#writing practice

[daily-prompts]

"You're lying to me."

"You don't know that."

[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

[ruesol]

bodyguard!nanami does not give a shit if the paparazzi thinks he’s your new boy toy. He exists only to make sure that you’re safe. What the world thinks of you and him is secondary. His thought process frustrates you.

On one hand, you have your husband, who left you all alone on your anniversary trip for an unforeseen call from work, and on the other, you have your bodyguard who guides you in public places with a large hand stamped on the small of your back.

The conflict in your mind is agonizing to deal with, the summer heat getting to your cognition. And it gets even more difficult when Nanami tries his best to blend in with the crowd at the beach by being shirtless.

Your husband tells you not to worry about the tabloids that’ll come out later, saying that he’ll pay them off to buried by other juicy stories. In all honesty, it doesn’t sound like he cares all that much.

Complaints seldom rose about Nanami. He was acting like the husband you deserved.

In your mind, Nanami was replacing the man who was lawfully bound to you.

Everything comes just so easy with him. He taste tests every drink you’re served in case it’s been tampered with before he brings the beverage to your lips. He checks the straps on your heels, and carries flats with him so you don’t trip during your long walks around the city. And he stands with his chest pressed up against your back in crowded spaces so you never stray away.

It’s all for your safety. “Protecting the womb of the heir of our company,” as your irksome mother-in-law would say.

So why is it that kissing him feels wrong even after finding out that your husband has been cheating on you long before you got married.

Why does it feel wrong when Nanami carries you over to your bed, both your senses a little hazy, and lays you down so he can take you like your husband never had?

It shouldn’t because two people have never fit together so well. Not when he’s been praying to every god that by miracle, his fate would intertwine with yours no matter how long it would take.

[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

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

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.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

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.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

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.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

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.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

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.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

"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.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

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.

[jnxjoop]

Monolith

copia x witch!reader

No matter what life you’d lived, you were always sentenced to a young death, dying at exactly twenty-five each time- no matter how you struggled to coax the curse, avoid what fate destined, death proved imminent, giving not a care to your sensitivity, leaving you to grapple with the predetermined destiny over and over again. Memories of past lives would surge in your brain, often around your teen years, inciting a wave of paranoia that would stretch to the last decade or so of your life- grasping at straws, skimming through every page of every book to find a solution, something to end this cruel cycle. Or maybe you yearned to find a justification to it, and you believed you did, in one life- perhaps beings of the earth just weren’t meant to wield the abilities you did, so the gods, or whomever was in charge, had to force their hand, leveling the grounds you treaded among mortals, whose mortalities outlasted you.

But you weren’t evil. Not a single bit. Every life you spent relentlessly in attempt to figure out something to help the next you to succumb to this looming curse, the promise of brutal demise weighing heavy on your shoulders. The pain of living each life thoroughly and having it torn from your grasp saddled your heart, all the people you’d grown fondness for never to be seen again and lost to the jaws of time, struck with heartache by your loss, but they were human enough to forget and recover from it, while you were stuck with memory upon memory of it all. Thus, a life of solitude crept upon you, isolating from everyone and anyone, though you craved nothing more than affection and love. It was a foolish and unrealistic yearning.

In your last life, you recalled a church-like building, and you emphasize like, because its aura completely differed from the holiness of a church, the only likeness between them the structure and grandiosity of it. The interior you’d never reached during your last life, a festering sickness overcoming your body in the last days of life, bones brittle and stomach shrunken. It was as if you were confined to that rotten bed as punishment for the discovery, the remainder of your days spent in utter agony- the hopefulness you had with each death diminishing there, but you’d returned like always, reviving that shred of light that still beamed, drawing you closer and closer.

So you stood feet away from the church, five years of your meager life to go, and you were keenly aware of how fast those years would pass by. It seemed a plentiful amount, but in reality, it couldn’t be further from it, and with those little years you had, you strived to finish your last life’s work. Feeling the same allure your past self burdened toward this place.

