#AND MY FEELINGS CAN ONLY BE PROCESSED BY BARFING THEM ONTO A SCREEN

[sophrosynesworld]

With all my love, pt 5

Am I crazy? Seriously, am I the kind of person who stalks their ex-boyfriend on Twitter, spots a mutual friend in the background of a drunk selfie, then calls that friend to get the address so I can show up and kill my ex?

I press the elevator button, heading up to the penthouse. As the elevator speeds past the lower floors, my heart pounds in my chest. Mumbles leave my mouth as I hold back my nausea, feeling like I’m going to barf in this plant. What luxury apartment complex has a plant in the elevator?

Why didn’t I come up with a plan sooner? The adrenaline that fueled my initial anger is already beginning to dwindle. I let out a soft sigh, closing my eyes for a moment to concentrate. I can’t let him do this to me anymore. I'm exhausted by the mind games, the constant psychological warfare.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal a lavish hallway. I take a deep breath, feeling a flutter of nerves. I haven't been to Todoroki’s apartment before, which makes this whole situation even more nerve-racking. The empty hallway is intimidating, each step I take echoing softly. Despite the knots in my stomach, I know I can't turn back now. This is my only chance to reclaim my sense of self, to finally break free from the cycle of manipulation and pain.

I open the front door and slip off my outside shoes, replacing them with an appropriate indoor pair from my bag. The living room is full with a combination of heroes and groupies, their faces illuminated by the shifting colors of several strobe lights. The air is thick with the mingled scents of perfume, sweat, and the unmistakable tang of spilled beer.

The music vibrates the floor below me, suddenly feeling bad for his downstairs neighbors. A steady beat reverberates through my chest as I watch the crowd for a moment, trying to spot a familiar face. Bodies grind in sync on the dance floor, a group is gathered near the kitchen, their conversations unheard thanks to the music. On the far side of the room, an old classmate is standing next to the makeshift bar, mixing drinks with practiced ease.

“Can you make me a drink Sero?” my voice surprises him clearly as he jumps and knocks a few plastic cups over, causing them to spill out over the floor. The much taller man turns around with a drunken smile spreading across his face, liquor lingers on his breath as he picks me up and spins me around in a circle.

“I didn’t know they let you outside anymore” Sero laughed as he placed me back down onto the floor. His tape quickly extending out towards several bottles, helping him create some drink concoction. An aquamarine beverage is extended out to me as I hear a high pitched squeal in my ear.

Mina latched onto me before I can process what’s happening. Her combined “oh my gods” and complaints about my outfit are tossed in between each other like an overstuffed compliment sandwich.

“I’m excited to see you too Mimi.” I offer her a small hug back as I question Sero.

“What is this?”

“Plus Ultra Punch.”

“Of course it is.” my eyes roll as I down my drink. Mina squeezing my shoulders excitedly while Sero quickly made another.

“Be careful, these are strong.” He warns before turning around to help another nonpaying client.

I sip my drink, the alcohol burning a fiery path down my throat. The potent mix of liquor and fruitiness lingers on my tongue. As I savor the sensation, I glance over at Mina, who’s excitedly tapping away on her phone, her face illuminated by the screen's glow.

"Do you know where Bakugou is?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

She looks up, concern flashing in her eyes. "Do you think that’s a good idea?" she counters, her hand gripping my jacket. Her gaze darts nervously around the room, scanning the crowd.

"Who is he with?" My voice wavers slightly, a defeated breath escaping my lungs. I brace myself for the answer. Mina sighs, rolling her eyes at my stupidity before pointing towards the balcony.

"She's just some groupie. They just met tonight. I—" Her voice fades into music as I weave my way through the dance floor. Liquid courage propels me forward until I reach the balcony door, my hand poised to turn the knob.

Before I can open it, a strong hand catches mine. I turn to see Kirishima, his expression serious as he gently but firmly pulls me closer to his chest. His eyes, usually so warm, are full of concern.

"You don't want to do this," he says, his voice low and pleading.

"Do what, Eijiro?" I snap, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"You don't want to see him tonight," he insists, his grip tightening slightly.

"What are you talking about? You're the one who begged me to see him in the first place. So, surprise." I wave my hands in a mock cheer, but his expression remains stern. Confusion must be written all over my face.

"He's drunk.” Kirishima explains, his voice edged with frustration.

Correction: he's being a horndog.

"I already know that," I respond, trying to keep my cool.

"No. He's first-semester drunk.”

Correction: He’s being a horndog.

Correction: He's being a mean lil fucker.

The weight of his words sinks in, a sharp reminder of a side of Bakugou I've rarely seen. Usually, alcohol makes him overly affectionate, but when he's in a bad place, everyone allows him to act like an absolute jerk.

"Don't make me beg, Eijiro. I need to do this. I can't go home now," I plead, my voice cracking with desperation. My eyes lock onto his.

Eijiro hesitates, scanning the room again before reluctantly releasing me. "Do you want me to go with you?" he offers, his voice softening with concern.

"Katsuki would never hurt me. My feelings? All the time. But I'm not in any danger with him." my pitch matches his as I offer a small smile.

I step back, turning towards the door. Kirishima's eyes follow me as I open it and step onto the balcony. The humid night air wraps around me, heavy and thick.

I can hear her giggle again, a sound that slices through me like a knife. I step over to the right-hand side, drawn by the flirtatious sounds. As I move closer, the scene comes into focus: the two of them sitting by the pool, her legs draped over his as she leans back, laughing.

The sight of them together feels like a betrayal, a sharp twist of the knife already lodged in my heart. Each giggle, each touch, is a reminder of how easily he disregards my feelings, of how little I seem to matter to him. The pain is overwhelming, a tidal wave of hurt and anger.

"Katsuki Bakugou!" I bark, my voice slicing through the air. His head snaps in my direction, eyes wide and frantic like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, he stiffens, standing unsteadily by the pool's edge as if he’s wondering if his drunken mind is playing tricks on him.

In his panic to stand, he accidentally shoves the poor woman beside him into the pool. Her screams are piercing for a brief moment before being abruptly silenced as she plunges underwater. Katsuki pays her no mind, his focus solely on me as he stomps over with a fury that radiates off him in waves. Her distressed whines are lost in the chaos of the moment, falling on deaf ears as he seizes my arm with a grip that is both desperate and furious.

His eyes, a mix of shock and confusion, rake over me as if he's searching for some sign of authenticity, as if I’m someone else using a transformation quirk. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, his fingers digging into my skin as if I’m going to disappear again.

"Katsuki, let go," I manage to whisper, my voice trembling. His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability behind his anger.

The night air feels thicker, almost suffocating, as we stand there, locked in a silent struggle. The woman's splashes and gasps barely register in our shared turmoil. Katsuki's grip tightens, his eyes searching mine for answers that I'm not sure I can give. The intensity of his gaze is overwhelming, a look that leaves me feeling exposed and raw.

Before I can say anything, his lips crash onto mine, rough and urgent, his hands gliding over my exposed skin as slides his palms to both sides of my face. The intensity of his kiss takes my breath away, and I instinctively reach for his wrists, trying to pull away.

“Bakugou, I—” He cuts me off again, his lips capturing mine more forcefully. His tongue flicks across my lower lip, demanding entry. I deny his request, trying to pull away once more.

“You’re such a brat. Do you know that?” His voice is low, a dangerous rumble.

“Do you know how absolutely insane you make me? You have completely ruined me, woman.” His hands run down my spine and reach for the small of my back, pulling our bodies impossibly close. His soft lips leave a trail of peppery kisses all over my neck and face, each one sending shivers down my spine.

“I mean, fuck.” He pulls away, his eyes dark and intense. “I can’t think straight. When I’m on a mission, I’m wondering if you’re watching me on TV. When I’m on patrol, I stick to routes with the fastest response time to your office.” His hands drop from my face, the initial shock wearing off, allowing his real emotions to surface. His voice rises with every word, each syllable dripping with raw emotion. His hands pull away from my body.

“You left me. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You left me some shitty note on the bed and thought I wouldn’t notice your disappearance? Well, I did!”

My hands reach out to him, but he pushes them away, almost scoffing at the gesture. He steps back, creating a wider gap between us.

“I’m the one who left? You’re the one that’s been cheating on me! You don’t get to make me feel sorry for your dumb ass and then fuck someone else, dickhead!” My voice trembles with a mixture of hurt and anger.

His eyes widen, nostrils flaring as he stretches his arms wide, his voice booming for anyone to hear.

“Are you serious?” he paces back and forth, his agitation clear. “I would never disrespect you like that. I can’t even believe you would think that.”

I scoff, crossing my arms defensively. “Coming home late, pulling away from me, not showing up for our planned date nights and dinners, having to stay at the office until ungodly hours, or maybe worst of all, going MIA for days at a time and leaving me to worry you’re dead.”

The words hang between us, heavy and accusatory, each one a dagger in the already bleeding wounds of our relationship.

Bakugou pulls out his phone, his fingers angrily slamming onto the touchscreen with each tap. He brings it up to his ear, his voice a low, furious whisper as he speaks to someone on the other end. The conversation is brief and tense, ending abruptly as he hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

Without a moment's hesitation, he stomps up to me, his eyes blazing with determination. He reaches for my hand, yanking me toward him with a force that takes my breath away. His grip is firm as he moves backward toward the door, dragging me along despite my attempts to plant my feet and resist.

