#Writing Practice

[vibrantdream]

Usually when people say they can hear colors, it's because they've eaten something they shouldn't have. There are the few who are gifted, of course, to experience a single sensation multiple ways, but I am not one of those people. And yet, the blue sky above me was positively singing. It was such a lovely, clear tone, unlike any instrument or human voice I'd heard before.

And it was utterly at odds with the sheer amount of pain I was in. My head hurt the most. It felt like my skull might rupture at any moment. To be honest, it felt like it already had.

Yes.

It wasn't a voice... or words, exactly. And yet, there was communication. Understanding. I vaguely remember a bright flash. Agony. Voices. Then...the sky was singing.

I tried to move, to push myself up.

NO! The something inside me screamed, like an electric shock through my body. I raged back against it, but it gave me no quarter. Then everything went dead silent. No sound of wind, of insects. The sky had stopped singing. I couldn't even hear the pounding in my head anymore. Hasa. Silence. It wanted me to be quiet. But I knew... I knew I had to do... something. I couldn't just lay there. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Sound was coming back now, but slowly, gradually. I still couldn't move. Not a muscle. Not an inch. All I could do was stare at the sky and listen. I didn't have to wait for very long.

"Miss? Miss! Are you alive? Miss!"

The voice was streaks of red and orange across my vision. I wanted to turn and look for the voice's source, but my other still fought me. Fortunately, the owner of the voice soon came to me. A young man, in plain clothes, looking bedraggled, to say the least. He was drenched with sweat and covered in dirt. He knelt over me with the most panicked expression I'd ever seen. His colors sounded frantic.

"Miss, are you still alive, miss?"

It took monumental effort just to blink twice in answer. The other didn't comment, but it did seem angry. Help. I tried to reassure it.

The young man scooped me gently off of the ground and carried me away from where I'd lain. With so many new sights, I had to close my eyes to quiet the cacophony. But I couldn't close my ears, and each new sound was a dazzling dance of color across a black background.

~~~~~~

"Thank you."

It was the first thing I was able to say to him after weeks of his diligent care. As with everything these days, the effort it took was enormous. Both syllables were meticulously formed, but my voice still sounded slurred, warped almost.

None of it mattered, because Everen's face lit up. "You're welcome! And you're speaking! Are you feeling better? Do you think you'll be ready for solids soon? My mother wants to bake you her famous cheesy sausage rolls, says they work miracles..."

He was always such a chatterbox. I tried to tell him to slow down, but what came out of my mouth was a jumbled mess of sounds.

No. The other insisted.

He frowned. "So you can't talk?"

Not yet, I wanted to say. I settled for shaking my head.

"But you do understand." He said.

I nodded.

"Okay." He said. "Okay. It's a start. It's progress."

~~~~~~

It was another few months before I could really move under my own power. My body was weak and slow to respond. I was clumsy, and Everen was attentive to helping me learn to move again.

I could sit up, at least, which was, admittedly, an improvement.

I also had to admit that Rani's cheesy sausage rolls were helping me regain my strength. Maybe they were miraculous.

Then one day, the routine changed.

There was a loud bang, then overlapping voices and noise in the next room. I couldn't quite distinguish what was being said--it's hard to focus when each individual word dances in one's vision and races across one's skin. I was getting used to my senses having permanent crossover, but I got overstimulated easily.

Move.

The other had never insisted I do anything before. It usually tried to stop me trying things.

MOVE!

I lurched out of the bed, falling to the floor, but the thud I made seemed to be drowned out by the noise in the next room. Everything hurt. I dragged myself across the ground to the door, pulling myself up on the door frame, before I pushed the door open. There were armored, uniformed men in the room, digging through storage, knocking things over. Rani and Everen were begging one, the leader, I assumed, to stop.

"You're behind on your payments." He said gruffly. "And the lord of the land wants his due."

"We'll have the money soon." Everen said. "The lambs will be ready for market in another month. We just need time!"

"No can do." Said the man. "Payment is due today. If you don't have the money, we'll have to take equivalent compensation."

"Stop." I whispered.

Everyone in the room froze.

The leader looked at me. "What have we here? Harboring fuguitives, Rani? The census says there are only two living in your house, ever since your husband--"

"She's not a fugitive!" Everen said. "Just badly wounded. She needed help. We never tried to deceive his lordship."

Some of the lower ranked thugs were coming toward me. I didn't want them touching me.

"Larfialt." We said together, and they flew into the opposite wall.

The leader drew his sword. "Attacking his lordship's men is a punishable offense, girl."

I leveled him with a glare. "Kavarsti," we said as one, and the man incinerated on the spot.

The thugs all looked between each other, then at me.

"Out." I said.

They ran.

