#survivor fiction writers

[defire]

As someone with a few years experience in martial arts with sparring, I would like to explain some

Realistic reactions to being struck

Punched in the gut:

yelp of pain--like "ah!" And then a groan like "ohh" as the nausea hits

Curl protectively over their gut

Arms out to stop any incoming punches

After expelling air from the impact, they may not be able to breathe in. They may just lose some of their wind, or all of it.

If whumpee is trained (or used to it!) they may know to breathe out a little on impact, softening the blow and reducing the amount of air they lose

It hurts, so victim is going to be at least grimacing and guarding their stomach

Losing your wind is disorienting and panic-inducing, even for someone with training

A hard enough punch may be enough to drop whumpee, especially if: they are skinny (less padding), their body is trying to conserve oxygen (like they lost ALL their wind at once), they are panicked/outmatched (to protect themselves), or they're going to puke

Puking can also happen a bit afterward

[ak-harper-loves-fiction]

"After he cooled down from his fit of rage, he acted like my best friend. I forgave him. Somehow, I forgave him."

-A.K. Harper

[gladiatorcunt]

han solo wants what atton rand has

[baddieladdie]

FO4 Companions react to Sole's chem addiction

@falloutchicken Alright! Finished it~ Sorry it's a little long, I had an idea for a different format style and I ran with it - but I love how it turned out <3

tw: addiction, drugs, trauma, chem-use as an addiction

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While trading at the Diamond City market, the Sole Survivor of vault 111 overheard folks whispering over their steaming noodle bowls about an abandoned shopping center filled with valuable loot. The only barrier between them and the score of a lifetime were the supermutants inside. The gossiping locals didn’t have the fire power for such an altercation, but the sole survivor did. And they certainly would not be going alone.

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Selecting your companion:

Cait: I’ll come, but just don’t make me wear anything stupid

Curie: “Oh! Shopping!” She mused delightfully, her voice ringing with pleasure.

Codsworth: How delightful, mum! I do so miss shopping expeditions and, please pardon my saying, but your jumpsuit is looking rather drab. Off we go, miss!

Deacon: Sounds like my kind of dig! I could always use some new disguises.

McCready (sarcastically): Oh, we better hurry. I hear clothes practically fly off the shelves with their discounts.

Piper: Jesus, Blue. Sounds dangerous. Something wrong with the clothes you already have?

Preston: Absolutely, General. I wouldn’t want you facing this on your own.

Hancock: *heh* Thought you’d never ask. Let’s get the fuck out of Diamond city.*grumbles, muttering under his breath* Never understood how these bigots can sleep at night…

Danse: I advise against putting yourself in unnecessary danger. The gossip of strangers isn’t worth risking your life, but I’ll be damned if I let you face this alone.

Nick Valentine: Well, if it’s worth your time kid, than it’s worth mine *grabs his hat and coat before locking the detective agency door behind them* Lead the way

X6-88: I agree. We might find something useful. A large shopping center may have valuable pre-war goods. Right behind you, ma’am.

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The Sole Survivor walks out of Diamond City with their companion, combat shotgun in hand. Though well armored and stocked with plenty of ammunition, they carefully made their way south through the ruins of Boston. Sole and their companion had not walked far from the Boston Police Rationing Site when they heard the unmistakable sounds of feral ghouls, clumsily kicking tin rubbish and bones left on the broken streets. Sole and their companion crouched behind the remains of a building’s wall. Daring a look, sole peaked above the wall, only to notice the dirty, ruined faces but unmistakable faces of her pre-war neighbors, Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue. Sole immediately felt sick and dizzy watching the two ghouls stumble down the street aimlessly, eyes white and staring at nothing. Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue were expecting a child as well. Sole had spent hours in their kitchen, chatting about the excitement of parenthood. They swapped ideas over coffee and pie. 200 years after the bombs dropped, while sole was safe in a vault, her neighbors had been turned into radiation monsters, void of the humanity they used to possess. Alive in a physical sense, but her neighbors were lost. Sole had no choice but to put them down and out of their miserable experience. It’s what they would have wanted…

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Your companion reacts:

Cait: Jesus Christ, not a way to go. At least you had the ‘ol Vault-Tec treatment, eh? *Cait notices tears filling in sole’s eyes, rapidly decides to change her approach* I - er - um…..I know this must be difficult for you…I…I am here if you need to talk, or something.

Curie: One must wonder, what causes the deterioration of this ghoul condition? Some "ghouls" are in possession of their mental faculties. Others are not. I wonder why Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue became feral while many other ghouls have maintained their mental capacities [Sole - Those were my neighbors, Curie. Not a science experiment] My apologies, sir/madam, I didn't mean to offend you. Grief can be managed with a well balanced diet, exercise, and spending time with loved ones!

