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

[sleepy-stitches]

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

[zxmbiie-luv]

what do you think about a cnc thing with hermes + (originally) low sex drive reader? with hermes drugging reader beforehand to make them a lot more insatiable, and then pretending to be busy/not have time for them/deny them before ‘giving in’ and fucking them silly? i think it would be really hot if that was a thing,, bc i just know he’d be as desperate as reader to fuck but he holds back a bit to deny them. :3 love your writing and no pressure as always to write my requests !!

- 🛩️

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Drink up, Buttercup! ੈ✩‧₊˚

Hermes (Hades I-II) x reader

Containing: drugging, sub reader, CNC, the nickname!!!1!1, not proofread (fuck it we ball), bro did not pull out ngl

Summary — a simple drink. That's what it was supposed to be! And it would be, hadn't the cheeky bastard used his tricks.

a/n — AAAAAAAAAA this shits delicious excuse me,,,, Also no worries!! I luv writing stuff and definitely don't mind And I've got your last stuff in my drafts dw pooks

The second he catched a glimpse of Aphrodite's bottled magic, a devious idea brewed in his mind. As his trickster mind did, never allowing him rest, it seems.

Well, ok, bottled magic was too underestimating. Aphrodite's power could not be bottled so simply, it wasn't a measley thing to measure. But appearantly, she'd use such to answer and comply at any prayer and offering in turn of winning one's favour.

She'd have a variety, and as Hermes had passed by her chambers, he'd catch a glimpse of a hot pink mixed with red shimmer just swishing on about in that little long glass confinement that was the bottle. So that became the plan. Swiftly walk by Aphrodite's chambers when she wasn't around, grab the bottle, and make a run for it.

And that, he did. Honestly, he didn't know why, it's like he acted on impulse— shaking the bottle to see it glow on the movement and see the glitter roam on. He had to stop, however, because the thing looked like it was about to explode at any moment. And then it clicked him.

Why don't you have a taste?

He kinda wanted to see you worked up over him, without him doing anything. Of course, he could work his hand just right for you to start tugging at his chiton to hurry, please, take it off— But he wanted you to put your hands on him alone, for a change. So, he got a bottle of Ambrosia and the essence, and mixed it in.

A drop should've been enough. He wanted for it to last at least the whole day— to get a vision of what it was like for you to want him like he was the center of your mind, clouding your senses.

Well, good luck, he accidentally dropped more than half the bottle. Hermes watched on with shock as the essence merged one with the Ambrosia, creating a beautiful eye-piercing pink drink, with a golden hue and bubbles starting to form. He hoped that was just it turning to a sparkling drink and not, what mortals called, radioactive.

He swore he didn't mean to do that! He just wanted to put a drop! Okay, so, this was about to last you the whole week (in which, he probably didn't mind), and Aphrodite was going to kill him for wasting her power. Great.

But whatever, what could he do? Hermes closed the bottle with the new brew he had apparently done, and the other one with the one that belonged to the great goddess, and packed both in his messenger bag put. What couldn't be seen, couldn't be caught, right? That was his whole life, at this point.

You looked on at the drink in wonder as you held it in hand, Hermes subtly watching your every move in inner anxious. What if this actually harmed you? What if you got mad after finding out? What if-?

"Thank you, Hermes. You didn't have to. I'm sure it'll taste just as delightful as you." You thanked with a smile, walking up to him to rest your hands on his shoulders and kiss his cheek tenderly as he smiled back at you and placed his hands on your waist.

"No need buttering me up, bunny. I'd give you wayyy more if you'd let me, but it's really no trouble at all." He chuckled, giving you a kiss on your lips— something so simple that never failed to take his breath away— and sadly departed from your touch to leave and resume his work.

