I’ve been posting big word count milestones (80,000…90,000) and recently I reached 100,000 words🤯 at this point the story has become much clearer to me and I’ve got a skeleton to work with. I try to write 2,000 words every day in the drafting process.

I went back to the beginning of the book and wrote about my main character Captain Louis Wolffe leading his squad of soldiers (all humans except for a lanky, towering metal alien) to provide security detail for a popular night market on their homeworld Tertullia. The plot is set 1,000 years in the future so they arrive via dropship. I’m growing the world’s unique culture to expand the lore.

So My Story is Crime Fiction mixed with A Fluffy hurt/comfort sort of plot

Essentially, The Main character is a Criminal who grew up in all the wrong kinds of places, until his abusive mother figure decides to get rid of him

The bit I'm writing and planning right now is surrounding the Protagonist waking up and having to get used to Being cared for by a very sweet farmer girl and her family

It's very mundane and chill and cute, but I'm very much used to writing darker more action-heavy sequences so I'm struggling a little with describing his chronic pain and also figuring out fun things to happen without a major conflict coming in yet

I was thinking that maybe the Protagonist could project his abuser onto his new caretaker friend and that could be some new conflict?

He's also a drug addict but with him almost completely physically incapacitated, that can't do much other than cause him more pain

I need advice on how to make this interesting (Preferably with internal conflict for both The protagonist who we can call A, and His caretaker friend who we can call B)

They can also argue with one another as it's very early on and they've just met and she knows basically nothing about him

Context:

A is a drug addict (B cannot know this for now), very vindictive & spiteful, but not completely without prompting, He will absolutely project his abuser onto B and try to serve her or act crass and dismissive to try and scare her off. He's not the type of person to demand anything from her or reject her gift offerings tho, and will shut up if he's grateful

B is an intense people pleaser, though she does have her limits, and when she's angry she gets loud (Which is actually preferable to A bc his abuser's anger was very quiet and unpredictable), She's very easily-worried and easily hurt, but will try her best not to show it. She is also very observant about what A likes, and wants to help. She will do this to her own detriment

Can y'all help with any ideas or just encouragement?

It was around 6 in the evening. The sky was still orange. After walking far from the city, I had to cover the mountains. I just felt like walking all of a sudden. The mountains were steep, but mostly plateau. The air was chilled. I see a strange flag in front of me. A small one, poking from the ground. The shape of the flag was a triangle. I looked around and there was no one. Complete silence. I looked closely towards the trees, as far as my vision can get me, to see if anyone is watching me. After thorough inspection, I decided to dig the flag. I took a sharp stone lying on the ground and started digging. After taking out some mud, I still looked around, to see if anyone’s watching me. It was total silence. All I could hear were the leaves moving by the wind. Then something felt strange once I dug till the base. There was this machine type object. A robot of some sort. It had round wheels. It looked heavy. I tried to hold it and pick it up, but it was way heavier than it looked. I moved my palm to the side of the object, and tried to feel if there were any buttons or anything like that. I felt a metal plate where there was an inscription. My curiosity grew. I wanted to know more about this object, whatever it was. I stood firmly on the ground, and with all the force I had, lifted the object from the ground and took it out. I was panting. I felt dizzy. I won’t lie but the object took my breath away. The evening sunlight rays hit on the object and made the object glow like gold. This flag that was attached to the object was a mix of red and blue, with some strange shaped things on it. I felt I had discovered some rare metal. All my thoughts just stopped. All I could hear was my heartbeat.  It was anything I have ever seen in my entire life. I wanted to know more about this thing that was lying in front of me. The metal plate which was all rusty and almost impossible to read. I took my handkerchief and tried to clean it. There were some inscriptions written on it. After some thorough cleaning, I could read some of it.  The message on the plate read, “Mars Rover. Property of the United States of America”. Wait. Rover ? . America ?. This sounded familiar. I was sure that I knew about this name. I was scanning through all my memories  about this name.  And then suddenly a wave of past memories hit me. I vividly remember when I was young, my grandmother used to tell me stories about her life. About how when she was little and lived on planet Earth. Her father was in some space agency called NASA, which built machines , and how on planet Earth the humans sent machines to other planets to study them. And there was a concept of country. It was nothing but a big piece of land. They lived on this land called "USA". I started to miss my grandmother. She would be so amazed by this thing that was lying in front of me. I guess machines too have memories. It’s a pretty dumb statement. But when I looked at this object, I kept looking. I felt it had done its job. Painstakingly what it was sent for. But somehow due to uncertain circumstances, it got damaged. This machine has stories to tell. At that moment, it was just me and that Rover, in the middle of trees. Just two of us.  

