#It's like prose and poetry at the same time

[part-time-zombie]

Got some more if you'd like:

They both love poetry and often write sonnets together in one of their rooms to unwind + spend time with each other.

Additionally, they often write each other romantic prose.

If Virgil gets scared watching a horror movie/playing a horror game (which he won't admit to) , Logan will calm him down by explaining the survivability/reality of whatever it is, figuratively unmasking the monster.

They're both terrible at flirting, so they spent the early part of their relationship awkwardly dancing around each other without directly saying or doing anything for far too long.

You'd think it might have been Logan to confess first, but it was actually Virgil cornering him in the kitchen and blurting out that he likes him in an anxious rant. It took Logan two seconds to process that Virgil liked him and one second to realize + admit that he liked him back, and if you ask either of them they'll say it was the longest three seconds of their life.

Logan hates admitting when he's stressed/nervous, but Virgil can always tell when he's getting worried and knows what to do to help every time.

Virgil loves sleeping in and Logan always wakes up early, so anytime one of them stays over for the night Logan makes sure to get ready quickly and quietly in the dark so he doesn't wake Virgil. When Virgil finally does wake up hours later, it's to a delicious breakfast and a planned schedule for them to spend the day together.

Virgil hates pickles, and Logan eats the pickles for him.

Virgil knows Logan has a secret sweet tooth, and keeps a stash of his favorite candies on hand for him.

They love to play ttrpgs together, namely vtm and dnd.

Logan once got very upset because Virgil always gives such wonderful presents and puzzles but he hasn't been able to do the same, and spent weeks trying to find an ideal gift for him. What he ended up doing was taking Virgil out to get a new pet spider + anything he'd need to properly house and care for it, while nervously rambling about how much research he's done on the subject. Virgil gave him a hug and reassured him that he's all he wants or needs, and he doesn't need to "pay him back" for anything.

He did end up getting him a new spider, though, and Virgil named it Sherlock.

(I'm kinda planning on writing a fic about those last two)

guys please tell me YOUR analogical headcanons, i am YEARNING for more new analogical content

[babytoothbrain]

I am the Same Person I was in August

"Oom Sha La La", Haley Heynderickx//"All That Wanting, Right?", Devin Kelly// "Funeral" Phoebe Bridgers//"Extracting the Stone of Madness", Alejandra Pizarnik// "Little Beast", Richard Siken// all photos are mine! Photography on @el3ctraaa

[biboomerangboi]

Writing Hua Cheng’s POV is so hard how do you all manage to condense all that’s wrong with him and write it coherently.

[always-a-joyful-note]

Low quality and low effort explanation of my feelings about the two recent song releases

[rockunderriver]

what a joy how we have watched ourselves change and grow up.

i remember how my friends text me late at night, "i just found..." i find old pictures captioned "player one" and suddenly winter break feels lonely without them. there was a summer me and him stopped talking, and we came back different people. to me, he seemed happier. to him, "you've changed."

there are great halls in my head painted with murals of the people i love. historic monuments are dedicated to everything they have ever done for me. oil-painted birds soar the ceiling and perch on oil-painted branches, their calls bouncing off the marble dome vault. i recognize the sounds and call their names back to them as i pass. behind me i close the door on a boy who loves trees and ahead i see an empty chamber, its walls blank canvas.

my brush is light in my hand and i begin to paint my new favorite bird—a bearded vulture.

welcome to the world, atlas!

[cheeto-flavoured-pasta]

It’s the little things. Well, in your eyes, they’re the little things, but to me, they mean so much. You came out to your parents, even though you say it wasn’t that hard and they were cool about it anyway. You went to therapy — begrudgingly, because you haven’t had a good experience with it in the past, but you powered through the struggle nonetheless, even if it’s just another boring Friday for you. You figured out how to paraphrase that explanation on your math homework, or passed that test, or did something, anything. And my heart rings out with four echoing words: I’m proud of you.

So, so proud of you. 

And maybe you wouldn’t get why. Maybe I just love the feeling of celebrating someone else. Maybe I just get excited too easily. Maybe I care too much. Maybe it’s annoying. Maybe I’m not used to hearing that praise from a friend, so I try shower it as much as I can on others because I know it hurts when you’re deprived of something like that. When you’re deprived of companionship. When you’re alone. When you haven’t had a single friend in years up until now and you’ve struggled for so long to open up to anyone else. 

Have I done anything special? Maybe. I don’t know. Probably not. You probably wouldn’t think I have. And maybe I’d think the same thing. Is there anything about me that I can be proud of? Is there anything you even like about me? Do I even matter? You have so many friends. Am I just another one to you, unlike how you’re everything to me? 

Maybe, at the end of the day, after all the banter and vulgar teasing and energetic moments, when I say “I’m proud of you” I don’t just mean that I’m proud of you. Maybe I’m also saying that I love you. And I know those three words are always associated with significant others, because society likes to prioritize the romantic over the platonic when both are valuable; blah blah blah; you’ve heard me rant about this before. But why can’t I reclaim it anyway? Why can’t I tell my friends that I love them?

But even if it was normalized, maybe it’ll still be weird to you anyway. Maybe you’d brush it off, much like you do now. Maybe you’d cringe. Maybe you’d laugh. Maybe you’d never say it back. 

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll still sit in the corner, wondering the same thing over and over.  

Are you proud of me like I am of you?

Do you love me like I love you?

[daisywords]

I don't know what this is, but it's somehow correct:

That night he dreamed he was tied to a table in a derelict banquet hall, lying flat on his back amid scattered plates and rusting goblets. At the head of the table, elbows framing his head, sat Lya.

He watched her upside down through wary eyes. Askew on her head sat a heavy copper crown. She smiled at him and brushed the hair from his forehead with lingering fingers.

He smiled back at her. She picked up a golden spoon and traced its tip gently along his cheekbone, over the arch of his eyebrow. Then, still smiling, she placed it against his lower eyelid and dragged it down, wedging the blunt metal between the skin and his eyeball.

He struggled and begged and she spoke gentle, teasing words, slowly and methodically extracting his eyeball. She got it all in one piece, in the end, perfect and shining in the bowl of her spoon.

He could only watch with his remaining eye, paralyzed, as she lifted the spoon to her lips.

[skbeaumont]

"You Should Probably Leave" | Joel x Reader oneshot

Part 1 of Play it Again, a new series where each story is a oneshot, but all are shaped around country songs.

