My Writing Is Going Well, But I'm Worried About A Planned Revelation For One Of The Main Cast. I Don't

I'm very close to reaching a third of my projected chapter amount, but it's looking like I'm going to need more chapters.

I've recently passed 10,000 words in my original story. I honestly wasn't expecting to ever actually reach that number, and I still have so many chapters to go.

I'm currently working on a story, but my motivation to write has been pretty low lately. I think the general lack of interest from my friends and family (only my mom is willing to read it currently) is part of the reason why. I'm new to writing as a hobby, and not having anyone to get unbiased feedback from leaves me feeling like my work isn't that great, I think.

For the past few days, we've been in a truce here. Just not talking about what's going on, since without politics we get along. Eventually, when everything goes up in flames, they'll realize I was right to worry. But they'll never admit it. They never do.

I don't think I'll post any further updates unless something drastic happens. There's other things that make me happier to do.

Don't you just hate it when your Internet goes out for absolutely no reason, only to come back hours later in worse quality?

Another short featuring young Rane meeting her team for the first time.

A new friend, a fellow outcast.

I never understood the need for so many people for these things. Birthdays, graduations, promotions, even something as simple as the weekend drew humans together. I don't even know what the occasion was. The music is too loud, the smells overwhelmingly numerous musks and perfumes, my head is starting to ache from the combination, and worse yet, I am the only Whisper here so far.

Yet I couldn't leave. This was an intentional choice by my Dant, another test to see how I'd react, to see if I caved. It was stupid, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me run away like a kicked dog. I stand in one o the corners, watching the room with a quietly as I study the people in it.

Eventually I notice someone approaching me, and I have to look him over twice just to be sure I'm not seeing things. He's huge, easily towering over everyone else in the room, with broad shoulders and a build that looks like it was sculpted by artists. His pale blue eyes stood out against his dark skin, kindness sparkling in them despite his face being neutral.

He stops a short distance from me, and waves lightly. Confused, i simply stare before giving a half wave back, but he just smiles softly before starting to sign, "It's loud, isn't it?"

I nod, considering how to respond before signing back, "Very. I'm getting a headache form the sounds and smells."

He nods, and gestures for me to follow him, which I do more out of curiosity than anything. He leads me to a balcony looking over the Dex, and the reprieve from the party is an instant relief. I breathe in the fresh air, leaning over the balcony as I listen to the wind blowing over the base.

The man waves again to get my attention, signing once I look over. "Better?" He smiles at my nod, continuing, "That's good. I never really liked these, either. I'm Niko, the mule for your unit, should Sergei's request get approved."

I nod, looking out towards the lake before answering. "I'm Rane."

That's when I heard the oddest thing. A whispered voice, as deep as the rumble of a quake but as warm as the heat from a fire, "He did say you don't talk much…"

I look over, curious about what I heard. "Who did?"

Niko looks surprised, a mix of awe and confusion filling his yes before he finally whispers in that deep, rich voice, "You understand me…?"

it solos - Submitted by: fastman27

#0A090B #13121C #1C1733 #43245F #662A7E

I've got the entire story for an original story thought out, I'm making progress on actually writing it, albeit slow progress. The main problem I'm finding is that whenever I want to share the progress I'm happy with, everyone I know is either busy, or "will read it when it's done", which my brain interprets as disinterest and just stomps my motivation into the cold, unrelenting earth.

I got in an argument with my mother this morning. The context isn't really important, just know it was over it was over politics. But there is one important part that told me what kind of person she is.

I brought up how ICE is targeting schools, and how there's a very good chance that they're taking anyone who looks "foreign". I mentioned that a boy we know could be taken, because he's mixed but looks mexican.

She asked me why I cared so much. She asked me why I cared so much about a boy who's been part of the family since he was a few months old being taken away.

We're not even a month in, and I'm already so tired.

A promise broken

The two of us had been walking through the Dex, Sophia's hand warm in mine, our fingers intertwined beneath our over-sized sleeves. It was a cold day, so we were wearing sweaters over our uniforms to keep the chill out. I didn't need one, but Sophia insisted, and I just couldn't say no to her when she brings up my health.

We'd been talking about the weather, and whether it'll snow or not when a shoulder slams into mine. I growl and go to say something, but the words die in my throat when I see who it was, memories dulling my tongue at the sight of her. I mumble an apology, and pull Sophia along, trying to put as much distance behind us as possible.

“Who was that? You two know each other?”

Sophia's question, innocent as it was, brings a torrent of memories from behind the walls I've carefully built. Memories of late nights training, movies we were supposed to watch, secrets shared beneath the moonlight, promises of forever made and sealed with kisses. I shake my head, and glance over, my voice soft, as if afraid of being heard.

“Not anymore.”