Codsworth: Oh dear *emotional processors cracking through his speakers* Is that…the Donoghues? Mum, I’m…I’m so sorry *offers a hankie*

Deacon: Well, that was terrible *sigh* radiation, you unbelievable bastard.[notices how upset sole is] Ah..Look, I’m sorry. This…I mean, what you’re going through, I can’t even imagine. If you wanna talk or something…[trails off]

McCready: Oh man…*He pauses, letting the information sink in regarding sole’s neighbors* I’m really sorry. We can turn around if you want. That department store isn’t going anywhere. 

Piper: You okay, [sole]? You seem pretty shaken up. Why don’t we rest for a bit.

Preston: Oh, I’m really sorry, General. *he removes his hat, holding to his chest, tired eyes looking away in respect* Take all the time you need. I can help you bury the bodies if you would like to give them a proper burial.

Hancock: Ah shit. Old neighbors, huh? Hey, let's just get outta here. I hate seein’ you so broken up like this.

Danse: You’re awfully quiet. Want to tell me what’s on your mind? [listens intently to what Sole says about the feral ghouls they had recognized and killed] I see. Take as long as you need, soldier. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.

Nick Valentine: “You seemed to recognize those two, who were they?” [response from sole] “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he spoke softly, placing a supportive synth hand on sole’s arm.

X6-88: Those were your neighbors? My condolences.

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The sole survivor heaves in grief, but is eventually able to continue on, intrigued by the elaborate wooden welcome sign to Fairline Hill Estates. They had toured the gated community long ago when looking for a house. Sanctuary Hills, the houses of tomorrow, had captured their attention more, with all their technologically advanced features the estates lacked. But all that remained now were the corpses of friends turned into monsters from nuclear radiation and two lazy yao guai, chewing on the bloody bones of rotting brahmin.

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Your companion reacts:

Cait: Oh! Such fascinating creatures! Shall we get a closer look? I wish to study the effects of radiation on these beasts

Curie: You’ve got be fucking kiddin’ me. yao guai? That’s the last thing we need right now.

Codsworth: Oh dear. You don’t think they can see us, right mom?

Deacon: That is disgusting *he giggles* How do you want to play this, boss?

McCready: *Chuckles gleefully, silently pulling out his well polished rifle* This is where the fun begins.

Piper: Well that’s just great. Breaking news: Diamond City reporter torn to ribbons by a giant, stupid, irritated bear.

Preston: Dammit, I think we're in trouble here *pulls out his musket, at the ready* I’m with you, general.

Hancock: We ain’t alone *drops shotgun ammunition into the barrels of his gun* Those yao guai are mean bastards, they hit hard. Just lemme know when you’re ready and I got your back.

Danse: Yao guai..Not to worry, we’ll send those monsters right back to hell [Charges, heavily clad in power armor, laser weapons firing away, breaking the silence of a sleepy afternoon] Die, you godless heathen! Die!

Nick Valentine: There’s no getting out of this without a fight *loads his 10mm with a satisfying click* You ready, kid?

X6-88: Good, I was starting to feel a little bored. You ready to engage, [sole]? This shouldn’t take long

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The Sole Survivor and their trusted companion gawk at the yao guai corpses, bleeding from their many fatal bullet holes. Sole sighs in exhaustion, dropping to squat and holding their face in hands.Their companion rubs their back sympathetically and suggests the tempting idea of spending the night at Fairline Hills Estates. The area was relatively safe now, with Mr. Donoghue & Mrs. Donoghue and the yao guais dead. Keenly aware of the mental torment they both witnessed and given Sole’s fragile state, their trusted companion led the way to the southeast house. Sole collapses weakly on the sunken couch and watches as their companion wanders into the brokedown kitchen to prepare dinner for the night. They ate the meal peacefully without many words to be said about the days’ events. The sole survivor turned down every request to talk about the killing of her neighbors and the close call they had with the yao guai in what used to be a highly sought after gated community. Their companion accepted that sole just wasn’t ready to talk about. They offer to take the first watch to let the sole survivor get some much needed rest.

Once their trusted companion shuts the door to the house to begin their watch, the sole survivor slinks away to the attached garage. They had noticed the chemistry station earlier and knew exactly how to use it. There were piles of dead leaves everywhere, a natural fertilizer. Using the leaves along with the plastic from some junk lying around the house, sole knew they could craft jet - lots of jet. Sole gets to work, tinkering feverishly at the chemistry station, sweating from the withdrawal and desperate for relief. The Sole Survivor sighed in contented satisfaction, admiring their own craftsmanship. Not even bothering to step from the chemistry station, they begin taking hit after hit of jet. Sighing happily as the pain of memories and her broken heart eased into comfortable numbness. Sole wanted to take jet until they couldn’t remember who they were, much less what had happened to them. Sole stumbled back slightly, the room a spiraling blur. No matter, they take another hit and watch the world slowly rise until they felt their back hit the floor. The stared blankly at the ceiling, surrounded by empty jet cartridges. Hearing the loud THUD sole’s companion rushed into the room, fearing the worst (an intruder, a kind of murderous threat) only to find in their horror, a close friend in indescribable pain.

