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justmymindandstuff · 11 days ago

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the ADHD writer's guide to actually finishing a draft (no, seriously) 📝

okay, tumblr, writers... we need to TALK about how to actually finish a damn draft when your executive functioning decided to pack its bags and leave for a permanent vacation in the bahamas.

i'm not here to give you that basic "just set a timer!" advice that makes me want to throw my laptop into the sun. we all know those productivity hacks that work for neurotypicals make us want to scream into the void. (been there, screamed that.)

so here's the ACTUAL guide from someone who's written three novels while her brain was actively trying to sabotage her the entire time.

FIRST: accept that linear writing is a capitalist construct designed to torture us.

i'm serious. whoever decided writers should start at chapter 1 and proceed neatly to THE END clearly didn't have dopamine playing hide-and-seek in their prefrontal cortex.

write whatever scene has your brain chemicals SINGING today. that climactic fight scene that's six chapters away? the tender moment between your characters that happens in the middle? WRITE IT NOW while your brain is actually interested. i have finished entire novels by writing them in chunks and stitching them together like the beautiful frankenstein's monster they are.

SECOND: the 10-minute lie (that actually works???)

tell yourself you're only going to write for 10 minutes. that's it. no pressure. your adhd brain can handle anything for 10 minutes, right? the secret is that once you start, momentum becomes your best friend. sometimes you'll actually stop at 10 minutes (congrats, you still wrote something!) but often you'll look up and realize it's been two hours and you've written 2,000 words. and yes i've seen this a lot, like everywhere, where they tell you "set a timer for 5, and by the time you realize it's 2 hours" i've seen this many times before, and it actually works. at first i thought it didn't but boy, i was wrong.

THIRD: use your hyperfixation powers for good, not evil.

we all know that adhd comes with the superpower of becoming obsessed with random things for unpredictable amounts of time. WEAPONIZE THIS. create artificial urgency around your project. tell people about your deadline. make elaborate aesthetic pinterest boards. create a spotify playlist that you only listen to while writing this specific project. trick your brain into making your WIP the shiny new hyperfixation.

FOURTH: body-doubling saved my writing career and it can save yours too.

find another writer friend (or any friend who needs to do focused work) and sit together - virtually or physically - while you both work. something about having another human witnessing your work process bypasses the executive dysfunction. i swear it's actual magic. discord writing sprints, zoom sessions with cameras off but mics on - whatever works.

FIFTH: embrace the chaos of your natural writing cycle.

some days you'll write 5,000 words in a frenzy at 3am. other days you'll stare at the document for an hour and write "the." BOTH ARE VALID WRITING DAYS. the only consistency we need is returning to the document, not some arbitrary daily word count.

SIXTH: create external accountability that doesn't make you want to die.

deadlines from publishers? great. deadlines you set for yourself? your brain laughs and says "or what?" find the sweet spot - maybe it's a writing buddy you check in with, maybe it's a public progress tracker, maybe it's promising your sister you'll take her to dinner when you finish a chapter.

SEVENTH: the frankendraft approach.

your first draft DOES NOT need to be good, coherent, or even make sense. it just needs to exist. leave yourself notes like [FIGURE OUT HOW SHE GETS FROM THE CASTLE TO THE BEACH LATER] and keep moving. your adhd brain will thank you for not getting stuck in research rabbit holes for six hours.

EIGHTH: find your optimal writing environment through shameless trial and error.

maybe you need complete silence. maybe you need to be in a coffee shop with specific ambient noise. maybe you need to write standing up. maybe you need to dictate your novel while pacing around your apartment. there is no wrong way to get the words out.

i personally write best when i'm slightly uncomfortable (weird, i know) so i often end up writing while sitting on my kitchen floor with my laptop balanced on a chair. whatever works, bestie. a finished messy draft is infinitely more valuable than the perfect novel still trapped in your head. your adhd brain is simultaneously your greatest challenge and your greatest asset as a writer. the connections you make, the unique perspectives, the creativity - all of that comes from the same place as the struggles.

you've got this. now go write something, even if it's just for 10 minutes. i believe in you. ✨ -rin t.