"Katsuki, stop!" I plead, my voice wavering, but he pays no attention to my words. His expression is set in stone, his jaw clenched tightly.

Ignoring my protests, he leans down. With surprising ease, lifts me off the ground, throwing me over his shoulder. The world tilts as I find myself staring at the ground, my hands pounding against his back in a futile attempt to make him release me.

“Put me down, Katsuki!” I shout, my voice echoing through the night air. But the drunken man before me is beyond reason, his focus solely on getting us out of there.

As we move through the party, the atmosphere shifts. Conversations falter and heads turn to watch the spectacle unfolding before them. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, a mix of confusion and curiosity. People part instinctively, creating a pathway as Bakugou strides purposefully toward the exit, carrying me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

"What the hell, Bakugou?" someone calls out, but he doesn't respond. His steps remain steady, his hand resting on the top of my ass. I catch glimpses of familiar faces, their expressions a blend of shock and concern, but no one dares to intervene.

The pulsating music and flashing lights of the party become a distant background noise as we finally make it outside. Bakugou's pace quickens as he heads toward the parking lot, and there, waiting under a streetlamp, is Izuku's car.

Bakugou finally sets me down, his grip momentarily loosening as he fumbles for his phone again. I take a deep breath, my heart still racing from the chaotic journey through the party. The car's headlights flicker to life, illuminating the scene as Izuku steps out, his face a mask of concern and confusion.

"What's going on?" Izuku asks, his eyes darting between the two of us.

Before I can answer, Bakugou cuts in, his voice still laced with anger and urgency. "Just get us out of here, Deku. Now."

[pikapeppa]

Garrus Vakarian x f!Shepard: Crick

Hello friends and loved ones: I am dipping my toe into Shakarian fic. Haven’t quite decided yet how much to commit to writing this pairing in detail, so here’s a little oneshot set just after the Horizon mission in ME2. ~2400 words. (Tumblr only for now, but I’ll post on AO3 if I decide to write more.)

******************************

Garrus sighed as he made his way to the main battery room. There was a stiff feeling in the left side of his neck and shoulder when he tilted his head, and he was annoyed by it. It was his own fault, really; he’d fallen asleep at his weapons modification table again last night and woken with this crick in his neck that wouldn’t go away.

It was one of those times when he really wished he could get a proper hammer massage. There was that one place on the Citadel that did real Palavenese massage, the good kind that you really felt vibrating all the way through your carapace into your bones, but Garrus wasn’t sure if Shepard would be ordering them back to the Citadel anytime soon.

It’s just a crick, he reminded himself. It could be so much worse. The fight they’d just gone through on Horizon had been… a tough one, to say the least. Any fight with an unfamiliar new enemy could be unnerving, but seeing that Harbinger thing jumping from body to body during the fight had almost been enough to make Garrus pause.

Almost, but not quite. Archangel never hesitated or missed his shot. 

He stepped into the main battery room and took a deep breath, then released it in a satisfied sigh. The air in here smelled like clean plastic and a hint of metal, and he savoured the relaxing smell just as he did every time he stepped into this room after a hard fight. 

He flicked on the monitors and cracked the joints in his fingers, then started his usual routine of checking the gun settings – a routine that was more for comfort now than necessity, if he was being totally honest. Cerberus might be a pack of crazies doing their twisted human experiments, but they sure made a mighty fine canon. 

He finished up his calibrating routine, and he was just about to move on to studying the Collector particle rifle that Shepard had salvaged when he heard the distinct beep-and-shunk of the door unlocking. A second later, the doors slid open, and Shepard stepped through. 

She nodded briskly. “Garrus. Just checking in. You doing okay after that fight?”

“I’m just fine, Shepard,” he assured her. “I was about to start looking at your new toy here, actually.”

“That’s great,” she said. “It looks like a powerful little piece of tech. Something we can turn to our advantage, you think?”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “There’s nothing I find more satisfying than using the enemy’s own weapons against them.”

A small smile crossed her face, just as he’d hoped it would. He hadn’t seen a smile on her face all day, not since the Collectors had gotten away with the population of Horizon’s colony. Kaidan’s angry lecture probably hadn’t helped things, either. 

She huffed and leaned an elbow on the weapons mod table. “That’s pretty bloodthirsty of you, Garrus.” 

“Bloodthirsty? Me? Never,” he said. “Thirsty for justice, on the other hand…”

She laughed — a husky rolling sound that always reminded him, for some reason, of brandy-filled chocolates. “What a line. Did your time on Omega inspire you to dip your toe into writing noir mystery novels?”

“What if it did?” he said playfully.

“Then I’d tell you stick to your dayjob,” she replied.

It was Garrus’s turn to chuckle. Shepard smiled at him once more, then straightened up and nodded at the particle rifle. “I know you just got started here, but I’m interested to see what you find. Mind if I watch you working for a while?”

“No problem,” he said. “Might ask you to throw up a barrier for your own protection, though. This thing doesn’t use conventional heat sinks. I’m not sure yet if it can even be fully turned off.”

She nodded and cast herself a barrier with a quick clench of her fist, and Garrus got to work studying the Collector rifle. He scanned it to build a schematic and explained the exploded view to Shepard, and she frowned thoughtfully and asked questions about the weapon’s uses and disadvantages, and all the while, as he often did, he wondered what she was really thinking. 

By any objective standards, it had been a bad day. They’d just watched most of a human colony get taken away by the Collectors. Her former lieutenant had accused her of crimes against her race right after a really tough fight, and when they’d boarded the Normandy once more, the Illusive Man had told her that he’d actually incited the Collectors to target Horizon. 

If Garrus was in Shepard’s place, he’d be vibrating with anger by now. But here she was, watching him dismantle a gun with the calmest look on her face. 

A solid half hour later, when he’d finished thoroughly surveying the rifle, he tapped his visor from its analysis mode back into its resting mode and looked at her. “I think that’s about all I’m going to do with this rifle for today. You need me for anything else?”

“Nothing else for now,” she said. “Thanks for the demonstration. I’ll talk to you later.” She stepped back toward the door. 

On a sudden whim, he opened his mouth. “Shepard, hang on a second.”

She turned back to him. “What is it?”

He hesitated. Now he was wondering if the question at the tip of his tongue was too personal. He and Shepard were friends, sure, but his question might touch a bit of a sore spot, given what had happened today. If Garrus knew anything about Shepard, it was that she wasn’t much of one for talking about her feelings when missions didn’t go as expected. Not that Garrus was a talky-feely sort of guy, either, but still… 

She raised her eyebrows expectantly, and he shook himself. He’d called her to turn around; he had no choice but to ask now. “Are you doing okay?” 

Her eyebrows rose higher. “Sorry?”

“This whole Collector business on Horizon,” he clarified. “I know it didn’t go down the way we wanted, and then with the Illusive Man being, you know… illusive.” He lifted his shoulders. “It can’t have been easy.”

Her blue-black eyes crinkled at the corners. “You worrying about me, Vakarian?” 

“A little, maybe,” he said. “You’ve only taken a dig at me once today.”

Another smile flashed across her face, but it was gone a second later, smoothed back into her usual businesslike expression. “I’m all right,” she said. “It’s a hit to have lost the colony, but we’ll save the next one. I’ll make sure of it.”

He nodded. “Seeing Kaidan was a bit of a shock, huh?”

She huffed and folded her arms. “It wasn’t ideal, but that’s the way it is. He’s got his mission, and we’ve got ours. We can’t lose our focus over personal feelings.”

Garrus nodded again. Everything she was saying was reasonable and true, and her calm attitude was envious, really. If Garrus was able to keep his calm like Shepard did… well, he’d tried to channel Shepard’s calm while he was on Omega, but it had only gotten him so far. Garrus had never known anyone, human or otherwise, who kept their cool all the time quite the way Shepard did. 

And yet, for some reason, he just… he wasn’t sure. Her manner struck him as a little bit off, somehow, like the feeling of the crick in his neck.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Anything else?”

“How do you do it?” he said bluntly.

She blinked. “Do what?”

“Keep it together all the time,” he said. “You never seem uncertain. You always seem to know what you’re doing, even if you can’t possibly know. I have to admit, I envy you,” he admitted. “How is it that you always manage to keep it together?”

She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she just stared at him without speaking, and Garrus started to feel a little awkward. It was hard to tell from the look on her face, but he thought that maybe she was… was she angry? Surprised? Bored, maybe? He couldn’t quite tell. Human expressions were usually easy to interpret, with their fleshy lips stretching and pouting and their eyebrows leaping up and down. But when Shepard was in her ‘commander’ mode, she could be so damned hard to read. 

She glanced at the closed door. Then, to his surprise, she walked over to him and sat in his chair. 

She raked her long black bangs back from her face and looked up at him. “You want to know my secret?” she said.

“Secret?” he said blankly. “To what?”

“To staying calm all the time,” she said. “Can I tell you my secret?”

“Um, sure,” he said. 