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Your companion reacts:

Cait: “*tsk* Havin’ a good time now, are we?” Cait teased, pointing on the jet in sole’s hand as they slouched against the chemistry station. Cait’s eyes scanned the scene further, noticing the familiar signs of a serious addiction problem.Given the amount of empty jet canisters scattered on the floor around sole, it was a miracle they were even still alive.] I think you’ve got a wee bit of a drug problem, [sole]. Which ain’t right, especially after everythin’ you watched me go through. Why would you let yourself get hooked on the stuff? Can’t believe you’re doin’ this to yourself?!” She shouted, breathing deepling like sole had taught her to calm down. “You’re an idiot, [sole]. But I’ll help ya, just like how you helped me. Let’s go, we’re getting you cleaned up”

Curie: She stares curiously, “I have more than enough data on the physiological effects of chems, there is no need to provide me with more data, sir/madam.” She notices the dilated pupils, racing heart beat, the sweating… “Are you alright, sir/madam? I believe you should see a doctor, we cannot treat your condition here.”

Codsworth: “Are you well, mum?!” Codsworth panicked, desperately trying to assess the situation. A Mister Handy bot was designed for household duties, not crises.

Deacon: Wow, looks like you’ve been partying pretty hard with out me. Miiiight want to lay off cause I think you’ve enough.

McCready: *Slaps the empty get out of sole’s hand, they glare at him angrily, demanding an explanation* That crap is gonna rot your mind. This stops right now (Dad-mode activated)

Piper: Ooooookay (nabs all the empty jet cartridges) I think you’ve had enough, Blue. (Stares at the insane amount of jet in the room). I think we better get you to a doctor. I just hope it’s not too late (she sighs heavily, emotion tightening around her neck hotly) This is why I wanted to talk, Blue! So you - you wouldn’t do anything stupid! Arg! What a mess. Come on, (she lifts sole up) let’s get you to a doctor.

Preston: This is how it ends, [sole]. You keep this up and I’ll have to bury a friend. The Minutemen need you. I need you. And you don’t need those chems. You have people who love and care about you.

Hancock: “Woah!” Hancock froze, staring at the used jet scattered about the room. 2..4..6..three over there, that makes 9…pile of 5 in the corner makes…14? 14! How are they alive? Hancock glanced at the sole survivor, slumped pitifully against the chemistry station, empty jet still in hand. They just kept staring at his boots, completely unresponsive, but he could see the steady rise and fall of their chest with each shallow breath. Hancock began to sweat, panic sweeping in, staring at sole’s chest. What if it they stop…what if they breathing stops - he’s mayor, not fucking doctor.”H-hey, stay with me, now! Look,” He turn’s sole’s face to look at him only to be greeted with dull and empty eyes. “Hey, sunshine. It’s me, remember? Hancock. D-don’t go, you can’t do this to me. I need you, please. Don’t leave me alone.” Tears welled in the crevices of Hancok’s face as he sat beside the sole survivor, holding their hand. He gasped as a familiar smooth hand rested on his. “I could never forget you, Hancock.” The mayor choked back sobs, gripping sole’s hand like it could fade away any moment. “Don’t you ever do this again. Never trip alone. We’re getting you help. Like, now now.” He takes sole’s arm and wraps it around his shoulder’s, pulling them to their feet.

Danse: [Stares in stunned silence mixed with disgust and concern] He crouches beside sole, pushing the drugs away, and whispered angrily, “How can you fight when your brain’s clouded with those drugs? You’re going to get yourself killed. And I’m not just gonna stand here and watch brotherhood’s best, my friend, die unnecessarily. We’re getting you clean and that’s an order.”

Nick Valentine: “SHIT!” Nick hissed under his breath. He'd see a lot of folks at their worst in his line of work. He’d seen this scene too many times before. A case closed in an overdose. There were even some rare occasions where he found Mayor Hancock after a few too many chems. But usually, there were warning signs. How could he call himself a detective when he couldn’t even save his friend from themselves. Nick crouches beside the body, holding their limp wrist in his. A pulse, weak but still there. “Alright, now you’ve done it, kid” He scooped up the sole survivor into his arms. “We need to get you to a doc.”

X6-88: Oh god…[composes himself] You don’t look so good sir/ma’am, Might want to lay off the chems for a while. I’ll be throwing these away (disposes of all the chems the Sole Survivor made and had on their person)

The Sole Survivor wakes up in a familiar bed at the Castle, a stack of addictol was left on the nightstand. This was certainly a more permanent detour to Fallon’s Department store than they planned for. Sole’s companion apologizes for moving them and delaying their trip to the department store. But sole’s close friend promises profusely that it was and always will be for the sole survivor’s own good. They promise again and again that they do not feel any different about them and still deeply appreciate the relationship that they share. So much so, they couldn’t bare to lose their friend to addiction. After some time and regular check-ins with the Minutemen Surgeon General, The Sole Survivor will finally leaves thre Castle and continuing their journey.

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

Hi

Yeah, I've seen the 1 min 30 Izzy teaser. I've seen it many times. I'm choosing to not go crazy on here because the second I do, I will abandon my WIP, and spend all day going in mental loops.