Song: You Should Probably Leave – Chris Stapleton Summary: He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late. And then when he gets home you help him out, too, even though you both know you should probably leave. Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, porn without plot, prose but kind of poetry/lyrical, sexual tension, PIV, oral (m! receiving), sub!Joel, you're Sarah's babysitter, AU! No outbreak, set in the 90s. Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I've taken the lyrics and worked them into the story, so I'd really recommend listening as you read. I've been thinking about writing this series for sooo long because country songs + Joel is a match made in heaven. If you've got any song recommendations, let me know!

It’s like a dance, a well-worn routine that you both know, practised and perfected after months of repetitions. You both know where it leads but you’ll still follow all the steps. That’s how it is.

You put Sarah to bed ages ago, spent the last few hours of babysitting on the sofa finishing up some college work, waiting for Joel to get back. His key in the door is a familiar click, the latch sticking the way it always does, his shoulder forcing it open.

You stay where you are. When he comes into the lounge his toolbelt is still strapped around his waist, the remnants of a long day’s work painted across his handsome face and strewn in dust that’s collected on the knees of his well-worn jeans and callused hands.

He pauses in the entrance, arm stretched up above him to rest on the mantle of the door, t-shirt pulling up to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his belt. There’s a glass of wine half-drunk on the coffee table beside you and your feet are tucked up under you.

Neither of you speak for several long moments. You just watch each other, the tension too delicious to break.

“You should probably leave,” He says, but you make no effort to move and he stays where he is, too, dark eyes watching you.

His expression is open, taunting, and you already know what’s going to happen. You untuck your feet and shift them onto the worn carpet, standing to step towards him. His form takes up most of the doorway, his shoulders so broad that they almost touch both sides of the frame.

When you reach it he’s looming over you, blocking the exit off from you if you wanted to leave, but you don’t. You turn into him, press your nose to the slice of skin between his shoulder and neck and inhale deeply, smell the work of his day on him: the musk of sweat, the tang of iron and sharpness of wood shavings.

“I suppose it ain’t all that late,” he says, voice rumbling through his chest, “still time for you to finish your wine.”

You won’t finish the wine, but it’s all part of the well-worn routine the two of you have. He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late.

And then when he gets home you help him out, too. Let him relieve some of the tension that he carries in his shoulders, on his thick-set jaw. You press the first kiss here, letting the rough caress of his stubble eat into your own cheek. When you let your hands course through his hair, scratching your nails into his scalp, he leans into it, eyebrows pitching up, something like a whimper falling from his lips.

There’s a devil on your shoulders, and its urging you each towards the same predetermined end.

“We shouldn’t.” He says, but he doesn’t move away.

“Just one kiss?” You ask, feeling him relax into your touch, the bulk of him slipping down the doorframe, bringing his mouth within reach of yours.

“Alright,” He rasps back, his voice pitching with need, and you claim the last syllable with your mouth, press your lips against his, pull a moan from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Say you want me to stay,” You tell him, and he does, whispers it into your mouth, chases your tongue with his.

When he looks at you his gaze so intense it’s almost intimidating, and you recognise the look in his eyes, the need that’s behind the blown-out pupils and hazy expression.

The slow retreat to his bedroom is well-practised, the carpet belying a well-trodden route you both know. He lets you walk him backwards up the stairs, sighs when you push him against the closed door to fit your mouths together again.

Inside, his bed is unmade and you press him into it, pin his hands above his head and lick a thick strip up his neck, following the tendons to the underside of his jaw.

His moans are the chorus of this well-rehearsed dance. They spur you on as you undress him, revealing the strong lines of his chest, the thick trunks of his thighs, the impressive bulge of his cock in his briefs, already half-hard.

He twitches in your hand when you draw him out and you shift down the bed to take him into your mouth, the head of him heavy and salty on your tongue. His cock swells, the vein that spans the underside pulsing against your palm.

It’s intoxicating and dizzying and familiar, the recognisable ache in your jaw as you take him into the back of your throat, fist gripping the part of him that won’t fit.

“So good to me, darlin’” He groans, running shaking fingers through your hair, trying to sit up against the headboard.

“Relax,” you tell him, pushing him back down to lie against the rumpled duvet, “I know what you need.”

You know him and he knows you, and you both know how this goes. You pull back, work your dress up over your head and pull down your panties, which are ruined with your slick, so damp they catch on your thighs as you peel them off. Joel’s eyes widen as he watches; he can never believe you want this – want him – as much as you do.

When you sink down on his length – the fat head of his cock catching at your entrance, making the stretch delicious and white-hot – he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

You run a finger along his eyebrows, coax him to open them and he does, a muscle in his jaw fluttering as you rise up and drag your cunt back down onto him again.

“I wanna do the right thing, baby,” he tells you, as though this – the pinching heat of him between your thighs, the tremble of his hands as he clutches at the flesh of your ass – isn’t the greatest thing that’s ever happened to either of you.

But you know he hates himself for it, hates that he’s a good decade older than you, that you’re Sarah’s babysitter, that this – this twisted arrangement you have where you stay when he gets back and then end up in his bed – is the only thing that gets him through those long works days sometimes.

“I know,” you say, “but it’s getting kind of hard to resist, isn’t it?”

“You should leave,” he says, thrusting up into you, “we should – Jesus, baby, just like that – we should stop.”

You arch up off the bed, tilting your hips so that he can drive his cock deeper, bottoming out and groaning brokenly into your ear. It’s filthy. Depraved, probably: The slap of his hips as he cants them up into yours, the breathy moans that tumble from your mouth, Joel’s desperate, needy curses.

It’s easy to make him come like this: Three steady, deliberate rolls of your hips and he’s a quivering mess beneath you, his hands fisting in the sheets as he spurts hot and wet inside you.

After, you tell him you should probably leave. He makes you come with his fingers first, tells you to finish your wine, that it still ain’t that late.

And when the sun’s on your skin at 6am, he’s there watching you sleep, hoping you’ll say you’ll stay, even though you should probably leave.