It was around 6 in the evening. The sky was still orange. After walking far from the city, I had to cover the mountains. I just felt like walking all of a sudden. The mountains were steep, but mostly plateau. The air was chilled. I see a strange flag in front of me. A small one, poking from the ground. The shape of the flag was a triangle. I looked around and there was no one. Complete silence. I looked closely towards the trees, as far as my vision can get me, to see if anyone is watching me. After thorough inspection, I decided to dig the flag. I took a sharp stone lying on the ground and started digging. After taking out some mud, I still looked around, to see if anyone’s watching me. It was total silence. All I could hear were the leaves moving by the wind. Then something felt strange once I dug till the base. There was this machine type object. A robot of some sort. It had round wheels. It looked heavy. I tried to hold it and pick it up, but it was way heavier than it looked. I moved my palm to the side of the object, and tried to feel if there were any buttons or anything like that. I felt a metal plate where there was an inscription. My curiosity grew. I wanted to know more about this object, whatever it was. I stood firmly on the ground, and with all the force I had, lifted the object from the ground and took it out. I was panting. I felt dizzy. I won’t lie but the object took my breath away. The evening sunlight rays hit on the object and made the object glow like gold. This flag that was attached to the object was a mix of red and blue, with some strange shaped things on it. I felt I had discovered some rare metal. All my thoughts just stopped. All I could hear was my heartbeat.  It was anything I have ever seen in my entire life. I wanted to know more about this thing that was lying in front of me. The metal plate which was all rusty and almost impossible to read. I took my handkerchief and tried to clean it. There were some inscriptions written on it. After some thorough cleaning, I could read some of it.  The message on the plate read, “Mars Rover. Property of the United States of America”. Wait. Rover ? . America ?. This sounded familiar. I was sure that I knew about this name. I was scanning through all my memories  about this name.  And then suddenly a wave of past memories hit me. I vividly remember when I was young, my grandmother used to tell me stories about her life. About how when she was little and lived on planet Earth. Her father was in some space agency called NASA, which built machines , and how on planet Earth the humans sent machines to other planets to study them. And there was a concept of country. It was nothing but a big piece of land. They lived on this land called "USA". I started to miss my grandmother. She would be so amazed by this thing that was lying in front of me. I guess machines too have memories. It’s a pretty dumb statement. But when I looked at this object, I kept looking. I felt it had done its job. Painstakingly what it was sent for. But somehow due to uncertain circumstances, it got damaged. This machine has stories to tell. At that moment, it was just me and that Rover, in the middle of trees. Just two of us.  

So, this is the primary story I'm writing, and it has been awhile since I've gotten any feedback on it, so, I figured it wouldn't hurt to see what people thought as I gained some pretty decent insight last time. I should mention that this is Myth-Punk with dark fantasy elements.

What I'm looking for:

1. Is it easy to follow:

last time I did this I was told it was a bit hard to follow and know who was talking.

1. Is the horror believable:

I've had mixed takes on this, some saying it is, others saying the MC seems a little too calm for someone in her situation.

1. Is the premise attention grabbing:

First time asking this. I don't know if I'd call it the hook since this is the half way point of the first chapter, though I'd still like to know as this is a pretty big aspect to the overall arching plot.