I'm just stuck on feelings of- 'damn we were right' (happy) and 'oh, damn, we were right' (devastated).

[j-nipper-95]

20 Questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tags for this @theearlgreymage and @wellbelesbian. I'm so slow at responding to these sorts of posts. Also, this one is going to be a little tricky, as I only have the one fic up on AO3, so I will be throwing in a few stats from my original novel, 'A Survivor's Revenge', as well.

How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently just the one, 'The Trails We Blaze'. But there is also ASR, my long term original novel, that I'm going to be focussing on again in November.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

TTWB currently has a published word count of 20,059 words, with a total of 68,238. (the will only continue to grow - there's still so much of the original plot of El Dorado to adapt for this AU!) ASR on the other hand is already a monster. Before I split the original draft in two to make the first two books, the draft came in at around 130k, incomplete. Currently, the first book is sitting at 78,278 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Carry On. It's also the only fandom I read fanfic for.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'm still shocked by how well Trails is doing after only a month or so of posting, so thank you thank you THANK YOU for showing this fic so much love. 1,247 kudos is more than I thought the fic would ever get in its entirety, and we're barely scratching the surface of this chaotic journey.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I've loved replying to comments on this fic. It's so nice to know that the fic is resonating with people, and what everyone enjoys about the chapters. I especially love when people pick up on lines from canon, and even mention things I didn't consciously notice when I was writing that reference canon. And just getting to nerd out about the research that's gone into this fic. Anyone who knows me IRL knows how much of a classics nerd I am (unsurprising given I have two degrees), and it's been fun flexing those muscles again. It's also been wonderful seeing what resonates with people over here on tumblr when I share snippets of ASR for WIPsDays. Everyone in the CO fandom has been so supportive of me sharing those snippets, and I can't wait for the day when I get to share Lauren and her story properly with the world.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Trails is unlikely to be especially angsty (I haven't actually planned the ending, but if we're going by the ending of El Dorado, there's likely to be a happy ending. But I don't know, it's a mystery to me at this point!) ASR on the other hand ... Book 1 and book 2 have especially angsty endings. Where the series as a whole is concerned, let's just say I made myself cry when I wrote a line for a scene from the final book. It'll be multiple books of build up for a gut wrenching finale. Only one character is guaranteed to survive from the entire cast. You have been warned.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

None so far, but it's likely to be Trails. Only time will tell!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

So far, no. Everyone has been so so lovely with feedback about ASR and Trails!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I am an aro/ace bean who's not really experienced much, so whenever I try to write smut I struggle due to lack of practical experience (that's such a clinical way to put it, but brain no work right now, so that's the best way I can think to phrase it). But if I ever do write anything considered smutty, I try to focus on the emotions and sensations rather than the act itself. I love to read fic where the emotional intimacy is front and centre, but won't turn my nose up at reading some really raunchy debauched sex. As someone who's questioned her sexuality multiple times since first coming out I've lived under multiple labels before finding the one that suited me. Grey ace, ace bi-romantic, demisexual bi-romantic, I've thought all of them fit me at one time or another. It wasn't until last year that I realised dating wasn't working for me, it never would work for me, and that was ok. Aro/Ace isn't a zero sex/zero emotions identity, it's a spectrum in itself, and I've finally found something that suits me. Back on the topic of smut I write, I haven't written anything smutty for Trails yet beyond some heated kisses and heavy breathing. Maybe some rolling of hips. But I will be taking that M rating to its limit, don't you worry! As for ASR, again, nothing majorly smutty has been written, at least not what I would consider majorly smutty. Just a lot of emotional pining, and a bit of foreplay that starts to lead somewhere, and then DRAMA.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Back when I was first getting into creative writing (we're talking pre-teen/very early teens Jess, before ASR was even a vague concept), I wrote fanfic without even realising that's what I was doing. It was just a self insert series of stories that crossed over with multiple franchises, as well as straight up stealing plot points and tropes from other franchises. Will I tell you what they were? Absolutely not! And they will never see the light of day, because they are absolutely God-awful!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, and I hope that never happens.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd love it if someone ever wanted to. For ASR especially it would be incredible to see it translated and reach more people around the world. Seeing published authors announcing translation deals is something I aspire to!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not technically, but I suppose you could call Trails and Art-Collab fic, because Ashton's art is fucking fantastic!! Whenever I get to posting day and I wake up to see an art DM from her I get so excited! The style she's gone with for this fic was something we talked about for a while and she's just excellent at capturing the images and emotions I hope my writing is portraying. Ashton is a gem, and I am beyond lucky and don't know what I did to deserve her as a friend!!!

