered. When no response was given, a sigh escaped the male. “Kathleen, you ca—“
“Damien. Don’t, please.” She begged weakly, her arms crossing around her middle. “I don’t belong here.” She said sadly.
Slow steps followed the sound of Kathleen’s voice, taking a seat at the table across from her. “Is this about Maur? He doesn’t hate you Kath. I mean, he misses you and is angry, I’m sure. But he doesn’t hate you.”
“It is not about Maurussus.” The voice replying was weaker than Damien had heard in a long time. He had known Kathleen for most of his life, and only a handful of times had he heard her sound so tired, and so distressed. “At least, not entirely.”
“Oh? Then what is it?” He asked, concern bubbling over in his tone.
“I do not belong here.” She repeated, taking in a slow, deep breath before she continued. “My story is over. I don’t have a reason to stay.”
Damien pursed his lips at this answer. It wasn’t the one he had been expecting. “Kathleen, that is crazy. You have me, your children, and your hus-…” He trailed off. “You have family here. You have more stories to tell.”
A soft chuckle left the mouth of the woman in darkness, and she smiled. “I have different stories to tell, not more.” She said, and then Damien heard the slight creaking sound that he could only assume meant that Kathleen was leaning back in her chair. He leaned forward and reached a hand across the tabletop, not sure if she’d be able to see his gesture. “Your story isn’t over.” He reasserted.
“Oh Damien,” Kathleen said softly, a touch of her familiarly maternal tone shining through her melancholy. “There are enough universes in which I have been killed simply because I stopped being useful, or because I was more useful dead than alive.” She explained and grasped the man’s offered hands from across the table. “I know that everyone else still has stories to tell, but I am so old. I am so tired. I have tried to give more inspiration, but every story I can tell keeps coming back to people I cannot speak to, or of.”
“You can though! Give them some time! Daggerfen and Maur will come around! They always do!” Damien insisted, squeezing Kathleen’s hands.
“Not this time, I’m afraid.” She said, squeezing back. “They have often been a source of reason, somehow… But I think that this time, even their breaking points have been reached.” Kathleen detangled her hands from her cousin’s, and she looked over his head, at the small trail of light from the window. “I will be fine, Damien. I am not afraid.” She said, smiling.
Damien’s hands clasped hard on the surface of the table. “You can’t leave us.” He said sternly. To which he earned a small chuckle. His anger grew at the dismissive tone. “You are not leaving, Kathleen!” He ordered, his voice a loud, and sudden bellow. The teacup chimed slightly, reacting to the reverberations from Damien’s voice.
Kathleen did not flinch. “Calm yourself.” She said easily. “You will be fine. You always are. Watch out for your children, watch out for mine, and be there for those you love. The rest is easy, sweetheart.” She said, finally standing.
A slight shimmer of green light circled around Kathleen’s fingers, trailing like water up her arms, attaching light to each of her veins, making them glow oddly.
Damien stood, finally illuminated by the green light. “Kath…”
Kathleen smiled as the light reached her face, making her lips glow. “I’m not dying, Damien. Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m just… not going to be accessible.” She explained. “I have no more stories, so I can’t stay here… But I’m not dying. Just… relocating.”
“Explain, please.” He said softly, only earning a slight headshake.
“Not everything can be explained.” She said, the light winking out, leaving nothing but the echo of her voice in the darkened room.