1. The characters:

Thoughts on the protagonists and their relationship. I will admit, I understand if there isn't much to go off from here as the horror aspect is more center stage and I am locking more for that and clarity than anything.

Side note: Fresh cut gems is probably not the best descriptor here and I see that.

Once, long ago, I received a feedback that made me overwhelmed. It wasn't overly negative but it didn't feel like the other person (reader) liked it. I'm not really a fan of my own writing (idk the style changes with time and context 😭) but I think it's heavily influenced by what I read.

After that I felt discouraged and I didn't want to share my work ever again. Is this feeling kind of immature? To hide away from public feedback but still want it? Did it happen to someone else too :(

Anita sat, she sat for hours, she had things to do though the things in her head captured her attention in a more satisfying way. An hour earlier she had crushed up two 20mg Ritalin pills and snorted them with the intention of forcing herself to do something of importance with her time. She sat on the wooden floor where if you moved the wrong way you'd get a splinter in your butt, next to the radiator that was on maximum heat so she felt as though she was next to a fire, she imagined her hair curling up the way it does when you hold it over a candle. She had her notebook laid out with some white residue ingrained into its pores as she crushed the pills with her brother's old health insurance card, this now a distant memory a failed attempt to be good. The American twenty that had no use but to breath in drugs now in her back pocket as she sat on the end of her bed, her right eye twitching, her wrist hurting if she puts any pressure on it, ingrown hairs on her legs that now turned into a sight that would make a trypophobic gag from her constant picking, she would shave regularly like being hairless was proof that she was still doing the proper things to live in this world even if she didn't shower she would make sure her legs were hairless with her bruises, discoloration and scrapes there was still proof that she cared, her ankles looked like she had procured some sort disease from the number of mosquito bites, she scratched and picked as things oozed out the different assortment of defects, while thinking about how she has to be an egg donor. The compensation is 15000 dollars and she was confused why everyone didn't try to do this as she checked the boxes for bmi, no for smoking, and family medical history. There was a knock on her door and she looked up from the bright computer screen realizing how dark her room looked as she kicked the notebook under her bed. One of her flatmates had let her friend in and she was coming as Anita had promised to make cookies that night. Ester was someone Anita had decided was dumb, that she had nothing of substance to say and only cared or understood things if they directly related to her. Though for some reason she would give so much of her time to her. Ester came in and sat while talking about the things she did today. She told her about a philosophy course that made her question the belief she once had that learning equals growing and gaining wisdom. All Anita could think about was how crazy she must have looked, as she sat there in an outfit she curated, on her perfectly made bed. Ester and Anita have been friends for a long time, ester was skinny and Anita would starve herself. They head down stairs to make cookies. 

Antia woke up, she was on the train with a half eaten doner slipping from her hands, the lettuce spilling onto her lap. The windows were dark to the point where it was just a mirror, she saw her eyes looking back, her dark overgrown roots and the intense odor of smoke being released with each movement she made, she rubbed her eyes feeling the pressure of her hand pushing into her socket. She lifts her hand to reveal all her mascara had smudged to her undereyes. Someone smacking their lips and talking drunkly about how difficult it is to experience pretty privilege interrupts Anita's looking into the mirror. Bea is standing over her talking to nobody and everyone about how much fun she is having and how she loves coke. Anita can hear the saliva in her mouth with each word she says. It is 6am and Bea is talking about the next place to go, to keep the night going. Bea was showing me this picture she posted, it was her on a balcony in her underwear and a shirt, she was asking me if she looked like a whore. She did not, it was a black and white blurry photo that looked more artistic than anything else and Anita told her such. “No.. you dont . think tch i look schmmt like her” she says slowly as she turns her phone to show this girl almost butt naked.

Three Stages of Love

First sight:

Love at first sight is nothing but a delusional way to map the start of love to something cool, that's what I think it is. As the first eye contact makes me start noticing her, the second makes me feel good, and the third is what I start yearning (desiring) for.