Shedding a sigh, you encroached on the land, surprisingly you felt welcomed rather than intrusive as you did on most properties. Witches weren’t often celebrated within society- being burned and stoned in old days, so the openness of this area must mean something. You hoped, at least, you didn’t want yourself to become stray and disappoint the you’s who rose before, all dying in various ways that only elicited a tremble as you pondered what awaited you.

Fingers curled around the door knocker, you gently hit the door a few times, briefly pausing, unsure if you should wait for an invitation or mosey on in, settling on the latter after no response. Guilt almost stemmed from your impoliteness, almost, you were years from dying and lacked another choice. Desperation clawed at your insides, the impending doom you’d felt for years now- and beyond that, millennia- never something you’d become accustomed to. It was normal, even for mortals, to fear death, so that supplied a sense of humanity.

The hallways were bare, yet you sensed the presence of many- filtering in the multitude of differing individuals. On the surface, it bore the guise of a church, but there was something more, carrying a supernatural element to it, although you were yet to witness any of it, sparing little time to admire the insides and seeking someone to speak with, striding further along the chamber that echoed your footsteps.

“Do you require assistance, my child?” Hinged with an accent, a voice garnered your attention, your body moving to direct your focus to the male. You weren’t certain if you should divulge everything, so you only responded in approval, conflicting thoughts consuming your mind- to do this, or to do that- analyzing the crimson drapes he donned, an ornate, inverted cross catching your eyes.

“And what is it that troubles you?” He pressed gently, gaze analytical as he studied your features- as if he could predict the torment you’re fated to suffer, you almost snorted, the predicament you were in far above comprehension to even you. That hopelessness swirled you, thousands of years without resolution, and you really believed this would help…? But if you sat and did nothing that would result in a wasted life as well.

“A library,” You blurted out, meeting his eyes unflinching, his striking and whitened eye hammering no cowardice into you as it might other humans. “Do you have any books or knowledge of witchcraft?”

The answer appeared to invoke surprise and intrigue simultaneously, a question he’d perhaps never been asked in his lifetime. “I’m certain we do, I’d simply have to fish it from the library for you. May I ask why you’re interested in this?”

You glanced to the floor, mustering a response. If they had books of it, surely they weren’t to scrutinize- additionally, past you located this place, there had to be something truly special about it for them to be harshly punished by the gods, a punishment to ensure you could make no escape from the bounds of fate. “I’m a witch,” You finally answered, eyes fluttering closed briefly as you awaited a response.

“Ah, uh, I see, I see, my child, I will fetch those books for you then,” You couldn’t decipher whether his tone held disbelief or interest- maybe both?- but nonetheless, he scampered away to retrieve the books you requested, and you were satisfied with that.

You began frequenting that church more, learning more about its inner workings and inhabitants, the days whisking away into months, and you felt the crushing weight of fate, if only you had more time, if only it didn’t slip through your fingers. And you still found yourself finding nothing to aid your cause, stress accumulating fast.

After months of nothing, you settled in the confessional at the church, thinking it may help to relieve yourself of the ever looming deadline, the anxiety of it, Cardinal on the other side, ever so curious as to what’s troubled you to the point of needing a confessional. You’d grown closer these months, but there remained a distance between you, the reasoning for which unbeknownst to him, and you grappled having to eventually leave it all behind. Despite the many you’s before you, you’d grown fond of this man, letting yourself feel again after centuries. The emotion was pleasant, budding sensations rising within you, but you despised the vision of dying and having to restart, leeching off of him for your own selfish wants, that you knew would only have one ending.

“What’s been troubling you, mia cara?” His soothing voice traveled through the wood separating you, his voice, albeit prompt, laced with concern. It made your heart ache, a painful throb that shallowed your breaths, and you swallowed the thickness in your throat, forcing the words from your throat.

“I’m.. gonna die. I don’t know how to stop it,” You exhaled, the silence in that box suffocating.