#writing advice #fic writing #writing tips #writing cheat sheet

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justmymindandstuff · 11 days ago

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A sleepover mess

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x Sorrengail!Reader

Summary: Being Violet Sorrengail’s cousin was already hard enough—so even when your boyfriend's away, the rest of the squad know how to get the party started. Even if it leaves some shady men confused.

Warning: Explicit content, maybe cursing but tbh I think there's not much anyway.

Could be read as part three of a cousins mess and cousin fight or a standalone!

There was nothing quite as sacred in the hellscape of Basgiath as a night that actually went to plan — and tonight, somehow, miraculously, was shaping up to be exactly that.

Your sheets were freshly changed, crisp linen pulled tight against the mattress, the soft scent of lavender clinging to them from the oil you’d discreetly bartered from a second-year. Your books were stacked neatly on your desk, quill capped, ink sealed. Your hair had already been parted and braided for sleep, scalp oiled and massaged to perfection. Skincare applied, every dot and swipe of product absorbing while you padded barefoot across the room in your silk pyjamas — navy blue with little silver stars stitched into the cuffs.

You took a deep, satisfied breath and slipped your latest assigned reading under your pillow — not that you planned to actually read it before bed, but it made you feel productive. The overhead lantern dimmed low, casting your room in a cozy amber glow as you peeled the edge of your duvet back and—

BANG BANG BANG.

The door rattled under the weight of aggressive knocking.

You blinked.

Once. Twice.

You hadn’t even sat down yet.

“Godsdammit,” you muttered under your breath.

Before you could even make it halfway to the door, it flew open — because of course you’d forgotten to latch it, and of course the only person who would barrel in uninvited was—

“YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED TODAY,” Ridoc announced at full volume, sweeping into your room like a gust of wind, arms flailing, hair messy from either drills or drama — probably both.

You stared at him.

He was already toeing off his boots and shimmying out of his jacket.

“…What,” you said flatly, “in the name of Navarre, do you think you’re doing.”

Ridoc didn’t answer. Instead, he yanked back the other side of your duvet — and climbed in.

You just stood there, frozen in your own doorway to peace, silk pyjamas shining like a lullaby to the sleep you were never going to get now.

“I just changed the—!”

“I know! It smells delightful!” Ridoc cut in, already wiggling his body down into the sheets like he belonged there, blanket tucked under his chin, face still red from exertion or gossip. “It’s like being hugged by a well-moisturized cloud.”

You glared at him. “I’m going to suffocate you in your sleep.”

He ignored you.

“I need to debrief,” he said dramatically, tucking one hand behind his head. “I have tea. You’re going to want to hear it. Trust me.”

You sighed. Loudly. Dragged a hand down your face. Then, very slowly, moved to your side of the bed and climbed in under the duvet — because at this point, resistance was a waste of energy.

As soon as you were in place, Ridoc rolled to face you, propped up on one elbow like a bard about to recite a scandalous poem.

“Okay,” he said, eyes gleaming. “So first — Imogen punched a third-year in the throat.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“He said Sloane didn’t belong in the Wing because she was a child and should’ve been culled. So Imogen responded with a one-liner, and then a closed fist.”

“…Fair.”

“I know. I’m honestly a little turned on. Don’t tell her.”

You gave him a side-eye. “I’ll write it on the sparring wall in chalk.”

He grinned. “Anyway, that set off Garrick, who was there too, and he tried to drag Imogen away because apparently punching someone in front of a Battle Briefs professor is bad politics or whatever, but while he was doing that, Sloane picked up the guy’s boot and threw it at his nuts.”

You snorted, clapping a hand over your mouth. “No.”

“YES.”

Ridoc was buzzing, practically vibrating under your sheets. “So now Garrick’s all, ‘Sloane’s going to get expelled,’ and Xaden had to step in to de-escalate, but he looked like he was five seconds away from letting it all burn just so he could say he warned them.”