14. What's your favourite all time ship?

SnowBaz have been an obsession since mid-2021, and they show no signs of relinquishing the top spot in my heart when it comes to fandom ships. But it'd be remiss of me not to mention my OC's here. Lauren and Mike are my chaotic, dramatic, hopelessly and cluelessly in love MC's for ASR. You know how Baz pines in CO ... yeah, we're talking similar levels, if not slightly above that for Lauren and Mike. One of my favourite messages from my alpha reader was 'How in the hell did these idiots ever think their feelings were platonic?', and honestly, I don't even know. AND I WROTE THEM!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'm working on an epic high fantasy saga with a friend that we describe as 'Japanese mythology meets J R R Tolkein'. It's so fun writing with someone else, as we both have different strengths. Nori is very much at home with the darker elements, the world building, and character development, whilst I love writing the character relationships, romances, and political manoeuvrings. It's just difficult when you're in different parts of the country, and both have other WIPs you're working on. Maybe one day this saga will see the light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I used to think this was a weakness, but since working on ASR edits I think I've become better attriting action sequences. At least, the comments on Trails have led me to believe this. I hope. Since writing that opening chase scene through Southwark it's really bolstered my confidence. But I think my main strength is dialogue full of banter and flirting. Give me a chance to have two characters in a room just bouncing off each other. No need for dialogue tags, just back and forth dialogue. Flirty dialogue is some of my favourite to write, and both SnowBaz and Lauren and Mike allow me to do this in spades! I also think writing pining is a strength, but that is a double edged sword that can cut the wielder if not used sparingly. Pining is great, when not overdone, and I'm praying I've not overdone it with Trails.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action and intimate sequences are still aspects of writing I struggle with, and I'll tell you why. Pacing. Pacing is my nemesis. I just want to get from point A to point B and move on to the next scene. I know first drafts don't have to be perfect, but yeah ... pacing in certain scenes within first drafts is my biggest struggle.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I had to work out how I was going to tackle this for Trails with the most recent chapters I've been writing. HOW DO YOU WRITE A LANGUAGE THAT DOESN'T EVEN EXIST, AND IN YOUR FIC HAS BEEN DEAD FOR MILLENNIA? Atlantean has been a pain to try and work out, and I'm still figuring out a way to write the language itself in dialogue. I really want to try and get some actual Ancient Greek in here as well at some point, so if anyone wants to help translate some riddles and prophecies for me, hit me up! I'm a bad Classicist and never learnt any ancient languages!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Published: Carry On The secret ones I'll never show anyone: that knowledge goes with me to my grave.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Trails is my only published fanfic, therefore it is my favourite. But also I love the source material (both 'Carry On' and 'The Road to El Dorado) so much. But my favourite fiction I've written, out of all the original ideas and bad fanfic, has to be 'A Survivor's Revenge'. These characters and their story have been on my mind for the last fourteen years in some form or another, they are my babies, and I don't know what my life would look like without them in it. Lauren is my favourite morally grey chaos gremlin, and I'm so glad other people like reading about her whenever I share snippets.

Ok, so tagging. I have no idea who has and hasn't done this already, so I'm sorry in advance if you don't want to do this/already have done. Just think of it as me saying hi and how much I love the work you all do!

@aristocratic-otter @bazzybelle @bookish-bogwitch @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @cosmicalart @fatalfangirl @larkral @palimpsessed @phoxphyre

[rogueonions]

I am late to this commentary, but I keep seeing it cycling around in fanfic and writing communities regarding the concept of "problematic fiction", and I keep hitting the same thoughts over and over again. Sorry if this is long, but I have to get the thoughts out of my head.

Themes like abuse, SA, murder, stalking, torture, and such, are problematic. And that's not to say they shouldn't be written. They are themes that have real world impact on readers. Which is why you should always tag your work appropriately.

But, on top of writing for yourself, there's the consideration of who your audience is. Not everyone is going to read for the same escapism, the same catharsis of chaos that horror genres offer. (And yes, I consider a story with heavy focus on abuse, SA, stalking, torture, or murder themes as "horror", this is not a moral judgement, only a simple classification).

Fiction is often a place to explore things that are not safely explored in reality. A chance to turn a lens on a society or community, a problem, or a trend, and examine it. It is also a place to go to escape reality.

Some people seek out or write horror because they like the fright, some because they like the chance to see a world that is more jacked up than the real world (an increasingly high bar for some populations lately). Some people seek out horror because it is absurd, otherworldly, or pure, unbridled insanity.

The call I see most often is to not call these themes problematic, as if fiction is immune from moral judgement. It isn't. It never has been. There is a reason there are people out there calling for books to be banned, there's a reason "Catcher in the Rye" was one of the most banned books. Since the invention of writing for pleasure, no writing has never been above moral judgement. Not even the many sacred texts from religions the world over.

But that's not the point I want to make. I do not condone banning books because they have troubling themes. I don't condone freezing out writers who focus on horror themes.

The point I make here is that horror stories can have, (and have had) real world impact on real world people. To the extreme cases: Stephen King pulled a book after someone used the themes and rhetoric of his fiction in a shooting. Other very fictional stories have inspired very real, very terrible events. And to the milder cases: triggering a trauma survivor because you left off a tag. (Please note, "triggering" is a gross oversimplification that fails to convey the real impact).