And perhaps it was coping, or he didn’t understand, but he responded a beat of silence later, “We all die, cara. It’s.. a frightening subject, but it helps you to appreciate the things in your life more.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you left the conversation at that, not clarifying what you’d meant, for fear of ruining the closeness you shared- or maybe to pretend everything was normal, for once in your many lifetimes. It felt strangely joyful graced by his presence, demonstrating your abilities and basking in the moment, taking breaks from your strenuous search to do leisurely things- you’d tell yourself you would catch up on it later, but really, would you?- in the end, it didn’t matter as long as you were with him. You couldn’t surrender that, not yet.

His touch was warm, so differing to the coldness you’d grown used to, the warmth he radiated addicting, not only in his touch but his personality- so kind and caring, gentle even if his background made it appear otherwise, handling you like prized porcelain, looking to you in admiration, and caressing you as if you’d break at the slightest pressure. You hadn’t experienced such longing before, the yearning brimming your being, sinking its teeth into you- and that was dangerous.

One day, a year since your first meeting, you two sat in the shadow of a tree, a book splayed in your palms, the pages yellowed and corners nibbled away at by the mice nesting in the labyrinth of the walls. Aged, a book hardly picked from the many, but you’d discovered it when you ambled into the library, and now you sat beside the Cardinal, rather close, elbows grazing one another. If you weren’t absorbed by flipping the pages, you might’ve held his hand- or at least wanted to.

“You’re always reading, always studying,” He spoke, accent tinged voice cutting through the calm breeze, you analyzed the words on each page, scanning for any mention of curses- he watched you, examining the intricate sketches on the pages, things he could hardly understand, but he was enamored by how concentrated your stare was. “I admire that. Your, uh, strong will, and capacity to learn. You are truly magnifica. Un'opera d'arte, addirittura.”

“I think highly of you as well, Cardinal,” You admitted, eyes still trained on the page, half-focused on feebly translating the latin inscribed page. “You’re truly… une bouffée d'air frais.”

“French? Smart girl,” He complimented, the smile he flashed melting your insides, your focus crumbling ever so slowly- blindsided by emotions, rather than your goal. “When did you learn?”

You hummed absentmindedly, recalling the memories of your past, tracing all the way back to the conception of the American Revolution. Being a medic, experiencing the war’s brutality firsthand, you’d learned French from the allies- as well, being alive amidst so many eras of time, you were bound to pick up a few languages.

“I had some friends who spoke it,” You responded, narrowed eyes facing the page, but you spared him a glance and a wistful smile. “I can teach you sometime. Would you be open to that, Cardinal?”

“Of course, mia cara. Tutto per sentire la tua voce,” You couldn’t understand his words, but you could sense the meaning behind them, heart thumping in your ears. You felt it and were aware he could too.

The next year your bones could predict the sickness filtering into them, just a tad bit weaker than they’d been the year prior, subtle but you realized it, and if you were to receive cruel punishment for basking in the company of your adored, then you would accept it. You still looked for an answer, but the chances of that dwindled by the day, your goal being nearly sidetracked entirely. But you couldn’t ignore it, or hide it, forever. By the third year, your symptoms worsened, little by little, and were delving into bodily signs- blood spilling from your mouth, climbing up your throat, heeding a deadly warning. And so you finally decided to repent, for your selfish desires, settling inside that confessional once again with your Cardinal just inches away, across the panel of wood. Long before this, he’d noticed something was wrong- you just swayed him otherwise, dismissing his concern, but you couldn’t be greedy any longer. You couldn’t brush off his feelings in place of your own. So here you were, prepared to truly confess.

“Copia,” Typically, you’d use his proper title in these circumstances, but you were serious. Very serious. And that frightened him, mind spinning with outlandish ideas, pointing toward the worst outcome possible, and your tone confirmed that. But he didn’t want to believe that. “I’m gonna die… and I really don’t know how to stop it.”

