#good luck trying to figure out what it’s about

[lilybillyotherstuff]

SORRY I have too many words to ramble about

As an artist, where visual art is the only thing I'm good at, I've done it constantly from when I was really young to now. I'm now in college in an art program! 5/6 of my classes are art based and it can get to be A LOT.

When you're stuck to a criteria, you don't get to be as creative as you could be otherwise. We almost never colour anything! Ofc, this program (1yr) is kind of relearning the base of art so you can get good enough to apply to the other programs (I struggle with consistent art & 3d layouts so I figured it'd be helpful).

But man, it really drains my want to do any art outside of the program. I was looking at my sketches from a year or two ago, and they're so much more creative than any of my recent art :( I did drawtober this year just to put some time aside to be creative with my art, I did every day! It sort of worked? It helped a bit if anything. :)

What I'm saying is,, if you're like me, where art is basically your only option. Please try and make time to be creative! On your own! Try your best not to get burnt out, breaks are okay!!!!!

Like the actual post im reblogging, please don't make art for the one purpose of being sold, it will make art a chore and that's not what art is.

If you make art for selling, this isn't me yelling at you that you're terrible, far from it, I'd love to sell art! Just leave time to be creative on your own!!!! Because it's a good chance you draw exclusively fanart to meet a criteria!!!

Make a throwaway sketch account!!! I have one on insta to throw all my sketches & experimental artworks on, i have a few close friends who like my posts on there and that's all! They get to see me be creative :)

Of course, don't listen to the funny internet people, if selling art is your dream, do it!!!!! Just try to make it not feel like a chore! Have another hobby (like my painting) to be creative in!!! Please don't get burnt out!! Also good luck :)

also we fucked up as a society the moment we started telling teens and aspiring artists to conflate being an artist with building a brand as if the two things are inextricable. the name of the game if you want to share your art is to work a job and sell yourself as aesthetizied content. back in my day we could just POST SHIT. to deviantart! what the fuck!

[bloomzone]

2025 : #6 FAILURE IS THE GREATEST TEACHER

failure is not your enemy. In fact, failure is the best teacher you will ever have. It’s raw, unforgiving, and humbling. And you know what? That’s exactly why it’s necessary.

✒️..Think about this: every success story you’ve ever heard started with failure. Thomas Edison failed over a thousand times before inventing the light bulb. Oprah Winfrey was fired from her first television job because she was "unfit for TV." Steve Jobs was kicked out of the company he founded. The difference between these people and the rest? They didn’t let failure define them. They let it refine them.

WHY DO WE FEAR FAILURE?

We fear failure because we’re conditioned to. From a young age, we’re taught that mistakes are bad. The red marks on our homework, the scolding for falling short, the shame when we didn’t measure up. Society drills this fear into us, and we carry it into adulthood like a weight on our shoulders. But YOU can’t avoid failure. You will fail, repeatedly. The question is, will you let it break you, or will you let it build you?Failure taps into our deepest insecurities. It makes us feel like frauds.. like we’re not good enough. But here’s what most people don’t understand: failure is neutral. It’s not good or bad. It’s just feedback. It’s information telling you what didn’t work so you can figure out what will.The problem arises when we attach meaning to failure—when we let it dictate our self-worth. One failed business doesn’t mean you’re a bad entrepreneur. One bad grade doesn’t mean you’re dumb..one failed relationship doesn’t mean you’re unlovable...

How to Handle Failure

1. Own It

Stop blaming circumstances, other people, or bad luck. Take responsibility. When you own your failure, you gain control over it. You’re no longer a victim of your mistakes—you’re the master of your lessons.

2. Analyze It

Every failure is a goldmine of information. What went wrong? What could you have done differently? Be brutally honest with yourself. Failure is wasted if you don’t learn from it. THERE IS NO FUCKING PROBLEM IN IT

3. Detach Emotionally

It’s easy to take failure personally, but it’s not about you. It’s about the process. Detach your self-worth from the outcome. Just because you failed doesn’t mean you are a failure.

4. Get Back Up

This is where most people falter. They stay down. They let the sting of failure paralyze them BUT the only way to overcome failure is to keep moving. Adjust your strategy, try again, and keep going.

The Benefits of Failure

It Builds Resilience: Every time you fail and get back up, you become stronger.

It Fuels Growth: Failure pushes you out of your comfort zone and forces you to adapt.

It Clarifies Your Goals: Sometimes, failing shows you what truly matters and helps you realign your focus.

It Humbles You: Success without failure breeds arrogance. Failure keeps you grounded and hungry.

You think failure is the end? No, failure is the beginning. It’s the brutal teacher that shows you exactly what you’re made of. So get up. Stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself. Stop blaming the world for your mistakes. Own it. Fix it. And then move forward. You’re going to fail again, and again, and again. But the question is, are you going to let it break you, or are you going to let it build you? Because the truth is NO one is coming to save you. It’s on you. So pick up the pieces, put your head down, and get back to work. Failure is a lesson—use it, or stay stuck. The choice is yours.