“And Violet?”

“Oh, she was reading in the corner with Andarna curled around her feet. Didn’t even look up. She just said, ‘Sounds like he deserved it,’ and turned the page.”

You snorted again, harder this time.

Ridoc grinned wide, triumphant. “See? Was it worth disturbing your sacred bedtime routine?”

You looked at him — his tousled hair, his still-wild eyes, the way he was hogging the entire pillow like he paid for it — and sighed.

“…You have five minutes to finish your story, and then you’re getting yeeted out of this bed.”

He blinked. “Yeeted?”

“I’ll use ruins if I have to.”

“Fair.” He laid back down and closed his eyes for a second. “Can I stay till I fall asleep?”

You sighed again — softer this time. “Only if you don’t snore.”

He yawned. “Never.”

(Lie.)

Ridoc had just begun to drift off — mouth slightly open, breath evening out, his shoulder practically wedged into your side like a stubborn boulder under your duvet — when a new sound cut through the room:

BOOM. THUMP. CRASH.

“Don’t you dare lock that— RHIANNON, PUSH—”

“I am pushing! Godsdammit, Sawyer, use your legs!”

The door slammed open again.

You didn’t even flinch.

Neither did Ridoc, though he did groan faintly. “No gods, no peace.”

Through the now-wide door burst Rhiannon — hair in a wild bun, cheeks flushed with the exertion of shoving open your door — with Sawyer hot on her heels, carrying a half-eaten peach and looking vaguely like he’d lost a bet.

The moment Rhiannon spotted Ridoc under your duvet, her face lit up.

“You little shit,” she said gleefully. “You started the party without us?”

You sat up just slightly, rubbing a hand over your face. “It’s not a party. It’s my bed.”

“And it’s our bed, now,” Rhiannon declared, already yanking off her jacket and kicking off her boots with no regard for personal boundaries or spatial awareness. “I had a bad day and Ridoc didn’t even come find me, and that’s a personal betrayal.”

“I did not sign up to be a service animal,” Ridoc muttered, turning his face into the pillow.

Rhiannon grinned wickedly.

Then, with absolutely no hesitation, she crawled over Ridoc — who made a muffled choking noise — and flopped full-body across you with a sigh so dramatic it might’ve qualified as performance art.

“I hate everyone,” she declared into your collarbone. “Except you.”

“I’m suffocating,” you wheezed, arm pinned under her thigh, your ribs compressed by pure Rhiannon weight.

“You’ll survive,” she mumbled, already stealing half your blanket.

Meanwhile, Sawyer stood beside your bed like he wasn’t sure if he was invited or if he’d just wandered into a low-stakes war zone.

“I brought peaches?” he offered, holding it up with hopeful eyes.

“Get in here,” you groaned, waving him over with your one free arm.

He shrugged and climbed in — much more polite than Rhiannon — sliding into the narrow strip of space on your other side, still chewing thoughtfully. “You know, I didn’t think we’d all end up like this when we got conscripted.”

“I thought I’d be dead by now,” Ridoc mumbled into the pillow.

“I wish I were dead,” Rhiannon said cheerfully, still draped across you like a weighted blanket. “Then I wouldn’t have to do agility drills tomorrow.”

“Can you not lie directly on my lungs?” you choked.

“No.”

“I second that,” Ridoc grumbled. “At least move. You smell like lemon balm and war crimes.”

“Say one more word, Ridoc, and I swear to Malek I’ll tell everyone about your poetry stash.”

The room fell silent.

Ridoc blinked at the ceiling.

“You wouldn’t,” he said in a whisper.

Rhiannon grinned like a cat with cream. “Try me.”

You groaned and pushed the hair out of your face. “I was supposed to be asleep right now. With clean sheets. And peace of mind. And a bedtime.”

“That’s cute,” Sawyer said gently, finally stealing a corner of your blanket. “But we all know that was never going to happen.”

