Maybe you have a scene that feels flat. Dialogue that sounds wrong. An idea that needs an outside perspective. Two characters who are supposed to have incredible chemistry but currently have all the sexual tension of a tax return.

That’s what Workshop Wednesday will be for.

What Can I Workshop?

Pretty much anything connected to your writing. With a maximum of 800 words for any story snippet posted.

● A scene or excerpt you want feedback on
● A plot you’re struggling to develop
● A character who isn’t quite working
● Dialogue you can’t get right
● Worldbuilding questions
● An RP premise you want help developing
● A partner-search post that isn’t attracting the kind of writers you’re looking for
● Questions about pacing, characterization, tension, description, POV or other aspects of writing
● Or an idea you want to bounce off some other writers

Your work doesn’t need to be polished.
Actually, that’s the point.

How Do I Participate?

Workshop Wednesday is not confined to this thread. Make your own post so your question or writing gets its own discussion. Use the Workshop Wednesday post flair so other members know you’re looking for feedback.

And please tell people what kind of help you’re looking for.

“Thoughts?” can be difficult to answer.

“Does this dialogue sound natural?”

“Is the attraction between these characters coming across?”

“I’m worried I’m dumping too much exposition here—where would you cut?”

Those give your fellow writers somewhere useful to start.

If You’re Giving Feedback…

Be constructive.

You don’t have to like everything you read. You don’t have to pretend something works when you don’t think it does. Useful criticism is absolutely welcome here.

But remember:
Critique the writing, not the fantasy.
Someone asking for help with their craft is not inviting you to shame their interests, kinks, characters, pairings, or preferences.
Explain why something isn’t working for you when you can, and remember that the goal isn’t to rewrite somebody else’s story into the story you would have written.

And if something simply isn’t your thing?
You can keep scrolling.

Don’t Have Anything to Workshop?
You can still participate!

Browse today’s Workshop Wednesday posts and see whether another writer could use your eyes, experience, or ideas. Sometimes the thing one writer has been fighting with for three days is immediately obvious to someone encountering it for the first time.

So drag out the troublesome scenes. Bring us the stubborn characters. Show us the plots held together with string and increasingly desperate notes to yourself.
The workshop is open.

Hey DSW crew!

First time making an official post here and grateful to be sharing it with you all.

So, some context. This excerpt is part of a story where a team of agents are trying to find a reality warper. The excerpt in question is a transitional scene from the start (where the main character grounds herself, sets the scene, and takes stock of the characters) and the first power use (where reality starts changing). The purpose of this transitional scene is to get a feel for this reality warper and to set a "normal" feeling before the rug gets pulled underneath everyone's feet. However, I'm worried that the scene takes too long to get to the action but feel the info provided is necessary.

This excerpt is at 788 words, and essentially I'm looking to know if pacing, tension, and characterization are on point and if your attention holds out or stops somewhere in the passage. Thank you for your time and hope you enjoy reading.

***

“Thanks for not throwing your drink in my face. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Would’ve deserved it, but still… thanks, Valerie.”

“We all say stupid things sometimes,” I replied, keeping my voice light as I watched for any sudden movement. I hadn’t expected him to be this open, though it meant my cover identity was doing its job. Could use that. “But why say, 'You can call me Hollywood because I’m a self-absorbed arsehole with commitment issues'? Do you say that to everyone else or did you think that was my type?”

He snorted under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I... don't know to be honest.” He shrugged with a helpless grin. “It felt like it needed to be forced out. Like a sneeze you can’t stop. Terrible timing.” His eyes held mine, sharper now as I stared back at him. “But we’re past it.” He paused, taking a bite of salad close to his mouth before stopping. He set his fork down, leaning in slightly. “What are you thinking about right now? I’d like a second shot at not sounding like an idiot.”

I gave him a small shrug and let my fingers rest around the stem of my glass. “Why did you leave your table for mine? You don’t strike me as someone who moves without a reason.” 

“Cha-” He stopped and shook his head while chuckling. “Force of habit and not the right time.”

Force of habit? Not the right time? I blinked, filing the half-syllable away for now. “That other woman you were talking with. She looked like she was having a good time with you.”

Glancing around the dining room, I reached with my energy. A server refilling water, a couple laughing too loud, the table Hollywood had left now empty. Still nothing. No sign Hollywood had twisted the room. Nothing I could use to tilt things in my favor.