[felassan]

What's all this about Solas speaking in iambic pentameter? English isn't my first language so I never noticed anything odd about the way he talks, but your blog is the first time I've seen it mentioned by anyone

hello! ◕‿◕ Solas sometimes speaks in a specific pattern or rhythm. It sometimes gets described as or compared by people to iambic pentameter. (which is a type of rhythm common in traditional English poetry. Shakespeare used it in his sonnets and plays.) Though, I'm not sure that it's actually literally that or always that. The main point is that at those times, he's speaking particularly poetically, with a specific poetic rhythm in his speech. (Like where the stress on syllables is and the 'beats' in his speech.) Occasionally, the Inquisitor's dialogue line[s] in response to him are the same.

When Trick Weekes wrote Solas in DA:I, they wrote some of his key scenes to KD Lang's cover of the song Hallelujah on a loop. They talked about some of their process and the reasons for the use of this technique in terms of Solas' characterization in this DA:I-era blog post:

Trick Weekes: "When Solas talks about things that he saw in the Fade, things that speak to a distant past, I needed him to sound ever so slightly otherworldly and wistful – someone remembering a dream with a sense of both sadness and inevitability. If you follow [that link] and look at some of Solas’s lines, you may notice a familiar rhythm come out. It would have been forcing it to give lines the same rhyme scheme, but giving the words the meter captured some of that wistfulness and made Solas sound ever so slightly otherworldly. (In the rare cases the player got into the same rhythm, there was always an approval bump from Solas. For that brief period, it was like the player was thinking like he did.) I used this a few times over the game, and I love what it did to his voice. Also, Cori (who edited Solas) is exceedingly kind for putting up with my request that changes to those lines keep this surreptitious rhythm."

[source]

An example of when it happens in DA:I is:

"I've journeyed deep into the Fade // in ancient ruins and battlefields // to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash // to reenact the bloody past // in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war // has its heroes. // I'm just curious // what kind you'll be."

Compare this with the song's lyrics:

"I heard there was a secret chord // That David played, and it pleased the Lord // You don't really care for music, do ya? Well it goes like this: The fourth, the fifth // The minor fall, the major lift // The baffled king composing Hallelujah Hallelujah // Hallelujah // Hallelujah // Hallelujah"

An example from Trespasser is:

"I lay in dark and dreaming sleep [I heard there was a secret chord] while countless wars and ages passed [That David played, and it pleased the Lord] I woke still weak a year before I joined you. [You don't really care for music, do ya?]" etc.

Recent mentions of this are:

Q. Will Solas still occasionally or dramatically speak in iambic pentameter? A. “Massive kudos to Patrick, who always writes Solas so well. Again, Solas is a returning character. It’s the same Solas you know and love (or hate depending on who you are). The same writer. So I think the answer is yeah, it’s Solas.” – John Epler

[source: BioWare dev Discord Q&A on June 14th]

User: "you really went off with solas. but the iambic pentameter makes writing fanfic dialogue for him so treacherous..." Trick Weekes: "It doesn't always have to be in the cadence! Just when he's deeply feeling The Old Days! He's written in standard prose 99% of the time!"

[source]

I think he does it a bit in the gameplay reveal video [Veil ripping scene with Varric] too. hope this helps :>

[msg refs this post]

[For the developer Q&A from June 14th on Discord: Notes are here, re-watch link is here]

[vividxpages]

Hey!! Could you do 13 and thirty? Both fluff and smut maybe BTW HOW ARE YOU WRITING SO FAST

a/n: there you goo, I really like how this one turned out and hope so do you! <3 hehe, I had five free days which end today, so I had some extra time to write!

vivid's little autumn writing: If you want, you can now send me a number (or two combined!) from this list of visual prompts and I'll write a little drabble (fluffy and/or smutty, you decide) for it.🧸 you can suggest them until the end of October!

🍂

Jace’s grandfather Corlys owned a house by a lonely lake, the property surrounded by a large pine wood, miles away from the next dirt road. When Jace had been a kid, he remembered many perfect summers he’d spent there with Luke and his cousins, dreaming of the day he’d maybe invite a special girl in his life out here…

Sometimes he still could not believe his damn luck that he got to take you there.

So far, the weekend by the lake had been spent outside, with countless hours you had laid together on the jetty, his head in your lap as you read him prose and poetry, your melodious voice and the sounds of the forest and the water lulling him into a peaceful slumber.

Having the house to yourselves for the first time, the evenings consisted of cooking together in the kitchen which often turned either into a food fight or a hot makeout session against the kitchen counter.

The nights were long and peaceful and there was always a warm light shining where the two of you went, pushing the two large couches together to make a fort for the night or falling into the same bed he had always slept in as a boy, not caring that you both nearly did not fit.

Jace smiled to himself as he stared at the ceiling of the living room, his arms crossed behind his head as he listened to you turning off the shower in the bathroom, humming a little tune that had been stuck in your head all weekend long.

Resting on the old heater beside your makeshift bed (and dozens of pillows and knitted blankets), was your red polkadot bikini and his boxershorts, still drying from your earlier dip into the lake. The warm glow of the two big lamps next to the couches ghosted over the walls and he sat up and rested on his elbows as he heard the bathroom door open.

You emerged with a towel around your body, your damp hair no concern for the night since Jace kept the fireplace lit and the heater running. The cold liked to creep through the old wooden boards and he could not have you shivering in anything but pleasure under his care. Now, he did not take his eyes away from you as you tiptoed over to the big sleeping place you had made, wearing nothing but a pretty pair of panties underneath the soft towel. But Jace didn’t know it…yet.

“I can’t believe how cool the lake was despite the heat.” You said as you sat down next to him, your hand naturally finding a place on his naked stomach, his warm skin there exposed by the sleeping shirt that had shifted upwards.

“Are you cold?” Jace asked you immediately, sitting up and cupping your cheek with his big hand. “I can always throw another log into the fire, we-“

“Jace, it’s okay.” You smiled at his concern, shuffling a little closer until your noses nearly brushed. “It’s wonderful here. It’s almost too cozy to simply go to bed now.” It had gotten dark outside, but there was so much light and warmth in here, surrounding you and him.

“We don’t have to sleep yet.” Jace mumbled suggestively, his fingertip ghosting over the hem of your towel, high on your thigh and almost dipping underneath. “And there’s at least one more way I could warm you…”

Heat crept through you and it had nothing to do with the crackling of the fireplace. You tilted your head to the side in consideration, feeling his breath tickling you. “At least one, hm? I think you’ll have to show me-“

Before you could even finish, Jace had flipped you, your back landing on the fluffy pillows as he slid his body over your own, warmth radiating between the two of you. He kissed both your eyelids, your cheek and jaw before making his way down your neck and you sighed quietly at the small sensations, you towel becoming loose around you as you lifted your arms, his to be taken completely.

