ihavebookfever

[ihavebookfever]

yessssss, sadly. they hate non-perfect victims so much. look at aiz-bet dafra from heir by sabaa tahir. i mean i don't like her as a person but she was clearly intended to be a criticism of the mighty. someone who is so helpless, they are easily manipulated, spiteful, vengeful and immature. but of course the more common reaction is getting slammed. pure, good demure victims are so rare. you don't turn into a perfectly normal albeit shy person by extreme abuse/neglect or discrimination.

Bnha 429: The moral of the story is that you have to be a good victim. When someone reaches out their hand to help you, you need to stifle your anger and actually take it and whatever else you can get. You need to make your rage and mental illness and feelings of injustice palatable for others for you to be worthy of saving. Be a pleasant, agreeable victim.

[ihavebookfever]

i feel this i hate missed potential it's worse than just the twilight kind of bad twilight at least didn't pretend to be something more

Realized I treat HH and HB the same way I treat MLB MHA and AOT

I like the characters and the concept but the creators are terrible people and they suck ass at writing so I end up rewriting it and making it my own thing

[ihavebookfever]

just read 50k words of my writing

why is this shit so lifeless???? 😭😭😭

it reads like two robots communicating and then some info-dump

i can't even imagine the places it's so empty

[ihavebookfever]

i just wrote 138k words/375 pages for my main project. i mean it does suck still, but it's progress baby! i love progress. still better than using ai you doofuses.

[ihavebookfever]

List of describing exercises to help you improve your descriptions.

As I try to improve my technical writing skills, I've noticed my describing skills are pretty lacking. So, here is a list of description exercises.

Setting Description

Pick a setting and describe it in a way that evokes a positive emotion, then describe the same setting negatively.

Pick a setting and try to describe it by using all of your senses.

Find a setting you've written before and write 500 words of pure description on it.

Describe a tree from the point of view of a character that's feeling a strong emotion, whether they're depressed, frustrated, or excited.

Character Description

Pick one of your characters and write a 500 word description of them.

Write a 500 word description on how your character feels about different people.

Pick 3 different characters and write 200 word descriptions for each of their voices.

Write a 500 word description about how your character looks at different people.

[ihavebookfever]

How to Make Your Characters Almost Cry

Tears are powerful, but do you know what's more impactful? The struggle to hold them back. This post is for all your hard-hearted stoic characters who'd never shed a tear before another, and aims to help you make them breakdown realistically.

The Physical Signs of Holding Back Tears

Heavy Eyelids, Heavy Heart Your character's eyelids feel weighted, as if the tears themselves are dragging them down. Their vision blurs—not quite enough to spill over, but enough to remind them of the dam threatening to break.

The Involuntary Sniffle They sniffle, not because their nose is running, but because their body is desperately trying to regulate itself, to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to take over.

Burning Eyes Their eyes sting from the effort of restraint, from the battle between pride and vulnerability. If they try too hard to hold back, the whites of their eyes start turning red, a telltale sign of the tears they've refused to let go.

The Trembling Lips Like a child struggling not to cry, their lips quiver. The shame of it fuels their determination to stay composed, leading them to clench their fists, grip their sleeves, or dig their nails into the nearest surface—anything to regain control.

The Fear of Blinking Closing their eyes means surrender. The second their lashes meet, the memories, the pain, the heartbreak will surge forward, and the tears will follow. So they force themselves to keep staring—at the floor, at a blank wall, at anything that won’t remind them of why they’re breaking.

The Coping Mechanisms: Pretending It’s Fine

A Steady Gaze & A Deep Breath To mask the turmoil, they focus on a neutral object, inhale slowly, and steel themselves. If they can get through this one breath, they can get through the next.

Turning Away to Swipe at Their Eyes When they do need to wipe their eyes, they do it quickly, casually, as if brushing off a speck of dust rather than wiping away the proof of their emotions.

Masking the Pain with a Different Emotion Anger, sarcasm, even laughter—any strong emotion can serve as a shield. A snappy response, a bitter chuckle, a sharp inhale—each is a carefully chosen defence against vulnerability.

Why This Matters

Letting your character fight their tears instead of immediately breaking down makes the scene hit harder. It shows their internal struggle, their resistance, and their need to stay composed even when they’re crumbling.

This is written based off of personal experience as someone who goes through this cycle a lot (emotional vulnerability who?) and some inspo from other books/articles

[ihavebookfever]

That's something I'm so bad at.