“She was fine, but when I saw you... You have a certain pull,” he said, flashing a quick grin. “A spotlight look.”

I tilted my head at him. “And what does that pull feel like to you?”

“The jury is still out on that,” he shot back without hesitation. “But you’re not the only one with a pull.”

That earned a reluctant smile from me. For a second, the mission felt miles away, and the young man in front of me was just an awkward kid trying too hard. I caught myself leaning in before pulling back. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. Coat Guy was still watching us from his booth, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass, lips thinned. The ballad from the stage washed over us, piano and voice weaving together. I let it steady my breathing, not to relax but to stay loose. To stay ready.

Hollywood poked at the wilted remains of his salad, then let out a low chuckle.

“Are your friends coming back?” he asked. He went still, his eyes darting around. “I remembered seeing you coming with your friends.”

“They’re not coming back. Don’t worry about them.” I let out a short breath, my jittery leg bouncing. Sure enough, looking past Hollywood, Ryan gave an annoyed look before nodding slightly. Yeah, he’d have a word or two for me for going off-script. Oh well, one problem at a time. “It's just you and me now,” I said, returning my focus to Hollywood. “Two people in a fancy restaurant, having a normal conversation.”

“Normal.” He chuckled. “You're alright with normal?”

I tilted my head. Interesting that he honed in on that. “I like to start normal. It gives me a good baseline before I figure out who I’m dealing with.”

He leaned back slightly, studying me. “Interesting.” A long pause. His eyes didn’t leave me as my body locked up. “You’re… different than I expected.”

“I could say the same about you,” I replied carefully, running the odds as my shoulders relaxed. If he was our warper, he was the best actor I’d ever met.

He looked at me for a moment, the smile lingering before fading into uncertainty. “I forgot how this felt,” he murmured, almost to himself.

I raised an eyebrow. “How ‘what’ felt?” Around our table, the conversation had gone quiet. Not silent, but muffled, like someone had lowered the volume. I felt my energy twisting inside me. I glanced up. Ryan was still near the stage, Carmen still at the bar. Neither had reacted. Either I was the only one who felt it, or they were better at hiding it than I was.

Instead of answering, he leaned forward slightly, his face brightening.

“So, Val… want to start over? This conversation?”

Welcome to our very first Prompt Adoption thread…

Every writer has them…. That plot you thought of at 2am and swore you’d write someday? The character concept you absolutely love but can’t find a story for? The story idea that’s been sitting abandoned in your notes for six months? The wonderfully specific scenario your brain created that you simply don’t have the time, partner, or inclination to write? Today we are giving those ideas a chance to find a new home.

How Does Prompt Adoption Work?
Post the ideas that you are comfortable in allowing other writers to explore in the comments below. They can be as simple or as detailed as you like. Although any snippets of a story may not exceed 400 words. It can also be as simple as a single sentence concept of a story, or a setting or characters.

See something in the comments that sparks your imagination? Adopt it! Reply to the original comment to let the writer know their wayward little plot bunny has found a home, then take it away and see what you can make of it.

A Few Ground Rules
By posting in this thread you are giving other writers permission to use and adapt this idea. That means the person who adopts it may change characters, settings, dynamics, details, or take the story somewhere completely different from what you originally imagined. Please don’t post anything here that you aren’t comfortable seeing another writer make their own.

Likewise, adopting a prompt doesn’t give you exclusive ownership of the underlying idea. More than one person may be inspired by the same prompt, and that’s perfectly okay. Nor may you use the idea for commercial purposes.

This is not a partner-search thread. Posting a prompt for adoption means you’re offering the idea to other writers; it doesn’t mean you’re volunteering to write or roleplay it with whoever adopts it.

All regular r/DirtyStoryWriting rules still apply.

What Can I Post?
Pretty much anything that might give another writer somewhere interesting to begin. Maybe it’s an entire premise you’ve abandoned. Maybe it’s a character biography. Maybe it’s just a single setting.

Maybe it’s just:
Two rival treasure hunters discover the artifact they’re fighting over is considerably more interested in them than either expected.

Or:
Someone realizes halfway through a masquerade that they’ve been flirting all evening with the one person they absolutely shouldn’t be.