Rhiannon made a noise of agreement — already dozing off, breath steadying. Ridoc sighed, flipping to his other side so his foot wasn’t dangling off the mattress. Sawyer curled slightly inward, peach now discarded on your nightstand.

And you?

Trapped under one friend, pressed against two others, blanket slipping off your shoulder and heat from everyone fogging up your pillow?

You just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

“…I’m going to kill Bodhi,” you said softly. “For not warning me about this squad’s sleepover habits.”

Ridoc cracked one eye open. “That man’s probably crying in his bunk right now because he’s not here.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

But then Rhiannon snored.

Loudly.

Right into your neck.

You sighed. Loudly. Dramatically.

“If you all came here just to sleep, then the least you can do is tell me something entertaining first,” you grumbled, shifting slightly as Rhiannon made a sleep-drunk groaning noise and nuzzled closer into your shoulder. “I want full gossip. I earned it.”

“I have a story,” Ridoc said quickly, turning over with a smirk like he’d been waiting for the invitation. “So. Remember earlier today when Second Squad’s Rider Instructor fell off his dragon mid-air during formation training—”

“That was you, Ridoc,” Sawyer cut in dryly. “You made him fall.”

“Allegedly,” Ridoc said, hands lifting like he was praying. “Also? He landed in mud. Which is honestly the best-case scenario for someone who screamed ‘You little ferret-boned shits!’ while falling.”

“He’s been calling you that for weeks,” you muttered.

“Because he can’t spell ‘threat.’”

Sawyer snorted.

Rhiannon lifted her head slightly, eyes still half-shut. “Sawyer’s the one with real tea. Tell her about the Library Incident.”

“No—no no no,” Sawyer said, holding up a hand, “I already almost got banned from the archives. If I even say what happened with the scroll—”

“Tell her,” Rhiannon whined, her forehead smushed against your shoulder. “Or I will.”

But before Sawyer could even open his mouth, a soft knock came at your already-wide-open door.

And then—“Is there any room left?”

The four of you froze.

Sawyer turned over his shoulder first, blinking toward the entrance.

Standing there in the soft flicker of hall torchlight was Liam — barefoot, wrapped in a ridiculously oversized hoodie, hair mussed from sleep and clutching a pillow to his chest. He looked like a wide-eyed little brother who just realized everyone else was having fun without him.

Your heart immediately softened.

“Come on,” you said, already patting the space between Ridoc and the edge of the bed.

“Actually,” Ridoc whispered, “No, wait—”

Too late.

Liam climbed up with all the grace of someone who’d snuck into their older sibling’s room one too many times. He nestled into the gap Ridoc was using to breathe, tucking his legs in like it was the most natural thing in the world, and then proceeded to plop the pillow squarely over Ridoc’s face.

“Why?” Ridoc muffled, flailing under it.

“You always say I’m your favourite,” Liam said simply, settling in and closing his eyes like a cat. “Favourites get pillow priority.”

“Blasphemy!” Ridoc squawked.

“You called me ‘your sunshine with teeth’ yesterday,” Liam reminded, voice lilting.

“I meant it,” Ridoc wheezed, still fighting for breath under the pillow. “Doesn’t mean I want to be smothered by my own affection.”

“Guys,” you warned, adjusting Rhiannon’s deadweight on your shoulder. “Someone say something worth my suffering before I kick all of you out.”

Rhiannon huffed dramatically. “Okay, okay, okay—did you know Bodhi got caught practicing his sword forms shirtless again in the South Yard? Xaden literally called it ‘blatant thirst-trapping.’”

You laughed — helpless, exhausted, warm.

Sawyer perked up. “Oh, that reminds me. Did you guys see Garrick throw up after the surprise altitude plunge today? He said it was from bad rations, but I saw him cry during the drop.”

“Xaden cried once too,” Liam offered helpfully, eyes still shut. “But I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”

“Oh we’re definitely circling back to that,” Ridoc wheezed.