His heart cracked hearing that, your tone accepting and not necessarily sad- but very disappointed, regretful. “Tell me more, cara, what do you mean?” He nearly pleaded, heart thudding, a pit forming in his stomach.

“I’ve died so many times. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. It’s a cruel cycle, I guess a curse. I’ve tried finding everything I can in all of the lives I’ve lived, and it’s never enough,” You confided, toying with your fingers to distract your mind. “I have two years left. Always bound to die young, at twenty-five. And I should have told you, that day we met. It was selfish of me to put you through such pain.”

“Don’t say that, amore mio,” Copia rejected, his legs trembling, running a frenzied hand through his hair, nerves frayed and running wild, this admission worse than what even he imagined. “We still have time to figure this out, we can talk to my brothers, surely they have wisdom to share. There has to be something we can do.”

“Copia, please don’t be sad over me,” You murmur, head leaned against the wood, listening to the little movements he made. “I’m already dying, I’m sick, I’m being punished for my time spent here. But I want you to know I don’t regret any of it, truly you have been a breath of fresh air, so kind and loving, and I haven’t felt that way in so, so long. I still have two years left, but I can’t imagine my body will be in the best shape.”

You heard the door on the other side creak open, and his footsteps, your stomach twisting, at the thought of his abandonment. You couldn’t blame him if that’s what he’d chose to do, you’d lied from the start and subjected him to the same amount of pain you were experiencing.

But then your door opened abruptly, arms embracing you and a head falling into your lap, the sniffles evident, and your heart shattered at the sight, cradling his head in your hands, a few tears streaking your own face. Your hands traced under his jaw, tilting his chin up, so he could face you. Thumbs glided across his cheeks, wiping the tears from his face, the paint around his eyes smearing from the movement. You admired his features briefly, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“I’ll find you in my next life, Copia. I promise. We still have time it’s just, not the best conditions. It’s too late for my body this time, but it won’t be for the next,” You vowed, nose brushing with his. “My only question; are you… willing to wait? I’d.. understand if not, it’s a painful slew of emotion.”

“Amore mio, I would wait the rest of my life if it meant seeing you for just a second,” He held your face, thumb tracing your cheek fondly. His eyes were reddened, and it brought you pain to think about how he’d fare with you gone- and how you’d done this to him. Dragged him down into the pits to accompany you. He lifted his pinky, lightening the mood using the childish gesture, but his face remained somber, a smile he showed to make you feel at ease. “Pinky swear?”

Intertwining your pinkies, you mustered a small smile. “Pinky swear.”

When the fifth year arrived, and your twenty-fifth birthday subsequently, your body was eager in finally succumbing to death, and Copia tugged you close to his heart, shattering as the warmth dwindled from your body, skin greying, but you were free of the suffering that kept you captive- and that helped a little in breaking the shackles of grief. His heart mourned, and he delved into studies, flipping through every page of every book, talking to anyone who withheld necessary knowledge- all in preparation for your inevitable return. He just wasn’t certain how long it would take to see you again, but he lived by his declaration, dedicating all of his time to you, your memory.

He’d taken the roles of his predecessors before you’d returned, and it worried him, a part of him unsure if you would even want to crawl back into his arms, after all, age was catching up to him- a decade or two passing in his wait. But he remained as loyal as he’d been, yearning to see your face just one last time, he even found himself praying to Satan more frequently, pleading him to lead you back, back into this church, back into his grasp; where he would hold you and never let go, not again. It was excruciating being without you, the memories of you so long ago now, yet fresh in his mind, at the forefront of it.

He’d strayed to his room, stress riddling his bones and drowning them in fatigue, the touring and loss of partnership taking its toll as it would anyone. He sat at a table, forcing himself to peel his eyes through another old book, eyes lidded from the tiredness threatening to consume his being. Working until his shoulders were stiff, back was throbbing in pain, his head eventually colliding against the plush of his arm, sleep winning this battle.