It doesn’t even have to be explicitly erotic. Give people the bones of an interesting idea and let them decide what happens next. And if you’ve got more than one homeless plot bunny rattling around in your notes? Bring them all.

Let’s see what this community can do with each other’s abandoned ideas.

Happy adopting!

Our first ever r/DirtyStoryWriting Writing Challenge is officially complete!

First, a huge thank you to everyone who participated in in Writing Challenge No 01: "The Almost", whether you submitted an entry, read the stories, upvoted, left comments or joined the discussion in the challenge thread. We had three writers submit entries to our very first challenge, which I'm calling a pretty damn good start. Let's give u/Natalie_And_You, u/Simsimbaby, and u/SmashMyKeys a round of applause for their entries into the challenge.

Second, the first challenge us some useful feedback about these events should work going forward.

You Asked for More Time - You Got It!

One of the biggest pieces of feedback was that announcing a challenge on the Monday and closing submissions that same night simply didn't give people enough time to brainstorm, write, edit and participate. Fair point! Going forward, Writing Challenges will be announced in advance rather than functioning as a single-day event. Writers will have a few more days to work on their submissions before the challenge deadline.

We're also working on a Writing Challenge calendar so you'll be able to see upcoming challenges ahead of time. If something catches your imagination, you'll have time to start thinking about it before submissions open. More details on that soon!

A Few Challenge Rules, Clarified

The first challenge also brought up a few questions that weren't addressed clearly enough in the original post, so let's get those settled for future challenges.

• One submission per writer, per challenge.
• Your submission does not have to be a standalone story. You're welcome to write something completely new for the challenge, use existing characters, or submit a scene that fits into a larger or ongoing story. The important thing is that the entry works with that challenge's theme or restriction.
• The 400 - 1,000 word limit will remain in place.
• As always, all of the regular rules of the sub still apply to challenge entries.

What Happens Next?

Remember that our Monday events alternate. Next Monday, the 24th of August, will be our first Prompt Adoption, where you can bring plots, characters, scenarios, settings, or those wonderfully specific ideas living in your head that you may never get around to writing yourself. Release them into the wild for another writer to adopt and make their own! Wednesday, the 26th of August, will also bring our first Workshop Wednesday where you may bring ideas, writing, plots, etc to users in the sub for helpful critique and suggestions. The following Monday, the 31st of August, Writing Challenge No 02 arrives.

There is more coming, so keep an eye on any pinned posts here in the sub for more details.

And finally: keep giving us feedback.

These events are new. We fully expect to adjust them as we discover what works, what doesn't and what makes people actually want to participate.

Thank you everyone who took part in our first event!

Robyn leaned against the trunk of an old elm, arms and ankles crossed, watching Fiora rip fistfuls of grass and wildflowers from the ground. They squealed and snapped like sinew, and his nose twitched at the bittersweet scent of whatever substance stained her hands yellow-green. Her dark brow was set in a hard line. Many times, he'd accompanied Her Highness to the meadow behind the keep to collect flowers for her paints. Never had he seen her chuck them into the basket as if she were trying to punish them.

Fiora gripped another handful of assorted foliage—that time, at the base of a tall, lanky stem with a broad-petaled flower, yellow as sulfur, at its end. He saw the muscles of her forearm bulge and quiver even under the black brocade of her sleeves. When she tried to jerk it, roots and all, from the dirt, her hand slipped, and she recoiled with a gasp. He pushed away from the tree and hurried to her side, peering over her shoulder.

“What happened?”

She huffed. “I'm fine.”

Even as she dismissed it, Fiora raised her hand, and Robyn took a knee beside her.

“It's nothing. Just a little cut.”

He grunted, cradling her hand in his. In the crux of her thumb was a thin, red line. It flooded the folds of her palm, charting a map of bloody rivers through the grassy smudges and flecks of dirt besmirching her pale skin. In the center of it all was his blunt, callused thumb, cutting through the red like the bow of an old ship. Clicking his tongue, he reached for the tattered cheesecloth lining the flower basket, smudging it with the half-print of his bloodied thumb. Ripping off a long strip, he brought it under her hand, wrapping both ends around it and testing its snugness before he tied a careful knot.

“You've got to be more careful.”

She shot him a flaccid glare, her bottom lip protruding in a way that caught his eyes for longer than intended.