Everen ran to me. "Denra, are you alright? You're bleeding."

"Help," was all I managed to say before everything went dark.

~~~~~~

I was back to not moving, it seemed, though I could still make small motions.

"Hasa," I said, pushing the barest amount of magic into the room. If this was about to become a screaming match, I didn't want my hosts to hear it.

Finally, I was ready to confront the other.

"Who are you?"

You. Said the other

"No," I said. "I'm me. Who are you?"

You. It insisted.

"You can't be me," I said. "You're a separate... thing."

Yours. It said after a long pause.

"What do you mean?" I asked

Images flashed before my eyes. A young lady with long dark hair staring back at me from a mirror; she wore the robes of an apprentice mage, and something shimmering and transparent seemed to hover around her. Energy swirling around my body in a multi-colored tornado. Bright pulses of magical ammunition shooting from a staff in my hand. The soft blue glow of healing magic as I tried to fix a nasty wound. That same healing magic tingling and painfully bright filling my whole head.

Yours. It said again.

"You're my magic." I said, shocked.

Yes.

"You saved me."

Not all. It said. Tried to patch. Tried to be.

"You wanted to fill in for everything that was too badly damaged."

Yes.

"Is that why you didn't want me to move? To speak?"

Yes. Body... Hard to control.

"I shouldn't have been able to cast those spells either, weak as I was."

You're me. We are close.

"We can't do that again. It could kill us."

Body is fragile.

"Yes. Especially now."

Get better. Fast.

"I have been trying."

Enemies. They look.

"I think we're safe for now. But if you want me to recover quickly, you need to let me make choices for the body. I won't over do it. I know this body better than you."

My magic receded from my immediate awareness at that, though I could feel it hovering. I closed my eyes. It was right about one thing: I'd need to recover quickly if I wanted to avoid my enemies. More importantly, I'd need my strength to protect Rani and Everen. They'd been so kind to me, and it was looking like I might bring trouble to their doorstep by accident. I needed to be ready in case that happened.

When a mage is badly injured, magic sometimes "fills in the gaps"—growing an arcane hand or leg. You suffered brain damage that would have killed most. Magic filled in your mind.

[daily-prompts]

Pick a character from your WIP that you think is under-developed and write their origin story. Or create a new character, same idea.

[writers-potion]

how do you write a liar?

How to Write Liars Believably

Language

The motive of every goal is the make the lie seem plausible while taking blame off the speaker, so liars will often project what they say to a third party: "Katie said that..."

Referring to third parties as "they" rather than he or she

In the case of a deliberate lie prepped beforehand, there will be an overuse of specific names (rather than pronouns) as the speaker tries to get the details right.

Overuse of non-committal words like "something may have happened"

Masking or obscuring facts like "to the best of my knowledge" and “it is extremely unlikely," etc.

Avoiding answers to specific, pressing questions

Voice

There's isn't a set tone/speed/style of speaking, but your character's speech patten will differ from his normal one.

People tend to speak faster when they're nervous and are not used to lying.

Body Language

Covering their mouth

Constantly touching their nose

fidgeting, squirming or breaking eye contact

turning away, blinking faster, or clutching a comfort object like a cushion as they speak

nostril flaring, rapid shallow breathing or slow deep breaths, lip biting, contracting, sitting on your hands, or drumming your fingers. 

Highly-trained liars have mastered the art of compensation by freezing their bodies and looking at you straight in the eye.

Trained liars can also be experts in the art of looking relaxed. They sit back, put their feet up on the table and hands behind their head.

For deliberate lies, the character may even carefully control his body language, as though his is actually putting on a show

The Four Types of Liars

Deceitful: those who lie to others about facts

2. Delusional: those who lie to themselves about facts

3. Duplicitious: those who lie to others about their values

Lying about values can be even more corrosive to relationships than lying about facts. 

4. Demoralized: those who lie to themselves about their values

Additional Notes

Genuine smiles or laughs are hard to fake

Exaggerations of words (that would normally not be emphasized) or exaggerated body language

Many savvy detectives ask suspects to tell the story in reverse or non-linear fashion to expose a lie. They often ask unexpected, or seemingly irrelevant questions to throw suspects off track. 

[marsplastic13]

I LOVE that part of editing that requires me to act it all out and see if it's actually how two humans would interact

[oven3bird]

Watching Tim is addictive. Kon can't help himself, he just focuses on him and ignores what's happening around them.

No matter if the world is ending, Tim's behaviour doesn't change; the tilted head while he's thinking, the long fingers tracing a pattern with a rhythm Kon has learned by heart, the slight smile he gets when he finally thinks a plan is perfect.

Kon watches Tim and feels back home, even when he didn't know what home felt like, he knew his boy wonder was safe, warm, a weighted blanket shielding him from the world.

He hums along to Tim's steady pulse, it's his favorite song.