She leaned toward him, and he instinctively stooped down a bit to hear her better — a good thing that he did, since her voice was low and conspiratorial when she spoke. 

“I cry in the shower,” she said.

His guts twisted in a funny way. “What?”

She leaned back in his chair. “I cry in the shower,” she said. “When something really fucked up happens, I get in the shower at the end of the day and I cry like hell.”

He stared at her wordlessly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say, but it wasn’t this. 

A little smile curled the corners of her lips. “What’s wrong? Not the answer you were hoping to hear?”

“It’s — it’s not that,” he said. “I’m just, uh, surprised. You cry in the shower?”

“Yep,” she said. “Not bullshitting you, I promise. This is not a bet with Joker or anything like that.”

He tried to gather his wits. “So… what, you cry in the shower, and then you just… get back to being Commander Malin Shepard, saviour of the Citadel and resident Reaper conspiracist?”

She chuckled. “Exactly. It’s like a purge. Works perfectly every time.”

He nodded slowly, feeling like he needed some time to process this, and Shepard huffed and punched his arm in a friendly manner.  “Not so impressed with me anymore, huh?”

That wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t that he was unimpressed. But now he was actually worried about her. In all the time Garrus had known her, he had never once imagined her crying about anything. If what she was telling him was true, though…

Hang on. How often did she cry in the shower, exactly? No, he couldn’t ask that — it would definitely be overstepping. 

He scrambled to find a clever reply. “It’s not that,” he said. “Actually, I’m jealous.”

She laughed. “Jealous? Why?” Then her eyebrows rose. “Wait, can turians cry?”

“Sure,” Garrus said. “But we don’t do it often.”

“Is it hard for you to cry?” she asked.

“Well, the turian military doesn’t exactly encourage you to curl up in the corner for a little weeping time,” he said dryly.

She snorted. “Not what I meant. I was more wondering if, uh, since you have deep eye sockets, maybe your tears collect in there somewhere…?”

He flared his mandibles in amusement. “Tears don’t collect in a little reservoir under our eyes or something, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he drawled. “But yeah, we can cry. It just doesn’t happen much. Which leads me to the jealousy,” he added. “You get to sit in your shower crying whenever you feel like it? Forget the private cabin: that’s the real luxury of being the commander.”

She laughed again, more heartily this time, and the husky warmth of her laughter was such that Garrus could almost taste the sweet bite of brandy and bittersweet chocolate. “Well, if you ever want to try it sometime, let me know.”

“Try what?” he said. “Crying in the shower?”

“Yep,” she said. “You can borrow my private shower instead of using the shared showers down here, if you want. The walls are soundproof, so nobody can hear you wailing.”

For a split second, an image flashed across his mind: Shepard’s private shower. No, not just Shepard’s private shower: Shepard’s private shower, with Shepard in it. Shepard naked in the shower — what did her body look like under those clothes, he wondered? — and he, Garrus, joining her in the shower —

Wait. Wait a second. Why was he thinking about that? He shouldn’t be thinking about that. It was Shepard, for crying out loud: his friend and his CO. Who did he think he was, to imagine his human female CO naked in the shower? 

He scrambled to get his thoughts back on track. “I’ll, uh, let you know,” he said. “Might have to train my eyes how to cry, it’s been so long.”

She smirked. “Nice try, Vakarian. Something tells me you’re not quite that heartless.”

He chuckled — a little weakly, to be truthful, but Shepard didn’t seem to notice; she was rising from his chair with a smile. “Well, I should go. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” he echoed, and he watched her surreptitiously as she left the room. Once she was gone, he sat in his chair and closed his eyes. 

Crying in the shower… he honestly wouldn’t have guessed it. He’d expected her to give him some kind of encouraging advice or bolstering words of wisdom, like the sorts of things she said to the team before they set off on a mission. But somehow, hearing her say she cried in the shower was… interesting. It made him think about her in a different way. He was worried for sure, but also… comforted, somehow, to know that even Shepard got overwhelmed enough to cry. It seemed that under all that heavy N7 armour, she really was a regular person, too. 

Under all that heavy N7 armour… A flash of a thought projected itself on his closed eyelids: Shepard stripping off her armour, her slender human fingers raking her sweat-dampened bangs back from her face, the small bare patch at the nape of her neck where her short spiky hair faded into light golden-brown skin… 

He snapped open his eyes. Was he drifting off? He must be more tired than he thought. No other reason that he’d keep thinking about Shepard like this. 

He rose from his chair and rolled his shoulders, then clicked in his mandibles in annoyance as the crick in his neck announced itself once more. “Really could use a damned massage,” he muttered. Well, he’d just have to suck it up and wait until they got back to the Citadel.

In the meantime, he’d just have to cope with the strange nagging feeling of the crick in his neck.

[arcadejohn127-9]

It's okay, I'm here, I'm real

indulgence and vent based on a event that has happened to me somewhat recently but it's been long enough that I've gotten over it but still sucks that it happened - reminder, just because there are bad experiences with weed doesn't mean it's evil, just means be careful and smart about where you get and much you take - how you feel whilst doing it can heavily influenced what kind of trip you'll have

Be smart and responsible, know your limits and always have someone you trust with you

Mammon is irresponsible as always and Lucifer is there to comfort him. Big brother is going to make sure he's safe and okay whilst he goes through a bad drug trip because no matter how much they argue and insult each other they will always have each others backs

Angst/comfort

Warning: weed, bad drug trip, angst, sudden panic attacks, detailed descriptions of trip, drugs, taking too much drugs, heavy dissociation

It wasn't supposed to be like this; he thought it would be fine. He forced himself to breathe. Slowing his sudden gasps as his heart spiked. He could feel his mind blur as the weed finally kicked in. It hit him all at once and his skull pounded; the left side of his face was buzzing like a hive.

He mentally cursed at himself for being reckless but they were such small brownie slices! He didn't expect it to hit this hard.

He wanted to break down and sob his heart out but he had to stay calm; he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Meanwhile, Lucifer was marching down to his younger brothers room. Snarling to himself as he knew he was going to confront mammon ONCE AGAIN this week; he really wished that he would just be responsible for once.

The eldest demon threw open the door.

"Mammon, I said keep your habits in your own room! I had to stop Beel from eating every single brownie you left in the fridge-"

His lips immediately flew shut; his eyes landing on the rigid form of the younger demon. Eyes screwed shut and Barely keeping his breathing steady. Lucifers eyes landed on the plate beside him; already able to connect the dots.

Lucifer slowly approached, trying not to stress mammon even further. Mammons eyes opened once again; they were glassy and obviously he was holding back tears. The whites of his eye already turning red.

"how- how long has it been?"

"What do you mean?" He sat down beside him, watching closely to the males expression.

"I heard you coming and I closed my eyes and now you're here- how....how long did I have my eyes shut for...?"

Lucifers chest clenched; he always seen Mammon get hurt or in an unpleasant situation but this was breaking his heart. Mammons hands were shaking as he was trying grasp the world around him; nodding to himself as he was gripping to any spec of reality he could get.

"only for a few moments, mammon."

"seriously?! It felt like hours." He laughed, leaning back on his bed, still dazed.

"How many did you take? You're obviously not having a good trip, I haven't seen you like this since you first started."

"it was only 4! And they were tiny! Did you see em?"

He did, in fact see them. That was the whole reason he was even here; because he saw a pile of mini brownies all wrapped up and stuffed lazily into the fridge. He announced his annoyance just seconds ago but he can't blame his brother for not processing it all; he wished he would be more careful.

"I did....I did see them, let's get you comfortable."

He helped mammon take off his jacket, shifting to grab a nearby hoodie. He sniffed it to make sure it was still fresh through he was mammon didn't care at this point. After putting mammon in the hoodie he guided him to lay on the bed.

Mammon felt another sharp spike of panic seeing his brother leave his side. Weakly grabbing out to him as tears rolled down his cheeks, Lucifer patted his hand. Softly reassuring him he's not leaving. Lucifer pulled the blanket over his brother before taking off his coat, neatly placing it on the chair.

He mumbled sweet 'im here' as he came back to his brothers side. Crawling on the bed on the other side of him and laid down. He embraced mammon from behind, the other male gripping his brother's arms as he let out shaky sighs of relief.

You see, mammon was so relived. Why? Because Lucifer felt real. He was real. His clothes, his hold, his arm - it all felt real. He desperately clung to his brothers arms as he got comfortable in his bed. Lukcily, it was big enough for the both of them but it was still somewhat a squeeze.

But right now that didn't bother Mammon. He just needed to feel something solid. The world around his was weightless; false. All just a blurred background to trick him. More tears came out; curling into himself as he mentally reminded himself that it'll all go away. This feeling wil go away.

"I hate.....I hate feeling like this again....it's been centuries since I've had one this bad- I hate it - I hate it so bad...."

"I know, I'm here, just get some sleep - it'll make it go away faster."

Lucifer leaned his forhead against the back of mammons head. Giving him a gentle squeeze. For a moment Mammon panicked; Lucifer sounded like how he did in his dreams. Those dreams never ended well for him. He always got hurt.

Together, they breathed in and out. Slow steady breathes coming out if the both of them.

"I know but- whenever I close my eyes I feel like I'm dreaming - I can't - I can't tell the difference..."

