#whatever i need to stop worrying about it and just like start drafting the rest of this stuff out im just a little bitch

[jieas]

I NEED THREE PICTURES OF YOU!—

what happens when hiragi toma takes you with him to patrol town or the furin boys top three favorite moments between you and your boyfriend

content. fluffy fluff, very ooc hiragi, no real dialogue wc: <950

a/n. old draft, not recently proofread

it was no secret to anyone that hiragi toma had a lover. maybe the reason his relationship was so obvious was because his eyes always landed on you when you were in the same room. or because his social media was only filled with pictures of you, or the two of you together. maybe it was because of his lock screen, that displayed a picture of you. perhaps it was the matching necklaces you had, each other's names engraved on the thin metal tab. but there was one sign in specific that made it obvious he was dating someone.

hiragi always brought a special guest with him when he went on patrol.

it started a while ago when you realized that maybe your boyfriend was going through packs of stomach medication a little too quickly. he was obviously under quite a bit of stress, for whatever reason. so, instead of buying his tenth pack of gas-kun 10s in the last three days, you questioned him about it. and to absolutely no one's surprise, he was just incredibly worried about you. mainly because you would forget to check your phone when he was out and the poor guy had no idea what was going on with you.

so, you made a proposal he couldn't refuse, go with him when he's on patrol. It was a win-win situation. he wouldn't have to worry about where you were or wonder if you managed to burn your kitchen, and you got an excuse to spend time with your boyfriend.

the only downside? the teasing hiragi received from his underclassmen. but in the defense of the first years, he was practically asking to be teased. especially with the way he always had his arm around your shoulder and would often take glances down at you. 

at first, they just snickered at the displays of affection between you two with playful smiles on their faces. soon enough, they began commenting on how 'young love is so cute' and that they 'can't believe hiragi is secretly so soft' which made him shout at lecture all of them for not paying enough attention to the civilians of makochi.

the comments eventually stopped but something else started, a group chat. though, it was more like a fan club of your relationship. the chat, which included the other kings of bofurin and nearly the whole tamon team, was an exchange of pictures focused on hiragi and you during patrol. there were photos where his arm was around your shoulders, your head resting on his, and a few where he's taking off his jacket to give to you when you're cold. but there were three things he did that the tamon team loved getting pictures of.

one of the three happened when hiragi thought nobody was looking. he might try to distract his underclassmen or simply wait until some townsfolk needed help before his head was leaning towards your own. his breath tickled the shell of your ear, whispered compliments and honeyed words slipping past his lips. or he was simply talking about how 'gullible' the rest of the tamon team was for falling for his lie when he was the gullible one.

the young furin students second favorite moment to witness between you two usually occurred right after the third. once hiragi was done with his hushed comments, his head would then dip the slightest bit, lips brushing against your cheek. he would plant a small kiss to the side of your face, the tip of his nose pressing against your cheekbone and making you giggle from the ticklish feeling.

out of the corner of his eye, hiragi could see sakuras cheeks turning a bright red at the display in front of him as kaji looked away while kiryu and kusumi took pictures on their phones. of course, he scowled at them as he moved his head, sending a warning glare to the few that were gushing over you two like a group of elder women would.  

but their absolute favorite moment between you and your beloved boyfriend? probably the one that occurred the least often. the moment when hiragi acted like a true gentleman, proving that, no, chivalry is in fact not dead. 

at some random point in the patrol, hiragi would make an abrupt pause. the others wouldn't notice at first, walking a couple of steps before realizing their upperclassman was now behind them. even you were confused when he grabbed your upper arm and made you stop. you were set in place, eyeing hiragi with a raised eyebrow. he didn't say anything, simply grumbling about how 'you need to pay more attention' as he crouched in front of you. and that's when the phones came out, capturing the scene of him tying your shoe for you.

the little fan club of your relationship springing to life, eager to chaff hiragi about this moment later on. but even if they did flaunt the pictures and videos in his face, an attempt at badgering the older boy, he'd just scoff and say this was why none of them had a partner. 

and though hiragi always acted bothered by the constant fanboying of the bofurin members, he did secretly enjoy it. only because tsubaki would send him the pictures from the day, and hiragi got to enjoy the sight of your smiling face from his displays of affection. 

sure, he may have disliked the teasing from his underclassmen but he did love the pictures he got of you as a result. at least he felt that the comments about his actions were worth it in the end.

[sleepy-stitches]

crosswordtracker dot com is down what is even the fucking point .

[youalreadyhavefullresults]

the mindset journey

So hi.

My mindset has been evolving a lot ever since I started this journey, and I thought I'd lay it all out in one post. Subliminals, mindless affirming, scripting, visualization, states. I've tried so many things out, and I think I've finally figured out what works for me.

TLDR:

Stop “trying” to manifest or checking the 3d, you already have full results, creation was over like since forever.

Sure you know that you’re God, as the posts and everything you’ve seen tells you, but have you really embraced that internally?

It doesn’t matter how many posts you read, it’s up to you to actually change your mindset.

Logic is literally useless, be delusional (don’t you just wanna go ape-shit :), go get your fucking desires)

Time is not linear, and means nothing when manifesting.

Revision is so powerful, use it.

It’s just so easy guys, please just make sure you’re actually applying the information you see instead of just passively scrolling through.

And the rest is under the cut, happy reading <33

I started off in the subliminal community in Oct 2020 and just had so many limiting beliefs, it was sad. Not to shit on the community or anything, some of them are wonderful people and most of them have changed their mindset as well, but my initial knowledge prevented me from getting to this point until now. But, now I’m here, and a day after I wrote this in my drafts, I literally manifested my ideal life. I originally started this blog to collect advice from loa blogs, but honestly, I don’t need any of it anymore. Though I do like helping people, so if you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an ask.

The Initial Mindset:

I always read through countless posts that say “You’re God” and “You literally can get what you want without even trying.” While I understood the text and adopted the mindset, I still did little subconscious things that contradicted it. While I affirmed my self-concept was perfect, I would also cram-study for exams and worry I would fail. I would say I look perfect, but then also worry about the way my body looked. Also, the way that I literally became obsessed with loa media? I spent hours watching Sammy Ingram videos, looping subliminals, and reading tumblr posts on “how to manifest faster and better”. During this phase of my life, my mind was plagued with intrusive thoughts and my self-concept was slowly getting better, but still absolute shit. I would manifest things here and there, but nothing life-changing.

The main problem however, was the fact that I would treat manifesting like a task I HAD to do. Now that school was back in session, I literally would zone out during specific classes on purpose and just affirm to myself. I would feel bad if I hadn’t listened to my subliminal playlist for the day because I “wasted time in getting my desires”. There’s nothing wrong with vainly affirming or listening to subs if you believe it works, but for me, treating manifesting like a task meant that I was looking for an outcome. Clearly, now I know better, that everything is always done and that there’s nothing to complete, but back then, this was probably the main reason why I struggled to see full results easily. I was acting out of desperation and didn't believe manifestation already was done.

When Everything Changed:

I know that it’s different for everyone, but my “aha!” moment was probably when I read this post. Seriously, go read it, it made me realize that I was going about it all wrong. Now, it wasn’t learning how to perfect my manifesting, it was learning to pull out the tiny limiting beliefs that had burrowed its way into my subconscious.

For example,

“I need to do xyz so that I can get my manifestations.”

Why would I would need to do anything if I already have all of my manifestations hmm? It’s literally already done. Like there’s no need to put in that effort into something that’s already perfect right? So why do I need to even need to try? I literally get whatever tf I want without even trying. This doesn’t mean that every method out there is useless, but in the end, you are the one doing the manifesting, not the method.

“But... this makes absolutely no logical sense! How would this even work?”

I know that STEM me loves finding the logic behind everything, so that’s why I struggled a lot with the logic and time aspect. But darling, it doesn’t need to make sense. There are literally so many things in the world that scientists to this day can’t explain, including just how powerful and complex your brain is. Not to mention the fact that concepts such as logic and science are literally man-made too? What’s the point in trying to deal with logic? Just let go and have fun.

“I affirmed so hard, and I believed it. But then it never showed up when the time came.”

First off, your time spent affirming means nothing, sorry to break it to you. It’s about the mindset(your state if you will) you currently exist in that truly makes a difference. And just because it didn’t show up today doesn’t mean that you missed your window of opportunity. Revision is still manifesting, because time is not a linear concept. Anything at any time can just change with a snap of your fingers. You want to change all of your test scores? Bam, it’s done. you wish WW2 never happened? Bam, it’s done. You want to relive the past 5 years of your life? Bam, it’s done. It doesn’t matter what the event is, what time it is, or that you “didn’t do it before the deadline”. Whenever you do get it(which is instant/soon if you're persisting properly), it will be there, seamlessly blended in with your 3d. You don’t need to worry about a damn thing, your subconscious will take care of everything for you.

“Oh no! I just had intrusive thoughts, did I just mess up my manifestations?”

Why are you giving intrusive thoughts the power to do anything? Sure, you may get them, but that doesn’t mean that they have any effect on you. It’s the doubt they make you feel in your mindset that truly messes it up. Don’t give in. Acknowledge the thought, accept that it literally means nothing, and continue to persist. Your thoughts only have the power you give them.

“Nah, everyone has to be lying, this doesn’t seem real.” / ”Manifesting must just be a coincidence, there’s no way this is real.”

Oh? So you’re saying, the amount of posts you’ve seen, all of the success stories, all of the followers and comments, are you saying every single one of them is lying? No. I’m not saying that every single one of them is truthful, but there’s no way that every single one of them would lie and put this much work into something that’s not real. If you find yourself struggling to believe in the law, I’d suggest you try to manifest something small, and then build up your belief from there. I sure as hell didn’t believe in any of this from the beginning, but then, I manifested consciously for the first time. Again, and again. It became easier, and my life got better. It soon becomes apparent that literally everything you think happens. I always used to wonder how things I randomly thought in the back of my head always happened even though I literally didn’t do anything about it in the 3d. This proved to me that your mental state is more powerful than it seems.

“Can I manifest-”

Yes. Just yes. You’re GOD. GOD. Why tf is God asking some random loa account if they can manifest something or not? Ofc God would know that they can manifest whatever the fuck they want instantly. Do you think when God said “Let there be light”, he first asked people around him if he could? No. He took that shit and just fucking ran with it.

“But-but, what if-”

Uh-uh. I don’t want to fucking hear it. Like I said in the previous section, stop overthinking everything you do. Just go. Run with what you already know and manifest the life of your dreams. You don’t need to keep looking for new information, some specific post that changes everything for you. All they can do for you is steer you in the right direction. You’re the one who’s going to have to figure out our mindset and pull yourself together, no one else can do it. Take back your power, embrace it. I don’t care if you unfollow every single loa account or delete tumblr, just stop looking for the next post. Why would you need more information when you already have everything you need?

I wrote down everything I struggled with, forgot about it, and continued to persist in my new mindset. I ignored any negative 3d circumstances, and just vibed in the feeling that my desires were already here, that feeling of contentment someone has when everything in their life is just amazing. The main question I asked myself was, what would a person who had ____ think, and I went from there. Soon the things I wanted just started popping up in my life, just as I knew it would. I feel like the things I’ve said in this post are pretty much the same concepts you see all over loa tumblr, which is why it’s so important that you actively take in the information that’s being given to you and actually apply it. I was obsessed with tumblr and kept on scrolling through countless blogs and posts, and I was only able to fully manifest after I stepped away from all of that. There is no big secret. There’s no miraculous method that will fix everything for you. There’s just... you. And your subconscious. Whatever you tell your subconscious, goes. As simple as that.

