#I think they all feel a pressure to be a certain way

[twoflowers]

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees: Sanji x Reader

Read on AO3

Description: Sanji has been hard at work in the kitchen; you decide his stiff shoulders need a bit of attention. Predictably, Sanji is a mess. You didn't realize it would be quite this easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees. (SFW, suggestive)

Tags: Massage, nosebleeds (of course), light fdom, female reader, no use of Y/N, no description of reader, AND: (Sanji's constant need for validation of his cooking skills, Sanji's eternal need to be of use to the people around him, and Sanji's fantasy of being a fairytale knight kissing the hand of a beautiful queen he has pledged undying loyalty to. This man is a dork, people!)

Word count: 1276. Something short and sweet while I work on a longer fic based on a prompt by @mere-mortifer

Give this video a thumbs up if this man should actually get a massage in part 2!

Stiff Shoulders, Weak Knees

Sanji startles when you put a hand on his shoulder, not because he didn't sense you behind him (he could never fail to notice you entering a room, has been feeling pleasant, anticipatory prickling on his scalp and the back of his neck since you entered the kitchen), but because you've never touched him like this before. An occasional brush of arms, sure. A slightly more frequent brush of fingers, absolutely. He only seems to lose his grip on dishes when he's handing them to you, which is by complete coincidence. 

But your hand is firmly on his shoulder, fingers settling above his collarbone even when he turns to look at you.

“May I make anything for you?” He asks automatically. He carefully avoids looking at your hand in case you're touching him by accident - best not to remind you.

You smile fondly. “After tonight's dinner, I don't think I could eat anything else if I tried. It was excellent.”

Sanji can already feel his knees weakening. Excellent: now there's a good word, a perfect word, that he'll hold onto for later. 

“I'm so glad you think so. I thought of you especially while making it.”

“You say that to all the ladies.”

“It's true.”

Your hand is still on his shoulder. You tighten it a bit, perhaps appreciatively, perhaps condescendingly. He isn't sure which option he likes best.

“I brought my plates back down.” You gently set them in the sink with your other hand, and Sanji immediately picks up his sponge again. He doesn't know when he dropped it. 

“I'll get them done right away,” he stutters. “You're sure you don't want anything? A nightcap? Some tea? - I have a wonderful hibiscus from our last time on shore that would pair nicely with-”

“Sanji…” The quirk of your lip makes it certain: you are condescending him. A small shudder racks his shoulders.

“Mm?” His eyes flicker back and forth from you to the dishes. 

“You're working too hard,” you squeeze sharply at his shoulder, and he jumps at the pain. He's biting his lip when he finally makes eye contact, cheeks already starting to flush.

“See? Your muscles are so stiff.” You move behind Sanji, slipping your other hand up his back and to his opposite shoulder. You dig your thumbs into the muscles bracketing his spine, and he jerks forward toward the sink as if pulled by an invisible force. “Does that hurt?”

“You could never hurt me,” he breathes. 

“Oh?” You tighten your grip, thumbs poking deeply into his stiff back and stroking upwards to his neck. Hard, firm pressure. 

Sanji’s hands reach out to grip the edge of the sink. The sponge falls forgotten into soapy water. His knuckles are white, arms trembling. “Nothing… you do to me could ever hurt me.” His voice is wavering in a delicious way. “Even if it’s painful.”

You hum thoughtfully, dipping one of your thumbs under the collar of his shirt. Skin swipes against skin, and Sanji lets out a whine. 

“We can’t have our cook in anything less than peak condition, can we?” You mumble, still thumbing his soft skin. 

Sanji lets out something halfway between a gasp of pleasure and a laugh of disbelief, hands clenching still tighter.

“We need you healthy,” your hands move down his back, resting just under his shoulder blades. “I need your cooking.”

Somehow, that’s what breaks him. He arches forward with a groan, shoulders shaking.

“Let me help you relax,” you offer. “How about a massage?”

One of Sanji’s hands shoots from the sink to under his nose. He audibly swallows; blood dribbles down his fingers as he pulls his hand away. He nods weakly.

“What was that?” You can’t help but prod, not when he’s this vulnerable. Sometimes you feel like Sanji is a big bruise that you can’t help but poke at.

He nods again. Your hands instantly find his waist, thumbs stroking circles through his suit jacket.

“Use your words.”

“Please. Anything.”

“Such good manners,” you coo. You slip your hands away from Sanji, savoring the way his body freezes in anticipation. You take a lace handkerchief from the counter and gently cup his chin, turning his face towards you.