"I'll tell you how long it's been, just rest."

"it's been an hour, Mammon, go back to sleep."

Despite his reluctance, he nodded. Mammon closed his eyes, trusting his brother. He laid there; unable to tell when he was finally asleep. It was strange because he wasn't tired at all and yet it was effortless. Or maybe it wasn't; he had no idea. It was all just darkness within darkness. He could sense the world shifting as he kept his eyes closed.

Finally, he awoke. Feeling more refreshed and for a few moments - sober. He felt fine. Normal. Grounded. But those feelings weren't going to last. Lucifer noticed his awakening, patting mammons arm and sighed tiredly.

"it's okay, I got you." Lucifer always had him, no matter what.

"an- an hour-?!" His voice squeaked, pain coming out as he let the words echo in his head in disbelief.

Was eternity really only an hour? Was this how it was going to be? He'd wake up every hour still experiencing this awful trip and unable to tell if he was even actually awake.

Mammons tried to go back to sleep; his legs suddenly twitching and jerking. He couldn't remember when that happened. But he was being persistent; sleeping was going to fix this. He was sure belphegor would be amazing at this.

Next time his eyes opened; they immediately went for the clock that's by his bed. He was vaguely aware of the time before he closed his eyes; but at what time did he close his eyes? Was it the first time he closed his eyes or the most recent? When was the most recent?

He whimpered and groaned to himself, moving his hair out of his face. He was able to see through his fringe but it felt odd - it was like looking through a TV screen. Everything behind his hair was far away but yet, he could still see it if it was up close. Being free from his hairs tricks he got to have a another moment of being sober.

Lucifer was sleeping. He spend the past couple of hours just staring at the wall, not wanting to disturb mammon. Soon enough he always went to Dreamland; bored of waiting. But somewhere in his brain he could still sense the world as If he was conscious; sensing mammon was once again awake.

"It's been 3 hours - it'll be over soon." His voice was groggy but mammon was thankful the change didn't make him panic.

He is legs kept twitching and moving. He couldn't stop it. His body was just moving on his own. Lucifer moved one of his arms much to mammons dismay; grabbing a water bottle Asmodeus left not too long ago. He handed it to mammon.

"Drink, you'll need it."

Mammon was in no position to say otherwise. His mouth dryer than a dessert. He chugged down the water until he felt satisfied; closing his eyes once again and let himself drift through sleep and uncertainty.

Next thing the both of them knew was Mammon was keeping close to the edge of the bed. Mumbling about falling off the edge. But he couldn't move; he kept hunching like was going to throw up. He kept taking large gulps of water as he his mouth kept drying up in moments.

Lucifer rubbed his back, trying to keep him from throwing up. That would only cause the poor demon to have a panic attack and he didn't need to be struggling to breathe mid way through barfing.

Thankfully; time flew by at last and it was the next day. Both brothers still snored as they held onto each other. The other brothers checked in to make sure they were okay, mammon had plenty of water and Lucifer has some snacks to eat.

It was going to be okay

He was okay

Thank father it's okay

[fulokis]

Fulokis WandaVision Rewrite- Chapter 1

Hey wanted to take my two cents at something that made more sense than what they actually did to quicksilver. Hope you like it!

Peter stood staring at the man in front of him. He hadn't spoken for what seemed like a few minutes, still processing what Peter had told him. Peter sighed, he hadn't meant to let it slip, he still wasn't sure how it had happened. One minute the two were arguing with each other and then the next the room was enveloped in an awkward silence.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked. He had assumed that Peter was his son since the Pentagon, but he didn't want to freak the kid out.

"Just forget it." Peter said quickly trying to bury his feelings in his chest.

"Pietro, why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked knowing he was pushing.

Peter looked down at the floor, "I haven't been called that since the Cuban Missile crisis. Not even in the house."

"Those damn soviets am I right?" Erik attempted to joke.

"No." Peter said, "It was so that me and Wanda could go to school without getting harassed. So we could live life. So that we could protect ourselves when we didn't have a father to protect us."

"Wanda?" Erik asked, "Peter if I had known..."

"But you didn't because you left. You left and Wanda died!" Peter said, surprised at his own reaction and his anger. "Not because of the Russians, not because of the Americans, because of you. Because you left us, Wanda died. You know what killed her Bullets. Bullets from guns. Both things made of Metal! You could have stopped them, you could have saved her. But you were too busy killing the president to care about your family."

"Peter..."

"No. It's too late for that." Peter said storming out of the mansion.

Peter ran. He always ran, it helped him think. But all he could think about was his twin sister, her body laying there on the pavement. Him helpless to do anything. That's why he'd developed speed, he was too late, and running became an obsession. When his mother had gone into labor with Lorna his powers developed. He didn't even realize that they had until he was sitting by his mothers side in the hospital watching his newborn sister asleep.

Peter stopped running, he was probably an hour's drive from the mansion by now. He looked around his surroundings, he was in New York City. The sounds of horns from angry drivers, and the buzz of the electricity made the night loud and bright. The buildings loomed over head, one caught Peters eyes in particular. It was shorter than the rest only about four stories tall, the most noteworthy feature of its appearance was the large circular window on the top floor. Something about it reminded him of his sister.

Peter walked up to the door, to his surprise it was unlocked. Walking inside he shouted "Hello?"

"Pietro?" He could hear a woman's voice call out.

"How do you know my name?" He asked walking in the direction he heard the voice.

"Because I am the Sorcerer Supreme." The woman replied walking down the right side of the twin staircase that circled the entry room. "I know all Pietro."

Peter looked up at the woman "Yeah, Yeah and every old person claims they know all. Tell me something I haven't heard."

"Wanda is alive, in another universe that is." The sorcerer said finishing descending the stairs, "I can bring you to her."

Peter thought for a second, "How do I know I can trust you? And were you stalking me?"

"I won't force you. But I Think you're curious." She said, "I think you want to know how your sister would have turned out. Who she is." She rose her hand in front of the door and Peter looked through.

A woman stood in front of a cradle singing a lullaby in a language he didn't recognize. She looked up from her children as if almost sensing that he was there. Peter gasped, she had mom's eyes. He chuckled how many times had he seen those eyes look at him with disappointment. But this time they weren't, they were looking towards him with adoration. A look he'd only seen a few times from his mother since Wanda's death. The woman's hair was even the same color he had been jealous he didn't inherit.

"How did you do that?" He asked, unable to take his eyes off of the door.

"With a spell of course." She replied.

"What's that language she's speaking?" Peter asked, watching as someone else appeared on the screen and talking to who he assumed was Wanda.

"It's from a country that does not exist here."

"This isn't possible. You're messing with my..."

"I'm a twin." Wanda said, "I had a brother, his name was Pietro."

"What?" Peter said looking at the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Keep watching Pietro." She said nodding towards the door.

"He was killed by Ultron, wasn't he?" The other woman said.

Peter turned around, "So you're saying that there's this universe where Wanda is alive and I'm dead?"

"Fascinating isn't it?" The woman said, "A universe where you're dead and one where your sister is. Pietro the Multiverse works in strange ways, if anything this is destiny."

"It's fake. It has to be." Peter replied, "There's no way that its real."

"Then how is it possible that your father can bend the electromagnetic fields of the earth to change its polarity? Or that your beloved professor can send a message to the minds of every person on the planet? You know its more than possible Pietro, you know more than anyone how probable it is."

Peter swallowed, "I should go back, they're probably worried about me."

He turned to walk away but the woman stepped in front of him, "We both know they're not. We both know they don't care where you are or what you're doing."

"I should go." Peter said getting choked up thinking about what the woman in front of him was saying. Wanda was there, in another universe, but she was there. There and she clearly loved him and missed him, more than his father had. It wasn't like any of them would miss him if he popped over for a few minutes if only to give her a hug.

"You don't want to go do you?" The woman turned her head inquisitively.

"No." Peter admitted, "Maybe its too late for her here, but there I doubt it is."

"You want to go?" She asked.

"Yeah, so do I just step through this door or like..." Peter asked.

"It's a little more complicated than that." The woman said motioning for him to follow her up the stairs.  Peter followed resisting the urge to use his speed to explore the building. The woman led him to a library that reminded him of the one at the x-mansion. There were books on everything, from simple fake magic tricks to forbidden spells. Peter's eyes were drawn by a particular book. The title was almost impossible to read from the spine, so he picked it up and looked at the cover. The Strange Phenomena of the Witch Blessed Mutants the title read. Peter had seen the book before, strangely not at the mansion but in his own house outside of D.C. "What are you doing?" The woman asked popping right next to Peter.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked her.

"Do you want to see your sister or are you here to snoop?"

"You know more than you're letting on." Peter said, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Pietro, why would you think that?"

"This book, its in the wrong spot. It shouldn't be with the A's it should be with the H's if we're going by last name." Pietro said.

"Oops my bad." The woman said through gritted teeth.

"Either that or you wanted me to find this and its all some part of an elaborate plan to trap me in this other universe for some shady reasons." Peter watched as the woman's face dropped and he smiled, "I'm kidding, lighten up will ya?"

