#writing scenery

[writing-chats]

COLOURS in DESCRIPTION

colour is the lifeblood of a scene. here are ways not to over-use it.

Red: cardinal, coral, crimson, flaming, maroon, rose, wine, brick red, burgundy, carmine, cerise, cherry, chestnut, claret, copper, dahlia, fuschia, garnet, geranium, infrared, magenta, puce, ruby, russet, rust, salmon, sanguine, scarlet, tition, vermilion, roseate, rubicund, ruddy, rubescent, florid

Orange: apricot, tangerine, merigold, cider, ginger, bronze, cantaloupe orange, clay, honey, marmalade orange, amber

Yellow: blond, chrome, cream, gold, ivory, lemon, saffron, tawny, xanthous, sandy

Green: grassy, leafy, verdant, emerald, aquamarine, chartreuse, fir, forest green, jade, lime, malachite, mossy, pea green, pine, sage, sea green, verdigris, willow, spinach green, viridian

Blue: azure, beryl, cerulean, cobalt, indigo, navy, royal blue, sapphire, teal, turquoise, ultramarine

Purple: violet, indigo, lavender, lilac, mauve, periwinkle, plum, violet, amethyst, heliotrope, mulberry, orchid, pomegranate purple, wine, amaranthine, perse, violaceous, reddish-blue

[sky--phantom]

Solas and Lavellan's reunion got to me, it's the first time they've seen each other in person since Trespasser, they're sharing the same space, they could reach out and actually feel the other there, the feelings are still very much present

But, the thing I just realized is that Solas and Lavellan probably didn't have shared dreams since the night before the ritual, before he got trapped in the regret prison. And those dreams most likely returned as soon as Solas slept again after escaping the prison.

Imagine Lavellan, meeting Solas in her dreams almost every night for years and years. Until one night, it just stops. She knows he started the ritual, the Fade tears appeared, but he clearly did not succeed, and for a few days, she doesn't know what happened. All she has is a wolf statuette that appeared out of thin air (and latter on, she finds a letter from him from before the ritual).

She learns that Rook, Varric's new friend, has a connection with Solas now, who is trapped in the Fade, and somehow their minds are linked. That's all she has as a reassurance for months and months that he's still alive.

And then, one day, after the events at Tearstone island, she goes to sleep, and Solas is there, he's back, her dreams have a wandering wolf once more.

So Lavellan knows that Solas is free perhaps even before rumors of his actions at Minrathous start flying around.

Maybe Solas starts avoiding sleep and/or her dreams after that; maybe he lingers in the outskirts, not being able to flee from her after being unable to see her for so long; who knows. But they had to have met in their dreams at least once in that window of time between the events at Tearstone Island and the Archon's palace

[eliseliedl]

Ceramic Grove of Wheat

[sluvjvn]

[popp1n]

GHOSTING THE GOVERNMENT

|masterpost| ao3

Chap 1: A Not-so-Ghostly Getaway

Pt 4

The faded green exit sign for the State Park loomed ahead, weathered decals indicating only a couple miles drive to a dusty salvation. Jazz, her hands slightly more relaxed and confident on the steering wheel, executed a smooth, almost imperceptible turn off the interstate. The car, though having seen better days, responded obediently, carrying its cargo of empty chip bags and discarded soda cans with hardly a rattle.

“About time,” Tucker grumbled from the passenger seat, stretching his arms over his head. “My eyes are starting to blur from all these interstate signs.”

In the back, Danny, who just hours before was a restless whirlwind of nervous anticipation, was slumped against the window, his usually vibrant blue-green eyes dull and darting nervously. His leg bounced a frantic, incessant rhythm against the floorboard. Sam, perched behind him, leaned forward, her usually calm demeanor tinged with a quiet excitement. “It’s perfect, though, isn’t it? Miles of open space. No one for miles. We can really… disappear. Or, well, we'll come one step closer."

Jazz spared a glance to the front passenger seat, catching Danny’s haunted, twitching reflection. “We need to make this car look like it’s been through a natural disaster. Something that screams ‘we just went off-roading for fun,’ not ‘we’re trying to lose a tail.’” She navigated the initial paved road, which quickly dissolved into a pockmarked gravel track, kicking up a thick plume of reddish dust. “The idea is to get it dirty enough to legitimately explain why the tracker might stop working after a car wash. We want to destroy the tracker, not the Corolla itself.”

“Operation: Dirtbag Corolla is a go,” Tucker announced, already eyeing the terrain. “I’m thinking a good deep rut to really cake the undercarriage, maybe some mud flung onto the windshield for that authentic ‘I was just driving through a prairie’ look. Something that says ‘adventurous teens on a detour, definitely not avoiding government surveillance.’”