He looks so small, curling forward like he can’t trust his knees to hold him upright. His face is an impressive shade of red, almost as dark as the blood dripping over his plush, bitten lips. His eyes, surprisingly, aren’t as gleaming and heart-shaped as they usually are around you. 

You can’t help but grin at having finally caught him so off-guard. His eyes become wide, almost frantic, as you swipe a thumb over his chin. There you are. Finally, finally, I’ve reached underneath.

You hold his face more firmly and bring the towel up to clean him, but he flinches. Not away from you- you have a feeling he couldn’t move away if he tried.

“I don’t want to stain it,” he all but begs. “It was… I was planning on using it for plating your evening tea.”

“I told you I’m not hungry.” It’s blatant, obvious teasing, but Sanji’s eyes droop miserably nonetheless. 

“Here we go…” You wipe the handkerchief under his nose. Blood saturates lace, and Sanji’s eyes flutter shut in defeat. 

When you’re done, you pull away and fold the cloth carefully. Sanji watches in equal parts confusion, misery, and awe. When you tuck it into your pocket, Sanji gasps, another trickle of blood falling onto his lips.

“I just finished cleaning you up,” you scold. 

Sanji’s lip quivers from the humiliation, but you quickly lean forward and place your lips under his nose. It’s barely a kiss. You pull away shortly after, tongue darting out to taste his still-warm blood. 

Sanji drops to his knees so hard you hear bone hit wood. His shaking hands grasp one of yours, pulling it to his lips: no contact, just puffs of hot, frantic breath. One knee up, and he’d look like a soldier being knighted by his queen. 

“May I?” He’s trembling. He almost looks like he’s salivating. Your hand is small in his, but his are so much softer, skin scrubbed down from washing dishes, still red-tinged from the sink’s hot water.

You nod, and he gasps into the first kiss. His lips linger on the back of your hand, wet and bloody. You flip it over, and he moans, kissing your palm and trailing up your inner arm. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching for the faintest hint of displeasure. 

“Sanji?”

He immediately pulls away, breathing hard, still tentatively holding your hand. 

“Yes?” He looks ready for any command. Blood is smeared across his face and up your arm. You didn’t realize it would be quite so easy to get Black Leg Sanji on his knees, but you should have expected as much.

“The goal was to make you more comfortable. You look like you’re hurting your knees.”

Sanji shakes his head with enough ferocity that his bangs are knocked out of place, almost covering his other eye. “I could never complain about being allowed this.” 

He looks at your arm with some panic, then begins to wipe the blood away with his own shirtsleeve. 

“Sanji. Stand up.”

He obeys immediately.

“We are going to go to my quarters,” you say. 

He nods along dumbly. 

“And you are going to lie on my bed.”

His face flushes a brilliant red.

“And I’m going to give you an incredible massage.”

He swallows, swaying forward on his feet. You take the cue to grab him by his tie and lead him down the hallway, dishes long forgotten.

[ilovecatfr]

Why are you afraid of shifting and how is it stopping you from success

This post is all about finding what are your struggles with shifting and fear and how to overcome it

Why This Happens

1. Fear of the Unknown: Shifting involves stepping into a completely new reality, and the mind can find that overwhelming. Even though you consciously want to shift, your mind might be resisting because it’s unsure what will happen or how you'll feel after the shift. (Your mind can't stop you from shifting but it helpful to overcome this)

2. Fear of Failure: While you’ve maybe built a mindset that "shifting is easy," there might still be a lingering fear of what happens if it doesn’t work. This can lead to procrastination as a way to avoid facing potential disappointment.

3. Attachment to Your Current Reality: Even if you consciously want to let go of this reality, your mind might still hold on to certain attachments, routines, or responsibilities, making it harder to fully release and surrender.

4. Perfectionism: You might feel that the conditions for shifting need to be "perfect" (e.g., the right time, mood, or setting). This can cause you to delay the attempt, thinking, "I’ll do it tomorrow when I feel more ready."

5. Energy Imbalance: Mental and emotional energy play a big role in shifting. If you're mentally drained from school/job or other activities, it can be harder to find the focus and motivation to try.

Advice to Overcome This

1. Address the Fear Directly:

Take a moment to reflect on why you might feel scared. Is it fear of failure, success, or the unknown? Journaling about these feelings can help bring clarity and reduce their intensity.

Remind yourself that shifting is safe and that you’re always in control. You can come back to your current reality whenever you choose.

2. Break the Cycle of Procrastination:

Commit to small steps instead of aiming for the perfect shifting session. For example, one night, just focus on relaxing and visualizing your desired reality for 5-10 minutes without the pressure of fully shifting.