How about, instead of scrolling to whatever next loa post you were about to see on this app, you close tumblr and just go live your best life? Don’t overcomplicate it and just do whatever feels natural to you. I hope this post helped, happy manifesting!

-cinna

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 21 - Lavender 4

This is a long one! I wanted a way for Shanks and Mihawk to come together, and what better way to do that is a nice sick fic!

Shanks is a flirt and both are possessive bastards. They worry about their little treasure. Took some creative liberties with Haki btw! hope you enjoy!

No warnings today!

Masterlist

Hank watches his human lay still and silent in her bed. His nose twitches when a draft comes by and tickles his nose, and a sneeze follows when his little brother comes back and smacks him in the nose. Hank grumbles at the fluffball, but at least Sukuna doesn’t use his claws this time. The cat jumps to the chair that Hank lays under, golden eyes watching his human too. 

Neither animal understands what had gotten into their human. She had yet to get up and start the day like usual, instead, she still sleeps. Hank whines when his nose picks up the scent of something that doesn’t belong on his human, and he shuffles out from under his chair to stand by the bed. Sukuna joins him, jumping from the chair to come to a stop by their person’s head. Hank jumps up, nosing forward and huffing when he picks up that same smell. 

It’s hot and rancid, and the two of them nearly jump a foot into the air when you suddenly groan and roll over, eyes cracking open to the sight of two concerned brothers. 

“Hello children,” You green softly and wince at the soreness of your throat. You snake an arm out from under the covers, shivering when the cooler air of the room floods the blanket cocoon you’ve made around yourself. You feel awful, and you wonder what had changed so suddenly for you to feel this way. You frown as you think. No not suddenly. You’ve not been feeling yourself for a couple of days now. More tired than usual, a constant chill that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you tried, and you dearly wished that Mihawk and his overheated body were here to help warm you up. 

Sukuna darts forward to press his forehead into your open palm, purring up a storm as his human gently scratches between his ears just the way he likes. Hank shoves him when he heaves the rest of his huge body up, and Sukuna sends the mutt a sharp glare for the disrespect. Their antics bring a giggle out of you, however, so the cat isn’t too upset about it. 

“Gimmie a second and I’ll get up. Not like you’re starving or anything, you gluttons,” You grumble good-naturedly and force yourself to sit up. 

Hank surprises you by butting his big head in your chest and knocking you back down. It takes the wind out of you, and you send a half-hearted glare at the big lug, “Hey. What was that about?”

The shaggy dog whines, not wanting his human up in fear of spreading the hot, sick scent that he can still smell. You break easily when Sukuna teams up with him and steps on your chest, making a round of biscuits and then lying down. You shove one hand into his fluffy orange fur and then the other into Hank’s grey, tangled locks. You have half a thought of brushing him soon before your stuffy brain is making you go back to sleep. 

Sukuna shares a look with his older brother when a soft wheeze spills out of your chest. This is not good. Their human was sick and the other humans who liked to show up were not here, and probably would not be back for a while. The dark-haired one that smelled like steel and old books had left only a week ago.

It’s hours later that you wake again, and luckily, Hank allows you to get up when you express the need to go to the bathroom. He knows what that word means, but still diligently followed after you when you got out of bed because he is a good boy. Sukuna flees to the kitchen, selfish enough to beg for food now that his human is out of bed for now. 

You wash your face after doing your business and look at yourself in the mirror. You look like utter shit, face flushed and skin pale as a ghost from whatever sickness that has a hold of you. You sniff and blow your nose a couple of times, hurting your throat even more each time. A cup of tea sounds like a grand idea, so you shuffle to the kitchen and put on the kettle. You choose a nice chamomile and load the cup up with the honey that Dracule had gifted you not too long ago. A lemon slice is next, another gift, though the lemon tree had come from Shanks on his third visit to your island. 

Speaking of the redhead, it’s been a while since you’ve seen the other man. You assume that his Emperor business is keeping him busy, but you still kinda miss the older man. He always knew how to make you laugh. Gullt curls in you at the thought, but you shove it away and remember the talk that you and Dracule had on his last visit.

Mihawk had assured you several times that he and Shanks had come to some sort of agreement. They would more or less stay out of one another business unless there was a shared concern about your well-being. Dracule had basically given you his permission to seek comfort and companionship in Shanks when the warlord could not be there. 

You still didn’t really know what to think of the idea that Shanks and Mihawk had spoken about you while you weren’t there, and you know that neither of them had come completely clean about whatever deal they had going on.

What you did know was that something fundamental had changed between the two men, but honestly, you didn’t much care about all the details. If they were happy, then you were happy. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself if either man stopped coming to your island, and just the thought of being alone like that makes agony tighten around your heart. You’ve known Mihawk for over a year now, and the reclusive man had slowly opened up to you during that time. He was a friend, a lover, a protector, and you loved him. 

Of course, you haven’t told him yet, you’re not so much an idiot to bring the L word into the equation, not when the very notion made fear strike through you like lightning. You wouldn’t ruin what you have going on with him, not unless he said those three words first. You just couldn’t risk being that lonely again. 

And Shanks? That mischievous man had wiggled his way into your daily thoughts and heart, fast. His easygoing attitude is so different from Mihawk's, but no less enjoyable to be around. 

A loud meow right in your ear has you jerking out of your thoughts. Sukuna stands on the counter, big golden eyes narrowed as he meows loud enough for it to echo in the house. You wave him away and apologize for not being fast enough to meet his majesty’s needs. 

You feed Sukuna his usual dish and a little extra for being patient with you this morning and then go outside to do the same for Hank. He whines when you step outside, but his food easily distracts him so that you can go check on Neal and the three chickens. You really need to give them names, you feel bad that it’s been this long. 

Neal bleats a greeting when he catches sight of his human, and you laugh when he digs into your loose dress for any snacks to be found. You gently steer his the other way, fixing up his feed and water before leaving them to it. You stoke your fireplace and settle in on the couch with a new cup of tea, blankets bundled high around you. 

You still feel awful, and a deep ache has settled in the middle of your back, but the satisfaction of doing something keeps any bad thoughts away. Sukuna and Hank find their way back to your side whenever they finish, bullying you into lying down so that they can cuddle with you on the couch. It works, for you are back to sleep in no time, dead to the world. 

-------------

Three days later, It’s Neal who hears the sound of loud laughter and the soft thuds of crates hitting the sand down at the beach. He waits until he can see a familiar silhouette trudging up the footpath to his home, hoofs stomping when he realizes that it’s the red-haired one, and not the one with the tasty-looking hat. Neal bleats a warning, loud enough that it gets the attention of Hank who comes bounding out the door. 

Shanks grins when Hank runs to meet him, the shaggy dog jumping up to place his paws on his chest and whining in his face, “Hey, big guy. You seem excited to see me.”

He pets the dog for half a second before Hank jumps down and trots into the cottage. He turns and whines again at Shanks, big eyes demanding the other man to hurry up. Shanks frowns and picks up his pace, entering the cottage with a frown when he notices that you are not up and about like usual. It was midday, but the house was silent as a grave. 

The emperor winds his way through the house, following Hank until he reaches your bedroom. He doesn’t hesitate to step inside, and his chest seizes when he sees the pitiful bundle of blankets and pillows that lie on the bed. He can hardly see you, only your hair making your whereabouts known in the mess on the bed. Hank whines at his feet, paws tip-tapping on the floor in his distress.

“How long has she been this way buddy?” Shanks asks out loud and doesn’t receive an answer, not that he was expecting to. He steps to the side of the bed, knee sliding on the mattress as he reaches over and pulls the blanket closest to your face down.

“Babygirl?” Shanks murmurs and slides his hand along your jaw, hissing when he finds your skin literally ice cold. His hand throbs when he pulls away and he wipes the frost off on his pants leg. Gods, no wonder you were bundled up like you were. 

You groan when he pulls away, your body seeking any amount of warmth and your voice is nothing but a croak when you speak, “Who?”

Shanks slides his hand back to your cheek, uncaring of the cold when he hears how loopy you sound. He wonders if this is how your devil fruit is reacting to you having a fever. Freezing you to the bone instead of warming you. Mihawk would know how to answer that better than he could. 

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Shanks. Think you can tell me what’s wrong?” Shanks shifted more onto the bed, crowding you close in hopes that he could warm you up a little, “You’re freezing, way more than usual, Baby.”

“Dunno. Thought it was a cold, “ You slowly slur as you focus on the handsome man above you. You grin up at him, chest losing one kind of ache now that one of them is here, “Shanks, how was your trip?”

Shanks scoffs at you, eyes rolling skyward as worry curdles tight in his stomach. How could you be asking him questions like that when you looked like a zombie come to life, “It was fine, silly. Don’t worry about that right now. Tell me what I can do to help you get better.” 

Before you can speak, a shiver wracks your body so hard that it leaves your body shivering, teeth chattering and frost creeping up your neck. Shanks jerks his hand back before the dangerous frost can touch him, anxiety curling up when he spots the fear lingering in your eyes. You swallow and curl further in your blanket next, “I don’t know, Shanks. I- I don’t have any medicine. I didn’t think that someone like me could get sick!” 

You don’t have any books on devil fruit users, had no idea how to deal with how your body works sometimes even though you’ve had this horrible power since before you came to this island. You’d always resented the devil fruit inside of you, having never been taught how to properly use your logia abilities. 

Shanks licks his lips. He was out of his depth here. None of his crew had a devil fruit. They’d fought plenty of men and women on the grand line who used them, but Shanks never had the responsibility to know any more than he needed to know about them. 

“That’s alright, Babygirl. We’ll figure it out together, okay?” Shanks assured you and went to rise off the bed only for your hand to shoot out and wrap around his wrist. He looks at you and sees the fever lingering in your eyes, so he changes tactics and shifts to lay down on his side, curling you against his chest, and tossing his arm over your waist to pull you in close. You snuggle close, grateful for the heat that slowly seeps past your blankets. 

Shanks thinks quickly for a solution. He would need to move later, go check on his crew, and see if his crew’s doctor could help with any of this. If that didn’t work then the redhead would call the one person would would most likely know what to do, and Shanks couldn’t help the excitement that erupted at the thought of having his two treasures in the same room together. Despite the situation, it was a chance that Shanks couldn’t pass up.

He wanted to see how the two of you looked curled up together. Wanted to watch the sweet way Mihawk would kiss you and how you would open up to him in kind.  

Turns out that Shanks wouldn’t have to go anywhere, for Benn came to check up on him when he didn’t return after so long. He knocked on the doorframe before peeking his head inside after Shanks told them it was fine.

Benn took one look at your pitiful state and then left to go grab Hongo. The doctor of the crew was able to suggest the proper things than most medical professionals could for what looked like the common cold gone bad, but even he became stumped when it came to the problem of her devil fruit. 

“In a way, It’s preventing her fever from getting too bad, internally at least, but it's also inhibiting the growth of any fresh, healthy cells and bacteria that are trying to get rid of the virus. She needs medicine Captain, and I doubt that I’d be stocked up with what she needs.” 

Shanks sighs heavily from where he sits on your bed, hand behind him to keep hold of your own. You had refused to let go of him, and Shanks didn’t have it in him to leave your side. 

“Bring me my transponder, I need to make a call,” Shanks ordered and Benn left to go find the snail as Hongo packed up his medical bag. 

“Keep her hydrated captain. She needs food too, nothing too solid or hard on her stomach,” Hongo advised and then he was gone too. 