@bloomzone 📇

[zhelin-thames]

Coffee, Chaos, and the Red Hood

prompt idea for @silverblueglitter

Danny sat hunched over a half-empty coffee cup in the corner of the small Gotham cafe, the flickering overhead lights barely doing anything to lift the oppressive gloom hanging in the air. His textbook lay open in front of him, the numbers and formulas nothing but a blur of nonsense. He'd barely slept the night before, cramming for a test that was in less than 30 minutes. All he wanted was a quiet moment—just a sip of coffee, a few minutes to breathe.

Then, the door slammed open, and a masked man with a gun stormed inside. The entire room went cold with panic.

"Everybody on the ground, NOW!" the man shouted, his voice a raspy echo in the dead silence.

Danny froze, the world going hazy as his mind tried to comprehend what was happening. He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes. Thirty damn minutes. He could feel his pulse quickening, the raw edge of exhaustion settling deep in his bones.

Tears welled in his eyes. "Why?" he whispered. "Why does the universe hate me?"

His voice cracked with the frustration of it all. The test. The sleepless nights. The constant grind, the fear, the never-ending cycle. The guy with the gun was yelling, barking orders, but it felt like his voice was coming from miles away. Nothing mattered. Nothing made sense. The injustice, the senselessness of it all—he just wanted a moment to himself.

But that was it. Something snapped.

Before he could even think, his body moved. He lunged at the gunman, faster than he realized. His hands gripped the guy's wrist, wrenching the weapon from his fingers in a flurry of desperate anger.

"I'm JUST TRYING TO GET COFFEE!" Danny screamed, the words torn from the depths of his soul. "I HAVE A TEST IN 30 MINUTES. SHUT UP. LET ME FUCKING LIVE, MAN!"

In that instant, it was all rage. Raw, untamed, the world around him disappearing as his hands took over. A punch. Another. The sound of bones cracking under his fists filled his ears. He didn't care. He didn't care about the gun, the robber, or even the chaos around him. All that mattered was the pounding of his fists, the overwhelming fury of a world that had pushed him too far.

And then, just as quickly as it began, it stopped. The man crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from his broken nose and mouth. Danny's hands were slick with it, his breathing heavy and ragged.

From the doorway, there was the distinct sound of a voice that made his heart freeze.

"Nice form."

Danny turned, eyes blurry from tears and adrenaline, to see a figure standing in the shadows—tall, armored, and unmistakably dangerous.

The Red Hood.

He stood with arms crossed, his helmet giving nothing away, but the nod of approval was clear. "You’ve got some real rage in you. Gotham needs more people like you."

Danny blinked, his heart still pounding, his hands shaking. It didn't feel real. He didn’t even care that the Red Hood was there, didn't care about Gotham's underworld or the crime scene. Maybe it was a good day after all. He had just fought off a robber with nothing but his bare hands, after all.

"Yeah," Danny muttered under his breath. "Maybe."

There was an unspoken understanding between them. Gotham was a place where people broke, bent, and sometimes, the only thing that saved them was a release of rage. Danny felt like he had just tapped into something darker, something deep inside of him that had been bubbling under the surface for so long. He didn’t know if it was strength or just desperation, but it had worked.

Before Danny could say anything else, the door to the cafe creaked open, and a few uniformed officers stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on the scene. Red Hood didn’t flinch; he just gave Danny one last look, a silent nod of approval, then turned toward the back exit.

"Good luck, kid," he said, before vanishing into the shadows.

Then, as sirens wailed in the distance, he let out a long, shaky breath and slumped back into the chair. Gotham had a way of ruining your day. But sometimes, it had a way of giving you something you never expected, too. Even if that something was just a quiet moment of crazy, bizarre, Gotham-style peace.

Minus the burgling, of course.

Danny didn’t even get the chance to respond. The officers started moving toward him, questioning him, but it didn’t matter anymore. He could hear the chaos of Gotham creeping back in—the sirens, the sounds of life—and for once, it didn’t feel like it was drowning him. He was a part of it now, whether he liked it or not.

As they cuffed the robber and started making their report, Danny took a long, shaky breath and muttered under his breath, "Maybe Gotham’s not so bad after all."

And maybe it wasn’t. Not today, anyway.

[blessedbyahuntress]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Sixteen: I'm More Popular Than Ody?

Prev/Next

A/N: Who else thinks the Ithaca Saga is AWESOME??? And you know when I said that "Wouldn't You Like" was my favorite EPIC song? I'm now guilty of loving "Hold Them Down".

Warnings: I don't think so... maybe minor swearing?

Word Count: 1.1k

Listen to: No Longer You

Your legs stop shaking, and your shoulders pause in their trembling before continuing. Eurylochus can feel it resume under his hands, and realizes that you’re cold; he can hear your teeth chattering and feel the icy touch of your skin. He unbuttoned his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders. He is freezing now, yes, but at least you’re not.

You can feel your own mental health return to its normal state as the screams fade.