Set a consistent time for your shifting practice, even if it’s only 15 minutes a day.

3. Ease Into Letting Go:

Practice mindfulness or meditation to train your mind to release attachment to this reality. Grounding yourself in the present moment can make it easier to let go when the time comes.

Try visualization exercises throughout the day. Imagine yourself briefly in your desired reality during small breaks, which can make the idea of shifting feel more familiar and less daunting.

4. Shift Your Perspective on "Failure":

Remember, every attempt is progress. Each time builds your connection to your desired reality and strengthens your mental state.

Celebrate small wins, like getting into a relaxed state or feeling closer to your desired reality, instead of only focusing on whether you shifted.

5. Create a Comforting Routine:

Build a ritual around your shifting attempts that feels calming and enjoyable. For example, use soothing music, light candles, or repeat affirmations that help you feel safe and confident.

Use self-reassurance phrases like, “I am in control, and shifting will happen at the right time for me.”

6. Reframe "It’s Too Late" Thoughts:

Remind yourself that there’s no "right" time to shift. You can attempt shifting whenever you feel ready, whether it’s day or night.

Think of shifting as a natural, ongoing process rather than a single, all-or-nothing event. This can help reduce pressure and make it feel more approachable.

Letting Go of the Pressure

It's helpful to approach shifting with curiosity and excitement rather than pressure. The more you view it as a natural and fluid process, the easier it can become to allow yourself to fully engage. Instead of thinking, "I have to shift tonight," try shifting your mindset to, "I’m exploring this tonight, and whatever happens is okay."

Mantra to Try

When you feel scared or hesitant, try repeating: "I trust the process. I am safe, I am ready, and I am capable of shifting when the time is right."

A little remember that it most important to find what works for you.

[nerdygaymormon]

Be Your Authentic Self

Sometimes we talk about “living our authentic life” or “being our authentic self,” and people don’t understand that, especially non-queer people. 

I have met a number of parents soon after their child has come out to them. They are a bit stunned, they feel kinda lost because suddenly the clear path they had for their child’s future now is hazy. Many parents think my child is still the person I knew before they came out, why do they want to make different choices now?

I’ve seen Mormon parents get a lot of comfort from seeing their child making the “right” choices in their life. Often they don’t get that the child is performing these choices in order to make their parents, families, and community comfortable, to keep the peace. 

For example, a child says they reject the anti-queer teachings of the leaders, and maybe even says that has led them to not believe in this church, but the parents still require their child to come along to church, they want their child to hold class/quorum leadership positions, to participate in blessing/passing of the Sacrament. All these things bring comfort to the parent, in a way what they see is more important than what their child is saying.

Being authentic means you're true to your own personality, values, and spirit, regardless of the pressure that you're under to act otherwise.

There is a lot of pressure in the LDS Community to conform and perform. There’s a lot of pressure to go on a mission, to go to Institute or the BYU schools, to date the right person with whom you can get married in the temple. We put pressure on moms to sacrifice themselves & their desires for their spouse and children. We want people to perform in certain ways even if that isn’t a reflection of how they feel and who they are. 

A child announcing they are queer feels like they’ve chosen another tribe and rejects the things which unites the family. From the child’s perspective, they didn’t choose, it was a long wrestle to identify and accept this is part of who they are. When they come out they are being authentic and taking a risk as to whether they’re going to be allowed to stay in the family tribe.

Coming out is a courageous step. Choosing to be authentic in your choices and how you choose to live, that also takes courage. 

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag @guiltyasdave <3

wip #1 • come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

this is the "just the tip" old man!logan fic i talked about literally forever ago. it's heavily inspired by imogen heap's "i am in love with you" because i'm obsessed with that song and it gives me lots of old man logan vibes!

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes. It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora. You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground. In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink. It should feel cleansing, like reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago. Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving. The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind. You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing. It was raining the first night he touched you.

wip #2 • dull browns and dusty blues...

they say cowboys aren't made to be lovers...

part two of my yet to be named cowboy!logan series! i haven't forgotten about it! i honestly see this as being a longer fic so it'll definitely take me a bit to get it out, but trust that i'm working on it.