[imnottkyle]

Box Dye Professional - A Solivan Burgmansia x GN!Reader FluffFic!

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

Tags Kinda?: TKaTB VN, Solivan Burgmansia, Sol, fluff, kinda weird in some parts tbh, gender-neutral reader/no mention of reader's gender.

Warnings: It's Sol, so yeah... However, this fic is fluff, so no warnings really, just Sol gets a little weird over being near Reader.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Meowdy folks, your newest TKaTB fic writer has arrived! I am so totally hyped to be writing again, and I hope that you have as much fun reading my fics as I have writing them. This is actually my first fic in SEVEN years, so please have mercy ｡･(ू˃̣̣̣̣̣̣ ꞈ˂̣̣̣̣̣̣ ू)

If you're still reading my intro here, I would like to let you in on a special tidbit! I am now starting a Stalker!Reader x Sol fic yayayayayay!! I just think it would be amazeballs to see someone outfreak his freak. Okay, I'll shut up and let you read <3

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Fingers moving nimbly with the charcoal, you sketched away at your muse, sharp eyes taking in his every detail. You told yourself it was simply because you wanted a good grade for this project, that you wanted to prove the authenticity of the piece, that those brief moments of eye contact didn't make your heart jump. Get a grip, you had only known Sol for a few weeks (even if it felt like a lifetime), now was not the time to start crushing. As you continued to scratch at the paper, your mind couldn't help but fall back to the reason you were here in the first place; your father, your home.

"___…?"

You startled, nearly causing the pencil to streak a nasty gash across your paper. "Sorry, what was that?" You asked, full gaze on your subject. "Something on your mind?" He answered, relaxing out of his pose for a quick stretch. "Oh, it's nothing, just got to daydreaming aga-" The sentence trailed off, your eyes sneaking off to peek at the bit of skin that showed when he stretched. No, stop it eyes, focus! Quickly pretending to notice a stray bit of fuzz on his shirt, you pointed it out, successfully hiding your wandering glance. Sol let out a soft chuckle as he picked off the fuzz, "So quick to notice the smallest things, aren't you? It's quite charming." he murmured rather gently. "Oh yeah, just like how I can't help but notice your hair dye is fading awfully! Tell me where you got it done so I know never to go there." You playfully retorted. The green-streaked, or rather yellow-green streaked, man groaned out loud, hiding his face in his hands.

"Is it really that noticeable?"

"Yep."

"Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have tried a different dye. I guess it really is that bad, huh?"

Okay, now you just felt bad for teasing him in the first place, that embarrassed expression that he wore, only tugging at your heartstrings further.

"Well, I was staring at you pretty hard- er -for the sketch, I mean. Maybe it isn't that noticeable from afar."

It was definitely noticeable from afar, but there was no way that you were going to say that to his face. You took a breath, a flash of brilliant courage (or maybe stupidity) overtaking you. The sketchbook and charcoal fell into your lap as you leaned in closer to your classmate, "Um, if you aren't doing anything later, maybe I could help you fix your hair. I'm somewhat of a bathroom salon pro." At this, you saw Sol's face brighten, "R-Really? That'd be nice, thanks." he smiled, voice soft. "Just shoot me a text when you're on your way, and I'll get everything set up. You beamed back, heart already pitter-pattering way more than necessary.

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Your bathroom looked stupid. It was as if you became painfully aware of every wonky detail in your entire apartment. Two of the shower tiles were crooked, there was a weird blue stain on the floor, and the sink had lime growing on the edge. You had tried everything to get rid of the lime buildup, but in the end you had given up and just accepted the shit. So why now of all times, did it bother you so badly? Was it because Sol was on his way? Was it because you were afraid he would notice and think you were a slob? Why did it even matter in the first place, he was just your classmate, just your project partner.

Lime- 1

Your Idiot Brain- 1

You- 0

For the millionth time, you wished that you would listen to your own advice and calm down. It's not like Sol would even think anything of this, you were just being a good friend and helping him out. You let out a groan and simultaneously heard a knock at the door. Collecting as much of yourself as you could, you headed to the door, opening it to reveal your crush's classmate's handsome face.

"Hey Sol, got the goods?"

"Of course."

He held up the shopping bag, giving it a little shake. You grinned, this was certainly going to be a fun evening. "Well don't just stand there, come in, silly!" You said, before practically dragging him inside the apartment by his sleeve. Whatever nerves you had before had nearly dissipated, leaving you to feel rather giddy. Hair dyeing was fun, you would know. Having done this countless times to your own head, you found the whole process to be rather therapeutic, a welcome metamorphosis. You could have sworn that Sol had mumbled something as you dragged him along, though when you looked back on him, he simply smiled. Wait, was he blushing? It was then that you realized how tightly you had gripped his sleeve, fingers brushing dangerously against his wrist.

"Oh, god, sorry." You loosened your grip, allowing him to regain his left hand.