Now alone, Shanks rolls back over, looking down at your scrunched face even in sleep. He smiles and leans down, balanced on his knees so that he can place a quick kiss on your brow, “Don’t worry, Baby. We’ve got you. You’ll be better soon.” 

Benn leaves again when he brings Shanks the snail, though he reminds his friend to call if he needs anything. Shanks had given him a grateful nod and then focused on the transponder, licking his lips as he dialed the number he’d never forgotten. 

Ca-Lick

“There aren’t many people who know this number, who is this?” Dracule sounds furious, and Shanks can hear the sound of shouting and battle in the background, “This better be good.” 

The Emperor takes the dive, “Mihawk, it’s Shanks.” 

The silence on the other end, at least from Dracule, is deafening. It’s only been a month or so since Mihawk had tracked the other man down. He can feel the panic on the other side, and quickly continues, “It’s _, She’s sick, Mihawk, and we don’t have the kind of medicine that she needs.” 

Shanks hears a sudden explosion and then the probable death of whoever it was that Dracule had been fighting. Arousal swirls inappropriately when he listens to Mihawk wields Yoru, and Shanks longs for a time before when he could watch Dracule fight whenever he wanted. The sounds of battle fade away after a moment, and when the warlord speaks next, Shanks can hear the worry lacing every word.

“What do you mean she’s sick? What is wrong with her?” Mihawk had left your island a week and a half ago, and you had seemed just fine then, so what had happened?

Shanks quickly explains the problem, and Dracule wracks his brain for a solution, though one seems unlikely until Shanks mentions that the devil fruit is the problem. He focuses on that, licking his lips as he debates with himself. 

Haki users like Shanks and himself were logia users' worst nightmare since haki could bypass their powers. Could Shanks negate yours long enough that normal medicine and treatment could work? But that could take days to work, especially with just one of them, and Mihawk refused to let someone else from Redhair’s crew get that close to you. Garp would be pissed that he was leaving his assignment half-finished, but Mihawk could care less. His angel and Shanks needed him.  

“Dracule? Is everything okay?” Shanks’ voice brings him back to the present and Drcule straightens up even if the redhead couldn’t see him. He didn’t like how his body had warmed up at the concern he could hear swimming in the other man’s tone. 

“Fine, Shanks. I have an idea.” He informs the redhead then hears Shanks shuffle on the other side of the phone, and realizes that he had to be near you, “Let me speak with her.” 

The emperor shifts so that you are comfortably lying across his chest and can be closer to the transponder snail. You open blurry eyes and sniff harshly, “Mihawk?” 

“There’s my angel,” Dracule coos over the phone, tone soft and full of affection for the young woman, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but Shanks helps,” Comes your blunt reply and Mihawk can’t help the snort of laughter that leaves him. He still feels that jealous sting at knowing the redhead is the one holding you, but it’s not nearly as bad as it used to be. Damn, Shanks and his ability to get into people’s good graces, his included.

“Then I am glad he is there for once,” Mihawk quips dryly and fixes his hat, “I’m going to have Shanks try something, Darling. He’s going to try and coat your body in haki. If that works, then your devil fruit shouldn’t be a problem. That way, your immune system can fight off any infection, and you’ll start feeling better.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” You slur, already half asleep by the time he has finished his explanation. Thankfully, you have a redhead who has taken his duty as a caregiver very seriously. 

“This is why I called you, Dracule. You always know what to do,” Shanks praises quietly, voice laced with sincerity. The other man is quiet on the other end, but Shanks doesn’t mind, it just means that he’d surprised him. 

“Just do what I said, you fool,” Mihawk grumbles quietly, “Have Hongo come back and give her some medicine, whatever you have in stock should work once her body is coated. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The smile on Shanks’ face is nothing but fond, and he nods even though Mihawk can’t see, “Sure. Be safe, We’ll be waiting for you.” 

You call a weak goodbye to Dracule, lucid enough to hear that he is coming back, and then you are gone again, body weak and exhausted from fighting off the growing virus. Shanks curls around you, focusing on weaving his haki over your body until you are completely coated by his will. 

Shanks doesn’t know how to describe the way it feels to have someone so intimately twined within his will. He can feel everything, every twitch of a muscle, every shallow breath you take. It’s almost overwhelming. However, it seems to be working. 

The frost that has been ever-present has slowly begun to melt away, leaving the blankets damp and uncomfortable, but Shanks feels victorious. He calls for Hongo, and the doctor is back in the cottage in a flash and tells his captain that whatever he is doing, he needs to keep it up. Shanks easily nods, curling around you and focusing on keeping his haki a consistent stream to regulate your body. It’s harder than it looks, and Shanks is very glad that Mihawk is coming.

----------

You are still loopy and out of it when Dracule arrives two days later, pushing his ship as hard as he can and catching every tailwind he can navigate to speed up the process. Even though your body had regulated itself into something more human than logia, the process of recovery was slow going. The Red Haired crew greets the warlord when he makes landfall, but Mihawk is in too much of a hurry to return the greeting.

He darts up the path and into his home, stopping long enough to toss his boots, hat, and coat off, and then Mihawk is creaking open your bedroom door, ringed eyes landing on the bed. What he seems makes him choke up, but in a way he hadn’t expected. 

It’s not anger that he feels upon seeing you curled up in bed with Shanks, blankets tangled around both of you as the redhead holds you to his chest. Your face is pressed into his chest, mouth open in a soft snore that has Mihawk’s lips curling at the sides. Shanks turns his face just enough to catch sight of the older man and send him a weary grin, and it definitely isn’t jealousy that Mihawk feels. No, it is satisfaction, at seeing the two people he cared for most in this world curled up together in the too-small bed. 

Dracule shuffles to the other side of the bed and lays on his side, boxing you in between the two men. He can feel the way Shanks’ haki coats you and his own reaches out to glide along the redheads, curling protectively around you and Shanks both. He jumps when he feels a hand land on his waist and glances over you to see Shanks grinning, that familiar teasing look in his eye. 

You wake between them before Mihawk can puff up about the sudden invasion of space, and his attention is quickly drawn to you. You yawn, and then roll, opening your eyes to see another body beside you that isn’t Shanks. A blush floods your face when you realize that Mihawk is there, his magma-like body pressed close to your own. 

You latch onto him, arms coming up to wind around his neck as you bury your face in his neck. Mihawk tightens his grip on you, kissing your brow as you sniffle into his chest and ramble about how much you missed him. He glances up and catches Shanks watching, a fond, though possessive look in his dark eyes. 

“Thank you for looking after her,” Mihawk whispers once you’ve quieted down. It pains him to admit it, but you would have been so much worse off if Shanks had never shown up.  

“Don’t thank me for something I wanted to do, Baby,” Shanks says and pulls at Mihawk from where his hand still rests on his side. The older man looks exhausted, and Shanks knows that the warlord pushed himself since the phone call, “Sleep, Mihawk. I’ve got you.”   

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax

[angelismmm]

heylo can i req a sub cyno (OR ANYONE) x dom reader pls 👀

he’s feeling a lil frustrated and pent up and reader asks what’s wrong but he’s kinda avoiding it :( but then reader keeps teasing him and he ends up begging for more ;)

(he whimpers)

☆ 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. ft, cyno

・sypnosis. he's so frustrated, he just needs someone to kiss it better for him.

・notes. this took so long LMAO, i wanted to see if i could still write more or better than what i had originally planned, and i did write way better than expected so, finishing up old as fuck asks/requests in my drafts i planned to do months ago, so sorry about that lol

・warnings. nsfw utc, sub!cyno, gn!dom!reader, strap/dick mentioned for reader, overstimulation, edging (kinda)

⟢ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐂𝐘𝐍𝐎, can you kiss it better for him? (yes)

・your boyfriend, cyno, was very busy, many piles of paperwork awaited him, even while he was at home he couldn't rest, but it's not like he could just ignore work, he couldn't just rest, not yet, he loved the idea of finally cuddling in bed with you, but work did not seem to lighten, no matter how much work was being done, there always seemed like commissions, or missions in general were constantly being given out, and it's only a matter of time 'till he's too tired to even stand up. you were worried for him obviously, as his partner, obviously you missed him, his presence, his scent, anything really, but most of all you were worried about his wellbeing, is he really okay with that much work? he always mentions he doesn't need help, but the eyebags underneath his orbs said otherwise, poor guy hasn't even gotten sleep.

・you wanted to change that, you wanted to help him release stress, but he was stuck inside his office the whole time, and he'll probably tell you i'm too busy, again, but you could tell he was starting to get needy too. it was only a matter of time 'till he broke. holding all of that in must require a lot of hope and belief, he looked incredibly miserable, and it didn't seem like the bulge in his pants was helping either, his hand grazing over it from time to time, archons he didn't you so bad right now, well, a break doesn't sound that bad.

・him walking out of his office finally looking like he's decided to take a break, or that he's finished, and finally has time for you. but when you tried to hug him like usual, he pushed you away, "something wrong? did i do something?" you asked, "p-please.. y-you're teasing me a-aren't you.." he whimpered out, looking up to you with hunger in his eyes. "what do you mean, love? all i'm doing is trying to hug you, it's been so long since we've been this close to each other." acting clueless, well if he wants you that bad, he has go to tell you himself, that he wants to be fucked bad, be fucked so bad like he's nothing but a cheap whore, "y-you know what i mean, please?" he asks, "please, pleasepleaseplease... 'm so needy tonight, i just need y-you bad" he mewls out, leaning you toward the bed

・"tell me how bad you need me." you asked, holding his chin in your grip, to make him face yours, "i want y' s-so bad, p-please fuck me?"

・the situation you both were in started something like, slowly taking off cyno's shorts, his boxers, whatever he had on 'till he was naked, swelling cock, pretty red tip, begging to be touched, cyno looked like all shades of red right now, trying to hold in his whimpers as you kept slowly caressing his dick, slowly stroking it, small mewls came out his mouth, "s-stop teasing.." he whimpered, breath hitched, red tip oozed with precum, your pace slowly increasing, "oh baby, i'll take all the time i need okay? trust me okay?" you whispered in his ear, leaning in to give him a kiss. hovering your hand over him even faster, his brow knit together, "h-haah! wan' y-you s' bad pleasef— i c-can't.." as he breaks the kiss apart, moaning louder than ever before

・"you're already so close? my, we've just begun." the message sent shivers down his spine, "faster. p-please." he asked, his hand on yours, trying to increase the speed of your hand on his member. he whimpered as you slowly took your clothes off, revealing your body, in front of him, he felt like he wasn't worth it, wasn't worth seeing your precious body, getting treated like a princess after ignoring you for so long. "archons— i-i'm cumming p-please!" he screamed out, your palm being painted white.

・that's why you both are in the situation you are in right now! cyno, relentlessly getting fucked hard, from behind, you stood (or kneeled i guess), as he took all of you in, as you pumped his pretty cock, while your cock/strap is up his ass, his tip sticky with cum, the dazed expression he has was enough to tell he's been with you for very long. a drooling mess, it was so easy to go in and out of his hole from all the cum that had been in since the last rounds, your skillful hands had worked its way down his cock, and up. hole filled with cum, finally seeping out. falling to the bed, you turned him on his back, "i know you can take one more, right babe?" you asked, as his cock sunk into your hole. "mmf—! i.. i can." he answers, oh lord is he in for a night till sunrise.

[lorelune]

(soft, light angst, kaveh overworking)

“you need to rest.”

you drape yourself over kaveh’s shoulders and press your cheek against his neck. blow a shock of a cold air over his collars bone and he shivers with it.