Sam, however, was already in her element. As the car lumbered deeper into the park, the landscape shifted from forests to a majestic, eroded wonderland of sheer cliffs and splashing waterfalls. She leaned out the window, breathing deeply. “I can feel it, can’t you? The quiet. The sheer… ancientness of it all.” Her fingers trailed through the dust on the window frame. There was something about Sam; a natural empathy, a connection to the world around her that bordered on the mystical. Ever since Overgrowth hijacked her body several years ago now, she seemed to draw comfort from the raw, untamed earth.

They found a secluded campsite just a scant few hours before the sun began its dramatic ascent, painting the sky in lush pinks and purples to chase away the midnight blues. The Corolla, now a magnificent monument to vehicular abuse, was parked off to the side, caked in so much mud it looked like it had wrestled a badger. Tucker, with his meticulous eye for detail, had even managed to ensure that the dirt was strategically placed for maximum impact at the car wash, without risking any actual damage to the vehicle. He immediately set to work, pulling out a device to evaluate the tracker.

While Tucker was busy running diagnostics, and Sam was meticulously arranging rocks around their small campfire, Danny found himself drawn away from the familiar hum of their anxieties. He wandered a short distance from the flickering light, drawn by the deep indigo of the sky, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

He lay flat on his back on a surprisingly soft patch of grass, the coolness seeping through his worn t-shirt. Above him, the velvet blackness of the night was slowly, gloriously, coming more into focus as he gazed upon it. First, faint pinpricks of light, then more, and more, until the entire dome of the sky was a glittering tapestry of stars, stretching from horizon to horizon. It wasn’t just stars; it was the Milky Way, a shimmering river of cosmic dust and light, starkly visible without the oppressive glow of city lights.

Danny had seen stars before, of course, but never like this. In Amity Park, they were a distant, filtered memory obfuscated by an increasing number of street lights. Here, they felt close enough to touch, an almost overwhelming presence. But even this couldn't entirely quell the frantic beat of his heart. The knot of fear in his stomach, tight and cold, loosened a smidge. The constant hum of suspicion, the whispers of “unidentified ecto-energy signatures” and “unexplained phenomena,” seemed to recede, dwarfed by the sheer immensity above, but the feeling of being watched, of being hunted, still prickled at the back of his neck.

He felt a soft thud beside him and turned his head to see Jazz settling down, mimicking his position. Her usually furrowed brow, a permanent fixture of her academic intensity, was smoother tonight, softened by the starlight.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Jazz murmured, her voice a hushed whisper, as if afraid to disturb the profound silence.

Danny nodded, unable to articulate the depth of his feelings, still feeling a tremor deep inside. “It’s… huge. And we’re… not.” He paused, searching for the right words, his gaze flitting nervously from star to star. “These past couple months, I felt like… like I was shrinking. Like the world was closing in. And then we started driving, and it was still closing in, but now… now it feels like it’s opening up… but what if it’s a trap?”

Jazz reached out, her fingers gently brushing his. “That’s the beauty of it, Danny. The universe doesn’t care about our petty squabbles, our human anxieties. It just is. And seeing that, it puts things into perspective.” She shifted slightly, propping herself up on an elbow, looking at him. “You’ve been carrying so much, little brother. Too much. But out here, under all this… it’s a reminder that there’s something bigger than all of us. And that means there’s something bigger than them, too. They’re just people, Danny. Even with all their resources, they’re still just people.”

He let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I thought… I thought we’d never feel free again. Not really free. It felt like they were closing in, like they were going to find me out, no matter what. Like it was only a matter of time.” He looked back up at the stars, a newfound clarity struggling to emerge in his gaze. “But looking at this… it’s like a promise. That we’re getting closer. Just like those stars are so far away, but you can still see them. And you know they’re real.”

Jazz’s eyes, usually so analytical, held a rare warmth. “We’re almost there, aren’t we, Danny?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Almost free.”

A sense of profound comfort, though still tinged with a persistent hum of anxiety, settled over him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since before his life had been turned upside down. The chill night air, the soft rustle of the long grass, the vast, comforting blanket of stars overhead – it all coalesced into a single, overwhelming sensation of fragile hope.

“Yeah, Jazz,” Danny said, a genuine smile finally touching his lips, though his leg still jiggled a nervous tremor. “We’re almost there.”