The laughter had faded into sleepy silence. The blanket was a mess of limbs and shared body heat, with Rhiannon’s leg flung over yours, Sawyer’s arm pillowing his head beside you, and Liam’s faint snoring just starting up beside Ridoc, who had finally wrestled back his pillow — but only half of it.

Your breathing slowed. The weight of the day started to settle beneath the silk of your pajamas. You could feel the ache in your back from sparring, the tension in your fingers from holding your pen too tight during note-taking, and the slight, familiar thrum of your magic waiting just under your skin — still dormant.

That’s when Ridoc broke the quiet.

His voice wasn’t teasing this time. It was low. Almost cautious.

“Hey… you’re not scared?”

You cracked one eye open.

“Of what?”

He shifted on his side, careful not to wake Liam, who had somehow stolen the entire lower half of the blanket like a territorial housecat. The moonlight from the window caught the edge of Ridoc’s profile — his smirk absent now, replaced by something softer, curious.

“That you’re the last first-year in our squad without a signet.”

The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t meant to cut. He asked it like someone who’d been wondering for a while and only just got brave enough to say it aloud.

For a moment, you didn’t answer.

The question hung between you and the others like a floating thread.

Liam shifted slightly, nestling deeper into his borrowed pillow. Rhiannon’s braid tickled your collarbone as she breathed deep and slow. Sawyer made a quiet humming noise in his sleep, like he was halfway between dreaming and listening.

And you?

You stared at the ceiling.

Your throat felt tight, even though you swallowed it down.

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t freak me out a little,” you admitted quietly. “Everyone else… it’s happening for them. Violet can spark lightning in her sleep. Sawyer bends through metals like they’re nothing. Liam can see literal water vapour like they’re old friends. Even you, Ridoc — your ice evolved twice this month.”

“I’m just that powerful,” he whispered dramatically, but then his voice softened again. “You don’t feel it though? Not even a hum?”

You thought about it — the way your skin prickled sometimes, but never surged. The way your magic trembled when others used theirs, but didn’t move. Like your body knew something was supposed to happen, but couldn’t quite reach it.

“I feel… something,” you said finally. “It’s like it’s close. But it’s not ready. Like… like it’s waiting for the right moment.”

Ridoc nodded like he understood. And maybe he did. Maybe he’d been there too once — on the edge of fear, unsure if you were broken or just behind.

He blinked up at you, resting his cheek against the pillow now. “You’re gonna be scary when it comes in.”

“You think?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You’re bonded to Ray, the most dramatic dragon in existence. You survived the Gauntlet with a busted ankle and still beat Garrick’s time. You’ve held your own in three section drills against second-years. You’re like… Violet if she had common sense and more spite.”

That made you laugh — soft and unexpected.

Then he added, smirking, “Also, you kicked me in the jaw during hand-to-hand last week. So yeah. You’re gonna be terrifying.”

You rolled your eyes, a little smile playing on your lips now. “You cried when I kicked you.”

“I had a tooth loose, and you cried too when you thought I was unconscious.”

“I cried because I hoped you were unconscious.”

He laughed — quietly, so he wouldn’t wake the others — and then went still again. For a moment, it felt like maybe he’d fallen asleep.

But then he whispered, “You’re gonna be fine, you know.”

You blinked up at the ceiling again. Let the words settle in. Let them mean something.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

The silence that followed was warm. Comforting. A breath between friends who’d seen each other bleed and break and still crawl into the same bed because this was the only place that ever felt like home.

Then, just as your eyes started to drift shut—

“Hey.”

You groaned. “What now, Ridoc?”

“If you manifest your signet and it’s something terrifying, like, explode-people-from-the-inside terrifying… will you use it on Garrick first?”

You smirked, eyes closing. “Only if you help me hide the body.”

Ridoc grinned, satisfied.

“Deal.”