“once this draft is complete.” kaveh can’t hide the withered tone from his voice. his bravado has always been weak, laced with a mix of perpetual fatigue and insecurity that’s terribly easy to pick out. even easier for you to hear and see with the intimacy that you manage to share with him.

you hum, unconvinced. you hand slides over his sides to his chest, and cross to settle over his ribs, “you can finish later.”

“my deadline—“ kaveh begins to speak and you cut him off with a gentle pinch to his side.

he squeaks, something high and cute. his quill drops to the desk. there’s a shake in his hands, and a strain you can see pulling at his dominant hand. you frown and nip at his neck.

“isn’t for a few days. besides, i’ll reason with the client if you need an extension.” you assure him (that you’ll be there to help him, unwaveringly, even if he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.)

“you need to take care of yourself to do your best work. i’ll help you.”

you already have onions and garlic sliced for a meal.

kaveh sighs, fidgeting. uncomfortable. “i don’t need you to coddle me.”

“i’m well-aware of that.” you placate him. “reminders don’t hurt, do they?”

“when you speak to me as if i’m not aware of my own overworking, they do.” kaveh’s voice goes sharp. “i’m perfectly self-sufficient and don’t need you to hover when i’m attempting to work.”

kaveh gets harsher with this words, the more vulnerable he feels. you know the rhythm of it well and your frustration with it varies, depending on the day. today, you understand. he can be as barbed as you want, and you will not allow it to hurt you.

“i don’t mean to hover.” you tell him, dragging your lips up to his cheek and kiss the words against the soft skin there. “i just worry.”

“well, you don’t need to.”

“… you saying that won’t stop me from doing so.” you squeeze him. “at least step away to eat something. i’ll make that ginger tea you like— i have candied lemons too.”

kaveh chews his cheek. appealing to his stomach, and is love of sweets, is perhaps a bit dastardly, but you forgive yourself. when kaveh’s warm and fed and has slept more than a cumulative six hours, you can muse on better ways to goad him into accepting a break.

“in a few minutes. if i can finish this sketch, i can start doing conversions—“ he rattles off the steps of his process, winding and complex, entirely his. genius burns a candle fast and low, and kaveh has always been a prodigy.

“fine. then let me sit with you.”

kaveh concedes to that much. a victory, however pyrrhic.

you slip to the ground near his feet and rest your back against the legs of his chair. you smother your face into his leg, and his hand instantly presses over the top of your head. kaveh mindlessly plays with your hair as he continues working. easily absorbed back into his work, chasing whatever inspiration and subsequent design that he’s crafted. kaveh has grand visions and the skills and talent to actualize them. his biggest enemy is his own festering self-deprecation.

you don’t blame him. you never could.

kaveh mumbles to himself, stroking over your forehead, and worrying the little wrinkle between your brows. you know he’ll take more than a few minutes before remembering you’re at his feet, patiently waiting for him to relent just enough that you’re able to shove him full of whatever care you can. you like to imagine you’re whittling away at him through keeping his belly full and his bed warm. he enjoys having you on his arm— you know this well. he likes you. (he just hates himself, and there’s nothing you can do about it.)

you don’t dwell on it. you’ll give him what he takes and prod him until he takes more. you take his hand by the wrist and drag it to your lips, pressing kiss after kiss to his fingers tips.

when he shudders with it, tenses all through his body, you feel nothing but smitten.

[softguarnere]

hi! i really love your writings!

i was wondering if you could make some headcannons for the easy boys breaking down and turning to the reader for comfort after a super hard week.

if you don’t wanna do this one/can’t think of anything, it’s totally fine!

i hope you’re doing well!

This has been sitting in my drafts forever now. I was worried about too many of them being too similar, so I didn't get to everybody. But here are the ones that I had the strongest feelings about:

Dick Winters: Okay, so I feel like maybe Winters doesn't quite reach a breaking point. You can tell that he's stressed and that he's going through a lot, so you let him know that you're here if he needs someone to talk to. It's actually kind of a shock when he comes to you, asking if you have a moment. Really, he just needs to unload, to have someone listen to him. It would be such a relief for him to know he can do that with you, and for you to know that he trusts you enough to confide in you.

Lewis Nixon: Nixon tends to go a different way. When he's stressed or upset, he kind of shuts down, becoming somewhat emotionally unavailable. He knows that he can - and that he should - go to you, but he's worried about how you'll react. When he does turn to you, when you listen to him, comfort him through what he's going through, he feels ten times lighter and ready to take on the world with you by his side.

Ronald Speirs: The rest of the company would probably be shocked if they knew how easily Speirs comes to you. It starts with him resting his head against your shoulder once you're alone together, and then sighing when you run a hand through his hair. He trusts you and knows he's safe, and then confides everything in you. There's not much that can be done to fix the week he's had, but if you just hold him like this, it'll give him the strength to pick himself up and give it another shot.

Carwood Lipton: He's so busy taking care of everyone, but who takes care of him? He's not really one for showing when he's at his limit, so when he comes to you, you know that he's reached a breaking point. Just let him talk it out. Maybe you both come up with a solution for where to go from here. Maybe you don't. He's just thankful for your company as he goes through this.

Babe Heffron: You know in Bastogne, how after Julian's death Babe just sort of . . . shuts down for a bit? That would be him after this week. He's stressed and doesn't really know how to process whatever is going on. When he comes to you, he's probably quiet and careful. But as soon as you see something is wrong, you take his hand, and he feels like he's able to tell you anything.

Eugene Roe: He feels guilty coming to you, because he doesn't want to feel like he's forcing his problems onto you. Once he starts sharing what's wrong, though, it's hard to stop; he didn't realize how much all of this was weighing on him. And when he's done talking, when you hold him and promise him that you'll always be there for him and will help him through it, he's glad that he spoke up.

Bill Guarnere: This boy is gonna hold it all in until he can't anymore - and when he finally breaks, it probably isn't going to be pretty. He doesn't know how to tell you what's wrong, but he decides to try. Some things can't always be fixed; sometimes you just need someone to listen to you. And knowing that he can confide in you makes all the difference to him, even if that's all you can do to help. Now he doesn't have to push himself to the limit anymore, and that makes all the difference.

Joe Liebgott: Listen, I think Joe is better with emotions than we tend to give him credit for. If he's bottling them up throughout the week, it's just because he doesn't want to worry you too much - after all, he loves you, and he doesn't want to feel like he's being a burden. When he finally does turn to you for help, he feels bad the entire time he's explaining his emotions to you. He's going to have to learn that he can open up to you, and this is his first time realizing that he can come to you when he needs to.

David Webster: Either bottles up his emotions until he feels like he's going to explode, or he comes to you the second he feels like he needs to talk things through - there's no in between. This may comes as a surprise, but Webster is a great listener, and if you give him advice or comfort for whatever he's going through, he's going to take it to heart. And he'll always remember how you were there for him.

Thank you for the request, Anon, and I hope you like these! 💕🕊️

[drewsbuzzcut]

The Touch Of A Hand Lit The Fuse

Jeremy Swayman x Lyla Blair

A ‘The Masterminds’ blurb

warnings: mentions dying and that should be it

takes place: February 2024

“You know, I tried to get tickets to your concert, but they sold out before I could even press ‘purchase’,” a voice comes up behind Lyla.

She turns around only to be pleasantly surprised to see The Bruins goalie her team drafted, Jeremy. Her eyes flit between his nice beard and his even prettier eyes. She’s glad she’ll get the chance to finally talk to him after all the eye contact they were sharing earlier. Lyla can still feel the electrical current flowing through her veins after the handshake they shared when he was drafted.

“Well, if you’re still up for going, I can place you backstage or on the side stage. Whatever works for you,” Lyla muses, tilting her head to the side and batting her eyes at him.

“Seriously?” Jeremy perks up, eyes excited and cheeks flushing red. He wasn’t expecting the offer, but he is thrilled by it.

“Oh yeah. I saw that TikTok you did with your teammates, so how could I not have a dedicated fan at one of my shows,” Lyla teases and gets a cute smile out of him.

“Aw man. My reputation precedes me. I’m kind of embarrassed you saw that,” he admits, eyes cast low and fingers scratching at the back of his neck.

“I think it’s hot, you, knowing the words to my songs and willingly going along with the video,” Lyla says, earning that saccharine laugh from Jeremy.

“How could I not know the words? Your voice is the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he flirts, leaning down closer to her ear to make sure she hears his words.

Lyla feels her heart stutter, the red flush blooming on her cheeks the same way it was on him. She bites down on her lip to stop her smile, but a laugh bubbles up and brings out her smile even more. Jeremy thinks if he’d die right now, he’d be content with that. The way her lips curve when she’s trying to fight her smile makes him want to kiss her. He needs to know what her lips feel like.

“He’s handsome and he’s not afraid to support a woman. You make it tough not to be attracted to you,” Lyla flirts back, intensely looking up into his eyes.

Jeremy swears his heart starts to do somersaults. He feels the urge to just run and scream at the top of his lungs, because this gorgeous girl thinks he’s attractive. She’s talking to him and being flirty, and Jeremy is sure his cheeks are on fire.

“I’m a gentleman, too,” he says cooly.

“Oh are you?”

Instead of responding, he walks ahead of her, turning back and offering his hand out to her to help her walk off the ice. He honestly didn’t want her to slip being that she’s wearing heels, but it just so happened to coincide with what he told her.

Lyla, whose heart is racing, feels that electric shock in her palm once again. She wonders if he feels it too. He does.

“Thank you, Jeremy. I-“ Lyla gets interrupted by her publicist.

“Ly, we need you to do a photo op with Nathan,” she speaks quickly, pulling Lyla away from Jeremy before she can mutter a goodbye.

Disappointment is an understatement. Jeremy feels her absence so thoroughly, her warmth still sits in the palm of his hand. Now he has to watch her laugh and pose for pictures with other hockey players.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t mean to just leave. My publicist just wanted me to get that done before they leave,” Lyla explains, setting her free hand on Jeremy’s bicep.

Her touch snaps him out of his daze. His eyes peer down to where her hand rests on him and the butterflies return. Giddiness settles in his features.

“Don’t worry about it. If I were them, I’d want a picture with you, too,” he says with earnest.

“I feel special,” Lyla jokes, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

“So, I will take you up on that offer for the side stage view at your concert, if you come to our game next week against Calgary,” Jeremy offers.

“Deal,” she agrees easily, a never ending smile shining bright at him.

“And I think we need to get you a bruins jersey instead of that one,” Jeremy points to the Colorado Avalanche jersey in her hand.

“Only if it has your last name on the back,” Lyla adds in her only condition.

Jeremy nods his head, looking down to hide his smile. He can get used to being around her.

a/n: First actual part of The Masterminds! I truly cherish Lyla and Jeremy so much, and all of you who contributed to this au.

[bellaxgiornata]

Do you have any tips for fast and efficient writing? I’m always impressed with how quickly and consistently you seem to churn out good quality chapters. Occasionally, I get “in the zone” and manage to really stay on top of my updates, but other times, it feels like pulling teeth. I worry that I sometimes sacrifice quality just to be able to put out an update. I want to stay consist for my readers, but that requires about 4000 to 5000 words a week, which is tough for me on top of a full time job! Any suggestions?