The next morning the sound of his game console stirred him awake, grumbling Italian curses under his breath at the interruption. His blankets were draped across his body, the plush feel of his bed beneath him, a contrast to the hard desk he’d fallen asleep on- rubbing his eyes using the back of his hands, to wake himself up. Another day, more work to be completed, but firstly, he’d have to figure out who was in his room, who’d moved him so carefully it didn’t jolt him awake.

And when his eyes finally focused, the morning bleariness ebbing, he witnessed locks of h/c hair, so similar to yours. He gave his eyes another rub, scared this vision was just a symptom of overexertion. But no, they were still there, the pressing of buttons loudly evident, their head lulling side to side as they maneuvered whatever game they were playing. Only to see if it really was you- or just some lookalike. The bed echoed a soft creak as he stood to his feet, slowly approaching the figure. And at the noise, their head turned back, a game over screen flashing vibrantly on the box tv.

“Mia cara,” Left his lips, expression blank, yet brimming with so much unspoken emotion simultaneously. You ditched the controller on the sofa, practically running into his arms to embrace him, face nuzzled into the fabric of his shirt, memorizing the scent you’d missed oh so much. “It’s really you,” Copia’s hands were firm, clinging to you as if you’d vanish and never return.

“It is me, I’m finally back like I promised I would be,” You murmured, voice a bit muffled from your face buried into his chest. The moment you’d waited and longed for. You stared up at him, cupping his face in your palms, a small frown on your features. His hands traveled to your forearms, thumb gliding across the skin, a gentle caress. “My love, you look so tired and stressed. I was worried how you’d be when I’d gone, I’ve never wanted you to treat yourself so strictly and harshly. You, too, deserve to live a life of fulfillment and happiness.”

“Is there a.. such thing as fulfillment and happiness without you by my side? I waited for the day I could see you again, I did all of my research, just to make sure when you’d return, you would be back for good,” His eyes pierced yours, hand gliding to yours and pulling them from his face, leading you to the rustled bed. “Tell me; how are you? Did anything I’ve done help?”

“Copia,” You exhaled, prepared to tell him all that’d occurred in your time apart. “When I died, it was black for a while. Nothingness. I wasn’t even truly aware of my own existence. But a voice called to me,” Your hands were enveloped by his, scooting closer, knees brushing together. “And he had sympathy on my pitied life- lives. He didn’t agree with the gods above casting me into this decided fate, my punishment for being… simply different. So he allowed me to return to life under his guidance, and lead me right back to you. He told me about you, how you’d pleaded so much for my sake, and I’m eternally grateful for all you’ve done for me. All you’ve surrendered just to be with me.”

“And I would do it again in a heartbeat, mia cara,” His arms encased you, smothering you in the warmth you’ve craved for a millennia. “I’ve longed to have you back in my arms, to feel the warmth of your body as it left me so cold. Satan has heard my prayers, seen my yearning, and returned you to me.”

“I’ve missed you so dearly. You made me feel warm even when I went cold,” You confessed, soaking in the affection you were receiving so boisterously, not been able to feel truly at ease until Satan’s voice coaxed you from the abyss that heavens damned you to. Your fingers trailed down his spine, up and down, a repetitive, comforting motion. “Tell me, what has happened here while I’ve been gone? What have you been up to?”

He smiled, a lopsided one, your stomach doing somersaults. You were happy, for once, reclaiming all the pain you’d experienced, and letting yourself bask in the afterglow of this un-realness. “Well, I’m Papa, now,” He mentioned, fingers coiling around yours. “I’ve been touring with the ghouls, you know? I’m pretty popular these days actually.”

“I’m glad to hear that, seems you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve,” You planted a soft kiss on his nose, content to be in his presence again, sending a glance toward the tv screen flashing red lettering. “I couldn’t really figure the game out… The controls are… confusing.”

“Let me teach you then.”