<Prev | Next>

[boltlightning]

this isn't necessarily advice i'm qualified to give but. some tips i find useful for fight scenes:

there's gotta be some emotional threads. include what you think is cool but there should be some sort of journey or purpose, just like any other scene, even if it's just to showcase ability or highlight an emotion

you don't have to explain every single move. so long as blocking doesn't contradict itself you can gloss over details, either for flow or to save yourself the headache. liberate yourself from having to mention every time a character swings a sword or steps back.

tbh...make it a little gross. it can be cool too but making it a little gross makes it a little human, a little less fictional. it grounds the scene but also adds some fun sensory associations for the reader

psst. hey. c'mere. a bonus tip: all of this applies to kiss scenes too. or really anything based more around body language rather than dialogue. make it a little gross. i wanna hear about spit and sweat and squelching

[forgetmenotnympho]

𐔌 . ⋮ hi ty .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

rodrick x loser!girlfriend

⋆༺Ƹ★ (ꐦ ◣‸◢) ★ Ʒ༻ ⋆

your favorite thing about Mr. And Mrs. Heffley is the fact that they can't wrap their heads around the fact that you're a loser too. Or the fact that rodrick even has a girlfriend to begin with.

They don't get it. Girls can't really be losers- not like their son. You're just so pretty, what do you mean you only have like three friends?

They were shocked when Rodrick's stupid band practiced a song, and you actually started... singing along...? Oh, who's the song by? Weezer or Twently Øne Pilots, probably.

They didn't understand why you kept drawing pink mustaches on the inside of Rodrick's pointer finger so you could match. They didn't get why why you kept bringing up this guy named Vincent or why you said XD whenever Rodrick made you giggle.

you initiated most physical interactions because you were capable of making him feel... embarrassed.

you took delight in seeing him all red and flustered, babbling sheepishly as he showed you his my space profile in your little invader zim shorts that rode up whenever you sat down.

You never complained about his little brother and his friend even though they were soo weird

you sat on Rodrick's lap and carefully drew on his eyeliner, occasionally kissing around his face as you pretended not to notice something pressing against your jean shorts.

you always drew on your knee high converse and took extra care in lasing them up with intricate designs and colorful beads.

You smiled warmly whenever Rodrick's mom complimented your hair- she had no idea how long it took to straighten and style. You dyed the raccoon tail design yourself and loved finding the perfect pins to clip in your hair after styling you side swept bangs.

rodrick x stoner!boyfriend

•°★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

Mr. and Mrs. Heffley had conflicting feelings when it came to you. On one hand, when they heard you were on the soccer team, they figured you'd help Rodrick be more active, but on the other hand... well, you looked like a bigger loser than their son.

They figured Rodrick got whatever he smoked from you, Mrs. Heffley tried to look on the bright side. "At least Rodrick's making other friends!" Mr. Heffley thought the two of you were maybe hiding something.

yeah. You totally were hiding something. You would help Rodrick with small stick n poke tattoos that would litter parts of his body only you'd get to see. On his hip, just bellow the waistband.

While stoned, you helped him pierce his eyebrow and well... there was a decent amount of blood. It didn't get infected, but he definitely got grounded for a while. Lied and said someone else at school gave it to him so you two could still hang out.

You became the absolute master at breaking and entering- or just sneaking in through Rodrick's bedroom window.

Your clothes got lost in each others closets, you had no idea what belonged to who anymore, but Rodricks mom always noticed when he wore your clothes.

you had a raccoon tail keychain that you always wore without fail, your converse were more beat than Rodrick's, and you were absolutely killer at electric guitar. Great with your hands.

You painted your nails with better care than Rodrick ever could, and you kissed him every second you could, delighting in his neediness. It was pathetic, and it drew you in.

You let Rodrick bum a smoke off you whenever he asked nicely and are always cautious to not help him smoke too much. You knew where to buy and never let him get that information.

Every once in a while he'd ask for help with his hair- even though he could do it himself and has done it already before- because he insisted the way you did your liberty spikes was just much better than his.

[vaaveyylla]

[brotherwtf]

I know an empty supply shed or a slight roll in the hills of Thorpe Abbotts fucking hate to see clegan coming to do something gay

[sebfreak]

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

“no one gets this female character like i do” and the female character is the 2016 film swiss army man directed by the daniels and produced by a24 starring paul dano and daniel radcliffe

[helgiafterdark]

blah blah werewolf husbands blah blah blah

so, i just wanna talk about my personal characterizations of them. farkas is not some stupid bumbling brute with no brain and no feelings, and vilkas isn't just some angry angsty asshole (although at a surface level, i can see this). and this definitely heads into headcanon/fanfic territory.

farkas has the unique role of being the only companion we can actually witness transform into a werewolf (we do get to see aela in wolf form, but not her actual transformation and with no combat). and kodlak has convinced vilkas that sovngarde is a desirable goal incompatible with lycanthropy. so what does this mean?