How to create an atmosphere

How to create an atmosphere: Coffee Shop

How to create an atmosphere: Library

How to create an atmosphere: Supermarket

How to create an atmosphere: Train Station

How to create an atmosphere: Club

How to create an atmosphere: Forest

[ihavebookfever]

I feel you. I wish the thing in my head just spawned so I could read it.

I want to read the fic I'm writing.

I want the storyline, the romance, the thrill, exactly the way I imagined it.

I don't want to write it. Only read!!

[ihavebookfever]

what other characters are this?

(idk if the pic really fits tbh)

[ihavebookfever]

Me @ 3am: wow my writing is garbage. like, not even fun garbage. not "campy b-movie with a cult following" garbage. just banana peel in a hot dumpster behind an Arby’s garbage.

(I'm German we don't even have an Arby’s)

Me, 5 minutes later: boldly anyway, here’s a 470 words long-goodreads review on why [insert bestselling YA fantasy] is literary tax fraud.

Honestly the audacity i have to call myself a writer while using the word "glimmering" 3 times in one paragraph should be studied in a lab.

I write one 1 decent metaphor and suddenly think i’ve earned the right to clown on published authors like i didn’t just name a kingdom. "Elarionth" like a drunk elf with a lisp.

I'm both the critic and the clown. The predator and the prey.

My prose is so purple it’s ultraviolet but at least i die trying, unlike Chad Bestsellerson whose entire novel reads like he asked ChatGPT to "make it sexy and vaguely medieval."

No i will NOT stop writing. yes i WILL continue to judge. duality of man. And yes I will keep my grammatical errors, thank you. Let me be German in peace.

[ihavebookfever]

A few of them already appear. But they split and meet up again to get recruited into a guild where the actual found family is. The first book is basically a very, very long prologue. So some of them are foreshadowed, some not. I'm not yet done with book 1 though, so I could still foreshadow a few more of them. I already wrote a scene where I foreshadowed one part of the found family. And another one. But three of them don't appear in book 1, which feels very wrong? Lmao, writing that isn't fanfic is so hard.

Lads, is it normal to introduce the found family in the second book? Is this too late? All good stories I know, even the ultra long ones, seem to do this in the first book.

[ihavebookfever]

Lads, is it normal to introduce the found family in the second book? Is this too late? All good stories I know, even the ultra long ones, seem to do this in the first book.

[ihavebookfever]

I can rarely decide the tone of a story. Should it be silly and whimsy? Or gritty and honest? Or something else entirely? Tonal whiplash is my constant companion.

[ihavebookfever]

Glossary:

Madling, Person that lost their mind when too close to a rift or mutated by the artifact of a rift

Plague Watchers, cult members that close rifts to other dimensions

The Gendarmerie, Magister-Prime’s justice syndicate

Chapter 1

There is one good thing about another plague rift opening: Profit.

The gas mask that hid my face, shielded me from catching anything that leapt out of these plague rifts.

I didn't have much time. Not much longer. The Plague Watchers would soon arrive.

Would steal my money.

Would close this rift.

Pray to their stupid gods.

I cut the artifact out of the corpse's dusty chest.

He was a Madling.

A scavenger who stood too close to the rifts without any protection.

Like me he scavenged rift artifacts.

Unlucky bastard seemed to have caught a parasitic one.

Probably something that warped the body.

Turned you into a living nightmare.

Of course I wouldn't end up like this loser.

Or so I thought.

I mean I did wear my mask.

And I was smart, wasn't I?

First, things first.

You should know I wasn't a heartless monster.

Just venal since I was an eight year old scamp.

But was it my fault?

My fault when I lived in a destroyed, gassy country with bad food?

My fault when my parents turned into a dealer and a crackwhore both respectively?

My fault when those bastards pimped out my sister, and I needed the money for both my looks and to buy her free?

I put the oval-shaped artifact into my bag and rummaged through the grey, infertile soil.

Maybe there were more artifacts.

There were not.

Of course.

I looked around the simple, grey and square buildings — most of them new and as bland as the people living in there.

The Plague Watchers weren't there yet.

The Gendarmerie neither.

I sighed in relief as I stood up.

Looked at the small rift just a few steps before me.

It was a hot-white.

Something bright in this godforsaken grey town.

Harmless.