As he only was a blur to be seen, you opened the bottle carefully to finally get a taste. It was a pretty bottle, you might clean it out once you're done. With a curious sniff to catch its scent, it immediately filled your chest with warmth and made you loosen up. Hermes really knew how to pick stuff out, then. Pouring it down your throat, the feeling intensified, now making you feel hotter and more active. Was this alcohol that you accidentally downed? Couldn't be, it didn't smell like it. You'd have to ask Hermes when he came back.

You were in for a ride, and you didn't even know it.

You were— just, how to explain this feeling? You were swallowing your saliva like the whole sea was in your mouth, it felt unbelievably hot like you wanted to rip your clothes off, and every single thing about him triggered that.

It's like he looked extra divine doing nothing, glancing back at you as a smile formed on his lips and he teased, "Staring problem, much?"

Every touch, even the most simple one, was nearly pushing you over the edge. Every laugh, or flick of his wings, or subtle flex of muscle doing the things he usually does, drove you crazy.

And the problem? He wasn't giving you what you need. Which was a total change to him.

It's been a few days, he'd have you let anybody, wherever you were, know he was making you feel the best. Now? Work, work, work.

"Hermesss... Please.." You whined out to him, hands tracing everywhere, a hopeless attempt to get him as riled up as you were, get it through his thick skull— "Bunny, not so impatient. You know I'm a busy man, I'll get to you soon."

He might've seemed calm and composed, but inside, he was a mess. Especially to your touch, fuck. He knew he was doing this to get you all hot and bothered, but seriously, he was about to burst. And it was fairly evident thanks to the raging tent that man was sporting, and looking down on it, it made your mouth both water and your eyebrows furrow in annoyance.

"Oh, so, is my state amusing to you?" You scowled, gripping him tighter, and Hermes tries his hardest not to make a face, not to let out a sound.

"Very. However, I must decline once more. I do hope you understand." He flashed you a smirk, pecking your lips with a kiss before turning his attention back to his assigned work Zeus had given him, one wing on his head stretching as you had started to rhythmically tap your finger on the surface of his desk in frustration.

Suddenly, you squirmed in front of him, and before he could say anything, you crashed your lips after his in reckless abandon. As your hand went behind his head and interlocked with his hair, his composure was beginning to slip away, soon matching the hunger in your pace as you licked up the taste on his tongue and your eyes turning half-lidded.

Hermes put his work away, somewhere, he didn't care, as you found yourself sat on his desk and soon laying beneath him, his ever-skillful hands lower and lower... At this point, blood was rushing everywhere, it was a feeling you had never experienced before, like you were on a rollercoaster and having three orgasms denied at the same time.

He broke the kiss, only to go lower and leave open mouthed kisses on your neck as he spoke in between them. "Bunny, did you need me that bad? So sorry, baby, gonna take care of you real good."

You could only nod in return, couldn't be able to say anything else as you heard clothes fumbling and his hands going underneath yours. He didn't even try to sugarcoat it as he slipped two fingers in you so effortlessly, earning a gasp out of you as his fingers curled and pushed in and out of you.

"H-Hermes..!", you hushed out as his tempo got faster, feeling him smile at your tone and the marks he was creating on your skin and removing his digits out of you. Before you could protest, they swiftly got replaced with his dick, catching you off guard and making you let out out a moan as you threw your head back.

He groaned, biting his lip before chuckling at your expression, kissing the base of your throat. He started moving, adoring you wholeheartedly... Your face, your sounds, your hole— It almost felt like you were too good for him. His grip on your hips was almost bruising, pulling you tighter towards him like he couldn't get enough. And he couldn't, honestly.

To anchor yourself, even a little bit, one hand moved to his shoulder while the other on the edge of the desk. A gasp escaped you as he picked up pace, and you could see Hermes also as affected as you were, hiding his face in the crook of your neck to at least quiet down the moans he so embarrassingly let out.

"Hermes, I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum.." You whined out, hands moving from their previous positions to his back, that was gripping so hard, your nails were leaving red angry trails. "It's alright, bunny, gonna cum too.. Fuck, please, cum with me.." He nodded, wings tucked tightly against his head as you came, him following not far after.