Turning to give Eurylochus a small smile of gratitude, you walk up to your captain. He’s directing a landing to the shore, and you follow his gaze to a spire of rock jutting out in front of the ship. You squint, and for a second you believe you have caught a glimpse of a young man, staring at the anchoring boat. Then he’s gone.

“That was him, wasn’t it.” It’s more of a statement than a question. 

“Yes,” Odysseus responds. He finally looks over to meet your eyes. 

“Feeling better?” He asks.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, only a faint glimmer of happiness before you turn serious. “I’m sorry about your mother,” you whisper.

Odysseus pretends to miss your question. “It’s good that your mind has repaired quickly. I need you to come with me to speak to this… prophet.”

You have learned to stop gaping when Odysseus asks you to go on missions with him. Instead, you give him another nod. “Of course, captain.”

Eurylochus lowers a plank down to shore, gesturing for you and Odysseus to come over.

Polites joins you, a slight bounce in his step. You smile warmly at your friend, remembering how he had helped you during your mental breakdown. Polites tries to return it, grin faltering a little as he observes the cloak draped over your figure- Eurylochus’s cloak. The vile Aphrodite had given him feels heavy in his pocket. 

“Good luck,” Eurylochus says, pulling you into a hug from behind. 

You pat his forearm. “My luck’s not running out anytime soon,” you tease, completely missing the look of pure hatred Polites sends Eurylochus. 

“Y/N!” Odysseus calls, stepping foot on the shore. He turns, eyebrow slightly raised as he takes in Polites pouting figure and Eurylochus’s arms wrapped around you. “Looks like everyone comes to wish you off, and not their own captain!” 

You blush furiously, squirming out of Eurylochus’s grasp. 

“Wasn’t my idea,” you pant when you reach the space beside your captain.

Odysseus dismisses your comment. “It’s fine. I was just teasing.”

You turn your attention back to the spire of rock ahead of you. 

Odysseus notices you tensing. “Are you… fine to go with me? I can go get someone else…”

You force a smile, walking ahead to the path that would eventually lead to the top of the rock. “Me? Pft, I’m always up for a little jog to talk to a person who’ll reveal my doom!”

Odysseus chuckled, following you as you disappeared around the bend.

You look out at the scene laid out before you. 

The prophet has his back turned to you, but he turns as he hears your approach. His eyes are covered in cloth- old bandages, you assume. You get the odd impression that under those bandages, his eyes are glowing. 

You feel Odysseus emerge behind you, and instantly the prophet’s attention snaps to the captain. You try not to get annoyed by this.

“I am the prophet.” His voice is surprisingly smooth for a dead person. “With the answers you seek.”

He gestures widely, keeping the monotone as he speaks, “time, I’ve unlocked it. I see past and future running free.” Above his head, two hologram-like images chased each other around his head. The past- a dog- chasing the future- a cat. 

“There is a world, where I help you get home.” You’re intrigued by this. What could he mean- ‘a world’? Were there multiple. “But that’s not a world I know.”

You furrow your brow. “What?” You and Odysseus demand in unison.

The prophet ignores your question, pointing just over your head. “I see a song of past romance.” 

You turn, startled by seeing Penelope’s form watching over Odysseus. “Ody-” 

You’re interrupted by the prophet, who motions to a spot next to you. You cover your mouth with one hand as you see Polites, Eurylochus, and Hermes locked in a fight. “I see the sacrifice of man.”

“I see portrayals of betrayals and a brother’s final stand.” The images dissolve as you reach for them. “I see you on the brink of death. I see you draw your final breath. I see a man who gets to make it home alive.” 

The prophet indicates to Odysseus, who’s eyes widen at his words: “But it’s no longer you.”

You feel rage boiling inside of you. Your captain seems speechless, so you decide to take it from here. 

“This can’t be,” you said. “We’ve suffered and sailed through the toughest of hells, now you tell us our effort’s for nothing?” 

The prophet promptly ignores you, attention trained on Odysseus. “I see your palace, covered in red. Faces of men who had long believed you're dead.”

Another image of Penelope, and you feel your heart ache for her. The queen’s husband is missing, probably a long line of insufferable suitors with dirty minds. “I see your wife with a man who is haunting, a man with a trail of bodies.”

This ticks you off. “Who?” You screech, grabbing the hem of the prophet’s tunic and holding it in your iron-clad grip. You’re pretty sure that they can hear you all the way from the ship.

Yet the prophet doesn’t flinch, instead backing you, step by step, toward the edge of the plateau. “I see a song of past romance. I see the sacrifice of man. I see portrayals of betrayal and a brother’s final stand.” 

“I see you on the brink of death.” This was pretty ironic since you were one step away from falling off of the spire. “I see you draw your final breath.” 

You gasp, arms flailing as you begin to fall. This seems to snap Odysseus out of his daze. 

“Y/N!” He cries, lunging forward to grab your hand.

“I see a man who gets to make it home alive,” the prophet continues. Odysseus’s main focus is keeping you suspended, so he doesn’t see when the side of the prophet’s bandages dips to his cheekbone, revealing glowing teal eyes who burned into your soul. 

“But it’s no longer you.” 

And then the prophet kicked Odysseus off the ledge.