"It's okay." He replied, setting the grocery bag down on the bathroom counter.

How you wished you had a clock or something, because right now the awkward silence was, well, awkward. Seeing him just stand there suddenly reminded you of something, "Oh wait here, I'll get you a chair!" you spun out the doorway only to reappear a second later, "Did you want anything else? Water, snacks? I have some chips and um, fruit snacks…?" Maybe this whole hosting thing wasn't exactly made for you. Sol, however, didn't seem to mind your scatterbrain, chuckling once more before replying, "A glass of water sounds nice." he rose to his feet, ready to follow you. Aaand now you found yourself panicking, as to whether or not you had somehow left your stinky socks in the cupboard.

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There was now a man in your kitchen. The way he so easily reached into your high cupboards was honestly kind of impressive. Men were like cows, or semi-trucks, you forget how big they are until you see one up close. Or maybe you were just weird and lonely. "Oh, don't drink the tap water, it tastes funny." You interjected, quickly grabbing a water jug from the refrigerator, before extending your hand to take the glass Sol was holding. Once more, you couldn't help but be acutely aware of your fingers brushing against his as you took the glass, heart fluttering at the contact. Pouring the water, suddenly became a very serious task, your eyes focused like lasers, hands steady and balanced. This might be the most perfect glass of water you had ever poured. Handing him the glass, you spun around to place the water jug back in the fridge, quickly taking note of what all it contained in case Sol got hungry later.

It was your cup, or at least a cup that you had used at some point. Your lips had once been pressed to the cool glass, perhaps even at the same spot his were pressed to now. Your lips, your thirst, how he wanted to be pressed up against you, easing your craving.

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Good grief, he must have been parched, the way he chugged the water down. You quickly offered him another glass, but he declined, strange. Back to the bathroom it was, unboxing the dye and getting things set up. It was decided that you would sit on the chair, Sol taking a seat on the ground (you gave him a cushion, of course) so you could better see his hair. Shaking the bottle of dye, you broke off the seal and squeezed some directly on his head. You felt the man jolt, "So, no instructions?" he asked, pointing at the instruction sheet that now lay in the trash. "Just trust me." You declared, using your bare hands to work the dye into his hair. Now this action caused Sol to whip around abruptly, "___!! Your hands are gonna be stained if you do it like this! Why don't you use the gloves!?" You groaned, grabbing onto his head, gently trying to guide him back into position, "It's fine, besides, the gloves just inhibit my amazing abilities." You gave yourself a grin, you were a seasoned professional after all! Well, you still had hair on your head, so that had to mean something.

"So, do you usually do this on your own?"

"Mm, yeah, sometimes Hyugo helps out."

"Oh that's nice. I almost feel bad for taking his place right now, except I'm having too much fun."

You let out a giggle, waving your green, stained hands in front of Sol's face. He simply turned back at you and smiled, "You're so reckless."

Your hands matched his hair. Your hands matched his hair. And they would be stained like that for a few days. Stained like him, marked to match him, branded as his.

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A few more squeezes of hair dye, and even more idle chatting, it was nice really. Gently running your fingers through Sol's hair, making sure each faded highlight was coated evenly with fresh green pigment, it was soothing. However, you found yourself scooting your chair closer every few minutes, as if Sol was somehow sliding away. Oh, that's right, the cushion. It was just a random pillow, actually, which turned out to be quite slippery on the bathroom floor. You let out a small huff of frustration before scooting closer one final time. Thighs spread apart, Sol sat in between them as they pressed against his shoulders, firmly locking him in place. You heard a small mumble escape the man's lips, it sounded like a curse, but you didn't bother to pry.

"Sorry, but you aren't running away so easily." You chuckled, teasingly tugging at a dye-soaked strand of his hair.

"Whatever you say, pumpkin." He murmured with a returned chuckle, though there was little he could do to hide the heat in his voice.

"Hmph, atta boy."

Cheeks flushed, you were never so glad that Sol couldn't see your face. Pumpkin, that stupid nickname he had given you a while back. It was cheesy, but for some reason, you found yourself enjoying it, a rather endearing feeling. Your gaze softened as you tenderly stroked Sol's hair, the warm feeling in your chest only blossoming more. He had been one of your first friends this year, one of the only friends you had actually made on your own. A leap of faith, a single rooftop lunch, a chance at being partnered with this man, had quickly turned into some of your most treasured memories. And now you had started to question yourself; was this love at first sight?

Haah.. The way your fingers tangled in his hair, the gentle tug at it, fuck. The scent of you, snaking around him as he knelt between your thighs, clamping him in place. Your presence was inescapable, all-consuming, just the way he liked it.