Thrusting tightly against you out of instinct, he emptied himself inside you before the both finally got the chance to catch your breath, Hermes' wings relaxing as he slowly lifted himself off of you. You released your grip on him, your breath hitching at the feeling of him pulling out, leaning down to kiss your abdomen and looking up at you with hazed eyes and mumbling, "I love you.".

You saw his cheeks flush at listening to you say it back, which earned a laughter out of you and ruffling his hair. It's amazing how he could fuck you stupid, yet get so flustered at the smallest things. Your laughter was cut short as his mouth enveloped between your legs.

So, Hermes' experiment got its answer solved. And now, whenever he'd catch you taking sips from that same drink, he'd grin and muse with a raised eyebrow,

".. You do know what's in that, right?"

He never stopped giving it for you to drink, though.

this is rightfully my work, @zxmbiie-luv

Do not steal, translate, repost ect

Reblogs and likes welcome!!

[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

[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!

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 5th Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Howdy again y’all! You know the drill. Here is the invite post! And here are the prompts for Day 5! 20 more days to go! It feels like I just started this (because I did). Also! I made the title pretty. Hope y'all like it. <3

Prompts used:

Setting: A balcony

Feeling: The whispers of the wind + Sobbing

Dialogue: "...What have you done?"

Next character that gets a spotlight is going to be Perci!! Yay! 

Read about the WIP here!!

Enjoy! <3

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

The bitter winds of an especially cold, dark night whispered around Perci, tousling his hair and coat about. It was gossiping to itself as if he couldn’t hear it mutter awful things about him. Why did you do this....What have you done? How could you do this to her?, He could hear it say. His face hardened, overlooking the balcony’s ledge and out into the open white infinity beyond him, desperately trying to unhear the wind’s voice. Uneasiness settled within him. What else could be out there? Perci sighed, watching his breath freeze into white air. This was the last taste of home he will get for a long while. It was a strange feeling. One that turned and burned in his stomach, morphing into fears and anxieties about whatever the hell the future had in mind for him. It felt like he was at home one day, all snuggled up in bed, and the next, out in some unknown place, following orders under a Queensmen like some kind of dog. “Perci?” a woman's voice sounded as the door behind him unlatched, “What are you doing?” “Mom—” Perci swiftly turned around to face his mother.

“Perci, why are you out here? We must conserve the heat in the house. Son, close the balcony doors for me, please?” 

Perci sighed, “Mom. Please.”

“You will get the household sick, dear. We do not have the means anymore for sufficient heat, you know that. We can’t afford to get anyone ill right now, either.”

Perci turned back to stare back at the haunting hail storm raging outside, an anguished feeling filling him,“With one less person in the household, you can. It’s my grand reward for going to the Academy, anyway. If I never went, they wouldn’t have drafted me. You deserve the break anyways. That’s what you get with a talented son.”

She hurried over to him and grabbed his shoulder. Rubbing his arm, she started to warm up the icy exterior of his jacket from the long exposure to the winter storm. She looked at his face and let go of him, analyzing the expression on his face, the mixture of repressed sadness and anger forming its base. Perci took a small glance over and noticed the strong look of worry overcoming her overworked face as she feared what he was thinking about and agonizing over.

He looked back down and fidgeted with his hands, focussed entirely on them as he spoke, “Do you ever feel scared of something, something that’s out of your reach? Something unknown? Like it’s going to creep up on you when you aren’t looking and get you? And that all you worked for is just taken from you in an instant?” 

“I don’t know. I really don’t know, Perce. I can’t know everything that’s going to happen”, his mother started, tears welling up in her eyes, falling within the instant they formed, “I need you to be strong for me. Oh, how I despise that you were conscripted, like you were nothing to them, just another body for the fodder. I would give up a thousand lifetimes before I had you sent out against my will. Oh, my boy, please come here, this is the last I’ll ever hug you for a while, come.” 