"That's a good one." She said awkwardly throwing up a fake smile, motioning for Peter to follow her. Peter followed her until they got to an open room. "Stand in the middle." She commanded.

"Okay." Peter gulped his anxiety resurfacing. He stepped into the middle of the room and a purple ring surrounded him.

"In order to travel through dimensions you need a protection spell. It keeps you from loosing your mind at the possibilities and the infinite outcomes between dimensions." The woman explained. She threw her hands up slightly and nothing happened.

"Was that supposed to do anything?" Peter asked looking around the room.

The woman ignored his comment and started chanting in Latin. The circle around Peter lit up with a purple glow. Peter attempted to touch it but yanked his hand back when he felt the heat the magic was producing. Peter watched intently and imagined Wanda doing something similar with her magic. The woman pulled out a necklace and made it float near the circle. The necklace began to syphon the energy off the circle, making the air around Peter unbelievably hot. Peter tried to stay conscious but the heat was unbearable and he hit the ground a few seconds later.

The woman kneeled over him and shook him gently. Peter startled looking up in confusion. "Uh..."

"Relax Pietro," The woman said "It's normal to feel overwhelmed by magic, especially when it's your first time."

"First time? Pfft I'm not that lame lady. Least you could do is take me out to dinner first." Peter said attempting to sit up.

"Take it slowly." The woman almost barked "Going to fast could potentially be fatal."

"Fatal? What is there like a list of side effects?"

"All the standard Magical ones." She said standing up, "Nausea, Heart attack, stroke, cancer..."

"I'd have said no if I knew it was going to kill me." Peter said easing onto an elbow.

"Possible side effects darling." She replied flipping through a worn out book.

"Darling? That's a little fast even for me."

She sighed and walked over to him, extending a hand down to help him up. "You should get going, after all your sister is waiting for you."

"Is it weird that I feel like I'm gonna barf?"

"No." She replied to him "Oh before I forget, you'll need to put this on before you go through."

Peter took the necklace and slipped it over his head "And you're sure this will work?"

"Of course it will. My magic never fails." She said and looked at him with a smile leading him down the stairs.

"By the way what's your name? You know if I want to come back home and what not."

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, "I'm... Agnes." She said.

"Coolio." Peter replied following her to the door.

Agnes motioned and the doorway led to a small field, "This is the closest that I can get you, you'll need to run a few miles to the west. There's a wall around the town your sister lives in, it's a security measure against humans harming the perfect little mutant community that lives there."

"So what your saying is my sister has a bunch of mutants that live with her?"

"Yes Pietro, she found her people." Agnes said pushing Peter through the portal and closing it behind him.

Peter fell landing in a mud pile. "Not cool!" He shouted "So not cool." He took a breath and stood up. The night was cool a slight wind blew through the trees. Peter looked around, he had landed in a corn field, the stocks were brown and fragile. He smiled to himself as he saw a scarecrow sitting in front of him.

"You stuck here too buddy?" He asked the limp sack of hay. Before smiling and starting to run. Peter ran and this time instead of thinking he enjoyed the air running across his face. The feeling of his feet hitting the ground, the sounds that each foot made when coming into contact with the mud. Peter kept running until he nearly collided with a military vehicle.

Seeing the vehicle he decided to take a look through the area. There was a drone on a table glowing red. A guy in a quarantine unit, being questioned by medical staff. Peter kept running, there seemed nothing related to mutants anywhere in the facility. He figured that they had no idea that there was a mutant community.

Peter kept running until he found the wall. Taking one look at it he decided to run through it. Running through he could hear and feel some of the most painful times of his life and he stopped as he could feel apocalypse trying to crush his skull. The pain was so real almost like living it again, almost like nearly dying again. Out of breath Peter collapsed on the ground, a new sensation spreading across his body. His body burned, it felt like his blood was causing his body to burn. He could feel the pain everywhere in his body, circular areas burned the most. Then he opened his eyes again and Peter couldn't explain what he saw. Metal corpses littered the ground even more were flying around shooting concentrated fire of some sort. Peter tried to call out to his father, he tried to call out for the professor or someone for help, but all he could feel was the burning hot pain from his injured nerves. Then it was quiet the dust and metal settled and everything was dark, but he could hear someone calling to him. Wanda he thought smiling before passing out.

"My goodness Ralph!" Agnes cried, "You're filthy and tracking mud into my kitchen!"

"Aw cut it out will ya?!" Ralph said back "At least I'm not running around the house getting in your way."

"You're not supposed to be running at all. If they find out you were using your powers..."

"Ha, if they do I'll be long gone."

"I swear it won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty." Agnes said.

"It'd be a blessing if I did." Ralph mumbled.

"What was that?" Agnes asked in a shrill tone.

"I said you look lovely tonight."

"Why yes I do don't I?"

"What's the reason?" Ralph asked.

"Of course you forgot! Why did I think you would remember?" Agnes sniped.

"Because you forgot your self?" Ralph offered up.

"Forgot? Ralph you know I don't forget." Agnes said, "Tonight is the night we're having a picnic in the yard. Go clean up."

"Why not just the gazebo in the town square?" Ralph asked after he had run upstairs and changed in a matter of seconds.

"We've been over this Ralph, it's best for you to not draw attention to yourself. Which means..." Agnes prompted.

Ralph sighed "No powers, No criminal activity and most of all no doing things that the people in town will think as of odd. But I'm pretty sure that having a yard picnic would be considered odd, gazebo not so much."

"Ralph people don't care what you do in your own yard, besides if you really are that worried you can tell them I asked you to."

"That's the reason I married you, because you asked me to. Though I do question that decision, what with the creepy basement and all."

"Oh Ralph you charmer." Agnes said leading him out of the house. She walked over to where their yard intersected with the next door neighbors yard. With a wave of her hand she placed down a picnic blanket and a bunch of food.

"'It won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty' yeah right, totally won't be your fault if you keep using your powers." Ralph said sarcastically under his breath.

"What was that?" Agnes asked from on the blanket.

"Nothing important." Ralph said.

"Come join me, please." Agnes said, "Look I know the move hasn't been easy on you. Especially since we've literally had to become different people. But Ralph I don't regret it, I can't regret it."

"Eh didn't much like it there anyway, here is nice it's quiet. No trouble for you to get into, no weird sorcerer fights I have to save your ass from."

"I'm still a witch Ralph."

Ralph chuckled and looked up at the stars, "No you're not, you can be anything you want, but not a witch not anymore."

"Do you miss teaching?" Agnes asked eyeing the house behind them.

"Teaching?" Ralph asked vaguely remembering something like it "Feels like a lifetime ago." He said slowly.

"Interesting." Agnes said.

"Huh?" Ralph asked.

"Nothing it's not important."

Ralph shrugged it off and continued looking at the stars in silence, "You ever think how massive the universe is, and how little you really know?"

"Yes I do." Agnes replied keeping focused on the neighbors house.

"I want to know how life got here. On earth I mean. Out the trillions of planets out there, why this tiny hunk?" Ralph said glancing over at Agnes. "What's something you want to know?"

"How she did all this." Agnes said a dark tone seeping into her voice. Agnes turned to face Ralph and started to cast a spell.

"You freak me out when you do that without a warning you know." Ralph said watching her guide the purple energy flowing out of her hands.

Agnes ignored Ralph and continued to chant until the spell was ready. Without warning she shot her magic at the necklace her companion wore, smiling as it hit the beads. Something seemed to stir inside the man and he stood up. Using his super speed he ran to the front door of the neighbors house and stood there.

Peter felt weird, he couldn't remember how long he had been running. Or even how long it had been since he left the mansion. The last thing he could remember before blacking out was his body on fire and hearing Wanda calling to him. He looked down, some how he had managed to change clothes. Instead of his typical jacket he wore a brown one, much like the one he had seen his father wearing every once in a while. His shirt was a purple flower print. He smiled, maybe it was weird to wake up in these random clothes, but at least they had his second favorite color.

Peter looked up at the door. This was it, after nearly 15 years he was about to look his twin sister in the eyes again. Only he knew it wasn't quite his twin sister. Peter swallowed nervous at the action he was about to perform. He rose his hand and considered using his speed to get the nerve wracking action over with. Deciding against it he firmly pressed against the plastic button of the doorbell.

The shouting from inside the house he had heard earlier had been replaced with hushed voices, that were seemingly surprised at a sudden visitor. The door swung open with a creak and a young woman stood in front of it. Peter stood there looking at her, waiting for some semblance of recognition.

"Wanda who is this?" A man from slightly further inside the house asked.

Peter waited for a second before extending his arms out and stepping forward slightly. "Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin sister to death or what?"

The woman stared for a second processing what was happening. "Pietro?" Her voice cracked.

Peter made a movement with his head to indicate that it was indeed him. Wanda sighed softly and took her brother in her arms. Peter closed his eyes at his sisters embrace, it felt good to have his second half here in the same room with him. Wanda broke contact and Peter glanced around the house. It was quaint reminded him of their moms house, simple yet useful. Peter locked eyes with the man who asked Wanda for his identity. "Who's the popsicle?"

Next >>

[sintreaties]

What’s your writing process like? Do you get inspired by random stuff and start writing on paper or do you type it on your phone? Our have a set schedule on when to write and get randomly inspired? Maybe have a goal to write at least this much in a day and get a boost of inspiration along the way?