So you have to be aware of your audience, how you help them find you, and be aware of who you might be inspiring. If you didn't tag SA and someone reads the story and is hurt by this, you do have to shoulder some of the fault.

How can your audience find your work, and how can others safely avoid your work with this content, if you do not flag it appropriately?

I write fiction and fantasy. I bring in themes that can be problematic, but I do so for a purpose. It is part of the narrative, not the point of the narrative. I seek to inspire people to be themselves, to heal, to know they are not alone in their pain, in their healing journey. I write, in part, to heal myself, to allow myself to process my own struggles. But if someone read one of my stories and thought the scene involving torture or murder was inspiration, I would be horrified. If someone read my work, and came away with the mere notion that I condoned racism, sexism, fascism, etc, I'd be tripping over myself to make clear that was not the intent behind my words.

When it comes to knowing your audience, and your intended audience, it is important to also be aware of when or if you need to clarify messaging (even if you didn't think there was a message). Did you write it for escapism, because you cannot express that level of rage in reality without consequences? Did you write it because it was so absurd as to be nearly Lovecraftian in it's construction? Did you write it because you wanted to highlight the wrongs being done in a certain area? Or did you write it just because you could?

There's nothing wrong here, no moral judgement in the content you create. This is meant as caution, not chastisement.

Writing horror doesn't mean you are a monster. Writing about Nazis doesn't make you a Nazi. Enjoying murder stories doesn't make you a murderer in waiting. I love true crime documentaries (I'm listening to one right now), but I'd never intentionally hurt another human being.

However, if I wrote something that a bunch of fascists loved? I'd rip that content down and apologize to anyone who thought I condoned fascism. Because I owe it to my intended audience to curate my content, too. To make sure that, if I want to be a safe space for people, I curate my space for them.

As a writer, my greatest ambition is to write something my reader returns to again, and again. Something they can enjoy a little differently every time they read it. Can that be done in horror? Absolutely. There can be catharsis in these themes. There can be healing in found there. But it is up to the writer to make sure they safely steer away readers who know they don't want to be faced with that content.

On a final note regarding tags, and this is a peeve of mine in general: Stop inventing new tags for the same problematic themes. You cannot demand that people filter out tags if they don't want to see the tagged content, and then find new ways to tag it. Manipulating tags like that just makes it feel like an arms race, or a battle just to keep up.

[innocentlymacabre]

30 Days, 30 Lines Challenge: Day 8 post your favourite line that you wrote or edited that day

Always leave one survivor. Someone’s got to tell the story.

~~ Now They Call Me the Plague [x] This snippet is actually a full chapter - do with that what you will.

If you're enjoying these excerpts, I would absolutely love you forever if you could buy me a coffee to support its development!

[defire]

I want to make whump films.

I'm considering forming a team of new filmmakers and actors from the whump community, to collaborate on mini series with survivor fiction/whump plotlines.

The goal would be to start bringing life to all of our whump stories that we never got to tell out loud. Eventually I would want us to be able to fund and produce high-quality episodic series on top of the existing content. Naturally there would be pain and angst all throughout each production.

So I'm wondering who would be interested in this.

*regular basis, meaning, creating a consistent stream of content with the goal of growing much bigger over time.

Bet I'm not the only one who would love to make this happen. I have more detailed ideas but I wanted to know if you guys are interested first.

[ak-harper-loves-fiction]

"But it doesn’t stop me from feeling like no matter what I do, I have no one. I can’t tell anyone anything. They’ll leave me one day, right? Everyone always does."

-A.K. Harper

[lukethewitt]

FREE EBOOK for Kindle: The Drag of an Alligator – poetic novel about male rape victims and recovering from trauma

[ardenla]

Book of the apocalypse - chapter 2

Chapter 2 - A place to rest

TW: Gore, psycological horror, spiders, depressing theme's

Word count: 801

Previous chapter:

"C'ome on! I even checked it for you, it should be safe enough."

"How can I... be sure of what... lies beyond if you... are... imaginary?"

Defeated, he sighs.

We have been arguing for a while now and the rain outside hasn't stopped at all.

"I'm going to...one of the stores... usually they have a room... in the back that can be... locked." Old words slowly enter my mind. I guess I didn't forget everything.

"But the clock tower has a better view, you can be certain of your surroundings and make better plans for when the rain stops!"

"Quiller... I am not going in there-!"

Quickly I place my hand in front of my mouth and stop talking.

I must have yelled too loud, because I hear something approaching us.

Something dragging.

Another walking faster.

Shit!

Taking out just one is already quite the feat, two might be impossible, especially in such a confined space.

I've lived like this for years, but only thanks to knowing when to run and when to fight.

After all... they aren't a lot like zombies from old moving pictures.

And it certainly wasn't a virus that caught them.

Not a virus any human or animal could have gotten.

Quickly and quietly I hide behind a corner.

I see the two- no... four!

There's four of them!

Goddammit!

They're still scanning their surroundings.

I just hope they don't-

The one that seems to be the leader looks straight at me, making a strange noise.