She pulled him in, her droplets of tears turning into taps of sorrow. Wailing into his shoulder, she tightly grips the rest of him in her embrace. As she held Perci, he began to give in to his own despair. Soon, sobs filled the room as they did little to hide them, just as they could do little to stop the causes of the sobs.

“Oh, Perce, I wish you don’t meet your father again so soon.”

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

(PLEASE tell me if you wanna get added to a tag list here because I genuinely don't know who to tag lol. I'll edit this and add you in!! <3 )

TAGLIST SO FAR: @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

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Our wonderful host <3 → @agirlandherquill Have a lovely day everyone!!

[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.

[thatlittlenoisefeyremakes]

Lavender Rain

CHAPTER ONE PREVIEW

summary: preview of something I've had in drafts for years not concrete enough of a plot but wanted to test the waters! This is just the first half of the first chapter if anyone wants more I'll make it if you don't I'll lay down in traffic no biggie

warnings: angst? Cannon being tossed to the wind azzie is mine now mf hope maas can fight

The cottage looked the same as it always did, tucked away behind wards set by the high lord himself. The hum of its power low and subtle but pulsing through the earth as he stepped across the mossy pathway. Sun beat down on the thatched roof, a whisper of a breeze gently making its way through the countless plants, teeming with life as bees worked tirelessly through the sprawling garden. Velaris was home for Azriel. More than Illyria for certain, but a part of him, of his heart only felt truly settled here. Hidden away in a meadow in a valley tucked away from the world. A private oasis and one that offered true safety. It wasn't grand like the house of wind or the townhouse no matter how humble Rhys claimed his lifestyle to be. It was small and only offered what was needed. But it felt alive. It felt as if the moment he stepped through those wards he was able to shed the title of spymaster and even shadowsinger. A place where he could simply just be.

He strode through the garden path up through the small fence latching the gate behind him, a singular shadow rushing off to announce his arrival. Slipping through the front door and the second set of wards As the smell of fresh herbs hit his nose flooding his senses his mouth watering in response. He wasted no time in dropping the satchel gripped in his hand on the large wooden table before embracing the culprit of the meal that had his stomach crying out.

"Hello darling." She smiled as he placed a kiss to her head.

"Whatever that is I hope you're making plenty I can smell it from the garden."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Oh please don't start. You'd think the mother hen-ing would have stopped ages ago." He laughed beginning to unpack the provisions he brought.

"I'm your mother Azriel am I not supposed to worry?"

"I fear that's all you do lately." He didn't intend for the melancholy tone to be laced into his words but it was there none the less. Almost regretting the way they sounded sliding off his tongue.

"Not all I do." She said softly. "There's been improvement." His throat held back the words that itched at walls of his mind. Questions he needed to ask despite fearing the answers. He chose the easiest option.

"Where is she?"

"Resting. She's been doing a lot of that. Resting."

"Anything new?"

"She's steadier. Still thin as bone but I'm hoping she'll eat tonight."

"Is she refusing?"

"Not refusing to eat. Just not eating much and her body won't hold what little she does down often enough."

"Has she said anything new?" He watched as his mothers shoulders dropped ever so slightly. Her head bowing a fraction of an inch.

"She's quiet. Answers a few questions here and there but nothing of substance. She's bathing on her own but she mostly sleeps. If not she just sits. Stares at something unseen."

"We should get her to the garden. Regardless of anything else sunlight and fresh air would do her good."

"Wake her. Take her out my chair is sat near the potatoes planters."

"Fence still broken?"

"Fence, roof, wood house you name it." She laughed waving him off.

"Mother we talked about this."

"You talked I listened. I'm perfectly capable of fixing this place myself I've just been preoccupied."

"Which is why I'll take care of it when I'm here. Why are you so stubborn."

"Who's the mother hen now?" She smirked pointing a wooden spoon at the Illyrian.

"You'll be the death of me." He rolled his eyes dragging a hand down his face. His tone anything but matching the playful spirit of his mother.