Jace was breathing heavily, his hands never leaving you as he dipped down and kissed you, his tongue dancing with your own before he looked at you with big eyes. “Can I?”

“Please.” You nodded, spreading your legs for him to take his rightful place between them. “I am yours.”

There was nothing out here except for the two of you and he took his sweet time as he explored your body anew, slowly removing the towel from your quivering body, only to replace the fabric with his wandering hands. You succumbed to him eagerly, your eyes fluttering to a close as you simply focused on the feeling of his fingertips, his lips wandering lower and lower until he reached the soaked fabric of your panties.

When he rubbed over the wetness gathering there, you whimpered needily and reached down, pulling your panties to the side as he moaned at the delicious sight. He settled down on his elbows between your legs, licking his lips as he connected his gaze with yours.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, my love.” He mumbled, already drunk on you, knowing your taste would ruin him. “Lean back and let me take care of you…”

You did and so he held up his end of the sweet bargain, kissing and lapping at you until you nearly forgot your own name and could only call out his throughout the night…

[bloodmoonmuses]

time lapse | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, established relationship, fluff, experimental prose??? warnings: none!

summary: one day, mark finds out you write poetry about him.

Mark was beautiful in a way that evoked poetry out of you. Not the kind of poetry you’d write in a class, or to a rubric, or written to please that snooty professor whose opinion you unfortunately care about. Not stuffy poetry, nor the kind that’s overindulgent in its prose. Not forced devotion.

He evoked the kind of poetry that only exists in the mundane. Snippets of domesticity like just-cooled tempered glass: fragility strengthened by warmth. Remnants of heat hissing faintly amidst silence… The ghost-like sensation of fingertips that once grazed your abdomen, moved to brush tendrils of hair away from your face, and ultimately cradled your blazing cheeks. Warmth like when you steal his hoodie and the body heat is still living in the garment. Warmth like recognition pooling in Mark’s eyes as he wakes to you each morning.

It’s the mundanity of Mark you were obsessed with.

His eyes hold multitudes. You’ve become fluent in their language: the sheen that floods them when he talks about his friends. The haze that clouds them after a particularly exhausting day. Their absence when his eyes crinkle with laughter. Everything about him was poetry, worthy of being chronicled in sonnet form. There’s a sort of rigid lyricalness that encompasses Mark. The tact and efficacy with which he executes choreography, contrasted against his feather-light vocal timbre. You especially liked when he sang, breathy melodies escaping like playground secrets. 

His voice is gravely, yet youthful. Buoyant but hearty. Full and bright. His terms of endearment ring like a question, like he’s confirming that his feelings are in fact reciprocated each time he proclaims his love to you.

Mark says, “Love you, baby.” but “baby” has an upward lilt to it. The affection is caught at his throat. You feel it too. When he leaves and says, “Be back soon, my love,” you nod. Because he will be back, and you will be waiting, and it’s cute that he still needs confirmation of such considering you’ve been together so long. “Stay healthy,” he says. You tell him to do the same, shoving a cup of tea in his hands as he bounds out the door. This is your way of saying “stay warm” as well, though time doesn’t allow you to actually verbalize this. 

Mark’s perpetually running late.

When you wrote about this, the idea would show up in lines like: “Time decays faster in his wake- eroding at the edges like a distorted strip of film. But when he’s in your eye line, the background of time bleeds into watercolor- faded blues and denim grays swirling in the now frozen frame.” When Mark enters, time stops. 

One day, Mark stumbled upon your journal. “I sing about you, it’s only fair!” he exclaimed as he noted the sheepish look overtaking your features. It felt like being torn open. You’d rather read the poetry to him than endure the silence that blanketed the room as he read. But he insisted.

“How do you feel?” You had asked in a breathless whisper, eyes shut tightly to rid yourself of the embarrassment that settled in the flush of your face.

Mark smiles. “Seen,” he said.

[aeriona]

HI HELLO! Welcome to my completely unnecessarily detailed analysis on how I think Inkfish languages could work! + with art! yay! This is all pretty rough and not fully fleshed out (I don't have the time or patience for that lmao). THIS IS A LONG POST.

Okay, so there's dozens of languages spoken by cephalopods in the Mollusc Era but the main two I'll talk about are Inkling (or Inklish) and Octarian, spoken mostly by Inklings and Octolings respectively. 

In cephalopods, speech is formed using the syrinx and larynx, two fancy vocal organs that most other species don't have together. The larynx makes sounds using the radula (tongue) and vocal folds in the throat, it's clear and pretty easy to understand as the sound itself resembles human speech, albeit warbled. The syrinx makes noise by vibrating air at the base of the trachea, it's often trickier to follow as it can sound more like droning background noise than words sometimes.

An inkfish can use both of them at once, resulting in an EXTREMELY complicated language system where words can be made up of multiple layered syllables, and several words and sentences can even be said at the same time.

As you can probably imagine, all of this is LITERAL HELL to learn for species who don’t have both a syrinx and a larynx (so basically anyone who isn't a cephalopod). But fear not! There are many simple and more inclusive alternatives, dialects and other cool stuff like sign language and instant TTS technology for people who physically can't pronounce Inkling/Octarian or even vocalise at all (eg. jellyfish).

Both main Inkfish languages can be broken down into laryngeal words (made with the larynx), syringeal/drone words (made with the syrinx) or a combination of both, called dual-toned/layered words.

Keep in mind that both word-types can be spoken at the same time. Layering can be used to add additional connotations to a word, or to even make a new one entirely. For example, the laryngeal noun ‘bird’ combined with the syringeal noun ‘metal’ spoken together will create the layered Inkling word ‘aeroplane’, like a compound word in English.

Dual-toned stuff is more common in Inkling than in Octarian, as the language is older and has more loanwords. Inklish's dependence on the larynx gives it a higher-pitched, clearer sound whereas  Octarian's more monotone syrinx-based structure results in a deep, almost guttural sound.

Both cephalopod languages are heavy on tone and pronunciation, resulting in a plenty of accent indicators in written scripts. I used the in-game fonts for the art but if I were to rework it, each letter would probably be more complicated than traditional Mandarin on steroids. So hell on earth, basically.