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"You look like a seaweed monster!" You giggled, standing in the mirror next to your dye-soaked friend. He simply frowned in reply, "And you look like a sea urchin."

"Huh? That doesn't make an-!!"

You were cut off abruptly as Sol yanked you close, tousling your hair with his hand. Satisfied, he pulled away, now examining the both of you in the mirror. "A seaweed monster and his little urchin." He teased, smiling at your disheveled reflection. "Idiot, now my hair is all messed up!" It was a false protest, your face betraying you, a heavy blush now spreading to your ears. Sol was so close, you couldn't help but inhale his scent, feel the warmth radiating off his body, and hear the rapid beating of his heart. It was beating just as fast as your own, and somehow it seemed as if it was in perfect sync. Could it be that Sol felt just as nervous as you did? That he perhaps harbored a small crush of his own?

"Uh, let's get you rinsed off, I think the dye might be seeping into your brain…"

"Huh?"

"Never mind!!"

You quickly extracted yourself from his space, smoothing out your hair, and instantly feeling the chill of your apartment once again. Had it always been this cool in here? After a brief crash course on how to use the extendable shower head, you let Sol rinse his hair on his own while you tidied the rest of the bathroom. A few moments later, his green-streaked head popped back up, wet bangs covering his eyes. "Uh, ___? Can you pass me the towel?" You handed him a towel as he pushed the bangs from his face, beads of water running down his pretty face. Focus, focus, focus! Judging by Sol's raised eyebrow and flushed expression, you were pretty sure your jaw was somewhere on the ground right then.

"Er, sorry…!"

"N-No it's fine!"

"I'd let you look at me like that all day if you wanted~"

"Did you-?"

"Hm? No, it's nothing!"

The man smiled back in reply, rubbing his hair with the towel.

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You had brushed his wet locks, dried his hair with your blow dryer, the same one you've used since middle school, and sent him on his way. The apartment was silent now, save for the sound of your heart pounding against your ribs. You were sprawled out on your bed, staring up at the ceiling, completely alone, and yet the faint scent of Sol seemed to cradle you no matter where you moved. He smelled like soap, laundry, almost sterile. But underneath that all there was a hint of a woody musk and, oddly enough, a sweet, candy-like smell. Maybe he had a thing for sweets. What kind of sweets did he like? What kind of foods did he like? What was his favorite flavor? You wanted to know more about him, everything about him. There was no point in fighting it, you gave in, curling up into your blankets as if they could somehow offer protection from your own realization. You liked Sol. You really liked him.

[hyperions-light]

Writing Workshop Master Post

What is it?

A writing workshop lasting approximately seven weeks (barring complications), where we go over and practice critiquing a work, and then you provide a piece that is 5,000 words or less for the entire group to give you feedback on.

Where is it?

I run it through a private Discord server.

How much does it cost?

It's free! I'm doing this to provide access to this service for people who want to improve their writing skills without spending a lot of money. I do ask that if you join the workshop and are in a financial position to do so, you consider contributing a suggested donation of $50 (or whatever you can spare) to my ko-fi after your workshop day has passed. (I want to make sure you get something useful out of it first, though!) However, if you aren't able to do that, I understand, and it's still perfectly fine for you to participate!

Further details under the cut!

How long does it take, and when is it?

It takes approximately an hour and a half each time, and we are currently doing it on Sundays at noon MST. If the group would like to pick another date/time, I can likely accommodate it.

Who is allowed to participate?

Any adult who is fluent in reading and writing English is free to join. You do not need to be a native speaker. I have no desire to lock participation to English-speaking countries, but the topics covered in ESL classes are very different from those that I cover, and I don't feel qualified to teach that sort of curriculum. You do not need to be part of the Dragon Age or BW fandoms to join. If you are under the age of majority in the country where you live, please talk to me and we'll see if we can work something out. Some pieces submitted for critique may handle adult subject matter, so special accommodations/permissions may need to be arranged.

What information will you go over?

Close reading, providing helpful critique, how to give feedback to other people that is useful and well-received, how to line-edit a piece, how to write a critique letter, and some general writing tips.

How many people will be in each workshop?

I think I will stick with eight!

How do I sign up?

I will not start a new workshop until the current one is over, but if you know you want to participate, please contact me on Tumblr or ko-fi and I will reserve a spot for you in the next one. I will contact you and send you a survey when the previous workshop ends; if the timing is inconvenient for you, but you still want to do it, let me know and I can ask you later! If you want to, you can contact me right now!

Other writing workshops cost a lot more money. Are they overcharging me?