You leave your window open at night, letting the cool breeze that swirls outside fill the four walls of your room as the sweet sounds of crickets chirping lulls you to sleep. And you dream about Logan, of course you do. You dream about the way his lips felt against yours, about the way he tasted, about the way he smelled. You dream of the way he held you as you spun in slow circles under the stars, how his rough hands cradled your face, all hardened callouses and overwhelming tenderness. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen him, two full weeks since the Governor’s ball. You’d like to say that you’ve been too busy to think about him. That being knee deep in stacked cardboard boxes and stray packing tape has kept your mind occupied. That isn’t the case. It’s almost embarrassing how much Logan lingers in your thoughts, so abundant that even your subconscious couldn't escape the sharp angles of his face. It’s a dangerous kind of longing, the sort that twists itself around your ribs and refuses to let go. So you try your best to bury it, to ignore it and keep yourself in check. You're too scared to think about whether it's really working or not.

kisses!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing @eupheme @elflutter @silverskyeline @ovaryacted @moonlight-prose @raeinyourdreams @javier-pena and you!

[scattered-sense]

This is basically just a copy and paste of a text document I started working on. It might be hateable but the more I think about it the more it stands out to me as something that's less magical than gold dust or magic Sodor coal, and adheres more to how we see them depicted in the stories. If anyone can offer a better idea definitely do, I'm not a biologist so I'm certain there are things here that are incredibly unrealistic, but I mean, the very concept is unrealistic so I have a little lee-way there... right? Of course, if you have ways to improve it, I'm all ears.

Faces

An engine's Face is a fungal colony. This colony is a member of a species that, in 1810, took on DNA from human workers (mostly male at the time, and thus why the majority of engines show male characteristics unless they choose not to), and grew on a smokebox door, having drifted on it as a spore from rot living in the wood of the building. As such, the species developed to favor smokebox darts as nucleation sites, their nose being the first "cells" to develop.

Aging: Faces don't age for the first few months following exposure to new spores to replace dying "cells", then age very rapidly over the next two years such that a Face that appears to be the human age of twenty will appear eighty, then slowly deteriorating further as "cells" from the rest of the engine's body replace those on the Face, feeling to it like losing more and more sensory input, until roughly the third or fourth year, at which point the colony has died completely. The engine can still be used, as in America where Faces are not seen often after the nineteenth century due to commonly-used aluminum smokebox paints being toxic to them, them being a known allergen that significantly disproportionally affects people of Native American and Mexican descent (Randall, Jespersen, et. al., 1934), and pressure from conservation groups trying to reduce the number of non-native species being introduced to North America and interest groups not wanting growing labor laws to be ruled in court to apply to engines too (leading the Face to only be seen in preservation, and a compound created to prevent new spore formation except for dedicated maintenance periods where they are collected to reapply on the engine later), but the new colony will not have continuity from the former. Generally, if enough of it gets on an engine to grow a Face, most railways won't do anything about it and will generally tentatively earmark it to give to a museum that can take care of them subject to the engine wanting to be preserved, but they will start meticulously coating their stock with the compound so as to prevent further examples. Engines are usually given new spores every three months or so, and though they all age differently, this is roughly frequent enough that they visually age rather slowly. A Face can often decide for itself how it would like to age, though, and this is usually seen in preservation. Iron Duke, as an example, though a young engine, was intentionally aged by being held in quarantine for a year or so. He thinks it suits him, and helps tell the story of his class much better than if he'd aged at a more conventional rate.

Diet and vascular system: Faces have a "vascular" system with "blood" that transfers information between the members, binding proteins onto iron-oxide rich water. A Face's colony will unconsciously eat into any holes that are formed in the paint in quick order if they are running low on iron, so often, a Face will be given a cube of iron or a piece of scrap to chew on as if it were a piece of gum. This absorbs through their mouth into their "blood"stream.

Engine-Colony Interface: The species grows all over the parts of the engine that don't move, right up to parts that do. Thus, they can sense stuff like boiler pressure, draught, or for ICE engines, how their prime movers are doing (if their block is made of steel or iron, not aluminum), information that moves up to their Face and, while it's not exactly the same sensations as a mammal might have (like "pain" in our sense of the word), it's functionally equivalent. If they grow enough, and aren't cut away from them, they can have access to their controls, but usually they only use them if they need to, and most companies historically trimmed them back from them, nowadays usually they make controls out of aluminum.