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world @fallenh34art @itzkingbo @sabrina-senpai

[steddie-island]

Plenty Implied

Written for @steddiesongfics and @steddiebingo Song: Baby, It's Cold Outside Prompts: Under the influence (R1), winter (R1 and 12 days of Christmas) Rating: E | WC: 2,343 | Tags: Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, getting together, first kiss, snowed in For full list of tags see ao3 | Divider credit

This wasn't how Steve had expected his night to go. He'd expected the blind date his mother had set him up on to suck (it had). He'd expected there to be a kerfuffle over the bill, no matter which of them paid (his date had). He'd expected the night to end with him and Robin cuddled on the couch, eating cookies and ice cream while they talked about how bad his mother's taste in dates for him was.

The getting home part was where everything had gone wonky. Even if he hadn't locked the keys in his car, the snow had piled up so fast that he wouldn't have been able to make it out of the parking lot.

Maybe if he'd left at the same time as his date then he would've been able to get out. But he hadn't, he'd stayed behind and finished the wine he'd ordered while watching the Alpha behind the bar.

Now here he was, sitting in the corner of said Alpha's couch while Eddie puttered around the kitchen. He hadn't yet decided whether Eddie living above the restaurant was good luck or not. It would depend on if Steve's mother found out he'd started the evening with one Alpha and ended it with another.

"Marshmallows or no marshmallows?"

Eddie's voice pulled Steve back to the moment. "Marshmallows," he said, looking towards the kitchen.

When Eddie joined him again he was holding two mugs piled high with whipped cream, marshmallows, and… chocolate shavings? As if the cocoa wasn't surprising enough, it was brought out in matching Garfield mugs.

"I sort of thought you were joking about making cocoa." Steve took his mug and held it close. The warm scent of chocolate and cinnamon wrapped around him. It mixed surprisingly well with the scent of Eddie — tobacco and leather.

"Stevie. I would never joke about hot cocoa." Eddie didn't sit down beside him right away and instead crossed to a table pushed against the wall. Steve watched nimble fingers flip through the vinyls until he'd found what he wanted.

"…Really?" Steve laughed as the voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the room. "Isn't this a little on the nose?"

"Maybe that's why I picked it." Eddie grinned as he took his seat. "Did you get ahold of your friend?" He gestured to the cordless he'd given Steve before stepping into the kitchen.

"No. She didn't answer, I figured I would try again in a few minutes." Steve flicked his tongue out to try and clear a spot for himself to drink out of through the whipped cream. Rich chocolate flavor exploded on his tongue, followed by the subtle burn of alcohol.

"I think Ella was on to something, there's definitely more than chocolate in this," he teased.

Eddie's rumbling laugh made Steve shiver. "I just figured it would help warm you up," he said. His nose wrinkled in a way that made Steve want to lean in and kiss the tip of it. "…Was that creepy? I can make you some without, I just remembered you having wine earlier, didn't think it would hurt—"

"You were watching me?" Steve asked.

"I didn't say that." Eddie arched one brow as he took a long drink. He licked the whipped cream mustache away before Steve could offer to do it. "But yeah, I was. It's always fun to be an innocent bystander for the trainwreck dates."

"Trainwreck!" Steve barked out in a laugh. "You could not tell it was a trainwreck from all the way over by the bar."

"Trust me, you work with people as long as I have, you learn to pick up on things." Eddie settled in against the couch with one arm stretched out along the back of it. "If that's what you count as a good date, I would hate to see what counts as bad."

Steve settled back, too, with his hands around his mug and his body facing Eddie's. "It wasn't the worst date I've ever had. Just… awkward."

"What is the worst date you've ever had?"

Another laugh bubbled up as Steve drained half of his mug. "It'll take more than one mug of hard cocoa to get that out of me."

"You're not serious." Eddie watched Steve with wide eyes.

"I fucking wish I was joking!"

It had taken more than one hard cocoa, but just barely. Steve had managed to get through to Robin (who, to her credit, only panicked a little at the idea of Steve being with a guy neither of them knew, and she only demanded his full name, address, a physical description, and his license plate number in case Steve didn't show up again once the weather had cleared up). Once the cocoa was gone and Robin knew Steve was somewhere safe for the night, they had switched to a bottle of bourbon Eddie had brought home from work.

There was something about Eddie that Steve found comforting in a way he hadn't found with anyone but Robin in a very long time. Maybe it was because Eddie hadn't even blinked when Robin had demanded to speak to him, too. Maybe it was because he looked tough and rugged, with his ripped jeans and his motorcycle boots and the tattoos covering his arms, but he had at least two Garfield mugs in his kitchen and he listened to Ella Fitzgerald on snowy nights.

Eddie's laugh was big and bright and Steve found that he wanted to wrap himself up in it because it warmed him even more than their drinks had. He was just warm, and Steve found himself slowly gravitating closer and closer to Eddie's end of the couch.

If Robin was here, she would be telling him that he needed to be careful. He fell too hard too fast and he always got hurt for it. This night, though, Eddie, it all felt different. This wasn't even a date, Eddie had just been nice enough to offer Steve somewhere to warm himself up for the night.