There are times in which inspiration hits and I write the whole thing out on paper, or there are times in which I get some very vivid scenes and I jot them down first before moving on to an outline, then to a first draft on Google Docs and so on.

Writing the remaining chapters of OTAP was easier this time around, because in the past months I kept coming up with random scenes and writing them down whenever. One instance in particular I was at work during a night shift and I came up with a whole ass chapter. For two hours I kept every detail in mind, until I could finally go on break for ten minutes at 2am and write as much as I could on my phone.

I keep my notebook on a shelf by a window, so that when I close the window on my way out I can still jot down whatever random idea I get. And it works wonders! In most cases, all I had to do what copy those bits onto the document and flesh them out, making my first draft much easier to write. I have another smaller notebook used for simple (original) prompts, the ones that I keep for when I’ll actually let myself write original works.

There are only three things that remain constant: 1) If an idea isn’t appealing, I can’t force myself to write it, because the result will probably disappoint me 2) if I’m using a screen, I get up, stretch, rest my eyes for 10-15 minutes every 45 minutes of writing 3) I hate, I absolutely detest being forced to write every day and having a word count to reach.

A lot of professional authors tell you that writing every day is the key to becoming a good writer, because practice makes perfect blah blah blah. That advice is good for the kind of writers that don’t like writing as much as they should (or that have other kind of issues), and thus have to force themselves to sit down and get it done.

After the 57k I wrote in the past few weeks, I simply feel mentally drained. There were days in which I wrote more than 4k —because I genuinely enjoyed what I was writing — but during the last day I could barely reach 88 words. I can’t wait to go on hiatus, I struggle even to reply to the comments because I just feel fed up with OTAP and I want nothing to do with it.

Resting is terribly important. I would have probably been able to hit more than 2k every day, if only I had let myself take some time off (but I really really wanted all the Nanowrimo badges and still somehow didn’t get one jfc). In general, ten minutes of work in which I’m inspired and energized can be much productive than wasting hours trying to barf up 1.656 words. It makes editing much easier too, because one thing is adding stuff to 500 words written in ten minutes, one thing is rewriting a whole half-assed chapter. For me it works just fine, or else I wouldn’t have written like 500k in the past three years. It preserves the pleasure that I find in writing — ensuring that the quality doesn’t plummet because of my exhaustion.

[btssavedmylifeblr]

DNA - Part Eight

Genre: futuristic dystopian smut and angst

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 4164 (Part Eight of Ten)

Summary: Jungkook had one job: Reproduce. Competition for stud services was fierce, so efficiency was key.  Love is inefficient.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Warnings: angst, men and women used for breeding, Jungkook has a hangover

Every part of Jungkook ached. There was a pounding so loud in his head, it felt like it was coming from inside his own brain. He curled in on himself, regretting all of his life choices. His tongue made a rasping velcro sound as he tried to unstick it from the roof of his mouth. His lips were dry and he had no moisture to wet them. He felt dried out, greasy and disgusting. The dull pounding in his skull continued as he cracked opened one eye. He saw the bottom of Jimin’s bunk in front of him and was relieved he was waking up in his own bed. Jimin and Taehyung must have brought him back here after their failed adventure last night. The pain in his head worsened as memories of the previous evening came back to him.

She must be gone by now.  She’s no doubt been shipped off, sent over to the prenatal facility to give birth to yet another child of his that he would never meet. He’d gotten drunk and fucked up his last chance to see her before she left. And he’d probably never see her again.

Or maybe she’d been gone long before that. Jungkook grimaced as he remembered the revelations of the previous evening. Maybe she’d never felt the connection he did. Maybe she was in love with the head breeder, as the gossipy cow had implied. That didn’t feel right to him though. Maybe he was still a bit drunk, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t shake the feeling that she had genuinely cared for him.

He lay in bed, holding his head as he wrestled with the possible interpretations of last night’s discovery. What was her relationship with the tall blonde breeder? He remembered the informal way she had called him Namjoon which seemed incriminating now. But she said he had rushed her into the program. What kind of sick fuck rushes his girlfriend into a program to be impregnated by other men?

A knock on the door sent a jolt of pain through him and he discovered that the pounding wasn’t only in his head. He tried to call out to make it stop, but only a hoarse gurgling sound came out. He sat up, but that made everything worse, so he lay back down, cradling his head to prevent it from splitting in half.

“Jungkook!” Taehyung shouted from beyond the door. “Jungkook! I know you’re in there.”

Jungkook couldn’t muster the strength to respond and just pulled the blanket over his head, hoping to drown out the knocking.

“You need to get up.” The breeder pounded on the door again, louder. “Sperm count.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jungkook grumbled as he swung his legs out of the bed. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he called so Taehyung would stop the terrible noise. It took him another few minutes to summon the energy to stand. Being on his feet made everything hurt more and he felt like he might vomit.

When he finally managed to open the door, he was nearly blinded by the neon yellow scrubs the breeder was wearing. He decided that if he did need to vomit, it would definitely be on Taehyung, just so he’d never wear these atrocities again.

“Sperm count!” the breeder said, louder than he needed to, smirking at the way Jungkook winced at the sound.

“Now?” Jungkook moaned. “I just did one last week.”

“Look, I’m not the one who barfed on camera three times last night,” the intern chuckled, patting him on the shoulder and forcing a cold bottle of water into his hands.

“Three?” Jungkook asked as he cracked open the water bottle. He could only remember two.

“Yeah,” Taehyung chuckled. “You might want to avoid Jimin today.”

Jungkook grimaced. Somewhere in the back of mind, he remembered that he owed Jimin some new shoes.

“Come on stud,” the breeder laughed. “Let’s go get you checked out.”

Had Jungkook not been so hungover, he would have been more apprehensive about the random sperm check. Drinking was against the rules, but the breeders tended to turn a blind eye if your count held up. Fail the count though and you would face a week with no cows. Fail two in a row and you were out.

The cold water bottle was the best thing that had happened in weeks and he sipped it gratefully on the walk to the labs, thinking that a week of probation might actually be a relief.

When they got to the lab, Taehyung gestured for him to take a seat on the exam table as the breeder began rustling through drawers and pulling out supplies. Jungkook sat down, reached under his robe and began stroking himself, readying a semen sample. He had long ago lost all shame about masturbating in front of the breeders. Bulls and cows fucked in front of the breeders too, so he didn’t see the the point in pretending they had any modesty left.

Jungkook’s bigger concern was whether or not he could even produce a sample today. Every muscle in his body ached and he felt completely drained. He stared down at his flaccid penis. It looked like it had given up too.

“That won’t be necessary,” Taehyung said as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and sat down on a rolling stool.

“You said you needed a sperm count.”

The breeder coughed, covering his mouth with his elbow, not looking at the stud. “I have your sample for today.” He jerked his chin in the direction of a sample jar on the counter that was already full. The slight blush that colored the breeder’s cheeks clued the stud into where the sample had come from.

“What?” Jungkook shook his head, his brain all foggy and confused.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung chuckled, pushing on Jungkook’s shoulder to get him to recline back onto the exam table. “It’s not hard to do.” He laughed as he straightened out Jungkook’s arm. “Make a fist.”

The breeder grabbed a tourniquet from the table of supplies and wrapped it around the stud’s upper arm, palpating the crook of his elbow, feeling for veins. The studs had so many blood draws that Jungkook knew this routine perfectly. His prominent veins always made it a quick process, so he didn’t mind much. Taehyung found one quickly and inserted the needle. But instead of reaching for the blood vials, the breeder reached for a long piece of plastic tubing connected to a large yellow bag.

“What’s that?” Jungkook lifted his head to look at the new contraption, then winced in pain as his headache roared back.

“Banana bag,” the breeder replied, brows drawn in concentration as he attached the tubing to the needle in Jungkook’s arm, making sure the IV was seated properly before pulling off the tourniquet. “For dehydration.” Jungkook raised his eyebrows, not understanding. “For your hangover, you doofus.” The breeder laughed, patting the stud’s arm.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” the stud wondered aloud. He never would have thought a breeder would be this kind to him. The intern was taking an awful lot of risks lately for a stud who had caused him nothing but trouble.

“I need your help.” The breeder dropped his voice as he rolled his chair closer.

Jungkook nodded sleepily, closing his eyes, already beginning to feel better as the fluids and electrolytes from the IV flooded his system. He’d do whatever this man wanted as long as he could stay hooked to this miracle bag.

“Don’t fall asleep on me.” Taehyung poked his arm. “We need to talk.” Jungkook nodded some more, but already felt himself falling asleep. “2050 is still here.”

Jungkook’s eyes flew open. He tried to sit up, but Taehyung held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Just listen,” the breeder insisted. “Something weird is going on.” The breeder leaned in even closer, so he was speaking close to Jungkook’s ear. “She’s pregnant. I ran her blood test this morning.”

Jungkook felt a familiar ache in his stomach. That was his child. Their child. But if she was pregnant, that meant she’d be leaving the breeding facility and last night had been his last chance to see her.