NO. This is an extraordinary amount of work, and I have no desire to devalue the services that other people provide in this space. I am doing this for comparatively little because I have a deeply held belief that people should have access to education, regardless of their economic circumstances.

Do I have to come to every single session?

Ideally, you should attend every session. The first two are necessary to participate in the rest of the course; if you can't make it to one of those two for any reason, please contact me and I'll see if we can figure out a time to make it up. However, the strength of the workshop is in the participants and the community of writers; the more people are present to give their opinions, the better each critique will be. Please try to come to as many meetings as possible, so that everyone can have a useful and fun critique!

I want to emphasize that this workshop does involve actual critical feedback of your work, and the participants will provide suggestions for improvement. However, I also expect all participants to be respectful and polite to one another, and to offer their critique with the author's goals in mind. If anyone cannot follow these guidelines, they will be asked to leave.

I have more questions! Where can I ask?

You can always contact me on Tumblr via asks or DMs, if you have any questions!

Thank you for your interest! Hope to see you all in workshop!

[vampiradelmal]

sugar service

cw: didn’t proof read this, cussing, writing practice. best of luck.

“Hot damn!”

“Smash, smash, smash, uh… yeah, him too. Smash.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh as the other waitresses eyed your table. The three of you were waiting at the hostess post on a particularly slow day. The only customers was your table of four. Some older guys your friends just couldn’t seem to get enough of.

“Please,” you mumbled. “They’re old enough to be our dads.” Your eyes flicked up from the magazine in your hands to your coworkers. The three girls were giggling and occasionally glancing over their shoulders.

“Yeah, that's the best part!” Your coworker, Rona replied before glancing back again. “Older guys are experienced and typically have pretty big… savings.” She grinned at you, her eyes narrowing coyly.

“God-!” you scoffed, choking down your surprised guffaw. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Ignoring their giggles and teasing, you push yourself off of the wall you were leaning against to approach your table. Your eyes roamed over the four men, taking in how their shirts clung perfectly to their muscles. A few gray hairs here and there, but their physiques certainly made up for their age.

Caught up in your ogling, you slammed your hip into the corner of their table. The oldest of the men quickly grabbed the edge of the table to steady it.

“Fuck…” Your hand immediately slapped over your mouth in shock, remembering that you were in front of customers. The men chuckled, eyeing each other before turning back to look at you.

“Careful there, sweetheart. Can’t ’ave a pretty little thing like you bruising up,” one of the men, a particularly dashing man with a mohawk, chastised you. His eyes scanned yours before slowly raking down your form.

Letting out a shaky sigh of relief that they were cool and not some uptight old asses, you smiled. A genuine smile, not the customer service lip curl you were so used to doing. “I would like to apologize for that, gentlemen.” After a few seconds, you quickly added, “Please don’t tell my manager.”

With languid waves and laughs, they shook their heads and sipped their beverages in amusement. “There ain’t anything to tell.” A man with a scarred face stared, boring his eyes into you. He seemed to be deep in thought before giving his head a slight nod—something the other men quickly noted.

“Thank you.” You took a deep breath now that the anxiety of possibly losing this shitty job passed. “Is there anything I can get you, gentlemen? Drinks, dessert?”

“Your number?” He looked at you expectantly, a handsome man. The youngest of the bunch, no doubt.

Dealing with flirty old customers was a piece of cake. It’s what got the tips going. But typically they were vile old men you would never touch with a 10-foot pole. These guys were quite palatable. Very palatable.

“Well,” you laughed nervously. Perhaps Rona had a point. These men had a way of making a girl’s tummy flutter like it never has before. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you that, sir.”

“Kyle.”

“Pardon?” You blinked at him, furrowing your brows.

“Call me Kyle.” Another dashing smile sent butterflies thrashing in your belly.

“None of that sir shit. Makes us feel too damn old.” The men grumbled with bitter chuckles. “Johnny.” The man with the mohawk dismissively pat your hip, gripping the tender flesh of your forming bruise. “That old sap is John. And the brooding fella is Simon.”

“Piss off,” Simon grumbled, certainly living up to the broody title.

An amused giggle shook her shoulders, your hand subconsciously resting over Johnny’s. “It’s lovely meeting you all. So how about that dessert?” You inquired, grabbing the paper centerfold that listed off the desserts of the weeks. “The chocolate chunk brownies are pretty good and the cheesecake here is lovely paired with...”

The men rose from their table, completely ignoring your rambles. “That won’t be needed, love.” John’s hand rested on your shoulder, perhaps a bit too close to your chest.

“You give us a call when you’re ready.” Johnny stood beside you, his breath flicking against the shell of your ear. His hot, tipsy breath made you shiver and recoil.