Quiller is standing by the door to the tower: "I think this really is our safest bet."

"You... you asshole, you knew didn't you?! You planned for this to happen!"

I don't look at his face, I don't want to look at it.

Wow, betrayed even by an imaginary fiend.

I hold my spear in a way to protect myself as one of them lunges at me.

Before I know it I'm surrounded.

Their half decaying flesh, half robotic faces look hungry at me.

"You assholes fight like... like bitches!" I yell at them, knowing full well the futility of it. The same strange words I recognize as curses leave my mouth one after another.

How strange... but it feels right.

Trying to give myself an escape route I slice off an arm from one of the creatures.

With a sloshy thud it falls onto the floor and rolls away.

Almost immediately a new arm starts to grow, one not made of flesh... but of some kind of metal.

A dark liquid spills onto the floor, smelling like a combination of something rotting and machine oil.

As I try to slice the new one off, I'm only able to dent it a little bit.

I feel my hope sink.

"I guess I have no choice but to use 'that'..."

I take a small machine from one of the pockets in my belt.

It's still a work in progress, but this is better than nothing.

Do I really have to use my piece of hard-work here?

Well... I guess it beats dying.

In a swift movement I press a button and make it stick to one of my attackers' heads.

I'm sorry...

The creature starts to scream.

A scream sounding more and more like that of a human it once was.

I'm sorry...

The others get alerted by the sound and start attacking their once fellow creature.

I hate to do this, but a better decoy doesn't exist.

Even if the creature had become fully human again, it would have died in an instant.

I haven't found anything against that yet.

Quickly and quietly I rush to Quiller.

I give him a glare, saying: 'Fine... I will do it your way asshole!' and get myself through the small door in the ceiling.

He seems to be slightly frightened by my cursing.

It's a good thing I've gotten used to doing parkour.

Jumping from one wall to the other and climbing up is nothing.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I notice that it doesn't end in a small space to crawl through.

I might have gone right back out if that was the case.

It's open.

I close the small door behind me, I really don't want those creatures getting up here and then I turn my flashlight on to look around.

The room is mostly empty, except for the layer of dust and an old couch.

The clock is the window, but it has gotten so dirty thanks to the dust, seeing through it is nearly impossible.

I scan through the room with the light in my hand, I really hope there is nothing up here.

There is a dusty, old couch in the middle and the only source of light is coming from the dirty clock, that's also somewhat of a window.

Luckily there is no one here.

"Hey, are you okay?" Quiller asks, looking rather worried: "You didn't get bit, right?"

I shake my head, I better not answer him right now.

Those creatures one floor below us, worry me.

I carefully walk over to the couch.

Maybe now is the best time to start reading that book.

I take the old object out of my bag and open it.

[j-rad-hewhowrites]

This page really drove home how very fish out of water I was when I interacted with anyone outside the cult. Had no clue.

[defire]

Drafted and forced to fight under threat of corporal punishment

Joined for the pay, used as fodder, sole survivor

Drafted because of their skill and forced to train other soldiers (or else see them die in their first assault) (this will happen to Warren in Miasma)

misplaced loyalty to the crown, gets a real look at what "the crown" really represents once they're on the battlefield and it's too late

Elite soldier caught deserting.

Elite soldier captured and used to barter for a bunch of resources or worse, like 20 captives. Survivor's guilt, feeling they're not worth that much, fear that they won't make good on their commanders' investment.

Elite soldier captured and used as a punching bag for furious enemy soldiers who have lost so much and this prisoner's name has already been plastered over announcements of their army's victories.

ahem

MILITARY WHUMP.

[heywriters]

Rescued Writing Links!

When cleaning out the HEY, Writers! Pinterest I moved some links here. The internet has changed a LOT since I started collecting these, so some links may include outdated info. All were still active when I made this, but it's been in my drafts for a hot minute.

Protip! In Firefox, check to toggle reader view when reading these (mobile: the page icon in the url bar; desktop: same icon or hit F9). This removes popups, ads, screen clutter, and often has an audio option.

Survivors of Internet Decay Award!

These active sites featured most often in my collections so they get the top of the list.

Helping Writers Become Authors

Mythcreants

Bryn Donovan

Getting Started (Ideas & Intros)

How to Start Writing a Book: Learn One Writer’s Process | Marian Schembari

How to Start a Story: 30 Opening Scene Examples | Bryn Donovan

Don’t Panic! What to Do When You Have Too Many Story Ideas | Faye Kirwin

How to Write a Killer First Chapter | Rae Elliot

How To Write A Captivating Opening Sentence

Outlining

How to Create a Flexible Outline for Your Novel | Faye Kirwin

Protagonists

How to Write Believable Characters | Bridget McNulty

4 Ways to Write a Likable Protag at the Start of the Character Arc | KM Weiland

5 Tips for Writing a Likable "Righteous" Character | KM Weiland

I Hate Your Protagonist! Want to Know Why? | KM Weiland

The Secret to Writing Dynamic Characters: It's Always Their Fault | KM Weiland

A Protagonist’s Moment of Realisation

Antagonists

Blurring the Lines: What Are Anti-Heroes and Anti-Villains?

