#writing practice

[twomelatonins]

yan delinquent x reader

summary: who knew the scariest person in school would have a thing for being called a good boy?

The scowl on his face would've scared off any other classmate of yours. Who in the right mind would dare to piss off the famed delinquent of your school?

"What." He barked out, his eyebrows furrowed with annoyance.

This all started with a dare, a dare your friends didn't expect you to accept. On any other day you would've refused, but you were bored, and you'd be lying if you said that you weren't a little curious about how things would play out.

So far, nothing out of the ordinary. Slightly surprising he even bothered to walk over to you when you called him.

You could tell his patience was wearing thin from the way his frown deepened. "Could you pass me those files on the top shelf?" You asked, pointing to the item in question.

"Hah?" Confusion won over his annoyance. Considering how you were definitely tall enough to take it yourself, his reaction wasn't unfounded. You weren't sure if he was questioning your sanity or your audacity to ask this of him, but you nodded nonetheless.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, he grabbed the files before shoving them in front of you.

You smiled at him. "Good boy."

The reaction was immediate. His eyes widened and his entire body stiffened. You internally braced yourself for the worst, ready to be the personification of the phrase 'curiousity killed the cat'.

However, instead of yelling, violence, or any of his usual behaviours, you noticed how his breath hitched, how the tips of his ears and his cheeks reddened.

Oh?

You took a step forward to check if your eyes were playing tricks on you. Immediately, he staggered back, using his arm to cover the lower half of his face. "F-fuck off."

Before you could react, he stormed off. As if on cue, your friends rushed into the room, worried about you after seeing the delinquent leave like that.

"Are you okay? We've never seen him so mad! His face was so red!"

You wiped the shock off your face and gave your friends a small smile, reassuring them.

That reaction... was definitely not anger. But you weren't going to tell your friends the truth.

The school delinquent, a stuttering and blushing mess before you? A side of him no one's seen before, only for you?

This is going to be fun.

[unknownwriter404]

I want to be a better writer, but it's hard when it's:

• 5% cool shit that you think of

• 95% filler to justify the cool shit

[daily-prompts]

I need everyone’s best character advice. STAT.

[stationarystardust]

Looking into their eyes - Aang Edition

Literally just using Aang's pretty pretty eyes to practicing my writing. It's been a while-I'm a bit rusty lol.

Here's what looking into Avatar Aang's eyes must be like. I could stare into those things for days.

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Few people in the world have eyes like Aang's.

Eyes that signify his heritage as an Air Nomad.

Eyes layered with so many shades of gray it would be impossible to name them all. Graphite, silver, moonstone, steel, stormcloud, slate. If you tried naming every shade in his eyes, you'd lose an entire afternoon to it. Not exactly a bad way to spend an afternoon, in your opinion.

Your favorite thing about his eyes is that they're like quilled chameleons. You tease him about it constantly.

"Huh, you know in certain light your eyes are green." you say one afternoon while resting your head on his lap.

"I promise you, my eyes are not green, skyheart. Last I checked I was an Air Nomad remember? Gray eyes are kind of our thing." he lightly trails his fingers through your hair.

You wave your hand as if shooing a fly away, "Like that means anything. Ty Lee has gray eyes. Last I checked she wasn't a secret Airbender. You wouldn't shut up about it if she were." You giggle. His eyes narrow at you. "Point taken." You grin at him. "Oh! See now they're just straight up brown-"

And of course Aang is dramatic about it, gasping dramatically as he falls on his back, bringing his leg up so one of his knees is bent. In response you move your head up so it rests on his stomach. "My life is a LIE! You're telling me I've been an Earthbender this ENTIRE time?!"

You can't help but laugh, smacking his knee. "You could've had a head start on your Earthbending training. You needed it!"

He let's out a mock gasp, "My own girlfriend erasing my identity how could you?" He chuckles catching his breath. "Do my eyes really change color?" You nod. Has he really never noticed? "Do you think it has to do with me being the Avatar?"

You pause, pretending to think. "That's kind of fun to think about. It would certainly explain why your eyes right now are a really pretty EARTHY green-"

"Okay that's it, c'mere!" you squeal as he hoists you up from his stomach to his chest so you're tucked against his side. You take the opportunity to study his eyes that are shining with mirth as he looks down at you.

"Y'know right now they look kinda -" you shriek as he holds you tight, and takes you tumbling down the hill in a tangle of laughing limbs. When you get to the bottom, you're sprawled on top of him, trying to remember to breathe. Aang is flat on his back, legs splayed out, one arm over those hypnotic eyes as he catches his breath, the other around your waist. When he finally lets his arm fall to his side, those moonstones had shifted again.

"On second thought, they're definitely Water Tribe blue-" Aang surges up and kisses you, smiling into it all the while. You return it eagerly. He really does make it too easy.

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His eyes also change depending on his moods, making him rather easy to read. And while you do love looking into those kinetic eyes, you can't help but wonder...well, you always stare. You truly can't help it, but...