Kyle only chuckled, gracefully slipping a business card into your pocket. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be working.” There it was again. That dashing smile that turned your knees into jelly.

“Give us a call.” Simon grumbled from the table. Glancing at him, you noticed the thick wad of cash he was leaving behind on the table.

“Sir, that’s too much.”

“Enjoy your tip.” Johnny pat your hip dismissively, sauntering away shortly after. John and Kyle followed behind him.

In complete disbelief, you nervously laughed. “Holy shit…” You shakily picked up the wad of cash left behind on the table. Simon quietly stood behind you, casting his shadow over your body. His eyes slowly raked down your back.

“See you ‘round,” he mumbled, not surprised as you jumped out of your skin in shock at his presence. Moments later, he was out of the place, nothing left but an empty establishment.

With shaky fingers, you plucked the business card out of your pocket.

Sugar Service Call (555)141-6157

[n0odlz]

How they got their acne

*This is so random but I thought this would be fun to write. MORE PRACTICE!!

Joshua Levi™

He's got acne, but how'd it get there? I mean.. Almost every day as a kid, his mom would force him to get in the tub, even if it meant missing a new episode of whatever sci-fi show was on. Most people would say, "Oh, he's just going through puberty. " which is true.. But there's still other factors.

He doesn't wash his face.. Like AT ALL. All that sweat accumulates and gets trapped under his skin. And it's not like he's sweating from being outside (like he'd go out there on purpose for any unnecessary amount of time), he sweats. BADLY. In the summer, spring, winter, fall. No matter the weather, you best believe he's sweating.

At some point, his acne got worse because he tried using some old Star Wars lotion he found at the back of Joe's from.. 199..something. Somehow the idea of expired lotion didn't make him think, "hey, I shouldn't use this, it's probably older than me". Yeahhh... No.

Billiam Dickle

It's not really on his face, more on his body. On his shoulders, chest, and ESPECIALLY his back, all because he keeps wearing that same nasty ass flannel! He just doesn't wanna change it. It only gets out in the washer when Jane gets forced to sneak in his room to steal it so at least *something* of his can get clean.

Another reason he has acne on his body so bad is because he's always under the covers no matter if it's hot or cold, he STAYS under that blanket. Mostly to read comics after his set bedtime with a little flashlight on but any other time it's because Pete scared him so bad with yet another underground horror film he probably bought from a dealer, and now he thinks the killer is under his bed, ready to grab his ankles and snatch him up.

Jerome Strokes

Out of everyone in the group, he has the least acne. Just like Josh, he was forced to bathe everyday as a child, only...He still gets forced to clean himself. If that doesn't work out, one of his parents has to check if his hair is wet and actually smells decent for once.

He only gets away with not showering if he isn't forced to hug his mom on the way to a club meeting or something, that usually works.

At some point, he didn't shower for 3 months because he was up day and night scripting a roleplay for D&D

_______________________________

"I'm not even gonna try hard at the shower because it doesn't have things like slurp juice, floppers, or medi-bedi's"

That's literally Jerry

Peteroni Ditalini

Probably has the most acne out of everyone COMBINED

All the times he's been forced in the kitchen to cook.. All that heat and oil popping on him accumulates and just makes everything worse.

Sometimes he even has breakouts because his sister wants to test a new skin cleanser on him like he's an animal in a testing lab. This is bad because it makes him avoid any cleanser, soap, or lotion because he thinks he's gonna break out from it. Now he's just musty 💔

He mostly has it on his face and upper back because his brothers and dad force him to go outside and play a sport or two. It's bad when they play football cuz he's got sensitive skin (and of course he's gonna be targeted for tackling since he's the smallest guy) so when he hits the grass, it gets really bad with the breakouts.

Playing outside and getting a rash from the grass on top of not washing your face or hands when you get inside because you think you might get a week long rash is NOT a good combination.

And a little special edition with my oc😛

(Someone has GYATT to read this 🙏🏾)

Mya Hydraulics

Definitely has the least acne out of all of them (ofc) since she washes her face. But sometimes.. That just doesn't help.

She mainly has acne on her forehead because of all the oil and gel she puts in her hair. It's even worse when it's hot outside because allllll that hair product just leaks onto her forehead.

Sometimes she gets a pimple or two on her chin or near her nose and right up under her eye and those hurt like a BITCH 💔. Now she has to go to work with pimple patches on her face because even with her long ass nails, she does NOT wanna pop those

"Welcome to Joe's. Please don't steal shit because I don't get paid enough to stop you"

"What the hell is on your face? You look like an upset orc who became a victim of the dirty bubble"

"... "

[nostalgicacademia]

Dark Academia Writing Prompts

A group of students stumble upon a hidden portal to a faerie realm in their college library. They slowly return from the faerie realm, corrupted.