On a side note, all of these language features open possibilities for some very cool poetry and literature. An inkfish author could write a poem with two lines of thought occurring at once, or a book with vivid emotional undertones written inside the prose. Pretty cool.

OKAY that's all I have to say thank you for reading! Hopefully this makes sense, feel free to send asks or whatever if it's confusing and I'll do my best to explain it better!

[pochipop]

＃MYSTIC MESSENGER !! ♡ — A LITTLE LITTLE MORE LOVE.

#. synopsis! — sweet gestures from them to you .

#. characters! — hyun (zen), jumin, saeyoung (707), yoosung, jaehee .

#. warnings! — none .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — back in the mm pit because it's summer and it's time for my annual redownload <3 i've also been thinking about opening a discord, so if anyone has thoughts on that, i'd love to hear them! PLUS, i played the free demo for this indie otome-esque game on steam called homicipher, and i am begging for the release of the first chapter, idk if any of you have played it, but i am way too addicted for having only played like half an hour of it. anyway lolol, enjoy!!

＃ HYUN (ZEN) !! ♡

Hyun, who buys bouquets of flowers every now and again on his way back home from rehearsals. He does his best to match the colors to your needs, —yellow on sad days in hopes they might lift your spirits, blue when you’re frustrated so that it might calm you down, etc.. They always smell so sweet, and you cherish them deeply. They always live longer than they typically should as a result of how well you care for them, and he loves to see the bashful smile tug at your lips as you accept them gracefully, even if you always tell him that he “really shouldn’t have” or that he “didn’t have to.” He does it because he loves you, and he thinks someone as beautiful as you should be presented with something just as gorgeous every now and again (even if he admittedly thinks you’re worlds prettier than flowers could ever be.)

＃ JUMIN !! ♡

Jumin, who writes little notes on the corner of the napkins he rests your coffee or tea on each morning, delicate and elegant handwriting in black ink sinking so perfectly into the ivory material. They’re never the same, always a different expression of his love or his admiration. You like to tear them off and keep them safe in a little box, and you open it up to read them when you’ve had a hard day or when you’re just not feeling your best. He always tells you that you don’t have to keep them, that he won’t be offended if you simply toss them away after you’ve read them and they’ve made you smile, —but you can never bring yourself to do it.

＃ SAEYOUNG (707) !! ♡

Saeyoung, who folds little origamis for you when he gets the chance and leaves them somewhere around for you to find. It started with a tiny paper star he was folding for the heck of it, but you liked it so much that he decided to do it again, and again, and again. So now you have a neat little stash of different animals, shapes, and otherwise cool-looking creations (all of which have silly, blank expressions drawn onto them as faces that really add a sweetness to their personality.) You like to sit and fiddle with them every now and again, just to feel the sharp edges of the crane’s beak against your fingertips or to split the little heart apart and see the “i love you <3” written on the inside.

＃ YOOSUNG !! ♡

Yoosung, who buys sticky notes for his studies but ends up using most of them to leave you little notes with cute messages and silly doodles. He likes to think this is a better usage for them, especially when he watches you spot one out of the corner of his eye, and you hold it in your hands like it’s some kind of love-stricken poetry from a wordsmith he knows he’ll never be. They might be simple and straightforward, but there’s not much room for stanzas of prose on these little post-its, and reminders that you’re doing a good job or that you look cute are so much more than enough.

＃ JAEHEE !! ♡

Jaehee, who bakes you little desserts for you to eat when you get home, often heart-shaped or dusted in romantic colors, —always in your favorite flavors. Cookies with little jam hearts in the center, cupcakes with heart sprinkles and a cream just to your liking filling up the inside; each and every one made with so much love that you can practically taste it on your tongue. There’s no one else she’d rather bake for, and no one else she’d rather spend the rest of her days with. Sometimes words are hard to come by, and she worries she won’t always get it right, but when you kiss her on the cheek before taking a bite of her treats, well. . . She thinks things will be alright anyway.

[moodymisty]

I mean you got anything sweet for Blood Angels...

Though my brain keeps jumping to Flesh Tearers but I feel like that's just me trying to get myself to write for Flesh Tearers (and Lamenters)

(Rambling idea below)

I mean lets be honest Blood Angels are ultimate predators for humans... being so handsome I mean Sanguinius was often called ethereal and other worldly with his beauty. So of course his sons are handsome and all so well bred for the arts... easy to lure in many humans to just listen to their prose or see their paintings.

Just don't show up during your period because suddenly a lot of the poetry is about blood or blood adjacent... they can't seem to find the right red paint... and why do so many of them look at you like they are dying of thirst?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Do I have something for Blood Angels- BOY DO I! Enjoy! I didn't exactly do your idea but I've had this plot in my head for weeks and wanted to use it and you're ask was the only one that let me /sob Not my best work by far, but I hope you enjoy.

Relationships: Unnamed Blood Angel/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Oral, Period blood kink/menstrual kink that type of stuff, Is this too weird? maybe I dunno you guys all seem like freaks so hopefully this will go over well? If not I can just return to my dungeon

"Why are we going this way?"

This is a long way around, though some of the Red Tear's maintenance areas. He doesn't answer you however, and with disgruntlement you let the question lie as you return to more civilized parts of the Red Tear.

This whole interaction has been odd, since he had picked you up to escort you back from your duties. Normally he doesn’t act like this; He's stoic and lacks a good bit of emotion yes, but you almost feel as if now he’s taking you to your execution.

"I thought you were missing,"

You had jokingly said, walking closer to him. This planet had been pleasant enough after the Blood Angels brought it under the Imperium, but you're quite eager to return to Terra. Or at least the Red Tear.

He ignored your little comment and stepped closer, but you noticed his face change when he got close enough to touch you. His body became more rigid, and you furrowed your brow as you looked up at him.

"Are you ok?" You say as he clears his throat and nods stiffly. "Yes. We should return to the Red Tear. Our work here is done."

You look up at him again try and get any sort of hint as to how he's feeling, but he only has that same, stiff expression; Though slightly more irritated than usual.

You round yet another corner to see a group of freshly armored Blood Angels leaving one of the armoring rooms. They all perk up at the sight of you, staring at you like something fierce. You get more than a bit uncomfortable under their gaze, until your supposed guardian grabs your arm and swiftly pulls you down the hall past them. He glares at them to keep their distance, and you grab at his gauntlet to try and relieve some of the pressure. You're arm is in pain from how tight he's pulling you along, until you stop in front of a room he opens.