Two Faces, or Two Identities: For steam, generally, they are most comfortable near the smokebox because that's where it's warmest. Some engines might have a second Face, but that does take some effort. For diesels, they don't get as much heat from either end, but after being convinced to grow on one side, they often end up growing on the other for better visibility, because they already made the effort to grow on one side anyway, so they might as well. Each Face can be controlled independently, and both eyes are seeing things at the same time. Speech can come from either end, and the colony can control both at the same time, so either mouth can talk depending on which direction they want to talk in, the other Face's eyes still able to look around. There's a subspecies that started emerging circa 1979 where each Face is semi-independent, but if they're connected, they do have a continuity of identity between each, and generally one Face won't talk while the other is. However, if the halves are cut down the middle perfectly (this can be much tricker than you might think, as you'd need to cut them on the inside of the locomotive as well), they can form two identities that are fully independent. Mighty and Mac, while an invention of the television show, are a good example of this. It's generally looked down upon in most circumstances to spray one side with aluminum, though there are the occasional reasons to, like one side develops a mycoparasite, or just feels their time is up. Or, if the engine is to be scrapped, they will often be given a little more time before being hosed down with aluminum-rich water, before being cut up.

For your consideration:

The Faces are fungal colonies living on locomotives (they like the heat from them) that took on some human DNA. The first engine to have a face had it accidentally, having had a worker's hair fall on the colony while it was growing on some engine in the 1820s, but by the 1840s samples of this new species, each one being given genetic information from a few new people to hopefully grow unique identities on each engine, were being kept in tins to paint on smokebox doors for their utility in being a third set of eyes. They can also grow around their boilers to reach their controls and have some level of autonomy, but if that's cut down it doesn't kill the colony.

These colonies can swivel around their doors, age differently from humans, and if the original door is damaged beyond repair or is to be scrapped, can transfer over to a similarly sized door.

Which does mean Henry's smokebox door was laying on top of a Stanier smokebox door as a large, grayish peach, vaguely twenty-something face (the actual Henry himself) slid like a melty cheese in folds off the Ivatt/Gresley-built door, the original engine being scrapped but Henry himself moving on to a new, for lack of a better term, host.

I'm having complicated feelings about this one. Top marks for creativity, of course. I think I want to not hear more.

[pearlsdiamondsandvodka]

the sandra lynn / fig conversation is driving me Insane. fig saying that sometimes she doesn’t wanna exist as herself at all…not wanting to ask her friends how they see her (because she’s afraid to hear their response) saying that to someone she is a monster and she Cannot stop thinking about it. sandra lynn starting the conversation saying she needs to step up but is also simultaneously taken aback about what fig expresses and doesn’t know how to responds to it and suggests getting ice cream. sandra lynn saying “convincing people they deserve good things is really tough” talking about herself but how it also reflects fig. insane!!

[theactualsunshinechild]

I think Aventio and Screwtio shippers shouldn't fight. After all, Ratio has two hands!

That's right. Two hands.

One for his chalk.

One for his codex.

Both of which he's holding in an embarrassed death grip as they chat away with each other about him.

[captain-astors]

Creature. (The rendered ones are referenced from manga panels)

[dan-whoell]

i keep thinking about a phandom book club, but i have no idea how to go about organizing it or if anyone would be interested or even where to host it

alternatively is there already a phandom book club i could join? because i would love that

[twilight-deviant]

Telling content creators it's wrong to explore artistic freedom and be independently funded by fans, and they should instead continue taking advertisement revenue from google* is

NOT

the anti-capitalism stance actually.

*(Yes, google owns youtube.)

[purpldawne]

that one arashi post about presenting her as overtly feminine in fan media but not in a "trans women are only valid if they conform to traditional femininity" kinda way and more in a "happyele are a bunch of pussies for having a trans woman imply/state she wants to be more feminine in every sense of the word and then never letting her do so beyond socially" kinda way

[schizowitchic]

also like i partially found out i might be intersex because i was looking at trans stuff and there was like "(however many) months on t and finally seeing some bottom growth" and like pictures of t-dicks and i was like.... um.... that's kind of just what my clit looks like anyways. so i was like "hey google give me a quick rundown on this" and learned what clitoromegaly was and then i was like. hm. intersex resources. and it's like a sign? symptom? side-effect? of certain intersex conditions

[entering--hyperspace]

Leo lore I could talk about

1. Leo's thoughts on charr society and how hes trying so hard to change it

2. Growing up in Ascalon, path to necromancy, love/empathy for spirits/ghosts

3. How his necromancy works (including shroud)

4. Whatever the fuck is going on with him and Rytlock (up to ls2)

5. Relationship with destiny's edge and the other characters :] (he is not the commander)

6. Mexican coded \o/

[letbuckfuck]

i think maybe it's not such a good thing that i've just totally shut myself off from the idea of dating at all because i thought it wasn't my thing. like maybe i should just be trying

[riddlebanshee]

Back on my bullshit 🙏

[violettierre]

I : majored in english, has a masters degree in it, studying philosophy, and have been an English teacher/Junior translator for almost a decade now.

My grandma : there is our future doctor <3