"Dramatic males. Stop bellyaching if you want to help so badly do so. Take her with you for that fresh air you talked about. She's resting in the back room." He nodded placing a twin kiss to the one he greeted her with before shuffling back to the only closed door in the cottage.

The hall was narrow for an Illyrian, the cottage not built for such a large male let alone one of Azriel's size. His head closer to the ceiling than comfortable, and his wings tucked tight against his back, not just because of the space. He had observed plenty and quickly realized that though she was barely present that males, particularly him had her tensing up the moment his eyes were on her. It's hard to be anything but intimidating when you're standing at 6'7" with shoulders almost as broad as the hallway.

His fingers gently rapt on the old oak door. Maybe it was foolish to have expected an answer. It was more often than not silence he was met with, but the few times he had gotten a hum or question back had him trying more and more. One more attempt of his knuckles on the wood had soft words spilling from him asking for something in return no matter how small. The opaque darkness around him kept at bay with his mind as it egged him on to rush. To push. To outright overstep and pull the door open with an urgency. To at least let them slink in ahead of him more than he'd allow. Incessant they were but he was the Shadowsinger and they obeyed to him and him alone. They reported a shift by the window that had him buzzing. More hushed tones laced in his attempt at a warning to his entrance before he twisted the glass knob.

Coolcoolcool love you bye

[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.

[tapwrites]

How to Start Writing Fiction

Many readers feel the urge to write at some point. But getting started can be daunting. Do I need to build a world for years like Tolkien did? Do I need write it all at once? What structure do I need to use? What do I need to do to write a successful novel?

When you're new to writing, the key first step is... throw all that stuff out the window!

Writing isn't publishing. Writing isn't success. Writing isn't making money. First you've got to be able to write without any of that. If you're lucky, maybe those things will come for you. But you cannot control those things. And so, there is no "way" to make them happen.

Your sole focus should be on what you can actually control--on writing as an activity...

In the early days, you may feel discouraged at not writing amazing stuff. But don't be so harsh on yourself. Think about your favourite book. Do you think it came out as amazing and perfect as it is when you read it? I can tell you for a fact it wasn't.

It came out with glaring flaws and huge issues and grammar problems and all the rest of it--just as yours will. They then spend months, even years polishing it, redrafting, revising, editing, using feedback... to turn it into something that looks like it just "came out that way" effortlessly.

Think of what you first write as a first draft, not the final version you'd see on the shelves for the world to see. When you start writing a new story, your job is to throw down messy blobs of clay--simply getting raw material on the table so you can work with it. Later you'll shape it into something pleasing to the eye... something that looks like it just fell out of the sky fully formed, painted, and glazed into its beautiful final form.

You don't know how to shape it yet. You will, over time. But for now...

All your focus should be on throwing down messy clay.

And by that, I mean, get used to writing new stuff. You don't need it to be good, you don't need it to be the next hit, you don't need it to be long. You don't even need others to see it! You just need to be able to write words.

Writing short pieces or short stories is a great thing to aim for at the start. Nothing fancy. That way when you want to improve later down the line, you'll at least be able to write something new to try out what you've learned. You could even make a new draft of something old you wrote with your new understanding.

But then... even knowing how to begin that stage can be daunting. How do people write? It varies.

Every writer has their own process, their own methods, their own style. There are generally considered two extreme ends to the method of writing:

Discovery writers make stuff up as they write the story. If you don't yet know what your preference is, I'd recommend starting here.

Just sit down, put pen to paper, and write what pops into your head. Find out what comes next as you write it.

Note, you don't have to put literal pen to literal paper. But "pen-or-pencil-to-paper, or finger-to-key, or voice-to-dictation-software" isn't nearly so pithy. However you like to record words, record them! XD Don't worry about what medium to use, what equipment, what software... use whatever is easiest to get out of the way and get on with writing!