It's not your own, so you presume it's his. He shoves you inside.

"Stay here."

As a diplomat you technically reside outside the command structure of the Blood Angels, but no one in their right mind would disobey an astartes. Especially one that is looking at you with such fire in his eyes. He turns to leave, but your sudden question makes him turn towards you again.

"What is all this? Why are you-" He grabs you tight at the shoulder, and you gasp in pain as the force of it pins you to the wall.

"Why do you smell like blood?"

You pull at his hand and grimace in pain, and at his oddly specific question.

"What? It's just normal, It's that time of the-" He lightly shakes your shoulder and despite speaking relatively quiet, his voice still hits you in the chest with out seething it sounds.

"Every one of my brothers on this ship can smell you. You're lucky I got to you before one of them did."

Even if they did, why does he speak of it like something would happen? Like he avoided it for a reason? He's talking as if you would be in danger if they found you, for something seemingly so simple.

“What would happen if they did?”

You quietly question, watching the expression on his face instantly change. He looks conflicted, like he’s nearly lost in thought. For awhile you think you may not even get an answer from him, until you finally see his lips shift.

“I, assume you’ve heard mutterings of a curse in your time here.”

You have vaguely- even he had cursed it once. At the time you'd assumed it some sort of unfamiliar swear or perhaps just an odd phase adopted by Blood Angels, and so you'd paid it little mind other than the initial confusion. When you hesitantly nod, he continues.

“The curse is real. It has changed our legion. And,” You figure he’s about to speak a secret he shouldn’t to someone like you, so you stay quiet.

“It makes the smell of blood, tempting.” He continues. “It sates a hunger only we Blood Angels possess, and keeps us from going raving mad.”

He quiets, and you feels his gauntlets shift on your shoulders. He changes the subject to something adjacent; You assume he probably feels guilt for confessing a chapter secret to you.

“You’re not hurt?” He says confusedly. You aren’t particularly surprised he knows little about such things, though explaining it to him in this state would take far too long and be far too unfruitful.

“No. I'm fine.” He hums. You think you hear him mumble about hearing such a thing from somewhere, a woman's illness, and the comment would make you laugh if he wasn't looming down on you so intensely.

“Very well.” He shifts his jaw a bit, the scars along it shifting. He seems to have run out of things to say, though it also seems like he can't pull himself away from you. His throat and jaw are tightly wound, like he's holding something back.

“You want some… Don’t you?”

He seems surprised oddly enough; Perhaps by your bluntness and stupidity. Many legions would not take kindly to you assuming things about them, but Blood Angels are remarkably kinder. He is remarkably kinder.

“I," He grimaces. "I would owe you a great deal. Our superiors look at those with the Red Thirst as little more than a danger.”

The Blood Angels have been nothing but kind to you, in their own way. To even just be on the Red Tear is a safety and security you couldn’t repay.

It helps that it's him; You haven't ventured far around the Blood Angels ship alone, and you shamefully feel yourself beginning to get attached. If this curse can be sated by something so seemingly menial to you, then you have no reason to refuse.

“Ok.”

You move to take off your pants hands shaking just barely in nervousness, as he drops to his knee with one heavy thud. The sound startles you, just as your pants fall to the floor.

Once they’re off, and just your underwear remains, you hesitate for a moment. His stare is so intense, and you don't know how to describe it other than hungry. Given what he's told you, it makes perfect sense.

After what feels like and eternity of you being frozen, you finally manage to regain enough control to peel your underwear away. He viscerally reacts to the presumably iron filled scent, and the sight of blood against your now bare skin.

You see the way the knot in his throat bobs just above the black skinsuit beneath his armor.

With a speed that has you almost letting out a scream he grips your hips pulls them forward enough that the angle feels precarious, but he has a solid enough grip that leaves no chance of you falling. He throws your right leg over his shoulder next to open your thighs, your foot pressing against the front of his jetpack.

He hesitates for a moment, and you look away from the sheer intensity of his expression before you feel his hot breath on your skin.

You feel the moment he finally takes a taste and you can barely hold in a whimper, it coming out a tiny squeak as you feel the way his hands shift and tighten against your hips. Any hesitation he had is gone near instantly, as he presses his mouth against your cunt.

His armored hands grip at your hips with a strength that makes you ache and fear bruises, easily keeping your legs spread with minimal effort as his tongue laps at your folds. You can see the blood smear across his face, though he pays no mind. He acts as if this is the first meal he's had in ages, or the last he'll ever have.

But while perhaps your pleasure might not be at the forefront of his mind in his quite literal bloodlust, the way his tongue slips between your folds and teases you still makes shivers go up your spine. Your hands grip his hair and attempt to steady yourself, as his strength pushes you around. It's impossible to stop the way your hips push forward trying to get closer to him, gasping as he briefly brushes around your clit.

Suddenly however he pulls himself away, mouth stained much the same as your cunt and upper thighs are. You can see his eyes are glassy his throat bobs.

"I should stop."

He mumbles something to himself about loosing himself further to the Thirst, as if he's treading a line between sating his hunger or falling victim to it. You, perhaps stupidly, encourage him to do the exact opposite.

"No, no just, just a bit more,"

You breathlessly whisper and attempt to pull him closer. He silently resists for a moment, before the knot in his throat bobs and he returns his mouth to between your legs. You can't stop the loud moan you let out into the barren room, damning the consequences of anyone hearing you.

You're so close to that peak you only need a bit more, and the way his teeth scrape against your skin and nose presses against your clit gets you there. Your hands tighter in his hair and you inhale, trying not to cry out. But even after you start to come down he continues, his mouth overstimulating so many little nerves you feel on the edge of tears. Your face is hot as your fingers grip at his armor, desperately whining for him to simultaneously stop, and never stop.

He pulls away again, and gently emoves your leg from his shoulder to let you stand and wobbly attempt to yourself. Your knees feel weak and so many of your muscles are sore, even though he was exceedingly gentle with you.

Realizing his face is a mess, he uses the fabric of his cape to wipe it; How fortuitous the fabric is red.