Oh, this is a good question! And thank you, I'm glad to hear you think my stories are consistent and of good quality! I will say that what works for me probably isn't always going to work for others, and I'm also aware that I'm in a unique position of being a stay at home mom. So when kids nap, I get free time to write. When my toddler starts preschool next week and the baby naps, if I've finished my adulting chores for the day, I get to write. Usually y'all don't have those opportunities at work--especially not daily. I'll also sometimes write in the evening before bed if I'm really feeling it (though while pregnant I had been too tired to do that for months). Honestly a lot of it depends on how much time you are able to write, and for me, I do actually spend quite a few hours a week writing and editing. Probably a lot more than people realize...

I'll put the rest of my response below the cut though because I know this is going to be long!

The first thing I did that really helped me keep churning out updates was to stop requiring myself to reach a minimum word count for them. I don't write with the pressure of needing to reach a specific amount per chapter, rather I focus on what needs to happen in an update. If the draft seemed a bit short, I'd come back later and edit in more detail or dialogue or another scene or something that fit and it usually filled things a little more without seeming unnecessary. Removing that pressure of reaching a specific word count really helps I think. And 4,000-5,000 words a week with a full time job is honestly a lot to plan out, write, and then edit consistently!

Secondly, I have multiple stories to work on. Now I definitely don't recommend this because then you'll get overwhelmed, but I do often hit a block in a fic sometimes and instead of just writing something I don't like and posting it or completely stepping away and not writing, I write something else. It keeps me in the habit of doing it so that I don't just suddenly stop. But obviously, I can't consistently update the same fics over and over, I tend to jump around. I think what might be better is maybe taking a step away and working on a one shot or something if you're struggling with a scene or a chapter. For me, sometimes what I need to write in a story is not what I'm feeling at the moment--angst, fluff, smut, whatever--and so I go write something I am feeling instead. Usually that helps unblock what's in my head, especially if I want to write smut for example, but the characters in the story I'm writing cannot realistically have me throw that in at that point.

Lastly, I think taking the pressure off of yourself to update on a schedule might be helpful. I know, it's hard to not update regularly and you might feel like you're disappointing readers, but we aren't getting paid for this. If you start pressuring yourself, you're going to burn yourself out and fanfic won't be fun anymore. It'll feel like work. And who wants to spend their free time working with no pay? So if you can get a nice long chapter up every week for a bit, but then suddenly you're struggling and it takes a few weeks for an update? That's okay. Your readers will still be here. And new ones will always appear if some have moved on.

Honestly I think as writers we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to consistently post, but it's not realistic. Like I said, I'm in a unique position of often finding moments to write because of what I do for work. That's not the norm for everyone. I struggle to update fics sometimes myself, which is why you might see some stories go months without an update, but I just update other things in the meantime. But if I only had one story, you'd definitely see me having weeks where nothing comes out because the words for that just aren't coming or they're not coming out right.

Hopefully some of this helped at all! But really, I think removing the pressure of writing is the biggest issue to tackle. Whether its your posting schedule or your word count, the pressure really gets to you. Especially if you're reaching the day you might usually post and you don't have something you feel is ready, then maybe you start to stress or panic and are rushing to get something done. That's just not fun though! Fanfic should be fun!

[spoocys-glade-of-dreams]

Rayman Ship Posting: Canon Rayman Edition

I thought about releasing a very special edition of Rayman Head Canons for Valentines Day.

Before we begin, a little message: When I first started out on this blog, I was nervous about bringing my shipping ideas public. I have a habit of doing a bit of it whenever I have a new fandom fixation.

"Rayman Ship Posting" is head canons around the cast's view on romance.

Since this blog has been converted into an ask blog, if you want to send ship themed asks or starters. You can.

Most of these posts are general information not directed at a specific ship. Exceptions will be tagged with specific ship tags. It's also featuring the Canonical characters since I had these written out and stored in my drafts before Captain Laserhawk a Blood Dragon Remix launched. I'll do CLH specific Ship posting later.

Let's Begin! This is quite long, so it'll be with a keep reading cut here for easier navigation.

He’s the guy that will love chatting with you. He wants to learn everything he can about you! Your interests, your hobbies, your favorite activities, even your favorite food. He’s going to make this about you, not him. He really doesn’t care for boasting or bragging about himself.

If you are handicapped, Rayman will do his absolute best to make sure your needs are taken care of. Rayman is well versed in sign language, so he can communicate and understand you if his partner is deaf and/or mute.

Rayman is a loving dude that gushes over his partners and adores physical affection like hugs, kisses, and he is a MASSIVE cuddle-bug. He will literally cling to you if you let him hug you. He is full of love and he’s going to share that with you.

One of his favorite ways of bonding is that he’ll rest his head on your chest and just listen to the sound of your heartbeat. He also really likes pampering your hair needs. He will brush it, braid it, help you with adornments.

Rayman is incredibly compassionate and will worry about his friends, family, and his partner frequently. If he knows you are sad he will grab his ukulele, sit with his back pressed against yours, and he’ll start to play a few songs and will sometimes sing along to it if he knows it will make you feel better. He is also always willing to talk if you need to. He will listen. If you need him to do anything for you, he’ll gladly do it if will make you happy or will cheer you up. If it's revealed that he was the cause of your distress, he gets flustered about it. He'll work hard to earn your forgiveness. He’ll do his best to make it up to you somehow.

Rayman is a massive foodie, but his guilty pleasure is milk chocolate. If you get him a box of chocolates, it means the world to him. He will get starry-eyed, gasp and shout “I LOVE YOU!” in delight. If you go about gifting chocolate to Rayman, please keep it simple. Whatever you do, don’t go invest in some kind of expensive chocolate masterpiece. Dude will become conflicted because he wants to eat it but it’s too beautiful to eat. He ends up crying because he can’t do it and that ruins his day.

Rayman really likes flowers and these tend to be the gift of choice he gives you. He will make you flower crowns, he will go and hand pick a bouquet of them for you. Sometimes he has a habit of just picking wildflowers near his person while you lay near him and he’ll just decorate your hair with them absent-mindedly. He also loves when you give HIM flower crowns or stick a flower in his hair.

Rayman loves to dance and will try to include you on them. While he’s more fond of upbeat tunes or even rock and roll, he’s not immune to offering you a slow dance.

Rayman’s not very fond of doing household chores but it doesn’t normally stop him from doing them. If something is going on with you or you simply don’t feel well, he will cover the chores that you would normally handle with no questions asked on top of his own daily chores. He doesn’t enjoy it, but he’ll still do them. He never causes a fuss over it either, he just dramatically collapses on the sofa or bed in an attempt at playful teasing. He has had some times where he will let chores pile up. Give him a reminder to take care of it. Sometimes he just needs a bit of motivation. He may even turn the daily chores into a game so it'll motivate him to get stuff done.

Rayman adores children. He gushes about his little nieces and nephews at the Globox household frequently. Loves to entertain them and loves to play with them. He wants a partner that has that same love for children. He wants to have one or two of his own one day, but he would like to see the day where he doesn’t have to constantly worry about his home being under attack before he decides to settle down and maybe try to start a family of his own. He is on board with adoptions and would prefer this route when it came to having kids. He wants to give kids who had it rough a chance at a better life.

Despite the overall carefree nature, the silliness, sometimes smug or sassy nature he can depict at times, Rayman has had a very traumatic past. He has been through a lot and he needs someone that can support the emotional baggage here so to speak. He tends to keep this to himself, but once you have earned his trust, he will open up to what he's dealt with in the past and how it's effected him.

Rayman sometimes suffers flashbacks to certain traumatic events he faced in his life; the biggest being the events during the robot pirate invasion. These flashbacks do not last long and he’s normally quick to recover from them, though they will leave him rattled and sometimes he will start shaking, sweating, and panting for a short time.

He is prone to suffering night terrors where he will wake up in very visible distress. While he’s not a screamer, he does wake up shaking and sweating. They can get to be so bad he will have to call you up. Sometimes he will ask if either he can come over to spend the night, or ask if you can come instead.

He also gets a bit claustrophobic in tight cramped spaces due the imprisonment he faced during the pirate invasion, as well as the imprisonment he endured from the rabbids.

He really does need the emotional support and cherishes when you try to help him through. If you are able to stick by him and continue to support him, you might just be “the one” in his eyes. He will return the favor with the support tenfold. If you ever need him, at any hour of the day, he will be there. He will come over if you ask him to, and he’s always within reach of a mobile phone. You can call him at any hour of the day if you need his support or comfort.

[topazadine]

"I Can Think of Ideas But Can't Write Them!"

Estimated Reading Time: 13 Minutes

Irrelevant hyperspecific Cleveland Ohio meme (it came up on my files when I searched for "think" so now you're stuck with it too)

Anyway, I see some iteration of this sentiment on the reg, both here and on other social media.

"I have this awesome idea about XYZ, but when I sit down to do it, I find it impossible to do anything. How do I get started?"

Great question and exceptionally valid; I think a lot of us have dealt with this at some point or another. So let's go through why you might have this happen to you and what you can do about it.

Perma-reminder that this is just my opinion and you are free to disagree, to think I am stupid, whatever. Take what you like and leave the rest.

Reasons why you might feel that you have great ideas but can't execute them

Writing, like many other activities, is just as much about your mindset as it is about your practice and your skills.

We can either psych ourselves into writing some amazing, lifechanging work ... or we can convince ourselves that we shouldn't even bother.

So how does our mindset play into our writing abilities? Here's some possible answers.

You've thought about it too much.

In essence, you've worked through the plot points so many times and refined them in your head to the point that you fear putting it on the page because you're certain that it won't match the beautiful vision you've daydreamed.

I have no evidence for this other than my own intuition, but I think this might happen more to people who are a 4 or 5 on the Vividness of Visual Imagery scale. I'm only a 3 so I don't have this problem quite as much. People with a 1 or 2 VVIQ score might have this problem even less, but don't quote me.

You are trying to envision the entire thing at once without outlining.

Most writers, including yours truly, cannot contain an entire story in our heads without any notes whatsoever.

For some reason, though, some newer writers are incredibly averse to outlining; they want the entire thing to spring forth from their heads whole cloth. Not everyone, of course, but enough people that I have noticed a trend.

I suspect this might be due to some academic trauma from being forced to outline every little thing in school and then being judged on that outline. But no one's judging or grading you anymore; your outline is just for you. Don't worry about it being perfect. It just needs to exist.

There are too many moving parts and you feel overwhelmed.

I encourage writers who are just getting started to focus on a simpler story to begin with. You can write your epic 120k thriller later; the idea is not going anywhere. It will always be there, waiting for you to be ready.

You feel that the project, in its current iteration, is beyond your capabilities.

And it very well might be, but you shouldn't let that stop you. Something existing in its rawest form is better than it not existing at all. There's always time and time more still to fix it as you grow in your capabilities.

You are a perfectionist.

This goes with the above point but also extends to other problems with writing, including being reluctant to revise and nitpicking your work as you go along.

Perfectionists often experience so much anxiety about the idea of not doing their best that they procrastinate or refuse to do something at all because they don't think they can do it perfectly in one go. Many "lazy" people are actually terrified of failure so they don't put in any effort.

It's something you need to work on as a writer, because there is no such thing as a publishable, literary-classic-quality first draft. A perfect first draft is one that exists.

You've got Imposter Syndrome.

Then we've got those who don't have an accurate assessment of their abilities and it holds them back. Imposter Syndrome often goes hand-in-hand with perfectionism; you feel like you're not as good as the writers you like, so you don't bother trying to reach their level.

Imposter Syndrome is the epitome of "comparison is the thief of joy." I have a lot of writers who I know are better than me; my favorite writers have lifted the bar so high that few will ever surpass them. I doubt I will ever get to their heights of success and eloquence.