“Don't speak to me like I'm a child.”

“I'm not. I don't want to see you hurt, is all.”

Her brown eyes, so warm in the sun that they looked red, twitched between his, one to the other. He'd forgotten her hand in his, but even as he helped her to her feet, Robyn didn't let go, not right away. He lingered as long as he could before each shady crenel of the castle battlements on the hill drew his painstaking attention.

His heart sank into the soles of his feet when he brought his eyes back to hers. She was crying. There was a glimmer of scrutiny that made his pulse quicken, as if he’d been caught picking her pocket. If she knew his mind, she didn’t say. Instead, she sniveled and dropped her head.

“What am I going to do, Ser Robyn? Father wants to marry me off to some vile old man.”

A lump formed in his throat. He set his hand on her shoulder. “Your father wants peace,” he said, stern, feeling he'd shrunk to her hip and was growing smaller still.

She laughed. “And I'm a bargaining chip, I suppose.”

“No.”

What are you doing?

He lifted his other hand beneath her chin until she was staring into him with eyes which made him want to melt and dribble into the earth. She hadn’t flinched. It was as if his tender touch was as natural a duty as any of his others. Fiora studied him through her dewy lashes, lingering on his lips, and he felt a spark in his jaw. He swallowed. It was painfully loud. Her lips quivered, pursed, and frowned before she jerked her eyes away again. Her hand found purchase on his wrist, clinging as if for dear life.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, choked to little more than a shrill crackle.

“You won’t,” he insisted, knowing he had no say in the matter. His hands remembered neither etiquette nor the standing of the man attached to them. He caressed her cheek, smooth as porcelain and soft as down, and tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. She lingered but for a purpose he couldn’t discern. Without his knowing, he’d drifted closer to her, just by an inch, and their breath mingled, hot, in the shameful gap between them. The cruel pain in his craned neck reminded him of the years that set them apart. Her lips parted, and his heart fluttered with such force that every inch of him ached. His blood was heavy with something, but whether it was sadness or longing, he didn’t know. It froze the moment her rosy lips drew into a line, and she gave him a withering look. Her lips curled like a hissing cat's with each pointed word.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ser Robyn.”

Fiora tore herself away, gathering her skirts in her balled fists, and marched along the path of downtrodden meadowflowers they’d carved in their arrival. There was a swelling in the hollow of his neck that burned like bile. Robyn swallowed whatever wanted to come up—or out—and grabbed the flower basket before jogging after her. His eyes scoured the landscape for anything to distract from the leaden ache in his gut.

What would a princess want with a knight—one twice her age, to boot? You’re no better than a dog.

Welcome to our first ever Writing Challenge! This week we will be kicking off the exercise with the prompt:

“The Almost”

Write a scene centered around characters who desperately want to be together, but cannot. They can flirt. They can kiss. They can touch. But they cannot have sex. Maybe they get interrupted, or perhaps are physically prevented from the act. Whatever reason you decide they cannot cross the line and give in.

This challenge puts the emphasis on erotic writing. Tension, anticipation, body language, dialogue, pacing. It will work with any setting as well. Explicit content is not required, but is of course allowed.

Remember the rules for writing challenges:

• posts must be flaired with “Writing Challenge”
• posts must be a minimum of 400 words, and a maximum of 1,000 words
• all the other rules of the subreddit still apply

I wasn't supposed to make my way to the surface. I wasn't allowed to. Not anymore.

But I was going anyway. I had received a message. Well, Rana received a message. But it was for me. He must have made a small triangulation mistake, and hit her collar instead of mine. But it was for me.

R. The stars really are brighter up here.

"What does that even mean?" Rana shouted to me. Her bright pink collar was blinking orange, signifying the message beaming into her head. The music was pounding. Green, red and blue lights strobed around the room. Purple hazy gas wafted throughout the room making everyone a little tipsy and a little loose.

She turned to me, putting her lips to my ear, and her hand on my exposed shoulder. I felt her curly black hair tease my neck. "Of course the stars are brighter up there, Afterlife is underground!" she shouted. "What does Queen Cleo even mean?"