"You should still keep clear of my brothers until this, passes. You never know how close one of them is to loosing themselves and hurting you." You'll heed the warning. If they're anything more than what gusto he already displayed, you wouldn't be surprised angels more lost to the thirst would be dangerous to you. He displayed a remarkable degree of restraint, you could tell.

Though, a curious part of your mind wonders what he'd be like if he hadn't.

"Do you at least feel better? I don't know how the Thirst works but," He nods.

"Yes. It is nice to not have my head so clouded. I... Thank you."

You smile, before accidentally letting more words tumble out of your lips that you should've allowed. It seems his presence always seems to makes you accidentally forget how to not act a fool.

"Always happy to help." He takes your phase at face value, though you suppose you wouldn't refuse him if he asked again. It wasn't as if this ended badly for you.

"You are kind, offering yourself to a Blood Angel. Not many would."

Beyond their sophisticated veneer they are still dangerous predators more than capable of killing you with the slightest motion, you understand why any few who learn about their supposed defect would fear them.

Maybe something is clouding your judgement, but you don't fear him; At least not yet.

Adjusting your clothing you watch as he rises to his full height, his cape flowing behind him. You grip your own fingers nervously and look around.

"But, would you mind bringing my back to my own quarters? I'll admit I have no idea where on the ship you brought me, and I'm still a bit woozy." He offers a gentle but stoic smile.

"Of course."

[gemsofgreece]

Mycenaean Greek

(and examples of lexical evolution to Modern Greek)

Mycenaean Greek is the most ancient attested form of the Greek language (16th to 12th centuries BC). The language is preserved in inscriptions of Linear B, a script first attested on Crete before the 14th century BC. The tablets long remained undeciphered and many languages were suggested for them until Michael Ventris, building on the extensive work of Alice Kober, deciphered the script in 1952. This turn of events has made Greek officially the oldest recorded living language in the world.

What does this mean though? Does it mean that a Modern Greek could speak to a resurrected Mycenaean Greek and have an effortless chat? Well obviously not. But we are talking about the linear evolution of one single language (with its dialects) throughout time that was associated with one ethnic group, without any parallel development of other related languages falling in the same lingual branch whatsoever.

Are we sure it was Greek though? At this point, yes, we are. Linguists have found in Mycenaean Greek a lot of the expected drops and innovations that individualised the Hellenic branch from the mother Proto-Indo-European language (PIE). In other words, it falls right between PIE and Archaic Greek and resembles what Proto-Greek is speculated to have been like. According to Wikipedia, Mycenaean Greek had already undergone all the sound changes particular to the Greek language.

Why was it so hard to decipher Linear B and understand it was just very early Greek? Can an average Greek speaker now read Linear B? No. An average Greek speaker cannot read Linear B unless they take into account and train themselves on certain rules and peculiarities that even took specialized linguists ages to realise and get used to. Here's the catch: Linear B was a script inspired by the Minoan Linear A, both of which were found in the Minoan speaking Crete. (Minoan Linear A inscriptions have yet to be deciphered and we know nothing about them.) The Mycenaeans (or was it initially the Minoans???) made only minimal modifications to produce the Linear B script and used it exclusively for practical purposes, namely for accounting lists and inventories. Linear B however was an ideographic and syllabic script that stemmed from a script that originally was not designed to render the Mycenaean Greek language, and thus it could not do it perfectly. In other words, the script itself does not render the Greek words accurately which is what made it extremely hard even for the linguists to decipher these inscriptions. Due to its limited use for utility and not for prose, poetry or any other form of expression, the Mycenaean Greeks likely did not feel compelled to modify the script heavily into some more appropriate, accurate form to cover the language's needs.

Examples of the script's limitations:

I won't mention them all but just to give you an idea that will help you then read the words more easily:

In the syllabic script Linear B, all syllable symbols starting with a consonant obligatorily have a vowel following - they are all open sylllables without exception. Linear B can NOT render two consonants in a row which is a huge handicap because Greek absolutely has consonants occuring in a row. So, in many cases below, you will see that the vowel in the script is actually fake, it did not exist in the actual language, and I might use a strikethrough to help you out with this.

For the same reason, when there are consonants together, at least one of them is often casually skipped in Linear B!

There were no separate symbols for ρ (r) and λ (l). As a result, all r and l sounds are rendered with the r symbol.

Exactly because many Greek words end in σ, ς (sigma), ν (ni), ρ (rho) but in Linear B consonants must absolutely be followed by a vowel, a lot of time the last letter of the words is skipped in the script!

Voiced, voiceless and aspirate consonants all use the same symbols, for example we will see that ka, ha, gha, ga all are written as "ka". Pa, va, fa (pha), all are written as "pa". Te, the are written as "te".

There are numerous other limitations but also elements featured that were later dropped from the Greek language, i.e the semivowels, j, w, the digamma, the labialized velar consonants [ɡʷ, kʷ, kʷʰ], written ⟨q⟩, which are sometimes successfully represented with Linear B. However, that's too advanced for this post. I only gave some very basic, easy guidelines to help you imagine in your mind what the word probably sounded like and how it relates to later stages of Greek, and modern as is the case here. That's why I am also using simpler examples and more preserved vocabulary and no words which include a lot of these early elements which were later dropped or whose decoding is still unclear.

Mycenaean Linear B to Modern Greek vocabulary examples:

a-ke-ro = άγγελος (ágelos, angel. Notice how the ke symbol is representing ge, ro representing lo and the missing ending letter. So keep this in mind and make the needed modifications in your mind with the following examples. Also, angel actually means "messenger", "announcer". In the Christian context, it means "messenger from God", like angels are believed to be. So, that's why it exists in Mycenaean Greek and not because Greeks invented Christianity 15 centuries before Jesus was born XD )

a-ki-ri-ja = άγρια (ághria, wild, plural neuter. Note the strikethrough for the nonexistent vowel)

a-ko-ro = αγρός (aghrós, field)

a-ko-so-ne = άξονες (áksones, axes)

a-na-mo-to = ανάρμοστοι (anármostoi, inappropriate, plural masculine. Note the skipped consonants in the script)

a-ne-mo = ανέμων (anémon, of the winds)

a-ne-ta = άνετα (áneta, comfortable, plural neuter, an 100% here, well done Linear B!)