A good way of getting started with this is an exercise: Freewriting Exercise to Stretch the Writing Muscles This gives you a short challenge that forces you to stop worrying about what comes next and if it's good and how to publish it and stuff like that... put all those aside, and get into the flow! Just start writing!

Give it a good try at least. Even if you don't turn out to be a discovery writer, being able to get into the flow of writing is still going to be a valuable skill as you progress.

And you may come up with new ideas for full stories, and start on those!

If you're finding you lock up in the face of the infinite possibilities of making-it-up-as-you-go... you may want to try a little outlining.

Outline writers make stuff up before they write the story.

So... they still sit down, they still put pen to paper, and they still write what pops into their head. But they don't do it in prose form. They do it in outline form. Then they turn their outline into prose form later.

This might be bullet points of important plot beats. It may include summaries of various characters and world elements.

I'd recommend just dipping your toe in before going full-bore into being an outliner. Somewhere else, just write a short line for something that will happen in the scene after the one you're writing. Or a short line about what happens at the end. You don't need to stick to that plan. It's simply a little pointer to give you just enough direction to not feel lost while writing.

Outlining can be a lot of fun by itself though! You can spend hours, days... years noodling with worldbuilding and moving plot points around, and never actually writing any of the story at all!

The problem is, it can be too fun. You can feel productive while actually spinning your wheels in worldbuilding-land. Getting stuck like this is referred to as (thunder sound effect) "WORLDBUILDER'S DISEASE!!!" (evil laugh)

Remember that writing isn't worldbuilding. Writing isn't outlining. Those can be part of your process. But...

A writer is a storyteller

You can do all the worldbuilding and outlining you want to and still be unable to write that story, because you have no practise writing.

So please, please, practise writing. Whether you're an ouliner or a discovery-writer, you still need to actually write to get started as a writer.

It can even happen that you have great fun outlining a story, but when you try to sit down and put pen to paper all that drive and fun has left you.

You may think, "How could I do such a grand vision justice?" Or, "Writing the story just isn't as fun as inventing the world and what happens!" "Am I destined to only make up worlds and outline things but never write a real story?"

These are telltale signs your brain enjoys discovering new things the most. That's probably what made outlining and worldbuilding so fun! But it also means that when you come to writing the story itself, you're no longer discovering anything, no longer imagining new things on a blank map of possibility...

Now you're following a very narrow route you've set for yourself and feel like you can't put a foot out of place because it's so carefully constructed that it could ruin everything if you do!

If you recognise that feeling, back off from outlining. You're probably a discovery writer. Sure, you can just worldbuild and outline for fun. Nothing wrong with that if you enjoy it. If your goal is to write stories, however, you've got to dial in that balance of planning and improvising that your brain likes.

This is why every writer has their own way of writing. Their own routines, their own process... it's whatever method their brain likes that also lets them get a story down.

So this is how to get started writing. To write stories. To figure out how you like to write.

When you've got past that point, and you're comfortably writing new stories... still try to hold off from wanting to become the next hit author and write the next epic fantasy or 5-book series. You can get to those if you want to, later down the line.

To even get published in the first place, you'll need to not just be a writer, but a good writer. So next, focus on becoming a good writer.

A good writer isn't publishing. A good writer isn't success. A good writer isn't making money. Those things do not define who is a good writer and who is not.

A good writer crafts the experience of the reader

You can only do that if you a) know what experience you want the reader to have, and b) know how to use language to shape the reader's experience into what you want it to be.

How can you do that? It's actually fairly simple. I have another article about the different things you should be doing to reach this next step: How to Become a Better Writer

So start your writing journey today, and I'll hopefully see you over there soon :D

[nicolewoo]

Cub: Part 19 Surprise

Pairing: Roman Reigns X Reader

Synopsis: Roman, Seth and Dean  are a pack of werewolfs. Protecting their city from the scumbags of the  world ends up with a surprise when a victim left for dead imprints on  Roman Reigns.