“But look.” Taehyung grabbed his tablet off the lab counter and opened the program containing the farm’s medical records. Jungkook squinted to where the breeder’s finger was pointing to her name. He followed over from Tae’s finger to see her status listed as ‘Inseminated - awaiting results’.

“Someone changed her status back!” Taehyung whispered, jabbing his finger at the screen. “They deleted my test results from the system.” He frowned down at the tablet, scrolling back and forth.

“Dr. Kim?” Jungkook guessed, frowning.

“Who else?” Taehyung continued scrolling through the tablet, eyebrows knitted in consternation.

“Why would he do that?” Jungkook wondered why, if it was just an affair, the doctor would risk changing official records. Was he really risking his job just to fuck her one last time? It didn’t make sense. Then Jungkook realized that he had repeatedly put his own career on the line just to see her, and it didn’t seem so far fetched. Maybe Dr. Kim was in love with her too. Jungkook couldn’t blame him if he was.

“I don’t know.” The breeder looked up at the stud. “But weird things keep happening. Records changing, test results being lost, cows getting mixed up. I keep trying to tell my supervisor but he doesn’t want to redo all the paperwork on the word of an intern.”

“What do we do?” Jungkook rubbed his head, feeling the pain dissipate in response to the hydration in his arm, and becoming eager for action.

“I need proof that Dr. Kim is the one messing with the test results.”  Taehyung unclipped the now empty banana bag from Jungkook’s IV before removing the needle from his arm. “If he held her back, they must be meeting tonight. I need a lookout. Can you meet me in the breakroom after dinner?”

Jungkook nodded. They were finally going to get to the bottom of this.

Jungkook paced back and forth in the breakroom after dinner, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Taehyung for their spy mission.

“What is the matter with you?” Jimin lay across the couch, feet up, following Jungkook back and forth with his eyes.

“Nothing.” The younger man paused his pacing and sat down on the arm of the couch at the opposite end, trying to look nonchalant. But he couldn’t keep his leg from twitching.

“Something is definitely up with you.” The older man eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not gonna hurl again, are you?” He pulled his feet away from Jungkook grimacing.

“No,” Jungkook grumbled. “I’m fine.”

Jimin looked like he didn’t believe him, but didn’t say anything further, picking up the remote and beginning to scroll through the channels on the TV.

Jungkook tried to be interested in the game show on the television, but couldn’t stay focused, glancing at the clock in 10-second intervals, terrified of missing their window. When the break room doors finally opened, Jungkook flew to his feet.

Taehyung stuck his head into the room. He and Jungkook nodded silently at each other and the intern gestured for the stud to follow him. Jungkook got up and half-walked, half-raced to the door.

“Hey!” Jimin said, sitting up. “Where are you two off to?”

“Karaoke.” Jungkook accidentally blurted the least plausible lie he could have given. Jungkook had never before in his life attended the company karaoke night. Jungkook looked at Taehyung with his most remorseful expression.

“There’s no karaoke tonight.” Jimin stood up off the couch. Of course, the biggest ham in the company would know exactly when karaoke night was.

“We’re practicing.” Taehyung steered into Jungkook’s terrible lie, but only made it worse. “Team competition.”

Jimin laughed. “You two are full of shit. Tell me what’s really going on.”

Jungkook looked at Taehyung, unsure what to do know. Taehyung confessed. “We’re going to spy on 2050 and Dr. Kim.”

“Really?” Jimin’s eyes widened and he scampered over to put on his shoes.

“You can’t come,” Taehyung objected. “There’s not enough room in the storage closet.”

Jimin crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows as if daring them to stop him.

The two younger boys looked back and forth between each other.  Jungkook shrugged.  He didn’t see why it would hurt to have another yet of eyes.

“Fine.” Taehyung nodded and the spy team set off.

Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung waited in the dark of the janitors’ closet. Jungkook stood anxiously by the door, holding it open just enough to see a sliver of the hallway. Jimin leaned against a shelving unit full of bottles of disinfectant. Taehyung sat on an overturned mop bucket next to the air vent near the floor. He had spent the previous hour threading a camera through the vent so it was now hidden just inside the air duct connected to the head breeder’s office.

Jimin leaned over Taehyung’s shoulder to examine the video feed on a tablet the intern had setup on top of a second bucket.  “Why do you have all this spy shit?” the older stud teased, picking up one of the large headsets for the audio feed and putting it on.

“Things have been weird here for a while,” Taehyung answered, tongue trapped between his teeth as he fiddled with the cord leading to the camera, so the camera pointed directly at the suspicious man’s desk. The office was quiet and dark. Dr. Kim was still at dinner. “Test results have been changing. Mating records getting mixed up. I told my supervisor about it, but he said they were just mistakes.”

“Maybe they are,” Jimin shrugged.

“Shhh!” Jungkook hissed from the door. “Someone’s coming.”

Dr. Kim appeared at the end of the hallway that led to the cafeteria. He was whistling to himself as he fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked his office. Jungkook clenched his fists at how calm the breeder appeared to be, as if destroying Jungkook’s hopes and dreams was just a casual day at the office for him. Jungkook stepped back from the door slightly, to prevent being seen from the hallway as the breeder entered his office, before turning join Jimin and Taehyung at the monitor.  

The feed showed the breeder as he settled in front of his computer, but they couldn’t see what he was doing behind the giant stacks of paper that still covered the desk, the floor, and every other available space in the room.

After about five minutes of watching the breeder do nothing but type on his computer, Jimin sighed dramatically. “How long do we have to watch him for?” The older stud yawned and stretched, twisting his upper body back and forth.

“I don’t know!” Taehyung didn't take his eyes off the monitor. “It’s a stake-out.”

Jungkook moved in closer, nodding in agreement. “As long as it takes.”

“That could be all night.” Jimin sat down on the floor, yawning some more.

“You didn’t have to come.” Taehyung looked up briefly to chastise Jimin, before turning back to the screen

“And let you two have all the good gossip? Jimin chuckled. “No way.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when something interesting happens.”

They spent the next several hours in the same manner, watching the breeder as he moved back and forth between typing on his computer and scribbling on his large yellow legal pads, only getting up periodically to go hunting for files in the giant stacks of paper.

“Maybe she’s not coming,” Jimin whispered, standing up and stretching.

Taehyung took off his headphones and rocked his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “Why would he change her results if they weren’t going to meet up tonight?”

“Maybe they are meeting somewhere else.” Jungkook suggested. He hoped that maybe she wouldn’t show up at all. That it was all a big misunderstanding and she had just been in the bathroom when he tried to visit her last night.

“He’s still in there.” Taehyung put his headphones back on and continued his monitoring. “Either she shows up or he leaves and we tail him.”

The men fell silent again. Jungkook thought that tailing Dr. Kim would not be as easy as the budding spy made it sound. There was nowhere to hide in these sterile white hallways.

Finally, at half past midnight, there were footsteps in the hall. Jungkook’s heart sunk. Someone was coming. And it sounded like they were headed this way. Hesitantly, he cracked open the door, hoping it was just a passing night watchman.

He sighed when he saw her, walking quickly down the hall. Part of him wanted to call out to her, to step out of the closet, say her name, and have her run into his arms. But he felt betrayed.

“She’s here,” he whispered to the others, as she knocked quietly on the door, glancing up and down the hall furtively, before disappearing into the office. Jungkook closed the door and all three young men gathered around the video feed. Taehyung handed them each a pair of headphones so they could listen in.

“This was a big risk.” The deep voice of the head breeder came through the headphones as he stepped into view in front of the desk. “What’s going on?”

The girl said something off camera, but she was too far out of range and it was too soft to be picked up by the mic. Then she ran into Dr. Kim’s arms. It looked like she loved him. Jungkook clenched his jaw, remembering the way she had run into his arms in just the same manner only a few weeks before. Had that all been a lie? Why would she pretend to have feelings for him? What possible purpose did that serve?

“What do we do if they just start fucking?” Jimin hissed but Taehyung shushed him.

For a moment, it seemed like Jimin might be right as the head breeder wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. But when she pulled away from him, he could see she was crying.

“I’m sorry, Joon.”

She sounded upset, and as much as he wanted to be angry with her for her lies and her deceit, Jungkook’s first reaction was concern.

“I can’t do it,” she said, shaking her head.

“Can’t do what?” The breeder leaned down and peered into her eyes. The breeder looked like he really cared about her. Jungkook wished he could be in there, that he could be the one drying her tears.

“I can’t go back there.”

Dr. Kim stiffened and pulled away from her, hands on her shoulders. “Yes, you can,” he insisted, squeezing her tightly.

“No, I can’t!” Her voice raised as she shook her head back and forth. The head breeder glanced at the door, then pulled her further into his office.

“I need you to calm down,” he said, and Jungkook clenched his fists at the breeder’s condescending tone.

“I can’t do it, Joon. You can’t make me.” Jungkook nodded along with her. Dr. Kim was not going to make her do anything she didn’t want to do. Not if Jungkook had any say in the matter.

“You’re having a stressful time right now,” Dr. Kim crouched down so he was eye level with her.

“Goddamnit, Joon, if you tell me I’m hormonal...” She squared her shoulders.

“Do you think I have a death wish?” The doctor threw his hands up in defense. The tension in the room seemed to break as they both laughed. Jungkook pouted at the way she laughed with the breeder. She had laughed with Jungkook like that too.