a-po-te-ra = αμφότερες (amphóteres, or amphóterae in more Archaic Greek, both, plural feminine)

a-pu = από (apó, from)

a-re-ka-sa-da-ra = Αλεξάνδρα (Alexandra)

de-de-me-no = (δε)δεμένο (ðeðeméno, tied, neuter, the double de- is considered too old school, archaic now)

do-ra = δώρα (ðóra, gifts)

do-ro-me-u = δρομεύς (ðroméfs, dromeús in more Archaic Greek, runner)

do-se = δώσει (ðósei, to give, third person singular, subjunctive)

e-ko-me-no = ερχόμενος (erkhómenos, coming, masculine)

e-mi-to = έμμισθο (émmistho, salaried, neuter)

e-ne-ka = ένεκα (éneka, an 100%, thanks to, thanks for)

e-re-mo = έρημος (érimos, could be pronounced éremos in more Archaic Greek, desert)

e-re-u-te-ro-se = ελευθέρωσε (elefthérose, liberated/freed, simple past, third person)

e-ru-to-ro = ερυθρός (erythrós, red, masculine)

e-u-ko-me-no = ευχόμενος (efkhómenos or eukhómenos in more Archaic Greek, wishing, masculine)

qe = και (ke, and)

qi-si-pe-e = ξίφη (xíphi, swords)

i-je-re-ja = ιέρεια (iéreia, priestess)

ka-ko-de-ta = χαλκόδετα (και όχι κακόδετα!) (khalkóðeta, bound with bronze, plural neuter)

ke-ka-u-me-no = κεκαυμένος (kekafménos, kekauménos in more Archaic Greek, burnt, masculine)

ke-ra-me-u = κεραμεύς (keraméfs, kerameús in more Archaic Greek, potter)

ki-to = χιτών (khitón, chiton)

ko-ri-to = Κόρινθος (kórinthos, Corinth)

ku-mi-no = κύμινο (kýmino, cumin)

ku-pa-ri-se-ja = κυπαρίσσια (kyparíssia, cypress trees)

ku-ru-so = χρυσός (khrysós, gold)

ma-te-re = μητέρα (mitéra, mother)

me-ri = μέλι (méli, honey)

me-ta = μετά (metá, after / post)

o-ri-ko = ολίγος (olíghos, little amount, masculine)

pa-ma-ko = φάρμακο (phármako, medicine)

pa-te = πάντες (pántes, everybody / all)

pe-di-ra = πέδιλα (péðila, sandals)

pe-ko-to = πλεκτό (plektó, woven, neuter)

pe-ru-si-ni-wo = περυσινό / περσινό (perysinó or persinó, last year's, neuter)

po-me-ne = ποιμένες (poiménes, shepherds)

po-ro-te-u = Πρωτεύς (Proteus)

po-ru-po-de = πολύποδες (polýpoðes, multi-legged, plural)

ra-pte = ράπτες (ráptes, tailors)

ri-me-ne = λιμένες (liménes, ports)

ta-ta-mo = σταθμός (stathmós, station)

te-o-do-ra = Θεοδώρα (Theodora)

to-ra-ke = θώρακες (thórakes, breastplates)

u-po = υπό (ypó, under)

wi-de = είδε (íðe, saw, simple past, third person singular)

By the way it's killing me that I expected the first words to be decoded in an early civilisation would be stuff like sun, moon, animal, water but we got shit like inappropriate, salaried and station XD

Sources:

gistor.gr

Greek language | Wikipedia

Mycenaean Greek | Wikipedia

Linear B | Wikipedia

John Angelopoulos

Image source

[2soulscollide]

10 underrated tips to become a better writer

hello hello, it's me again!

today i want to share some tips to improve your writing!

1. write in a different style

sometimes it's important to step out of our comfort zone, especially when it comes to writing. the next time you sit down to write for a bit, try to do something different from usual... try poetry if you always write prose; try fantasy if your thing is mystery; try adventure if you only write romance. it's up to you, just do it! who knows if you discover a new passion while trying this exercise...

2. write from a different point of view

i know it can be tempting to always write from a certain point of view, or to always use the same narrator voice, but (like on the first topic) sometimes change is needed to improve. you'll see things from another perspective, and maybe you can have a brilliant idea!

3. write with music

this one is one of my favorites! i love music, my spotify is full of playlists, one for each mood. try to create different playlists for your stories, and pick songs that motivate you, or that make you feel like you're one of the characters of your novel. this will not only give you a boost to write but also make you feel inspired.

4. set a timer

i always do this! it's a life changer. i started doing the pomodoro method to study and realized how effective it is. it's the same when it comes to writing: set about thirty minutes to write (it's up to you, depending on for how long you can be productive) and ten to fifteen minutes to relax. you'll see how much more work you can do with this method!

5. use prompts

you know how much i love prompts! i think they're so useful and help us so much to become more creative. they are a great way to step out of our comfort zone and develop someone else's idea in a span of a few minutes or hours.

oh, and if you're feeling adventurous, try this month's writing challenge!

6. write in a different place

guys! change your writing environment sometimes, especially when you're feeling overwhelmed or drained. i know it can be tempting to always sit on your sofa / bed / favorite chair, but sometimes we get so accustomed to the same place, that our creativity slows down, as well as our motivation. try to go outside to a park or a café, it can be so fun and you'll feel like the main character. or maybe, if you don't want to be in public, try another room in your house! just make sure you feel comfortable and don't have distractions around you.

7. change your writing support

do you always write on your computer? try to disconnect for a while, grab a pen and a paper, and let your imagination flow. it can be so freeing to write by hand sometimes, especially when you're plotting a novel! how cool it is to draw a scheme to connect all the characters and locations, and to doodle...!

8. find a writing buddy

personally, i don't have one, but i know it can be such a fun way to keep you motivated and to keep yourself (and the other person) accountable. it's great to have someone to share your ideas with, to give and receive feedback, and to lift you up to write when you don't like doing so.

9. write yourself a letter

trust me, it's amazing. it can be to your present self, past, or future, it's up to you. tell yourself what your writing goals are, what you are writing, how you see yourself in the future, what you're satisfied with your writing style, etc. just let it flow and re-read it whenever you feel unmotivated.

10. write with a sense of humor

i know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but it can be so fun sometimes. try something less serious when you don't feel like writing. try to come up with a joke mid-dialogue, write a fun scene or re-write a serious scene in a less serious way. this exercise can be great to see things from another perspective, to try a different style, or to lift up your mood.

i hope this was useful! have a nice day!