Part 19

POV: Cub

Now that the condos had cleared out, leaving only the six of us, I felt like I could truly relax for the first time in weeks. Exhausted as I was, I treasured this time alone with my pack. My pack… technically Renee and Becky weren’t in my pack, but they would be in the future. Even though I’d gotten very little time to talk to Renee and Becky, we hit it off instantly. To me, it felt like they were already part of the pack.

We curled up on couches around the fireplace, snuggling our mates, covered in warm blankets. Renee had fixed me the best hot chocolate I’d ever had, and I curled my fingers around the mug; sipping the delectable drink.

“… and then he said he wouldn’t need me to go in. I figured with Cub being home, I could stay with her in case she needed anything.” Renee finished her story. “I promise to stay out of your hair though” she said to me.

She was just so sweet. “Don’t worry about it! I’ll be happy to have company.” I said

Roman suppressed a laugh. He knew I was aching for some time alone. This was all amazing. My pack was amazing. My tribe was amazing. My mate was amazing, but I’d had enough of the constant noise and commotion.

Seth got up, holding a hand out to Becky. “Ready for bed?” he asked.

“Did everything get done?” Becks asked Renee. “Food put away and everything?”

Renee started to agree when Dean interrupted. “OMG GUYS!!!! We forgot something!!!” The panic in his voice didn’t match his mindset, but I couldn’t figure out what was going on. “Something UPSTAIRS!” He prompted pointing to the ceiling for emphasis. Suddenly everyone knew what he meant and got up excitedly…. Everyone but me. I searched Roman’s mind but couldn’t find the information I wanted.

“OMG YES!!!!” Becks said. “Let’s go!”

Renee helped me up and linked her arm with mine. “We’ve got a surprise for you!” She started walking us upstairs, my pack right behind us.

“Whoa!!! I want to go ahead” Seth said when we got to the landing. He politely passed us and ran ahead.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Becks agreed with whatever he’d thought.

Roman was getting more excited with each step we took, and that excitement ran through all of us.

We stopped at the door to the bedroom across the hall from Roman’s. “Y/N” Renee used my actual name instead of my nickname; lending a more formal tone to the situation. “We know that your whole life changed in an instant. You aren’t used to being surrounded by so many people all the time. We wanted you to have a place of your very own.”

Roman’s low voice right behind me sent a shiver through my body. “This is YOUR room. We won’t come in here unless you want us to…. That includes me.” I quickly thought back You’ll always be welcome. He smiled big and placed a kiss on top of my head as he wrapped an arm around me.

Renee squealed in excitement. “Ok! Here we go!” Renee opened the door.

The first thing I saw as I entered was Seth video taping me on his phone. “Welcome to your own art studio!” Renee sang out, arms held out wide to show off the space.

An art studio? I began looking around! I stood in awe as my eyes scanned the room. Shelves lined two walls with an easel tucked in the corner between them. The shelves were full of canvases, paints and brushes. A well-lit drafting table in the right corner of the room sat boldly, the lights reflecting off the glass top. A short counter with an industrial sink and lots of cabinets lined the right wall, and a big couch filled the rest of the room. Fairy lights twinkled from every corner of the ceiling. A large ostentatious chandelier sat in the middle of the ceiling, and a giant TV hung on the wall over my drafting table.

I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out but “I….”

Roman wrapped his arms around me from behind again. “Are you happy?”

Looking up at him, I just started crying. “I….” Now everyone, except Seth came to me. “I don’t deserve….”

“Stop right there!” Seth interrupted. “Yes you do!”

Everyone agreed. Roman spoke aloud now, with words that he had obviously rehearsed in his head. “Cub,” He turned me to face him. “You’ve spent your entire life paying for other peoples’ mistakes.” I couldn’t deny that. “Think of this as your refund. You do deserve it.”

Dean wrapped an arm over my shoulder. “Look. Sis. We’re gonna spoil ya. We love ya too much not to. We want to make up for everything you never had before, and trust me, you’re not going to change our minds about this. You got any idea how stubborn this one is?” he said pointing to Roman and I chuckled, because it was true.