But I do not let this stop me because I know that once upon a time, they were exactly where I am. Well, maybe not exactly where I am in Cleveland, lurking in the depths of Lake Erie. Skills-wise, though? They've all been here too.

You're thinking too far ahead.

I mentioned this in my post about how to write faster: writing has stages that must be put together one at a time. Every writer has different stages and does them different ways, but the average writer is not plotting, outlining, drafting, revising, publishing, and marketing at the very same time. It's just too much all at once.

When writing, don't think about everything else. Don't think about whether it will sell, or how long it will take to revise, or how to query, or any of that. All you need to think about is plot -> outline -> draft, in that order. And then you'll be okay.

How to Get Idea on Paper Now

Relax.

Yes, really. The first step is to relax. Take a deep breath. Tell all your anxieties about whether you'll ever get published, or whether you can do this, or whether you're even capable of writing, to shut the fuck up.

When you get those anxious thoughts, tell them that they are not helpful and they are not serving you. Practice mindfulness, such as by reciting a mantra to yourself until the thoughts give up. Outlast them out of spite.

Ask yourself what is scaring you so much.

Again, much of your struggles with writing likely come from your fears about the outcome rather than genuinely not being sure how to proceed.

You came up with this awesome idea, and you have probably played it in your head over and over again for days, weeks, months, years, but now find it impossible to get started. That tells me that you do have a story in you, but there's a blockage somewhere from brain to fingers.

So, gently question yourself about this and remember these key answers to your concerns.

Are you afraid of failing? If so, you have to ask what failing actually means in terms of writing. That you won't live up to your own expectations? Most of us won't, at least at first. And that's okay. You're trying, and that's what matters most. Are you afraid people will laugh at your work? Well, there are a lot of shit people in the world who love to tear others down. That says more about them than it does about you. Are you afraid you'll waste time on this project that will go nowhere? No writing is wasted. It's all practice. Are you worried you'll never get published? You're getting ahead of yourself. Nothing gets published if it's never written. Are you afraid that you're not going to do your work justice? You probably won't at first. And that's okay! Writing is wonderful because you get to keep picking at it until it is perfect. Unlike other crafts, such as knitting or embroidery or woodworking or painting, you don't get just one shot. You get as many shots as you want.

Release your perfectionist tendencies.

I know, this is easier said than done.

Perfectionism is not very helpful as a writer because either you never put anything down because you're afraid it sucks, or you peck so long at your completed draft that you never finish it. At some point, you need to just say "fuck it" and be done with the damn thing.

Could I peck and poke and prod at my drafts forever? Sure. I see things I could fix in all my works, even the published ones. I'd drive myself crazy if I continually reread my work with an editor's eye.

So, I like to see my work as kind of like Impressionist art.

Taken together, it makes a beautiful whole, but some asshole could go and complain about every little paint smear and how it doesn't exactly match the vision. And that person is dumb. And I don't want to be that person to myself, or to you.

When you've gotten to the point where you are utterly sick of your finished product and you'd rather stab yourself in the face than look at it again, then you are done. Go, my friend. Be free.

Stop reading authors you admire.

... For now! Not forever. Just give them a break for now, especially if you are dealing with Imposter Syndrome.

When you're struggling to get your idea finished, it's very easy to demotivate yourself by looking at authors you love and comparing yourself to them. But these authors have advantages you do not (at the moment).

They've been writing for years.

They may have professional training, like an MA in Creative Writing, or even teach this for work (like Anthony Doerr, one of my faves).

They have a team of professional editors who fix all their dumb mistakes and guide them through the revision process.

You are seeing the completed project, which has been looked over dozens of times, and not seeing the effort it took to get there. Their drafts may have been even shittier than yours, but you don't get to see that in most instances. So put them aside and promise to return to them later.

You should still read stuff, of course. But I recommend reading authors you don't like (yes, you can learn from them as well). Beta read for other people who are at your same level. Not only will you see that you're doing just fine, but you'll also get to learn from their mistakes.

Plus, I hate to sound mean, but yeah, it can be an ego boost.

That's why I don't read books by my moots until I'm in the Percolating or Revising stage, because I know their books are wonderful and will make me feel a lil sad about my own skills. I hate-read instead.

Remember that you can revise as many times as necessary

The way we teach writing, at least in the United States, is utterly antithetical to making great habits; specifically, I'm thinking about timed essays like the ACT. I got a 36 on the writing section of my ACT but I was still sweating bullets the whole fucking time because I would essentially be penalized for taking it slow and thinking things through.

You need to unlearn this habit. If you are writing for pleasure or self-publishing, there are no deadlines. You don't have a due date. You don't need to turn anything in. No one is checking over your shoulder, dinging you for not having a flawless essay done in 1 hour or less.

One of the best books to reassure anxious writers is More About How to Write a Million, specifically the revision section. The work is a bit dated now but the examples remain timeless, showing exactly how much work professional authors do to get from a sorta-shitty first draft to something beautiful. No draft starts out as a perfect angel. They're all a little ugly.

Writing takes as long as it needs to. Revisions are done as necessary. Revise, and revise, and revise again. It doesn't have to be perfect in one go.

Do it Bird by Bird

I love this phrase by Anne Lamott and use it all the time for everything. There's plenty of other adages that are similar, like "the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step."

One thing at a time. Split the whole process into chunks. When you try to think of everything all at once, you get overwhelmed and demotivated.

This was my order when I wrote the first story for The Eirenic Verses, which is now actually the sixth book in the series (love how that works for me).

Create a concept. High Poetry.

Refine the concept. High Poetry can be used for warfare, healing, etc, and was given to Breme by the goddess Poesy.

Create a main character. Cerie Korviridi, a High Poet. All I knew about her personality at first was that she is kind of a bitch, but she slowly grew into much more as I continued to write her.

Create a world. Breme, which has High Poetry but is impoverished, and Sina, which does not have High Poetry but is technologically advanced.

Create other characters to populate the world. Haniya, Uileac, Orrinir, Mordrek, Ono, and background characters as necessary. They are all connected to Cerie in different ways and have different relationships with her.

Create a plot. Cerie must use her High Poetry to end the war between Breme and Sina.

Develop the outline. Using the Plot Mountain method I have mentioned before.

Cut the outline down to the basics. Using the Double Outline method I will explain in a minute.

Develop the sections. I write by scene rather than chapter, as I mentioned in another post.

Write the intro. The first chapter went through a lot of revisions, I will admit.

Write the climax. To know what I am building up to.

Write the ending. To know where I'm ending up.

Write the subclimaxes. Other scenes of tension and intensity.

Write the downtimes. Places for exposition and discussion.

Percolate. I let it sit for a while while I went to outline and write other parts of the series.

Revise. Self-explanatory!

Percolate and Revise again.

Say "fuck it" and be done. And now it is glaring at me from my MS pile, waiting for its turn.

Write the blurb and marketing materials. Those are sitting in storage.

Rinse and repeat. Now that I am writing in an established universe, I don't need to do steps 1 through 5.

If I think about this all at once, I'd probably go "TWENTY WHOLE FUCKING STEPS? WITH SUBSTEPS?? I'm going to drown myself" and not do anything.

So, instead, I went "Okay, I have an idea. Now I will refine the idea. Now I will impose the idea on a hapless victim. And now I'll throw her into a world. And now ...."

You get the point.

Try the Double Outline Method

The Double Outline Method was invented by me for people like you (and me). People who want to capture every single possible detail before they get started writing, but then find themselves losing all motivation because they've basically done the whole thing in outline form.

With this method, you can cram every last plot twist and thought and theme and whatever into your outline ... and then let it go and use a much simpler outline to actually work.

This way, you can give your Bordie Collie brain its little treat and set it to the real work: herding all your thought-sheep into order.

Now, I have some tips to help you actually get the damn thing done once you have tackled your insecurities. I'm wishing you the best of luck, my friend!

I've created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

The posts I write can sometimes take me hours - they're always intricate, always thoughtful. This one took me about 2 hours to write.

I do this as a labor of love for the writing community, sharing what I have learned from almost 15 years of creative writing.

However, if you'd like to support me, maybe you'll consider buying my book?

At $0.99, that's about 7 cents for each minute you spent reading this post.

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

However, there's a problem: Orrinir Relickim, a rough and tough fellow pupil who just can't seem to leave Uileac alone.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution. If you loved it, be sure to preorder Pride Before a Fall, arriving January 1, 2025!

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

[livelaughwhump]

Masterlist

Yes! I love this idea! Sorry I couldn't answer the ask directly. After I saved it to my drafts, it wouldn't let me edit it again. @rosekins621

Content: mentioned past trauma, mentioned past captivity, regression, self-deprecation, self-hatred, former pet whumpee

-

Elliot stared blankly out the window as the world rushed by in a blur. The storage truck behind the van lurched over a pothole and Elliot cringed at the sound. He wondered if any of the team's belongings would be broken by the time they arrived. Fortunately, Elliot didn't own much, so it didn't really matter to him

"Are you excited, El?" Broderick asked from the driver's seat.

Elliot shrugged. Truthfully, he wasn't. He didn't like moving. He'd moved too many times as a kid and the process only served to make him anxious. Moving from foster home to foster home, then back to the children's home. That's what this felt like.

Lyra gently rubbed his shoulder. "It's not your fault we're moving, if that's what you're thinking."

It wasn't, but now that was all he could think about. "Aren't-Aren't we moving because of M-Master?" He asked timidly.

Yvonne shook her head. "No, of course not." Karine cleared her throat and nudged Yvonne, who chuckled awkwardly and said, "I mean...that's part of it, yeah." Elliot sighed and turned back to face the window. "It's just that Christian knows where the old safe house is. Our best chance at evading him is moving far away. Don't worry, though. The new safehouse is gonna be almost exactly like our old one."

Elliot glanced over at her again. "Almost?"

Yvonne pressed her lips into a tight line and flushed. Karine pinched the bridge of her nose. They were clearly hiding something, but Elliot didn't care enough to push the subject.

Lyra, of course, knew the real reason behind his reaction to moving. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, sunshine. The only thing that's changing is our house. We're all still here and we always will be." Elliot nodded, but it was the only reaction he could muster.

The truck came to a sudden stop and Elliot felt his heart sink. This was exactly how it felt whenever he was forced to meet a new family that would inevitably give him up in a few weeks.

Lyra held his hand as the team spilled out of the van and continued to do so as they entered the house. Elliot refused to look at the house as they entered, but he could hear the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the empty walls.

"Elliot? Do you want to pick out your room first?" Karine asked.

Elliot briefly looked up at the hallway of open doors before them. He shook his head.

Landon shrugged. "Guess I'll choose first then."

Karine elbowed him in the ribs and whispered, "You know where you're going, moron."

Landon groaned. "Can't we re-vote? Why do I have to be in the basement?"

Elliot gasped upon hearing that final word and tears instantly sprung to his eyes. "B-Basement?"

Karine smacked Landon upside the head, which made Elliot flinch.

Lyra knelt in front of him and gently held his hands. "Sunshine, it's okay. It's nothing like Christian's basement. It's like a little hang out spot with a bedroom attached. It's fully furnished with a TV and a mini bar."

"But since three of us don't really drink, we'll probably use it as an extra kitchen," Yvonne added

"Speak for yourself," Landon said. "If I'm living in the basement, I'm doing whatever I want with that area."

Karine flicked him. "You need to stop talking," she scolded.

Elliot started crying. "I-I don't w-wanna go b-back in the basement. P-Please, don't l-lock me up. I can be g-good."