Now Steve wanted to offer Eddie somewhere warm, too.

It was a stupid line brought on by a horny thought, and Steve nearly spat out his drink.

"You good, man?" Eddie asked as he reached over to lightly clap Steve on the back. His scent was even stronger when he was this close.

"I'm good." Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. "Just— stupid thought. I think I need to take that as my sign to head to bed."

"Okay." Eddie tossed back the rest of his drink and started cleaning their dishes up. Steve reached out to help and Eddie stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Stay there, I've got this."

"I can help," Steve insisted. He stood up and grabbed their empty mugs. "Besides, I'm, uh… going to need some pajamas, if you have anything I can borrow?"

"Oh fuck, right!" Eddie put the bottle of bourbon back down on the coffee table and hurried down a short hallway to what Steve assumed was his bedroom.

While Eddie was gone Steve carried their dishes to the kitchen. He rinsed them out and left them to be washed in the morning. Eddie could still be heard rummaging in his room, so Steve took a moment to be a little nosy. He let his fingertip curl around the cabinet door.

Eddie didn't just have a Garfield mug. There were juice glasses with the fat orange cat on them, and were those dinner plates? Steve lifted one up carefully to get a closer look— Garfield in a night dress and cap, beside Odie in a rocking chair.

"Not what you expected, huh?"

Caught, Steve put the plate back and turned to Eddie with pink cheeks. "I was just wondering, after I saw the mugs. I would say I'm not usually that nosy, but…" He shrugged. "I would be lying."

Eddie grinned wide and Steve once more found himself watching the way the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"It's something I got into with my uncle," he explained. "We watched the cartoons together. It's something we bonded over when I moved in with him." He held something out to Steve. "I don't actually have any clean pajama pants…"

Steve unfolded the shirt. It was soft and worn, with a few tiny holes around the neck. Clearly this was a shirt that Eddie had had for a while, one he loved. And he was offering it up to Steve to use for the night.

Whatever resolve or sense of propriety Steve had left flew out the window. He'd wondered earlier what his mother would think about him having dinner with one Alpha and then going home with another one entirely.

Finding out her son not only went home with a stranger, but that he was the one who made the first move, might've sent her to an early grave.

Steve didn't let that stop him as he closed the distance between them. His hand cupped Eddie's cheek, thumb stroking his jaw, and then their lips were pressed together.

Eddie's lips were soft and warm. He tasted like chocolate and alcohol and Steve would never get enough.

"Look, I know it might be forward," he murmured. "But you smell so good, and you're so nice, and I would kick myself if I didn't shoot my shot."

Warm air brushed Steve's mouth as Eddie laughed again. Steve was becoming addicted to that, too.

"I got you tipsy and didn't give you pants to sleep in, and you think you're being forward?"

"Giving me pants would've just made it that much harder for you to get into them, wouldn't it?"

Eddie actually groaned, but then his mouth was on Steve's again and Steve's back was pressed against the lip of the counter. "Fuck, that was cheesy."

"Says the man with the Garfield collec— hey!" Steve yelped as he was lifted up onto the counter. Eddie was slim, lean, but there was a strength in his arms that was surprising.

Eddie's lips trailed over his jaw and up towards his ear. "Don't pretend the Garfield collection isn't what won you over."

"Was I that transparent?" Steve murmured. His legs came up to wrap around Eddie's waist, his arms draped around those wide shoulders.

"'Fraid so." Eddie pressed a kiss to the moles on the underside of Steve's jaw. "You know… if seeing my dinnerware made you want to jump into bed with me, I can't wait until you see my pajamas."

Steve threaded a hand into Eddie's soft hair and stole another kiss that was almost teasing. "Oh, baby. I don't think either of us could handle that."

Neither of them stopped smiling as Eddie lifted him off of the counter, as they bumped their way down the hallway.

Steve was far from a blushing virgin, had been around the block more than few times. None of his partners had been like Eddie, though.

Eddie's mouth left a trail of fire as he played connect the dots with Steve's moles. His fingers stoked Steve's pleasure higher and higher, until his thighs shook and there was a patch of slick on the bed beneath them, until he'd fallen apart not once but twice.

Eddie was right there after, too, kissing Steve's shattered edges and melting them until they were fitted together and he was whole again.

When Eddie finally settled over him, when they were finally joined as one, it was with their hands threaded together on either side of Steve's head.

It wasn't rushed. It was slow and languid, with kisses to eyelids and cheeks and chins, with Eddie sucking marks into Steve's skin and Steve urging Eddie on with his heels.

They came together with a cry from Steve and Eddie panting Steve's name into the hollow of his throat.

Afterward there was an ease with Eddie that Steve hadn't gotten from other partners. There was no hasty cleanup, no scrambling for clothes. Eddie just rolled them away from the wet spot. He kissed Steve gently, then slipped out of bed to get a wet washcloth to wipe them both off.

Steve slipped into the shirt Eddie had brought to him. It was even softer when it was on. Eddie's scent was there beneath the laundry detergent scent, too.