I shrugged, but my mind was racing. My heart had already leapt into my throat. I was trying to keep it cool. Trying to make myself seem inviting to the men that prowled the Afterlife. A hand on my hip, hooked onto the fishnets poking out of my shorts, a finger teasing my bra. Rana was doing the same. My eyes were supposed to be scanning the room, inviting someone to come buy my time. That's what Twilight Queens did at night. That's what Rana had resumed doing.

But I wasn't. I was glancing down at my collar, desperately hoping the light would flash orange. Green. Available. But I knew that phrase. I let my eyes flick past the burly man approaching us, scratching his beard with his metal hand, and toward the front door instead.

"I'll go ask Catherine what that was," I shouted. I turned to leave before the man got here, not waiting to see if Rana heard what I said. I ducked under the man's arm, squeezed through people dancing together and made my way to the door. Catherine stood at the entrance wearing a miniskirt that barely registered as a belt, with a security drone beside her. She arched a dark eyebrow at me as I tumbled through the doors.

"Something wrong, Razia?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I just got a job." That satisfied her. We didn't ask questions.

The tunnels were colder than I expected. Or maybe I was just cold.

As Twilight Queens we didn't get paid to be covered up at night. My shorts left most of my legs bare, and the fishnets did almost nothing against the draft that slipped through the ventilation grates. I folded my arms across myself as I hurried along, wishing I had thought to steal a coat.

Malik had been gone for six years.

Six years since I'd watched his ship disappear through the old launch bay.

The message had been so small, but it was what he had always said. "Razi, the stars have to be so much brighter up there. Don't you want to see them?"

Of course, I did, Malik. But I was scared. And I didn't have any way out. Neither did he. But he found one.

I heard a beep from my neck. I looked down. The light on my collar had changed, not to orange, but to crimson red. "You have been detected away from your post," it blared in my head. I rolled my eyes, put my head down and moved faster.

I reached the spaceport breathless.

It was enormous and black, filled with the roar of engines. Ships hung suspended in their launch cradles, their running lights glowing through the haze. Cargo drones moved between them like insects skittering along, obeying their queen.

I hugged myself as I pressed my forehead against the glass that separated the visitors from the departure zone, scanning the vessels for a familiar face. Then I found it. A freight transport was already spinning up its engines. I almost overlooked it. I saw him through the glass.

Older. His hair was shorter than I remembered. His face looked harder. He wore a dark jacket I'd never seen before. He was pressing buttons or cranking something. Should I yell? Would he hear me? Would the ship lift off before he turned and saw me?

He turned. His expression changed. He ducked from view, emerging from the gangplank a moment later. Immediately, a drone sprang into action, chasing after him.

"Malik!" I shouted. People behind me turned. He slammed his palm against the glass separating us. We ran together, separated by carbon-plexiglass until we found a small door. He burst through it.

I stumbled toward him, laughing and crying at the same time. "You came!" he cried, scooping me into his arms, like I weighed nothing at all. I sank into him. "I didn't know if I'd even sent the message to the right place. I've been working on the transponder as soon as they told us we'd be stopping here."

"You said the stars were brighter." I looked up at him nestled in his embrace.

"They are," he said, smiling with satisfaction.

His eyes flicked down to my collar. It was glowing red. His face fell.

"Razi..."

"I know."

The drone caught him by the shoulders. He tried to shrug it off, reaching for me. "Wait! Just a minute, I'm coming!"

The drone put another hand on him, pulling him from my grasp, ushering him onto the ship.

I pressed my hand against the glass. His palm met mine from the other side. For just one second. For one second, six years disappeared. Then the drone dragged him backward.

The doors sealed. The ship rose. Malik disappeared into the ceiling.

I walked back alone.

When I reached the entrance to the Afterlife, my legs were numb. The same music was pounding. The same colored lights flashed through the doorway. The same people were drinking, dancing, laughing.

My collar had turned green.

"I just don't get it Professor Winters... I swear I read the assigned reading, like, at least three times!"

I leaned forward across his desk, letting my cleavage do the talking in this ridiculously tight shirt. My push up bra was working magic to make my average boobs look at least somewhat impressive. Professor Winters was doing that annoying thing where he stared directly at my face instead of my chest. Like, hello?! Did this man not realize how much effort I put into these outfits?