Love is a slow process, and it takes time to take root in both, or maybe in one. Now slowly I start noticing her, becoming fixated (focused) on her. And my heart makes a soft corner for her. And I think my heart doesn't need a reason for it.

Now next phase of love:

Now the things around me feel empty, a void without her. Now her presence is what I yearn for.

I start noticing her a little more, her way of carrying herself, her smile, her hair, her hands, her pinky finger, her sadness, her mood, her behaviours, her wrist, her watch, her open hair, her earrings, everything.

And noticing every detail of her makes my day. My eyes feel blessed seeing her. Up to this phase, I have noticed everything that makes me fall for her. I appreciate every small detail of her, and thank God for such an ethereal beauty.

Devotion:

Now the next phase of love: she means a lot to me.

The cruelest flaw of this world is that she is a separate person, somewhere outside me, when all I wish is for her to be my entire existence. Now her flaws would be precious to me, simply because they are hers.

Now all I can think of, long for, is her. My devotion to her.

Love rooted inside both, or maybe one.

it is a haunting. I can still smell you in the quiet. I can still taste the absolute reality of you burned deep into my brain.

​And the absence you left behind has become a phantom pain;

an excruciating, visceral ache, like missing a piece of my own soul that has been severed away.

And yet, you faked the hunger.

​To what end? Was I nothing more than a mechanical toy in your hands, an experiment to break just so you could offer a hollow apology when the springs snapped? Did I force you into the act, or was it purely malicious; a calculated cruelty just to use me? Or is the truth much colder? Am I simply that repulsive, that you woke up and realized the sheer reality of my being was too ugly to bear?

​After the fire we touched. After everything we did. How could you manufacture an illusion that deep? What kind of absolute madness is wired into your core to fake a soul connection?

My days of free will were nothing but a cougar with ermine walking down the streets

Only I, me and my internal organs see me bleed

Let my happiness scar with a stain of water

Maybe that's why I cannot erase the stain of water

It's sick just to speak against Gods

I had also imagined all the proses when I remembered I wrote against Gods

The Darkend Red: The Tale of Soon: A Poetic Yet Twisted Writing of A Once Desired Angel.

Kiss me o' star

Be my breath of life

Kiss me o' star

Be my angel of the midnight.

Kiss me o' star

Love me yet again.

Kiss me o' star

Don't let my night

Leave my day, my sight, or my own might (my strength\[s\]).

Kiss me o' star, bore me not with your blood.

Bore me not with your piracy, nor your greed.

Bore me not with your season, as if it takes to long to come forth.

Bless me and gift me with your saying 'Happy Birthday' 2' times a day.

P.S. Your birthday passes us by, 2 times a day, and the clock proves it; i.e. 12:12 AM - 12:12 PM.

Bore me not with twists of the bones, the neck and/or the tongue.

Bother me not with the venom in your song, your teeth and/or your jeans; but love me yet again.

Trouble me less with your last words, your damning speech, your damning, damping, and/or your dimming actions.

But love me yet again.

The darkened red, is soaked with blood.

Though as water, it only darkens in tone.

The shade of red, solicites the thoughts of war.

The blind, the fallen, the lost and sometimes the young.

Are found in song and uplifted with every tongue.

Love me yet again, o' Angel,

be strong.

Be of bravity, a blessing, of courage, of day and of night, of dreams; of nightmares, no terrors, no freight, no death and no fight.

Trouble be not, Trouble me not, Trouble me not.

Just love yet again.

.Amen.

Written by: Little Feather Wittentale

a.k.a (also known as) Eric C. White.

. October 19, 2026 .

"The total... was paid in full?" the grandmaster whispered. He began shrinking, his moss vest turning into normal, everyday lawn clippings. He turned into a single, unpeeled onion and rolled away.

My heart is familiar only with you, otherwise, I wouldn't share the state of my heart with strangers like this.

Dil to bas ek tujhse aashna hai warna, hum gairon ko apna haal-e-dil aise nahi sunaate.