"Oh, sunshine. You are good. You're the best, in fact. We're not locking you up, I promise," Lyra assured him. "Why dont we show you so you can see for yourself?"

Elliot's eyes went round.

It's a trick. They're gonna take you down to the basement and put you in chains and leave you there for the rest of your miserable life. You'll never see the sun again after today

Lyra held his hand and gently led him to a door along the opposite wall from the bedrooms. "Look, it's right here. I'm just gonna open the door and show you, okay? I just want you to look. You don't even have to go down." Elliot's breath hitched as they started to turn the doorknob.

They're gonna push you down the stairs and lock the door behind you

Lyra opened the door to reveal a carpeted staircase leading down into darkness.

Look at it, mutt. Look at the darkness. That's where you're going. Down into the endless dark and cold, and you're never coming back up

Elliot started sobbing and instantly dropped to the ground, groveling at Lyra's feet. "No, please! Please, Master, I'll do anything! Please, don't l-leave me in the d-dark. I p-promise I can be a g-good pet. I-I'll sleep on-on the floor or-or even outside if-if I have to. P-Please, a-anything but th-that." Tears began to pool on the floor and his pathetic sobs echoed in the empty house.

"Elliot," Lyra gently said. Elliot Pet flinched and wrapped its arms protectively around its head. "Sunshine, it's okay, really. No one is going to hurt you and you never have to set foot down there if you don't want to, I promise. You're safe."

Pet was quivering uncontrollably. "I'm s-sorry, Master."

Lyra's heart shattered. Karine leaned over to Landon and whispered, "Go get Elliot's things from the truck and start setting up his room."

"What?" Landon whisper-shouted. "Why me?"

"Because this is your fault. I told you not to mention the basement and now he's in his pet headspace again," Karine pointed out. "He doesn't have much. It's just his mattress, his comforter, his bedside table, and his lamp. He needs something comforting and familiar, so go do it or I'll lock the door to the basement and you'll end up sleeping on the couch from now on."

Landon ground his jaw until he looked at the pitiful state that Elliot was in; the way his shoulders shook, the humiliating position he'd willingly put himself in, the tears pooling beneath his head. Landon sighed. "Fine."

As Landon left, Karine quickly ushered Broderick and Yvonne out as well until it was just Lyra and Elliot in the hallway.

"Sunshine? Can you look at me please?" Lyra asked. Pet did as it was told. It lifted its tear-streaked face from the floor and locked eyes with Lyra. Lyra smiled at it. "There's my boy," they said. "Can you tell me your name?"

Pet answered without thinking. "S-Slaves don't h-have names."

Lyra slowly shook their head. "Even if that were true, you're not a slave. Not anymore. I know you know it. What's your name?"

Pet had to think for several long seconds before it figured out the answer Lyra was looking for. Everyone on the team had their own nicknames for him, but there was one thing that they all called him. "E-E-Elliot."

Lyra's smile grew. "Good job," they softly praised. "Now, where are we?"

Pet Elliot glanced around the empty space they were in. "Our-Our new s-safehouse?"

"Exactly, and who am I?"

"L-Lyra."

She nodded. "And have I, Lyra, ever hurt you?" Elliot shook his head. "Would I ever hurt you?" He shook his head again. "So, what do you have to be afraid of?"

Elliot glanced to his right at the—now-closed—basement door, then back to her. "N-Nothing."

Lyra's smile grew again. "Exactly. I won't ever let anything happen to you, Elliot. As long as I'm here, you have nothing to be afraid of." Elliot nodded in understanding. "Can you tell me your name one more time?"

"E-Elliot."

"Very good. And do you feel more like Elliot or more like Pet right now?"

"I-I feel like E-Elliot."

Lyra gently kissed his forehead, a proud smile on her face. "I'm so proud of you, Elliot. How are you feeling now?"

Elliot thought about it, still glancing at the basement door. "I-I feel o-okay. Do-Do you p-promise I-I won't have to go down there?"

"I promise," Lyra said. "Don't think of it as a basement, okay? Just think of it as Landon's room with a downward staircase. Can you do that?" Elliot nodded. "Great. Are you ready to help unload the truck?"

Elliot's gaze wavered. "Can-Can you h-hold me for-for a little while f-first?"

Lyra smiled and opened her arms. "Always." Elliot crawled into her embrace and relaxed. She rocked him back and forth, carding her fingers through his hair.

Elliot couldn't help the smile that began to crawl across his face as he let Lyra hold him. He was still frightened of the basement, but he truly believed that Lyra would never let anything bad happen to him. If she promised him that he wouldn't have to go to the basement, then he believed her.

-

I hope you enjoyed this! This was a lot of fun to write. Unfortunately, this is going to be a non-canon drabble, as the team is not moving (for a very specific reason that I will be happy to explain at some point) but I do consider the end scene of Lyra comforting Elliot to be canon because I like to believe that Elliot slips into his "Pet" headspace every once in a while and Lyra is always there to help him out of it.

If anyone else has any drabble requests, suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, please feel free to send them to me!

Taglist

@l-antre-des-merveilles @pigeonwhumps @nicolepascaline @burningkittypoet @whumpinggrounds @suffering-and-misery @make-them-scream @honeycollectswhump @rabass @whumpdreamz @clairelsonao3 @rosewriteswhump @cepheusgalaxy @pinkraindropsfell @mj-or-say10 @considerablecolors @whatamidoingherehelpme @whumped4whumplover @ladybizarre13 @theaustralianfrog

If anyone wants to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!😊

Or if you only want to be tagged in main chapters

[microwavdhamstr]

too cold

bucky barnes x f!reader

bucky can’t stand the cold, you keep your air conditioner as low as possible.

warnings: hydra, bucky has a nightmare(are we surprised), whatever warnings normally come with bucky

notes: i have some oneshots drafted but i need some more ideas. feel free to share and i’ll see what i can do :)

wc: 1.6k

you run warm. it's one of bucky's favorite things about you. he finds comfort in your radiating heat and will do anything to absorb it. he always finds a way to make physical contact with your skin when he's on edge, knowing the warmth would soothe him.

you run warm, so your house usually runs cold. especially in the summer. you often had the air conditioner set as low as possible, running a fan right next to you at all times.

bucky has been living with you for a few months now and, being late june, everything is hot. the air outside feels thicker than the sweat that cakes your skin. the thought of a warm shower was enough to make you sick. blankets no longer live on your bed, but scattered on the floor.

you run warm, but you hate the heat. you hate feeling like a radiator constantly, always sweating unless you were shivering. you always love the chill of bucky's vibranium arm as it feels like an ice pack. a break from the heat.

bucky previously had no knowledge of your hatred for your temperature. that is until he was met with your heat-induced irritability.

you would set the ac to 50, ready to bundle up with a blanket in the cold air, but it would never quite create the desired environment. it took you a few weeks to learn that bucky was raising the temperature. or turning it off to open a window. at first it wasn't a bother, but a few days of no cool air in the dead of summer was just too much for you.

"doll, there's a nice breeze. let's the cool air in instead of raising your energy bill."

"i don't care about the goddamn breeze, buck, it's too hot. i can't stop sweating and now i'm sticky. i'm so fucking hungry but too warm to eat anything other than ice cubes. i need the air on."

and after some unnecessary yelling from you, he obliged. not happily, he clearly seemed upset about the decision, but he should know by now he can talk to you about his issues. if he's upset, he'll tell you.

except he's not upset. not at all. he loves that you're happy again, he loves that you're taking care of yourself, he loves that you're not cranky anymore. but he's scared. and his fear always drove him away from you until it couldn't anymore.

this time it only took six days.

six days of shivers. six days of caution. six days of looking over his shoulder in the dark. six days of crippling fear.

you should have known there was an issue before he woke you up at two am. looking back now, all the missed signs were giant and neon and blinking right in front of you. yet somehow it went right over your head.

it was a slow start, his decent into madness. he was just slightly more brooding and irritable. slightly quieter. slightly more reserved. and much more touchy.

"hey, jamie, how was your day?" you ask when he gets home.

"hm, fine." he grumbles as he sits on the couch and pulls you into him, like you're his own personal blanket.

by the third day he became jumpy, on edge, defensive if someone got too close too quickly. you thought it was just a quiet nightmare that had him on edge. the ones that didn't wake him up often set him off a little for a few days.

the last three days were meshing in his mind. he was losing sleep, too cold to rest comfortably. of course he made sure you didn't find out, not wanting to worry you or disturb the peace you found in the cold. he was constantly looking over his shoulder, even in the safety of your home. he was barely eating, he was layering clothes or blankets beyond belief. he always needed you on top of him, needing to steal your body heat as if he couldn't produce his own.

so yeah, you probably should've realized something was wrong with him. maybe it was the extra clinginess that threw you off his scent.

his nightmares, while still often, have become less frequent, less intense, and much less emotionally taxing for the super-soldier. and you being there was a huge benefit as you were able to ground him before he got too lost in his own head.

so when you're woken up by the scream and pleads you haven't heard in months, you panic. usually you can tell which part his life he's seeing based off of what he's saying. and right now, he is muttering some of the most upsetting things you'd ever heard fall from his lips. you can tell he's not inflicting pain on others, but receiving it. he's being tortured. he's begging and pleading for the suffering to end.

"nono, please. stop, please. 'can't take an'more. j'st kill me, please, kill me." it's as if someone punched a hole in your chest, ripped out your heart, shredded it before your eyes, and made you swallow it. just imagining what could possibly have happened to him for him to beg for death. for him to want the sweet release so desperately.

you spring into action, the way you have many times before. it's practically muscle memory by now. you take his thrashing frame in your arms and coax him awake.

it takes a moment to pull him out, and another for him to really see you there, but he does. he pulls you in as tight as he can before wrapping the two of you in every blanket he could reach. your skin fills his body with the warmth he needs and the blankets are sure to trap that heat.

you whisper to him sweetly, soothing his mind until his heart rate is steady and he can breathe properly. giving him all the time he needs to just hold you, feel you, believe you're real.

"it's alright, honey," you speak softly, "it's okay, i'm here. they can't hurt you anymore, i'm right here with you."

he just holds you tighter for a moment, needing to collect his thoughts before he speaks.

"you back, baby?"

"cold" was all his dried throat could manage.

"you're cold?" he nods, "want me to turn the air off?" his arms tighten around you once more, until they let you go and he gives another nod.

so you turn the air off, not capable of thinking about your own temperature anymore, and you grab some more blankets for him.

after giving him the blankets, you slide under them and move his head into your chest. he turns and hugs your torso into him further, burying his face into you while you play with his hair.

"better, hun? need more blankets?"

"mm, jus' need you." you plant a small kiss on the top of his head.

" 'm right here, buck, not goin' anywhere." you hold him there while he dozed back off into a, hopefully, dreamless sleep.

as much as you want to know what happened, you know not to pry immediately. he's too sleepy and it's still too fresh in his mind, you can talk about it in the morning like always.

it does upset you to think he had come so far with his nightmares to suddenly be thrown back into one that bad. you couldn't help but theorize all the possible reasons behind it. but in all of your possibilities, the temperature of your house had never occurred to you. you never imagined that would have been what set it off.

——————————————————

you wake up before bucky the following morning in the same position you fell asleep in, which was normal after a nightmare. you continue playing with his hair softly until he wakes.

after a few minutes he begins to stir, not once loosening his grip on you. "mornin' doll." his voice raspy and deeper like it always is in the morning.

"morning baby. feeling better?"

"much, thank you."

"no need to thank me, buck, i'm always here for you."

"yeah, well... thank you anyway."