Eddie wrapped around him when he got back into bed. He tucked the blankets around them and buried his face in Steve's neck in a way that showed Steve wasn't the only one feeling a little scent addicted.

Sleep was just taking over when Eddie's voice roused him again.

"You think roses would be appropriate?"

"Hmm?" Steve cracked one eye open. "For what?"

"Feel like I owe your date a thank you after this."

Steve lightly smacked Eddie's hip. "You don't think there's someone else you should be thanking?"

"Oh, right." Eddie nuzzled down against the top of Steve's head and held him that much tighter. "I'll have to get some for your mom, too."

"Eddie!" Steve dissolved into sleepy giggles that he tried to stifle against Eddie's shoulder. "That's still not who I was talking about!"

"I know." Eddie pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth and gathered him impossibly closer. "Thought you might like breakfast more than flowers. Figured I would save flowers for our first date."

"This wasn't a date?" Steve asked. "What would you call it?"

Eddie took so long to answer that Steve was almost sure he'd fallen asleep, too. "Our meet cute. But we should probably leave out the sex when we tell our future grandpups."

Steve couldn't stop the purr that started in his chest.

Even if there was talk tomorrow about what he'd done, and if it made its way back to his parents, he'd met the Alpha of his dreams, someone who collected Garfield memorbilia and talked about pups before they'd even technically been on a date.

They fell asleep wrapped up together, with Steve's purr still rumbling on and the snow falling down around them.

[chanelnumbermine]

can you do headcanons of pepe marti having a long term crush on a driver!reader (like since childhood/karting days)? They're both managed by Fernando Alonso, and he's basically meddling trying to set the two of them up, while stil overprotective of reader.

to teach a young dog some old tricks | pepe marti x fem!reader

a confession: im quite new to to the pepe lore and fanbase so i tried really really hard to make this as accurate and interesting as possible. that being said, omg i have so many thoughts about this!!! it’s such a fun and playful idea i got to reaserch and writing as soon as i could! have a wonderful day baby and i sincerely hope you enjoy this one! cheers!! <3

i know i have some requests to write about paul but i can’t do it rn still processing his soft launch someone help

warning(s): teen feels! awkwardness and a lot of cutesy moments

pepe was one of your best friends since you can remember - you started karting around europe around the same time and quickly developed a strong bond

there weren’t a lot of girls at the tracks, and some boys weren’t very nice, but that wasn’t pepe’s style

even on a bad rainy day, he was full of smiles and encouraging words

he thought you were impressive- okay, maybe a little scary at first, with the fiery gleam in your eyes and a wide grin that made his teenage heart clench a little

therefore, he tried his best not to make you upset like those other kids, with their loud voices and nasty remarks

and so your defensive walls quickly crumbled: you became attached to the hip ever since

that was the story thought most of your junior series: it was always you and pepe against the world, both fiercely protective of each other on and off track

it was one of the things that drew in fernando alonso: he couldn’t remember the last time he smiled so much watching the two of you fight your way through the field and celebrate together

true passion and friendship, the very essence of the sport he devoted his life toward

he knew instantly that he wanted to see you grow and help cultivate that fire you displayed on track

“joder, kids these days… just like me and lewis back in the day huh”

that’s how you were taken under his wing and for a while things were going perfectly

that was until christian came into the picture

he had this disarming charm and warmth about him that matched pepe’s playfulness and kindness: soon they were inseparable, despite being in different teams and under different managers, they seemed to hang out all the time

it became worse when all of you moved to f3 and the boys became teammates

pepe’s greetings became briefer and his usual chatter was replaced by awkwardness

“hey! good to see you, uh, good luck in practice, sorry, i gotta go- chris told me the team needs me, see ya!”

it was upsetting, for sure, you were always there for each other in the past: he wasn’t performing well and you weren’t either

it seemed as the universe was telling you that the only way to succeed was together

“por dios, im such an idiot! why did i mess up turn four, rookie mistake-”

he ranted to chris all the time, just like he did to you all those years, but now it was different

“mate, don’t be so hard on yourself, nobody’s mad at you. out of all people, she will understand”

he was so ashamed

pepe didn’t want you to see him this frustrated, this weak… especially since you were so mad after your dnf; he wanted to come, but when he had heard those swears spew out of your perfect lips, the air just got kicked out of his lungs

his mind was completely blank, and all he could do was stare at you from the distance and stumble out a sorry and pull half-hearted smile

you were just so pretty when you were mad, he wanted to comfort you, to make it better, to blow off some steam together, to hug, to kiss that pout way from your lips… hold up, what?

the truth is, pepe had a massive crush on you

he tried to get him to confess, to talk to you at least, but it was all in vain

mansell figured him out quickly and teased him relentlessly about it until he realised just how deeply pepe’s feelings ran

it was one that begun as admiration and friendship and grew slowly into something more as you grew up together, without his even noticing when you became so beautiful he couldn’t think straight when you were nearby

when fernando saw the results, he was surprised to say the least’ what do you mean? his two star drivers, competing for points instead of wins every weekend? it raised some eyebrows around the paddock

he had thought he figured it out quickly, the pressure got to you and you weren’t getting the same amount of support, right? but pepe? he made so many new friends and seemed to be just fine besides his results: so what has changed?