I let out a cackling laugh.

Like a hyena.

That's what they called me.

Hyena.

Both my miserable parents and my sis.

And now probably you too.

I looked around again, and saw a limping pariah kneeling in front of one of those grey, square buildings the Magister-Prime loved to force on us common folk.

Poor lad probably wanted some coin.

And as I was feeling euphoric today, coin he got.

I walked over to the guy.

Felt the dust below my shoes frisss-frissing.

Looked at his face.

As I saw he lacked half of it, I held back a pained grunt.

I opened the pariah’s fist with my gloved fingers and put a coin in it.

I heard a shot.

Maybe it was just another scavenger.

But I didn't care.

I ran.

Ran fast.

As fast as I could.

I hid behind one of those grey buildings and panted.

Not far away from me there was a paved way.

It was dusty and cracked like most of those in Old Sanimur.

They all lead to Exaltis where I lived.

An isle haven that smelled like piss and rot and things worse.

This was where my family lived.

Where my sister was pimped out by some guy called Smitty.

Where I sold those stupid rift artifacts in the black market, and where my favorite whorehouse was.

Mind you I didn't visit it yet — too much of a coward.

Women scared me, you see.

How much they endured, without backing out.

I looked behind me.

There was no one.

Just the pariah still bowing as if he prayed to God.

I wonder if maybe he actually did.

Maybe he did pray to the God’s the Plague Watchers worshiped.

According to rumors they did grant wishes after all.

But something bothered me.

The man didn't move anymore.

And behind him there was a cloaked figure in a shako.

A gendarme.

Shit.

Another one stepped into the light.

So they were two.

One of them walked over to the pariah and booped him with his foot.

The pariah instantly fell to the side.

My stomach clenched.

He was dead.

The Gendarmerie shot him.

They aimed for me and shot him instead.

Bear in mind, this wasn't unusual.

The Magister-Prime and his Gendarmerie wouldn't let any dirty scav pick up those artifacts.

In this time casualties didn't matter.

Not when the Plague Watchers were faster than the officials.

Not since the first rift appeared a good eighty years ago.

To them, the lad was just another dirty poor swine destined to die.

They probably shot him by accident.

They wouldn't be as soft with me if they found me.

Knew I was the dirty scav.

I needed to think fast.

Wait till they went away?

Run straight to Exaltis?

Climb onto those straight-lined balconies?

My scattered mind made me unable to decide.

There were too many possibilities.

Way too many.

And if I was something it was indecisive.

Indecision would get me killed.

I sucked in a breath, forced my shaking hands to still.

Think.

Move.

Now.

The rift pulsed, its eerie white glow humming in my peripheral vision.

Harmless when nothing leaped out of it, sure—but maybe useful still.

I grabbed a stone from the cracked pavement, its rough edges digging into my palm. With a flick of my wrist, I sent it sailing straight into the rift.

The moment it hit, the air shivered. A high-pitched keening echoed out, like metal scraping against bone.

The light in the rift flickered, warped, then snapped back to its normal state.

Both gendarmes turned. One barked something I couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in my ears. The other took a cautious step toward the rift, weapon raised.

Perfect.

I ducked low and slipped around the side of the grey building.

Boots crunched behind me. Not close—yet.

One of the four sides of the building was smooth and useless.

The other had a drainpipe, rusted at the joints but still bolted in place.

Above that, a ventilation gride—half-crushed, bent outward just enough to hold my weight.

I didn’t hesitate.

One foot on the drainpipe. Fingers gripped the edges of the gride. A deep breath—then I pulled myself up.

The metal groaned beneath me.

I froze.

Sweat trickled down my back.

No shouts. No shots.

I kept climbing, boots scraping for footholds.

Fingers caught the cold railing of a level-one balcony.

I swung myself over just as a voice rang out below.

“Where the fuck is he?”

I pressed my back against the wall, heart hammering. I didn’t dare look down.

I was safe. For now.

But they wouldn’t stop searching.

And I still had to get out of this alive.

Needed to reach Exaltis in this ugly as fuck town.

[ihavebookfever]

🕯️🕯️ caleo break up in tsats sequel 🕯️🕯️

[ihavebookfever]

It physically pains me that valgrace isn't canon and that not everyone ships them

[ihavebookfever]

rofl

ermm heres my terrible drawing of calypso as colleen ballinger while addressing the allegations

please dont send me death threats