“so what was it this time?” he figured you’d ask, you always do. and he knows he can tell you, he knows you won’t judge him, he knows you’ll be there for him, supporting him no matter what.

“cryo” he mumbles. that’s when it dawns on you. he was literally too cold. he hates the cold. because it reminds him of his time spent frozen in that stupid lab.

“oh, bucky, hun, i’m so sorry, i should’ve realized, i-”

“no, ‘s alright, doll. i should’ve told you before it got that far.”

“is that why you kept turning the air off?” you know the answer but you just want him to get it off his chest. he nods before he speaks.

“i still feel it sometimes, when it’s too cold. the shocks. and they never took the arm off for cryo so it burned my shoulder when it got too cold. i dunno, it still scares me. like one day i’m gonna wake up and be right back there, thawing out and being thrown into a new mission. or in that stupid fucking chair.” you trace your fingers around his back as you feel him tense at his memories.

“it’s perfectly normal for you to feel this way, buck. i should’ve realized sooner. and i promise you will never wake up to anyone but me ever again. i’ll always be right here, nobody can take you away from me, my love.”

“i love you so much, doll. don’t know what i did to deserve you but i’m glad i did it.”

[fiapartridge]

she ties it for every single game + she tied it for the draft like she's in those little nhl youtube vids where the draftees are getting ready and she's just tying his tie & everyone goes crazy about it in the comment section

can you write a little blurb about this please!!!

i've been neglecting my daisy and will girls im coming back to yall

Will's hotel room was filled to the brim with family members that Daisy had met months prior when she spent Thanksgiving with the Smiths, cameramen recording footage for the NHL YouTube account, and close friends from high school that Will managed to keep in touch with. Everyone that helped him get to this moment was here, and she was so glad that she could experience it. But she could tell it was overwhelming. I mean, everyone pressuring you to look the best while you're scared shitless, only hours away from seeing your future in the NHL? That's crazy.

Grace pulled Daisy aside, away from the hectic-ness that was this whole entire scene. "Will's freaking out," she whispered.

Daisy narrowed her brows. "I told him I would help him with his tie once he comes out of the bathroom?"

"No," Grace shook her head. "Like he's freaking out. He won't come out of the bathroom, he doesn't want to see our parents, he just wants you. Please... get that boy out of there."

Daisy wondered what was happening. Will has never been like this before. He was always so excited with anything relating to hockey. The weeks leading up to draft, all he would talk about was the anticipation of finding out what team's gonna pick him. He seemed so... fine.

But now, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, his hands in his hair, not even looking up when Daisy sat on the toilet cover beside him, gently tugging his hands out of his blonde locks.

"Talk to me," she whispered. "What's happening? You were so excited."

Will gulped, staring at his hands that was now holding onto Daisy's. He didn't notice he was shaking until it finally stopped. "I can't-" He tried breathing, talking, but nothing was coming out. Everything just felt like so much. Too much.

Everything was riding on this one day. What if everyone had just overhyped him and none of the teams actually wanted him? What if all of his friends get drafted and he's the one that gets left behind? What if he disappointed everyone? What if... what if everything he worked towards just wasn't enough?

"It's okay," Daisy smiled. Her hand going under his chin, raising his gaze to meet hers. She whispered so as to not add to all of the chaos just outside that bathroom door. "You don't need to know how you're feeling right now. This is a lot, and I hate to say it, but the rest of your life is going to be a lot," she softly snickered. "But just take it one step at a time, and I'm here... if that helps."

After a couple of moments, Will nodded, standing up slowly. His breathing regulated as he stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself and then looking at Daisy beside him. It's always Daisy beside him. He couldn't be more grateful for that.

Daisy grabbed the red tie off the counter, slipping it around Will's neck. "Let's start here, hm?"

Again, Will nodded, breathing slowly and bending down as Daisy tied the fabric over each other and finished it off by tightening it to fit his neck. Bringing the flaps of his collar down, she smiled at him.

His cheeks were flushed pink, and his hair was slightly mussed, and his pocket square was drowning in the breast pocket, but he looked like him. Will wasn't perfect, nobody is, but this guy wasn't the same one that was faking smiles and doing interviews. This was Daisy's Will.

"Thank you, baby," he whispered, matching her soft tone. Breathing out, he asked, "Step two?"

"Go outside... and see what happens," she grinned, her hand holding his cheek, her tippy toes raised. "And whatever does happen, I'm right beside you, okay?"

Will relaxed against her hand. "Okay."

Upon opening the door, the two were met with worried looks and cameras that made it impossible to feel at ease. But as Daisy's thumb brushed Will's hand, he remembered to breathe and take it one step at a time.

Days after the draft, Will's NHL YouTube video was uploaded, prompting Daisy and his family to watch it together in the living room in his house back in Boston.

Not knowing his mic and the tiny camera attached to his suit was still on, bits and pieces of their conversation in the bathroom could be seen and heard. Daisy and Will's faces turned beet red after hearing his family squeal and Grace cry at how cute the two of them were. Daisy hid her face in Will's chest as he tried to fight off his smile.

He scrolled through the comments a couple days later, not disappointed by the amount of sweet things everyone had to say.

omg i'm crying they're so cute

I NEED A LOVE LIKE THIS OMG

daisy's the ultimate wag fr

HER TYING HIS TIE?!?!? OMG THATS SO CUTE

if i can't have will, i'm happy that daisy can

it physically pains me to know he's not single, but omg this was the cutest thing i've ever seen in my whole entire life

i don't even want will, i want daisy ohmygod

this is love. i cant do this

[imperfectnothing]

is it ok if i can ask for a bit more info on how kay is personality wise ?

since im getting more of a grasp on imu ( i . basically flipped their name ) i do want to see if they’d maybe be close friends with kay ! ( and also im just like generally curious about him . i saw the blood and it made me anxious . . ) ok . i shall run back to my drafts to write more notes for them . love you rock and hope your having a good wednesday ! ( sprints away )

AH yes hello! I love you, too, Apri, and I hope *you* have a wonderful Wednesday! I'll start on Kay's personality but just one note, real quick- the picture with the blood (which i forgot to tag for whoops) is uh, well. That's Kay. As a child. That's his blood. So you don't need to worry about him being violent. He does malfunction occasionally but it rarely, if ever, causes him to be violent.

Kay is kind of goofy because he's a version of myself now combined with myself in middle school. He's far more socially inept than me (which is saying something because I don't think of myself as terribly socially savvy) and he is not as good with boundaries. He can be incredibly awkward and he's not good at approaching people, if someone wants or needs to talk to him, they are going to have to do the legwork on going up to him because he has been burned too many times before when it comes to putting himself out on a limb like that.

He's very similar to my younger self, when I was not as good at masking and not as aware of my "autistic" behaviors like infodumping and assuming people are being literal, more often than not. He's just as impulsive and crass as me but he tries really hard *not* to be, unwilling to accept that part of himself, which is another difference from me, because I've pretty much stopped caring about what people think of me . . . unless they're my friends, of course.

Sometimes, he'll also short-circuit and say something that doesn't make sense or is just incredibly out of pocket, but that's usually a system error causing his voice box to process the unwanted stimulus in a way that it can handle while it's resetting/fixing whatever problem is going on. He will also vocal stim but it's him using his database of different recorded sounds to make weird songs or playing one sound over and over because he really likes it.

I hpoe that this helps gives context and info, in way of Kay's personality!!

(note: his eyes, brain, trachea, and larynx are all artificial because they were irreparably damaged in the accident and had to be replaced. the rest of his body is organic though his heart/lungs are supplemented with technology, as well.)

(also fun fact! his talking voice claim is GlaDOS from Portal which only happened because @tsukacchako and @alien-til-i-stage were trying to convince me to do Siri or Auto from Wall-E as his voice but i caved because him having an obviously artifical voice is very funny to me . . . his singing voice claim is KafU tho)

[wymgreenteam]

https://www.tumblr.com/zeegras/730882872879267840

Can I tempt you with a Nico Hischier Baker!AU ?!?!

source

anon when i tell you i've been losing my mind over these images since yun sent me them yesterday, i mean it wholeheartedly... i had to go unearth the old cooking au i had buried in my drafts because of this new development... it's more of a celebrity chef nico and celebrity NOT chef jack au than a baker nico au specifically, but there is baking in there, i promise!! so no tempting needed haha :)

excerpts under the cut!

“This is a bad idea,” Cole says for the third time.

“Fuck you, this is a fantastic idea!” Trevor points a pinkie at him, the rest of the fingers on his hand preoccupied with holding his beer. “It’s like Worst Cooks In America but for celebrities!”

Jack’s smile drops. “It’s like what?”

“It’s one of the shows Jimmy likes to watch—“

“He’s not even American, Z, what the fuck?”

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, the fact that Jamie’s not American is the problem you have with this concept?”

“But I can cook!” Jack protests. Silence and four flat stares greet him. “I can! Guys, come on!”

“That,” Quinn starts, leaning back in his seat, “Is one thing I think we all can disagree with you on.”

Jack throws a wadded up napkin across the table at him, but it misses when Quinn ducks. Whatever.

————

“I don’t like how this started as cooking lessons but has slowly devolved into me being the fire safety marshal while you try and look at an egg without setting the smoke alarms off,” Nico muses, clearly trying to keep the smile off his face for the sake of Jack’s already fragile pride as he peeks over Jack’s shoulder.

“This is exactly how it was before you showed up… just minus the precautions,” Jack comments, looking forlornly at the egg that’s no more than a smoldering pile of crisp stuck to the bottom of the frying pan. He pokes at it sadly with a spatula, a pout making its way onto his lips. “There’s no hope for me.”

“And I’m beginning to think you might be right about that,” Nico mutters, shaking his head as he rolls up his sleeves. Before Jack can protest, he pats Jack's hip gently and says, “Move over and I’ll show you again, yeah? Try and pay attention this time.”

————

Jack heaves the door open, not thinking as he kicks off his shoes and they land next to a pair of sneakers that fit much larger feet than his own. He doesn’t notice the familiar, worn brown leather jacket hung up on the usually-empty hook as he shucks his suit jacket and loops it over his arm as he shuffles down the hallway into the kitchen. Frowning, he loosens his tie. He’d swear he turned these lights off before he left. It also smells really good, which is weird, because he hasn’t even ordered his takeout yet, and—

“There you are.”

Jack jumps, turning to see Nico standing in his kitchen, a towel tossed over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, smiling. “Nico?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Nico says, tilting his head to the pan on the stove that’s simmering with something thick and red-brown. That’s what smells so amazing.

“Oh, fuck, sorry, I—” Jack feels so frazzled all of a sudden, his days jumbling up in his head. How could he forget that it’s Wednesday? “I had a work thing and it ran late… I didn’t mean to leave you waiting, sorry.”

Nico shrugs. “No worries, things happen,” he says, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce. “You look nice, though.”

Jack feels his face heat through eight increasingly deep shades of red. He has to duck his head hastily, grateful that Nico’s back is still turned. “Uh— Thanks? You too?”

Nico just chuckles. It sounds so good, all warm and deep. Jack kind of wants to roll over and die.

————

Nico peeks up at Jack from his position between his legs, making deliberate eye contact as he bends one of Jack’s knees until it touches his chest, leaning forward to lick the line of honey from his sensitive inner thigh. Jack has to choke back an incredibly embarrassing sound when Nico stops to nibble a bruise at the juncture of his hip. He feels so deliciously stretched out and exposed, wrists still obediently pressed to the mattress above his head, and it doesn’t help that Nico’s looking at him like he wants to eat Jack alive.