“Thank you all!” Seth was still filming as everyone group hugged me, but I could feel him reaching out to me mentally. It took a minute to stop my crying. “Can I...???”

Roman nodded down to me. “It’s your room. You can look around. You can kick us all out and stay up all night painting. Whatever you want!”

I started at the shelves, running my fingers over the canvases. Some were humongous! I’d never been able to afford big canvases before, and I had lamented many times that my paintings would look better bigger…. I’d have that chance now.

“So, these are your canvases, of course.” Becks said coming to my side like a tour guide. Roman and Renee took advantage of the couch. “And here’s your paints. We didn’t know what type you use, so I got you… well… all of them.” These shelves are your oil paints and supplies” She continued to point out shelves. “This here is your Acrylics and watercolors are down here. Here are your inks.”

My eyes shot even wider than they were before and I gasped. “Alcohol inks?”

Becks shrugged “I don’t know Cub. Sorry. The sales person said this was fun.”

I ran to the shelf, picking up a box of the inks. It was alcohol inks!!!! I squealed in delight as I opened the box to see the colors. “I’ve been wanting to try these, but the paper is so expensive!” I marveled as I ran my hand over an entire shelf of the expensive paper.

“Now you can try it!” Seth chimed. I nodded to him.

“And here… we have… well… I don’t really know. The sales lady said you needed these stencils and tools!” Becks said as he started opening cabinets on the other wall. Inside were dozens of stencils, a boatload of pallet knives, scrapers, texturizing agents, a large bottle of liquid glass for paint pours, gloves, a heat gun….. It was going to take me a while to even go through the treasure trove, but I did spy a package of gold leaf before I turned away to look at the rest of the room. That was going to be fun to play with!

Opening the closet door, “Here we have aprons and smocks.” Renee chimed in. “I also picked up some sweats and scrubs for you. We weren’t sure what you normally use.”

I was going to answer that I just used old clothes, but Roman interrupted. “Baby girl, if there’s ANYTHING you need for your art, just tell me.”

“Anything I need???” I said incredulously. “What more could I need? It’s practically an art store in here!” I laughed.

Seth now put down the camera and sat with Roman and Renee on the couch.

“And here’s your Easel. The lady at the store said it was the best.” I nodded yes. “And I know it’s unconventional, but we got you a drafting table. Dean said he didn’t see anything like that in your apartment, so we figured you probably worked at one of the tables?” When I nodded, she smiled big as if relieved. “So watch this.” Becks was so proud to show it off, and I smiled at her enthusiasm. “The top tilts! So you can have it at whatever angle you want! Isn’t that cool?”

I wrapped an arm around her. “It’s amazing… all of it. You did this?”

“No no no!” She started. “We all had a hand in it.”

“I picked out the couch and TV!” Dean chirped eagerly, and I nodded at him. “Renee did the counter, sink…. Ya know, the construction stuff. Becks got the job of supplies. And Ro…. Well he paid.”

“It’s all just…. Amazing. Absolutely amazing. Never in my life has anyone…” I broke down in tears again. Everyone came to me for another group hug. “Thank you all! So much! This is just… there aren’t words.”

Roman kissed my forehead. “Just make us lots of that incredible art. That’s the only thanks we need.”

“It’s not enough.” I answered. “Thank you just isn’t enough.”

“And when we build our dream house, you’ll have an even bigger, better studio.” Roman said.

I couldn’t think what to say, so I just kissed him. “Ok, now everyone out!” I joked. “Just kidding. Thank you all!”

“We can leave for real if you want to do art now.” Seth offered.

“No… no…. You guys are welcome here. I’m just too tired tonight.” I said.

Renee went to the cabinets and pulled out a tissue for me. “You had to see it tonight though, because I want you to be able to use it tomorrow when everyone is working.”

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire @starwithaheart @spookys-girl @pitlissa22 @snowpanda18 @thesamoanqueen