"Do you mind?" you ask. He stops tracing his fingers along your upper arm for a moment.

"Mind what?"

"That I'm always looking at your eyes."

"What do you think?" There's a smile in his voice.

He lets out a quiet sound of protest as you scooch back from where you were tucked under his chin to be able to look up at his face. He situates himself so he still gets to place a warm hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles as if by habit, the other propping him up on his side. You tilt your head as you look into those moonstone eyes, and-there. There's a glint to them. Like he knew some big secret and couldn't wait to share it.

"I, I don't think you mind?" your voice is quiet. "I mean, you'd have said something if you did, right? I'm sorry, I know it's probably rude, and I'm not trying to pry or anything, I just, they're so pretty and-"

You can't help but let out a little "oop" when he suddenly shifts over you on the bed. Your chests brush, skin to skin, his breath fans out over your face. Resting his weight on his elbows, he presses just enough of his weight on you so its a soft reassuring pressure, like a weighted blanket. You hear him deliberately slow his breathing to match yours. Ahh. Well. Uhh. There goes your ability to think. "What do you think?" he repeats, his voice soft as he brushes your hair out of your face. You shoot him a look cause really? He wants you to THINK? Now? This man you swear...

But his eyes are like the skies after a storm now. Clear, immense, and still heavy with rain. Relentless. And the longer you stare into them, you realize you know the answer.

You smile at him. "No. I don't think you do." He grins back, leaning in.

"I wonder what gave me away," he breathes, as he closes the distance. And the smile in his voice is reflected in those eyes that make you feel privileged to get to look at so closely.

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Most of the time his eyes shine like light dancing on the surface of water. Where the gray becomes a silver so light, it's as if they're mist. And you're reminded of a 12 year old boy, who never outgrew a love of simply existing, and sharing and connecting with the world around him. When his eyes shine like twin stars, he's one with the world, instead of something that watches over it. That joy is truly infectious and your smile is reflected in them when he leans in close to you before dragging you off to dance to the festival music.

And yet, there are times, rare as they are, where there's no gray at all. Those moonstones get replaced by molten starlight. His tattoos quickly follow suit-sky blue shifting to a luminous river along his skin. You and the others watch him heal the victims, brilliant water curling around him in glowing ribbons. You suddenly understand why Air Nomad Avatars were revered in particular. He looks like something that should be immortalized in a tapestry. A flash of movement catches your eyes, and you give chase to your brother the monster behind this....this project torment. Those eyes that are filled with enough light to blind you will not stop you from killing that thing masquerading as your brother demanding answers...But the moonstones waiting underneath just might.

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And once, only once, his eyes went cold and sharp as steel. Some Fire Nation nobleman made a comment during a meeting along the lines of "killing two airbenders with one flame". Aang went stiff next to you. Zuko looked like he was ready to draw his blades. You place a hand over Aang's, and he immediately threads your fingers together hard enough to ache. You end the meeting before one imploded and the other exploded. No one felt like dealing with politics after that. You'd apologize to Zuko later for overstepping. Perhaps it was the light of the room, but you would forever swear that Aang's eyes had gone from moonstone gray to pitch black. You noticed that Aang's eyes stayed that inky black until the nobleman left. And later that evening, you find him in the garden sitting with legs crossed so tightly that his feet rested on his thighs. Giving you a good view of the scar from where the lightning had exited his body. When you walked closer, you could see that his eyes were like soot. You sit down next to him, wrapping your arms around your knees and resting your head on his shoulder. "I fuckin' hate politicians." you mutter. Aang snorts. A win is a win.

And then there are times his eyes stop shining. Instead of those ever changing moonstones, they become lead or stone. Perhaps cloudy quartz is a better way to describe that far away look he sometimes gets. In those moments, you cup his jaw with a hand, and turn him to face you. You stay with him, forehead resting against his until his eyes look as though they were polished river stones, just below the surface of a stream.

A stream that's burst its banks.

And when he lets out a ragged sound, collapsing into you, closing those expressive, beautiful, wondrous eyes, you bring him into you. Just as he did the same for you countless times. When he starts to whisper in a hoarse voice, in a language that's been dead for a hundred years, you know that those eyes would shine like moonstones in his own time.

But for now, you're more than okay with looking into dampened ash.

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....IIIIIII have a fckin problem and I'm not even sorry lol.

[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. 

[misteria247]

You always find yourself drawn to his hands. Hands that were used to fix countless machines and parts, hard working and always active in some way. Pale fingers that would rapidly type away on a keyboard while fixing countless lines of code and data. Hands that were always moving, unconsciously painting a picture of a story he'd tell. His hands, were one of your favorite things about him. You'd watch them while he'd play his games or fix his inventions and programs. Transfixed by the ease and flexibility he'd show, a man in his element when he had his hands on tools or fiddling with computers. You'd felt those hands many times, felt their strength when fighting against him when he'd overblotted. Skin cold as death, one of many omens of the Underworld which he hated so much. You knew how they were sturdy, strong and built to handle tasks that were harder than most. The markings of a man who's life was in his hands. Covered in calluses from gripping tools or game controllers since he was young.