-

just a lil one shot pooks

sorry it cuts off abruptly i wasn’t sure how to end it 🧐

[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"

"... "

[junewilsonn]

Fake

Pornstar!Logan Howlett X Pornstar!Reader

SMUT! A short smut to practice my writing! Enjoy :)

"Stop faking it", he growled in your ear, fingers digging into your cheeks while he held your face. His other hand trailed down your side until it rested on your hip. "Don't worry baby, I'll make you sing for real". Your breath hitched, fuck, you were excited.

You've worked in the adult film industry for years, mainly videos of just yourself, or with others, on a low quality camera. But it was always so bland, your body was starved, practically begging every time you were on screen with another person; but you were always let down and had to put on a show.

Logan on the other hand, (a prominent figure in the industry), could make any woman feel good, every one of his videos had millions of views, and you were excited to finally get recognized when you heard he wanted to 'collaborate' with you. But you had no idea his videos were real, it just seemed he was one excellent actor. But Logan relished in making others feel good, he was a master at it; his videos aimed for the female audience.

So when a fake, high pitched moan slipped your lips as Logan got on top of you; oh that just wouldn't do.

You knew there were multiple cameras on you both but it seemed to fade away when you felt his lips trail down your neck. You pressed your head back into the pillow, a breath escaping you as you relaxed. You were both completely naked and you were already soaked from seeing the size of him. His cock was huge, standing tall and proud, a flushed pink tip with a bead of pre-cum sitting at the tip.

"Please, sir", you said your line, soft eyes staring up at him.

"What do you need? Need my big cock? Hm?"

You nodded and he grinned. oh fuck.

He pressed his tip to your clit, earning a whine from you. He slid his cock down and out of habit you let out another fake moan slip for the cameras. Logan's gaze darkened and he grabbed your face again. He leaned in an whispered so the cameras couldn't hear.

"What did I say about the fake shit?"

"That was real", you lied. He tilted his head and gave you a cocky smirk, seeing through your bullshit.

He was staring directly into your eyes, almost through you- like a challenge. A hint of a smirk on the corners of his lips as he looked so intently at you; and he finally, slowly, pushed his cock into your cunt- his eyes never leaving yours. Your mouth opened in an 'O' shape and you kept your eyes on his. You let out a breath when he bottomed out.

Then he moved his hips, a steady but hard rhythm- and there it was, a long moan, a real one. His expression turned smug, a grin spread on his lips, his eyes still never leaving your face. Your hands clutched his biceps, nails digging into his skin.

"Feels good, huh? Needed this right? Needed somethin' real" Logan whispered into your ear. He bit down on your neck, licking the skin in forgiveness immediately after.

Moan after moan, whine after whine, you were pushed into bliss. It had been so long since a man in this industry made you feel something real; God, this was better than your fucking dildo. He knew how to work you, how to touch your skin to make it feel on fire.

And fuck, this was going to be the best (and definitely not the last) collaboration you'll ever have with Logan Howlett.

[daily-prompts]

If I didn't love you, this would be easy.

[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! 📸

[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

[enlightenedfeline]

Daily prompt #52: ≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼

A local bakery owner starts a program specifically for senior citizens, teaching them how to bake on weekends.

[oven3bird]

The moon illuminates the roof just enough, he knows it doesn't actually have any light, but it's nice out anyway; with the cold air, the lack of bugs, the many stars shining at him.

It's late, but early enough for Kon to still not be tired.

Both he and Tim are sitting down at a table, shoulder to shoulder; with Tim leaning slightly towards Kon.

Long dark hair free from the cowl, and clothes soft to the touch instead of the harder suit material, Tim looks comfortable.

His eyes reflect the moon, beautiful as he is.

There are words being spoken, but he doesn't hear them, he brings a hand up towards Tim's face and watches as Tim stops speaking, feels as Tim's breathing stops for a second.

“I want to kiss you.”- Kon states, no quiver in his voice, they have danced around each other for enough time.

Tim looks up from Kon's lips, meeting his eyes. -”Are you done waiting?”

Oh, he loves that knowing smile.