Golden light filtered through the narrow dorm window, casting lazy streaks across the room. The air was warm with body heat and sleep-heavy silence—until someone knocked.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You blinked awake, squinting into the sunlight. The weight of Rhiannon’s arm still draped over your stomach. Liam's head rested somewhere near your ribs. Ridoc was snoring softly on your other side, while Sawyer clung to the edge of the bed like a survivor on a sinking ship.

The knock came again.

Firm. Measured. Official.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Everyone groaned in unison.

Ridoc muttered, “Who the hell knocks like that? What is this, a council meeting?”

Then a too-familiar voice called through the door, deep and clipped:

“Open up.”

You sat bolt upright. “Was that—?”

“Yup,” Ridoc said with a grin. “Xaden Riorson himself.”

Rhiannon didn’t even open her eyes. “Why is he at your door?”

Sawyer yawned. “Maybe he finally came to surrender to our superior nap circle.”

Another knock.

And then Ridoc, loud and dramatic, called out:

“Violet’s room is seven doors down, Riorson!”

That earned a full-body snort from Rhiannon and a muffled laugh from Liam, who buried his face in your blanket.

A pause. Then a second voice from the hall—amused, familiar:

“How many of you are even in there?”

“Garrick,” you said, voice half groan, half laugh. Of course he was with Xaden.

And then a third voice—casual, smug:

“Should I be concerned that everyone’s in my girlfriend’s bed without me?”

Bodhi.

“Oh my gods,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “We’re going to be late and murdered.”

You groaned as you kicked the sheets down, brushing Rhiannon off your side.

“You can all come in,” you shouted toward the door. “Just know it’s very... crowded.”

The door swung open.

Xaden stepped in first, followed closely by Garrick and Bodhi, all three of them blinking in unison like they’d walked into another dimension.

And in a way, they had.

Rhiannon was lying half across you, blinking blearily. Liam peeked out from under the blanket with a sheepish wave. Ridoc was sprawled dramatically like he owned the place, and Sawyer had one leg on the floor, one leg somehow tucked behind you.

Bodhi stood frozen in the doorway, eyebrows climbing. “Okay, what is this?”

Garrick burst out laughing.

“This is...” Xaden gestured vaguely, “some kind of nesting ritual?”

“You’re just mad we didn’t invite you,” Ridoc said smugly, stretching.

“You all look like you’ve been living here for a week,” Bodhi muttered, still stunned.

“I’ve seen battlefield triage sites that were neater than this,” Xaden added.

Sawyer waved lazily from his little corner. “It’s called emotional safety, Riorson. You should try it.”

Bodhi finally stepped closer, shaking his head in disbelief. “I leave you alone for one night and you form a sleep cult without me?”

“I think it’s called a community,” Liam offered sleepily.

Xaden sighed, clearly regretting every life choice that led to this moment. “We came to collect Bodhi for sparring.”

“Correction,” Garrick said, amused. “Xaden came to collect him. I came for the show.”

Bodhi turned to you, a hand over his heart. “Babe. You didn’t save me a spot?”

You raised an eyebrow. “There was no room left.”

“I am room.”

“No, you’re chaos,” Rhiannon mumbled from your lap.

Ridoc waggled his brows at Xaden. “Be honest. You’re not even mad. You’re impressed.”

Xaden’s glare could’ve ignited lightning. “Get dressed. All of you. Sparring in twenty.”

“Bossy,” Ridoc whispered, earning a stifled laugh from Liam.

“You better hope I don’t pair you against me,” Xaden shot back as he turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the three of them, Bodhi glanced back over his shoulder with a wink. “Next time, save me a spot. Preferably next to you.”

You just rolled your eyes and threw a pillow at him.

But inside? You were grinning.

This — this messy, loud, hilarious chaos — was everything you didn’t know you needed at Basgiath.

Reblogs, comments and asks are appreciated!

credits to @empyreanevents for the dividers!

Also I have a goal to reach 2k followers by the end of the summer so please follow and check out more of my work if you like this fic!

#fic recs #the empyrean fic #bodhi durran fic rec #bodhi durran x Reader #iron squad fic

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