A student uncovers a hidden society within the university's classics department. They are preserving an immortal being who used to be worshiped as a minor deity by the Ancient Greeks.

A secret society of faeries attend an Ivy League university, keeping their identities a secret. 

A love letter exchange unfolds between two strangers who communicate solely through notes left in the university library. However, if they ever discovered each other's true identities, the romance would break, and they would be horrified.

A mysterious playwright's lost manuscript is discovered in the dusty archives, revealing a dark and twisted tale that mirrors real-life events on campus.

A cellist sacrifices everything, even their morals, to join an elite orchestra. It's the pinnacle of their career. However, they left one string untied, and it threatens to expose everything they did.

A professor's death sparks an investigation that reveals a web of academic rivalries and betrayal. At the heart of it all is a plagiarism case.

A history major begins to unravel a murder that happened 100 years ago on campus. 

A witch disguises herself as a professor in the occult studies department, using her position to recruit students for a secret coven. 

A psychology professor uses hypnotic techniques to explore the past lives of students. During the hypnosis sessions, a student reveals something awful that their past life did. Something that's had a profound impact on the professor. 

A cursed painting in the university gallery comes to life at night. The characters within it seek the help of a talented art history major to break the spell. They work together to uncover what dark forces made this happen in the first place.

A professor's fascination with ancient folklore prompts a mischievous faerie to seek their help. The faerie asks them to help unlock an ancient riddle. The professor does it, fuelled by academic curiosity, but this turns out to be a huge mistake.

A group of history students uncover evidence of a witch trial that took place on campus centuries ago. One of the victims shown in the painting bears an uncanny resemblance to a current professor. As they investigate, it becomes clear someone’s trying to stop them.

A student journalist investigates a series of mysterious deaths linked to an exclusive literature club. The murders seems to be drawing inspiration from works of literature.

A rivalry emerges between two aspiring poets who will sink to depraved acts for the coveted position of poet laureate. They'll do anything to get that prize, including murder.

By: schoolofplot

My articles on Dark Academia:

Dark Academia aesthetic

The imaginary of Dead Poets Society

The Secret History a key fandom

[tahbhie]

30 Creative Ways to Use Air in Tense Atmospheric Descriptions #001

Descriptive alternatives capturing a tense situation using the element 'AIR'

1. The atmosphere weighed down like a thick blanket.

2. The air was thick with unspoken words.

3. A palpable tension hung in the air.

4. The oppressive air clung to her skin.

5. The air crackled with an electric tension.

6. A heavy stillness filled the room.

7. The air grew unimaginably thick, as if it could be cut with a knife.

8. A stifling pressure built in the atmosphere.

9. The oppressive air pressed down on them.

See full list...

[ticketjohnson]

Brain damage was never a big deal for me. A blow to the back of my head essentially knocked out my color vision. My eyes are perfect, 20/20 with all three cones, but my brain refuses to acknowledge the light spectrum.

At least the arcane happily slid its way between my ears. I see colors now, though not as colors once were. They move and breathe and reach out to touch the world around them. The red of the apple morphs to a deep purple that bleeds into the air around it. And before I even reach for it, it's reaching for me. A whisp, a light lick in the air, the color beacons me forward and sure enough, my fingers come to wrap around the apple.

The sky is alive. My old memories make it seem dead. Flat and blue. But now, oh now it's singing. It swirls and diverges across the planes of time and space. I see the reflection of the universe in its technicolor patterns.

And while my reflection causes me to startle and the people around me look more akin to a child's drawings, I would be a fool to not be grateful for what the arcane has gifted me. New sight that lives, breathes, and dies with me.

When a mage is badly injured, magic sometimes "fills in the gaps"—growing an arcane hand or leg. You suffered brain damage that would have killed most. Magic filled in your mind.

[daily-prompts]

Write a piece of dialogue between two people who want opposite things, like a spender versus a saver. But pick a topic that seemingly has to do with something else, like politics or the weather or whether they like a certain chair. Do not mention money.

[writers-potion]

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[rheas-chaos-anthology]

What if you finish your wip??

What if its good? Better than you imagined?

What if people read it? What if someone loves it?

What if someone memorizes that one quote they love?

What if you get that agent?

What if it becomes a movie?

What if you are someone's favorite author?

What if it helps someone?

What if it all works out?

What if someone is touched?

What if it's more important than you ever expected?

What if it changes your life?

What if someone gets the courage to do that one thing they couldn't of before?

What if you are proud of it?

What if someone see's themselves in your writing?

What if you finish your wip?