he needed one look at your face after he mentioned pepe’s name to knew what this was about

“you two are going to jerez with me. i don’t want any excuses”

he though that getting you in the same room for a longer period would solve the problem by itself but oh damn how quickly that one backfired

at the track, pepe was making mistake after mistake, avoiding alonso’s gaze and your presence

“you see this? you have this pattern when you mess up the left-hander and instantly go off the racing like at sequence- pepe, mierda, ¿estas escuchando o no?”

under each his determined look there was hint of sheepishness and shame

“in my time when a boy liked a girl he would just ask her our on a date and not make a disaster out of himself”

he said gruffly but his tense expression was soon replaced by understanding and a bit of mischief in his eyes

“but, i can’t possibly do that to her! she’s already under so much pressure and i’s scared i’ll ruin our friendship-“

“believe me, if you keep this up it’ll get ruined soon. you can either man up and do something about or lose her and your career in the process”

fernando’s words were harsh but rang true: he had to do something about

the next few days were a mix of gruesome training and long talks

you were both too exhausted to lie and fernando’s efforts to get two of you alone in one room didn’t go unnoticed: on the fifth day pepe gave up and confessed, stuttering and blushing but confessed either way

he then apologizes by taking you out to a very nice restaurant (one that may or may not have been recommended by the older spaniard)

pepe was very careful with his words, remembering the words of his mentor: "if she doesn't run you over - i will"

[smurfs-insideout-au]

smurfpigment and jokey would be one hell of a team

Brainy: First of all, language! Second... *Sigh* Right you are! Those two Smurfs can really leave a blast of color behind.

Speaking of which... Hey Pigment, I think you want to see this 'letter' for you.

Pigment: Oh? A letter for me?

Pigment: Wow! I have a letter from the humans?! Already!? Is this one of your inventions, Brainy Smurf? Wow!! This is so smurfy! What a brilliant Smurf you are!

Brainy: (Puffing up with confidence) Why of course! I am the smartest Smurf after all! Who else could come up with such a Smurfy invention? But let's not dwell on that!

Pigment: Right! Uh let’s see�� Hello! Pigment right here! :D (Reads the question) Hahah! Yea! We sure do make one #!@* of a team!

Brainy: Pigment! No swearing!

Pigment: Oops, I'm sorry! Hmmm, I'm reminded of this funny story that happened back then! I made these color bombs as a way of expression, celebration and self-defense. When I first introduced my color bombs, I remembered the Smurfs being thrilled! Until they realized that if Jokey Smurf found out about my color bombs, the Smurf Village would have colorful surprises for weeks! So they all begged me to not let Jokey know about my color bombs at all!

Pigment: So I told them "Alright! Alright! But know that Jokey will smurf them out eventually!"

The Smurfs were trying so hard to make sure Jokey never found out about my color bombs! I remembered whenever Jokey hears them talking about my color bombs they would say it's just a figure of speech! I remember I needed to hide my color bombs whenever Jokey is near. But I KNOW he was on to me!

Pigment: But this is where it ends from there. Jokey decided to pay me a visit so he can have materials for a prank, but I wasn't prepared, so I scrambled to hide my color bombs. But unfortunately, a big color bomb fell out of my hands and rolled towards Jokey... He picked it up and before we know it....

KABOOM!!!

Pigment: So, I was right! Jokey would find out about my color bombs eventually! I was caught red-handed! No, that literally wasn't a pun!  If there's anything that I vividly remembered, my hands were covered mostly in red pigment when the big color bomb exploded! And as a reward for discovering my little secret, I gave him color bombs of his choice! Haha! The village was covered in color for weeks! Sorry Smurfs!

Pigment: So yea! I'm now the go-to Smurf Jokey goes to if he wants color bombs for his pranks!

Brainy: Ahem, thank you for that colorful story, Pigment! Now if you don't mind, I think I'll take it from here. There's probably more questions that might need answering.

Pigment: Oh, of course! Well, I hope you like my story, humans! It's been really fun talking with you!

Hefty: Smurfpigment! Time for your check-up!

Pigment: Oops! There goes my signal! Good luck with the questions, Brainy Smurf! Catch you later!

*Pigment finally skips away for her check-up. Graphite walks out. She stops then looks at Brainy's direction with her typical deadpan expression on her face.* Graphite: Hey.

[genderqueerdykes]

i know this isn't exactly what you usually talk about but i need to ask somewhere and you seem really safe and kind about stuff.

I'm struggling to work out if i 'count' as physically disabled - because like most of my problems (fatigue, joint pains, weakness) are Not That Bad™️ and most of them would probably get a lot better if not go away completely if i did things like eat better and sleep properly and exercise more but between the aforementioned fatigue and pain and the autism and the having a 9-5 job and so on it makes it practically impossible to do those things anyway. Like yeah my weak ass legs would probably be better if i did exercise but i dont have the time or the energy.