You also knew how gentle those same hands could be.

Hands that gently touched your own when shyly passing a game controller to you, hesitant to linger because of that cold skin and hidden strength. Always gentle and tender when handling things he loved, from cradling his younger brother's face when he was in need of fixing to picking up Grim to pet him. Yes, his hands were one of your favorite things about Idia Shroud. You loved how your hand fit in his perfectly, your warm skin meeting his cooler one. Loved how when in his rare moments of stepping out of his comfort zone, he'd handle you with care. Attentive and protective, just as he was with Ortho. When you were held in those few moments, his hands cupping your lower back to support you. You felt nothing but safety. A sense of comfort and ease that was so uniquely Idia. He never understood why you loved them so much, grimacing when you'd tell him that you adored them. That you always wanted to hold them in yours. In his eyes, his hands, just like him were cursed. Cold and awkward and fumbling. Idia didn't think he'd ever understand your fascination with his hands, but as he stares at you. Seeing your warm, tender expression aimed at him. Feeling your hands, warm like sunshine intertwining with his and gripping them tightly. Silently promising to not let go, with your beautiful smile beaming at him. Idia didn't find him understanding that important, didn't mind that him not understanding it never being answered. As long as you were there, with your hand in his, that was all that mattered.

[urk-m]

Inspired by this lovely post by @imsorrybruce

"What is the meaning of this " Batman grunted from his seat

Hal huffed at Batman's tone and flipped one of the rocks- Purple, reflective and every side looked like a brand new ocean wave, a never ending tide-

"what, didn't you want to take a sample to study from Za'hrat ? Here's your sample" Hal imagines Batman's eyes must be narrowed behind the white lenses

___

Three months ago Hal Jordan found himself stumbling into a red sun planet called Za'hrat with Batman, courtesy of a mission that needed the justice league's detective and a Green Lantern.

When they landed Bruce stood with his boots in the sand , he stared straight ahead at the endless blue clouds drizzling softly , he was curious of what the rain's color would be so he lifted a hand , he was pleasantly surprised to find the drops painting his glove an opaque light blue reminiscent of the hue their own sky held , he had never seen water this color.

His obvious wonder and repressed fascination with the discovery made Hal smirk, he knew Batman would appreciate Za'hrat's beauty.

It's one of Hal's favorite planets to stop by. the orange skies behind pale blue clouds made for a beautiful picture , when flowers as Dark as the night sky bloomed in their season

the soft petals always reminded Hal of a one dark knight's cape

He just wished Bruce could've seen it.

"Hal, focus." All the thoughts of softness left his mind and pulled into sudden clarity when Batman presented him with a Rock, a very fuzzy rock. " scan This with your ring," huh? Hal's confused expression met Batman's blank, cowled face , he shrugged and moved to scan the Rock , only then did he notice Batman using his cape as a makeshift bag, storing multiple types of shiny star filled Rocks and solid spheres. holding it close to his chest protectively

His chest expanded in fondness at the sight , he couldn't pretend to say no " Sure."

Hal very much didn't know that the very safe rocks on Za'hrat are spiritual and connected to their home planet, the people of Za'hrat were kind in their rejection and refusal to allow Batman to carry seven samples back to earth. Even the suggestion of one sample was met with a firm no. It was strange to Hal

The Zu'hoor always allowed Him to take souvenirs out of the planet itself.

His chest puffed with pride at besting Batman this time

Hal turned to Bruce with his words on the tip of his tongue, the slight sag in Bruce's shoulders made him hesitate and the joke he was about to say a far away thought now, Bruce looked fine. He looks like he always did , but Hal can't bring himself to joke about it this time

The ride back to the watchtower was silent

___

"do you want it or not?" Hal put down the purple Rock for a Teal colored one, with the pattern not unlike Mint running like veins across the middle , rubbing his thumb roughly on its surface, the hints of uncertainty in his voice well hidden "just so you know I worked my butt off to get these," for you.

As if Batman read his thoughts, his earlier gruffness disappeared and For a second Hal almost believed that Batman blushed under the cowl. he grunted, and then reached for the black colored one, with sharp edges and tiny stars scattered around all over it like a version of the Galaxy, pressed by ground to mimic what's beyond the skies. this too, reminded him of Bruce

Bruce sighed and pushed the cowl back to reveal his face, more beautiful than any sight Hal's eyes fell on- tinted with the faintest pink high on his cheekbones he smiled at him and Hal felt his own cheeks heat up.

Bruce's mouth curved into a soft smile, finally looking up from the dark pebble in his hand "Hal," his eyes met Hal's , the lantern's breath hitched "Thank you."

Fuck