Not to mention a full face of makeup... I was going for a sorta "girl next door" vibe, winged eyeliner with long fake lashes, and some cherry red lipstick that took me at least five attempts to get just right. Oh, and don't even get me started on the nearly an hour of styling it took to get my brunette hair into a 'natural' wave? A natural wave that actually involved three different sized curling irons, half a can of spray, and some bobby pins to create the illusion that my hair simply fell this way without any effort whatsoever?

Besides, I had practically memorized every single lecture this semester, and it was almost finals week. If I didn't make a move soon, I'd graduate without ever finding out if his hands felt as good as they looked when he wrote on the whiteboard. So obviously, I had to fail my last essay. Totally worth it if it got me some alone time in his office.

"Well," Professor Winters began, adjusting his stupid wire-rimmed glasses, "Perhaps the concepts are a bit advanced. Have you tried the notetaking method I demonstrated in class?"

His voice was so formal and professor-y. It made me want to climb right over his desk and straddle him.

"Oh, of course, Professor!" I said, dropping my voice a little "I have so much respect for your work... I'd do anything you suggest."

"Excellent!" he said, his eyes actually lighting up. "Since you're being so proactive, I'll give you an extra week to revise-"

"Revise?!" I shot up so fast my chair scraped against the floor. My skirt barely covered my ass as I leaned over his desk, both palms slapping down on the wood. "No! I messed up, Professor! A bad girl like me needs to be punished! Roughly, in fact! No exceptions!"

He blinked, actually leaning away from me. "Lily, I'm not sure I follow..."

"What I mean is... is..." My brain completely short circuited. How could someone be so hot and so clueless at the same time?! Did he really not notice how every girl in his class practically drooled whenever he erased the whiteboard?

"Lily, your behavior is extremely concerning," he said in that infuriatingly calm voice of his. "As your academic advisor, I have a responsibility-"

"I want to fuck you!"

...

Oh. My. God. Did I actually just blurt that out?! Like, out loud?! But then I saw his face, the way his jaw dropped and his eyes went all huge behind those stupid hot glasses of his, and I knew there was no going back.

"You want to... with me?" he somehow managed to squeak out, fingers fumbling with his tie like it was suddenly choking him.

I pushed myself up onto his desk. Important looking papers crunched beneath my knees, but who cares about grading when you're about to fulfill your wildest fantasies? "I want to wrap my lips around that gorgeous cock of yours until you forget you even have a PhD, Professor. I want you to bend me over this desk and fuck me so hard my voice goes hoarse from screaming your name"

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, "Lily... you're my student..."

...Like, thanks for the obvious statement...

I positioned myself right over his stack of books, spreading my knees so he could get a perfect view of the black lace thong that was definitely NOT appropriate for office hours. I traced a finger along my bottom lip, slow and deliberate until stretching my shirt to show a matching bra. "I want you to fulfill every dirty dream I've had while I've been touching myself thinking about you for the past six months. Every night in my dorm, imagining what it would feel like to sit on your lap in that leather chair, or having you take me from behind in your bed. Your big strong arms lifting me up as I feel how thick you are. That perfect stretch. I want to hear you moan my name right before you lose it and fill me up completely... I want you to turn me into your personal-"

The door shot open and in stumbled his secretary.

"Professor Winters!" she gasped, her expression turning to surprise and confusion as she spoke, "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but... your wife is here to meet you for lunch."

"Wait, WHAT? You're MARRIED?!" I practically shrieked, my voice cracking with embarrassment as my head snapped towards him. My stomach felt sick as I scrambled off his desk, my face blushing a warm red with embarrassment. Professor Winters practically leaped out of his chair, knocking over a pen cup that made a ridiculously loud noise as it crashed to the floor.

"W- well, yes..." He adjusted those stupid glasses that suddenly looked a million times less hot. "Twenty-two years in May, actually. Sharon is my college sweetheart. We met in freshman chemistry-"

"Oh my god. Just... shut up. Please, just shut up." I said, grabbing the bridge of my nose.

I gathered up my bag and books, absolutely mortified as the wife, his wife, stood in the doorway with this concerned expression. "Um, hello there," she said, so nice and polite it made me want to throw up. "Are you a student in Robert's class?"

"Um, no. I'll be withdrawing, actually. Anyway, just leaving!" I blurted out, dodging around her without even looking her in the face. As I walked out of the room, without turning back I shouted, "Feel free to fail me Professor! No need to feel bad about! Bye!