But then also Something Is Up like i had back pain at age 5 - that's not normal. Nobody ever diagnosed it as anything i just went to a chiro a few times and got some stretches i rarely did because a) i was a kid and b) the stretches either didnt do anything at all, or were literally impossible. Like there were a few that were completely trivial and i could do to the maximum extension of healthy joints unless i was otherwise injured, and others where i physically couldn't reach the starting position - not even always because of pain but just because my joints physically didnt move that far. (I try to do the ones i can still at least sometimes but i've forgotten the ones that were physically impossible) So like there has to be Something up - a 5 year old does not get back pain for lifestyle reasons.

Idk. this is getting ramble-y i think but i just don't know what i feel and I'm so shit scared of doctors (for no good reason, they're just very stressful environments) that i haven't ever brought any of it up as an adult and so there hasn't been any attempt to do anything about it anyway but also i'll probably just get told to stretch and exercise anyway and as discussed that isn't always an option.

I read a fair bit of physical disability stuff and i sometimes reblog or engage with it a little bit if it's like 'oof ouch my back' or whatever that i relate to really obviously, but idk if I'm allowed to be in those spaces more obviously or what i should do about any of it either.

(ow. my hands hurt from holding my phone to type all that. that's getting worse too. not sure what's up with that...)

hello there!

generally i'd say that if you're experiencing joint pain, especially right as you begin standing on your feet and weakness, there's a very good chance there's an underlying issue. that's enough to say that you're physically disabled, as it's impacting your ability to work, stand on your feet, and so on. it's up to an individual to decide whether or not they feel disabled by their aches, pains and so on

definitely try to avoid chiropractors moving forward- most of what they do is nebulously helpful at best and damaging at worst. if you are able to do so, seeing a rheumatologist, orthopedist, physical therapist or kinesiologist. you may be able to speak to a pain management specialist in your area if that's necessary. you can get referrals to these types of specialists and appointments through your doctor.

best of luck in figuring out what's going on. i would say it sounds like that's disabling for you. i hope you're able to get some help for that so you can have an easier time. take care for now, stay safe

[you-are-my-neverland]

guess who actually finished the prologue!

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

NaNo 2024: Victory!!

Hello, world, here's my tidied desk in the aftermath of FINISHING ANOTHER BOOK!!! It took me EXACTLY four (4) pens this year (I was literally writing my wrap-up stats in the back of the notebook when the in on the last one started to go!), on 82 pages across two (2) notebooks, and preliminary* word count is 71,541!! (*subject to change once typed--I count by hand and tweak as I type haha.)

Also featuring: the NaNo Earrings, Volumes 2 and 3 of the Bitch Journal (where I whine about writerly things and also Reflect On My Process--I learned very much this year and got a lot of dopamine from it!!), the tiny watch that kept me company in my tertiary writing space, the earplugs that made working at home Tolerable (mostly), and some of the frantic scribbles on scrap paper (I got a LOT of mileage out of a dead receipt that Panera misprinted for me lol).

Now, onward to TYPING!! I would love for this not to take most of December, so I'll probably have more Unhinged Goals About That (I don't know why I am the way that I am), but! The hard part is done!!

[deoidesign]

Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

[liesonthefloordramatically]

okay, Midst is very good, PLEASE listen to it, but also I realized that part of why I am so gleeful about Midst is that it not only features one of my favorite things (unreliable narrators) but also features one of my other favorite things (the narrative standing directly behind the characters with a gun)

case in point: spent the entirety of the episode last week feeling an intense amount of dread because I DID see the narrative standing directly behind the characters with a gun and then this week felt an intense amount of vindication when the gun fired

Rowan has said before that I am way too good at picking up on foreshadowing (I think I am a normal amount of good at it, but also recognize that I seem to correctly predict where things are going substantially more often than many of my friends), but also I am so gleeful that A. Midst does occasionally manage to clothesline me anyway (yes! it's fun to stop dead in the middle of the street due to Events and Revelations!) but also B. the narrative is built to be even more enjoyable when you pick up the foreshadowing because then the narrative is making pointed eye contact with you while standing behind the unsuspecting characters with a gun

anyway, this metaphor is getting away from me, please listen to Midst, I'm having a GREAT time

[fox-guardian]

one thing about me is i fucking hate making new accounts

[hershelchocolateart]

GIRL HELP I WASNT EXPECTING THE SATURATION PSA TO BE THE MOST POPULAR DRAWING-RELATED THING IVE EVER MADE IN MY LIFE

[showyoumyfavoriteobsession]

Roughly once every four years I ponder the alternate timeline where I didn't get scared and quit college rugby after a single practice

[yourlocaleccentricscientist]

Perhaps I'm just too in love with the Daniel Fish version of Oklahoma, but I feel that centering all the tragedy of the ending of Yeomen of the Guard on Jack Point when there's a woman who's just learnt the man who she's basically the property of has been lying to her for the entire time she's known him, and for pretty much his own amusement and that alone, is. Wrong.