Antagonists: Inner & Outer Demons | Kristen Lamb

How to Write Multiple Antagonists | KM Weiland

Character Building

The Epic Guide to Character Creation, Part 1 | Kylie Day

Pick Up A Bad Habit | Maggie Maxwell

How To Write Characters from the Opposite Gender | Rachel Poli

Top 4 Tips for Using Backstory in Your Novel | Diana Anderson-Tyler

Depicting Background Characters | Chris Winkle

Scene Building

The 5 Elements Of A Good Scene | Amanda Patterson

A New Way to Think About Scene Structure | KM Weiland

2 Ways to Make the Most of Your Story’s Climactic Setting | KM Weiland

8 Things Writers Forget When Writing Fight Scenes | Lisa Voisin

Descriptions

Master List of Facial Expressions | Bryn Donovan

Master List of Words to Describe Voices | Bryn Donovan

Master List of Physical Description for Writers | Bryn Donovan

Writer’s Guide to Serious Injuries and Calamities | Bryn Donovan

How to Ground Your Reader (in the setting) | Rachel Craft

The Forgotten Fifth Sense | Writer's Relief

Never Name an Emotion in Your Story | KM Weiland

Show, Don't Tell: How to Write the Stages of Grief | Ruthanne Reid

100 Words for Facial Expressions

Dialogue

How To Write Good Dialogue: Ten Tips | Irving Weinman

Seven Dialogue Don’ts | Jason Bougger

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction | Katherine Cowley

Points-Of-View (POV)

What Every Writer Ought to Know About the Omniscient POV | KM Weiland

Motivation & Support

What New Writers Need To Know About Fear | Bryan Collins

How to Discover Your Writing Process with Gabriela Pereira | Kirsten Oliphant

Editing & Revising

18 Overused Words to Replace When Writing | Oxford Tutoring

An Easy Way to Immediately Improve Your Character’s Action Beats | KM Weiland

Want More Depth to Your Writing? | Sacha Black

How Much is Too Much Backstory? | Ellen Brock

Why Your Writing Sounds Weird (And What You Can Do About It) | Joe Brock

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers | Jenny Bravo

Favorite Revision and Editing Tricks

Short Stories & Flashfic

How to Write a Story a Week: A Day-by-Day Guide | Emily Wenstrom

How Flash Fiction / Microfiction Can Help With Your Writing | Rhianne Williams

Worksheets & Downloads

Writing Worksheet Archive

If anyone out there loves making lists and wants to transport this to another site, you have every right to do so! Just let me know in a reblog so I can share it here again :)

---

HEY! Writers' Links

Tip Jar! If you enjoy my blog and advice, support me on Ko-fi!🤗

Follow me on AO3 for fanfiction

Visit my Pinterest & Unsplash for visual inspiration

[every-morning-song]

why can't anyone save you? (pt. 5)

Suddenly the farmer found himself on top of his unconscious daughter, and with that he went harder and faster until she started to wake back up. The more he had her, the more he craved her and wanted to hold onto her for as long as he could. He wanted all of her, he was ravenous for her. All this time later and he finally gave in. When the girl started to squirm beneath him, he grabbed her by her hair and pulled them both to their feet. He forced her mouth down on him immediately, not giving her the chance to breathe and letting her vomit all over herself. As she chokes on her own vomit, her mother rustles in the living room inside. The farmer shoved her down hard, as far as she would go, and then pulled her with him towards his truck. Once inside, he pulls her into his lap, both of them facing the same direction, and rubs up against her as a warning. She begins to cry, and as soon as she gets too loud he forces her down on him. Her mother comes to the porch and sees the truck rattling, so she turns the light off and goes inside and goes to bed. With his hands around his daughter’s waist, he starts to taunt her. He asks her if she likes it, whether he feels good for her, if she had ever done it before. A smirk, accompanied by a soft groan, followed. The little girl started to choke, his hand was tightening around her fragile throat as he finished inside of her. With blurred vision and desperation to slip into unconsciousness, she felt him begin to touch her again, but he was lying her down next to him. He had a cold look in his eyes, and he demanded her to finish for him. Spread apart and vulnerable, she wanted only to go back to oblivion, but his hands remained on her and her body continued to respond. She made him proud,  maybe for the only time ever. So proud, he wanted to put her out of her suffering. The scarecrow knew that the scream he heard was the scream. He would remember her limp body on the ground, being left behind. The hunting knife in her side. The blood flowed towards a single crow, standing on the ground near the scarecrow. He would remember the feeling of a scream deep inside him, that he was unable to let out. This was a love and a wound that the ground beneath them would cradle as long as her essence lingered. Nobody could forget a loss like that, someone could set fire to the earth in fear of a curse living within the scarecrow that survived the slaughter, and the ashes would settle or wash into the river where the next body will get thrown, and she will never be washed away.