clearly, farkas is more at ease with his own lycanthropy – his own self. he can transform into a wolf at will, he has amazing control over it. he is always calm and level-headed, he isn't concerned about any sort of bloodlust or rampages. i think this is due to his upbringing, surrounded by werewolves and warriors his entire life. this is his normal, his peace. i still believe his wolfblood burns hot within him, and he has moments where he loses control. but these moments are few and far between. his outer shell is a quiet calm man, who has moments of boisterousness and passion. and he is perceived as man of few words, or more negatively, a bad conversationalist. i think this contributes to the idea that he is stupid, but he isn't. he definitely doesn't have as much capacity to remember many historical facts like vilkas, but still he isn't stupid.

farkas has a rich inner dialogue and feels his emotions very deeply. yes, he has his personal trauma and other things he has dealt with which have possibly caused him to become withdrawn. but he has a very healthy outlet in hunting and fighting and training, especially considering he is literally not a human and biologically has a need to hunt (whether this aligns with human needs or morals is irrelevant).

and you'd think the same would apply to vilkas, but it doesn't. he is always grumpy at best, a whirling storm of fury at worst. he has bursts of anger, shouting, maybe even violence. combat is his main outlet, at jorrvaskr he can knock skulls together all day. but put him in a tavern and he will sulk in the corner all night. to most everyone else, he's moody, brooding, irritable, snobby, fun-intolerant, and has no problem laughing in your face when you ask a stupid question (although he'll tell you the answer anyway, because he certainly knows it). but there is an ache, deep in his heart. he has carried it with him for a very long time.

i believe in childhood vilkas was perhaps closer emotionally to their father, jergen, or had a stronger attachment to him. and when jergen left for war, vilkas took this much harder. he had to reason with himself and come up with some way for this loss and grief to make sense. so vilkas perceives this as abandonment, and maybe it was. and due to his environment and the people around him, the only thing this boy could understand was anger. then he latched onto another father figure, kodlak.

and we have to remember that kodlak wasn't always an old man. he was young, a powerful werewolf warrior who claimed many victories and looked glorious doing it. he still maintains a connection to talos in his old age, which he likely acquired in youth long before he became a werewolf. after jergen left and never returned, kodlak took on the responsibilities of instilling good values into those boys. i don't believe kodlak really taught them much about talos (somewhat secular upbringing). but he did teach them about honor, integrity, leadership, and security. over time, kodlak came to see them as his own sons. i think this is where kodlak's worries regarding sovngarde stem from; things are different now that he has children.

and when kodlak became disillusioned with lycanthropy, he projects onto vilkas and farkas, saying that they do not take to the blood as deeply. vilkas was easily convinced. farkas obviously just agrees with vilkas, he goes where his brother goes. but i think internally, farkas is extremely comfortable as a werewolf and would not choose to rid himself of his power. so when kodlak says farkas seems to be fine after swearing off transformations... well, i think it is because farkas would never give this up, and hasn't.

i think farkas' mental peace and clarity come from being his unrestrained self. he doesn't hold back his wolf, he embraces it fully. he regularly hunts in beast form, like aela and skjor. he transforms whenever he needs to, a powerful release of emotions and other energies. maybe farkas just wasn't as close to jergen, maybe he just has better emotional control and was able to efficiently cope with his grief. no matter the reason, he isn't as affected by this loss as his brother. (not to say farkas was entirely unaffected, but everyone has their own reaction to loss). however, farkas did very much look up to skjor. and when skjor dies, farkas is grieving. he expresses this verbally once and then never again. he's a man of few words, he contains his grief and other emotions.

vilkas' enduring anger, however, is worsened by holding himself back. he is convinced lycanthropy is a curse, that he isn't a true nord. so he doesn't transform into a wolf. he remains a man, every day, possibly for years. he is bottled up, repressed, waiting to be released but he will not allow this to happen. this is the illusion of self control. in holding himself back, he makes it so much harder to contain. he is absolutely itching with rage and he knows why but he is so stubborn. he has made up his mind; he will not transform. to him, this is strength. he believes his beastblood is his weakness. but i don't think werewolves should see their blood as a curse or a blessing. it is simply who they are, and it's important emotionally and mentally and physically to embrace who you are.

so basically, when farkas transforms into a wolf, he is completely in control and fully aware. this is what vilkas thinks he is, but in holding himself back he is actually on a path to losing control over his beastblood.

i love them <3

[smollsmule]

I feel like recently I've been chattier about my writing than I would usually be but I am just having such a blast out here.

[twosides--samecoin]

"Some people reflect light, some people deflect it; you by some miracle seem to collect it" Mark Z. Danielewski. House of Leaves, 2000.

[vintic-girl]

[compress1repress]

writing part 2 of bottom art and plotting & planning the order of the sex scenes. this is a very serious task to me actually