As the laughter died down, she hung her head in defeat. “You said you could get me out.” She sounded so sad. Jungkook would have gotten her out. He wanted to shout through the door. He had tried to get her out.

“I’m sorry,” the breeder answered. “We need more time.”

Jungkook furrowed his brow in confusion, glancing over at Taehyung who looked just as confused as he felt. The intern shrugged and adjusted his headset.

“Jungkook came to see me,” she whispered. Jungkook cocked his head and listened intently as the two other men in the storage closet glanced in his direction. “He wanted me to run away with him.”

“You told him no.” The doctor’s tone brooked no argument and Jungkook gritted his teeth in frustration.

“Obviously,” she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms, and looking deeply unhappy.

Dr. Kim sighed. “The work we’re doing here is important.” He patted her shoulder. “More important than some boy’s crush.”

Jungkook watched helplessly as she nodded in agreement, head buried in the breeder’s chest. Jungkook felt a strong urge to deck the blonde man across the face. Jimin glanced over at him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” she sighed, as she pulled away from Dr. Kim.  A tear rolled down her cheek as she looked up at the taller man. “But I still can’t do it.” She wiped the tear away in frustration, sniffling. “I can’t let them twist and warp my child in my own belly, Joon. Not again. I can’t have her torn from me. I won’t do it.”

Jungkook felt a pain deep in his gut. She was talking about their baby. Their daughter. And she seemed to be just as appalled by the idea of losing her as he was. Dr. Kim looked upset too and the room fell silent. The terrifying thought that the baby might actually be the doctor’s instead flashed across Jungkook’s mind.

“What if I bought her?” Dr. Kim said quietly, as if in confirmation of Jungkook’s worst fears.

“Really?” she said sniffling and smiling up at the doctor.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “then I could stop her being modified.”

Jungkook clenched his hands in rage. No way. No way in hell would he let his daughter be raised by this rich asshole who forced the women in his life to be breeding cows. Jungkook hands began to shake as he paced back and forth in agitation.

And then, the feed cut out. The video screen went black.

“What happened?!” Jungkook just barely stopped himself from shouting.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung whispered back, pressing buttons on the tablet and being greeted with the flashing low battery sign on the tablet. “Fuck.” The breeder swore under his breath.

Jimin stood up. “Didn’t you bring a charger?”

“I didn’t realize it would take so long,” Taehyung sighed in defeat, checking his bag, but not finding what he needed.

“It’s a stake-out!” Jimin parroted back the breeder’s earlier words.

Jungkook didn’t have time for this. Not when his child and the love of life were both seconds away from disappearing forever. While Taehyung and Jimin were arguing about what to do next, Jungkook bolted for the door.

“No!” Taehyung hissed after him. “Jungkook!”

The stud was already across the hallway before either of the other men could stop him. He wrenched open the door to the breeder’s office, bursting in to find them embracing again.

“Jungkook!” she said, breaking away from the breeder. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?!” he yelled, gesturing between her and the breeder.

“Get out of my office.” Dr. Kim placed himself in between the stud and the girl.

“Make me.” Jungkook spat. Dr. Kim rolled up his sleeves, but Jungkook was unimpressed. “You’re not stealing my daughter.”

“What?” she gasped. “Have you been listening in?”

Jungkook ignored the question. He had too many of his own.

“What you doing  _________?” He intentionally used her name, the one thing he remembered most strongly from the drunken night before. He fought back a small smile when her mouth fell open in surprise.  “Do you love him?” Jungkook gestured at the head breeder. “Is that why you wanted to stay?”

“Jungkook,” she walked closer to him, but he away from her. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” His clenched fists shook in frustration. “Please tell me.”

“Okay, okay…” She nodded and looked at Dr. Kim, who shook his head vigorously. But then she looked back at Jungkook.

“Namjoon is my brother.”

[unifiedsocialblog]

Writing for Social Media: 7 Tips and Tools

There’s loads of great articles about writing, including writing for social media.

Maybe this will become one of them. Whatever.

However, this piece is different.

You’ll see.

Bonus: Get the step-by-step social media strategy guide with pro tips on how to grow your social media presence.

7 writing tips for social media

…and for any kind of persuasive writing.

Sure, great writing may take talent and innate creativity. And hey, you’ve got something to say, right? No matter your current level of experience or skills. With a little gusto in your writing step, you can make the reader feel something, take an action, or be more informed than before.

A few tips below to show you how.

Suggestion: let loose, try some (or all) of these, and repeat them for a few of your posts. Build those new writing-muscles.

You’ll be amazed at how clear you’ll write, and how you’ll zero-in on your voice.

1. Barf it out

Writers block is a myth. if you wanna balst past it just write out anything in your head, without leaving teh keybord. just keep your fingers typing, looking at the keyboard not the screen, so your brain engages. forget about sentence structure, spelling, punctuation… just keep your fingers moving and p[ower through any blockages. do this for an articel, tech-doc, and kind of writing thingie. Even for a paragraph or three. whenever your stuck just typw. editing will come later. This is a brain excercise, not a make-it-look-just-right process. Editing comes later, but don’t mix the two. It’s never write the first time. but push stuff that’s in your head onto the page, then mnake your 4 or 5 or 6 or 7 edits…. LATER.

Okay, I’m back.

Whenever, I’m ‘stuck’, for any kind of writing… I just type. Every time, something useful appears before my writing-eyes-and-brain.

The same will happen to you, too.

Punch the so-called “writer’s block” right in the gut. It’s bunk.

2. Write to an 8th grader

Not because they are dumb. Because it forces you to write clearly. And to ditch the jargon and terms that eyeballs just gloss over.

“Drive innovation.”

“Become a disruptor.”

And my absolute non-favorite, “Transform your business…”.

Oh please. Some of the most over-used, under-effective statements of all time.

Companies and their writers hide behind these terms every day, all across the web. Statistically speaking, probably you, too. I’m just sayin’.

I don’t know if this intentional or not. But here’s the thing…

Terms and jargon say little, while making you and your biz appear as a commodity. Like many others. Better to do the heavy lifting for the reader. Because they certainly won’t. They’ll stop and leave, versus stay and scroll.

Do the work. Say something real. Practice on your kid, mom, or any outsider to tell your important and useful message.

Your readers will appreciate it. It makes good business sense.

3. Write to the reader

Because no one cares about what you (or I) do. Readers only care what they can get from what you (or I) do.

So then, write from the readers’ perspective. Make them the hero.

A list of features? B-o-r-i-n-g.

Words that paint a picture for how the reader’s life will improve, that’s the ticket.

Sometimes, “standing out” is nothing more than writing from the reader’s point of view. Because most of your competitors don’t.

4. Write with a purpose

And write that purpose at the top of your draft piece.

To keep your mind on the target while you write.

For an email, blog post, white paper, and of course for any social media post—be clear on the purpose.

What action do you want the reader to take?

Click the buy, call, or contact us button?

Or maybe you just want them to feel a certain way. Empathy? Bliss? Informed?

Too often, we humans write to write. Not a problem.

Unless you want to sell your stuff.

Social posts are usually a top-of-mind selling approach. And an opportunity to build, show, and share your brand.

And still, write with a purpose to raise your signal, lessen your noise.

Hey, don’t forget to delete the purpose reminder at the top of your draft.

5. Write to make the reader feel successful

Which is hard to do when reading long paragraphs, without breaks—like single lines and bolded lines.

Lead your reader down the page by breaking up your message.

Short paragraphs. Short sentences. Transition lines. Bullets. Some bolded items, too. Like this one…

Allowing your readers to skim and scan your message is nice.

It helps them feel a series of successes as they move down the page.

The more they read, the more they understand.

Good for everyone, right?

Oh yeah, and questions are good too. They encourage the reader to ‘lean in’, with interest.

What are you doing to help your readers scroll down the page?

Maybe I’ve overdone the short paragraphs in this post. Maybe not. Part of the just-try-it-and-see-for-yourself model. Better ‘too much’ than ‘too little’. You can dial it down later.

6. Write with a hyper-focus

…and with a tomato.

What the…?

Stay with me.

Too often, we look at a piece of work and think, ‘Ah man, I need a bunch of time to do this post.’

There’s a better way.

By defining and going after a small section or piece of your post, document or whatever you’re writing. Right now. Say, in the 15 minutes before your next meeting.

Define a small portion to write (I’m doing this right now for this single section)

Set a tomato timer, that you can hear going tick-tock-tick-tock

Barf it out (like we talked about above)

Make your edits

Finí

Go to your meeting

Progress made. Feels good.

I wrote this section in 17 minutes. You can, too. String a bunch more of these together to complete your writing, iteratively. Without feeling like you have to set aside a load of time in one or two sittings.

I love the Pomodoro Technique for getting anything done with a hyper-focus.

7. Use pictures to enhance the words

I’m not going to say much about this.

Of course, pictures enhance the words.

This piece is about the words.

I don’t want to leave you hanging though. Here’s one of a thousand good reads about adding pictures to your work.

7 writing tools for social media

Opinion: writing for social media is fun. Those writing tips and tricks help me enjoy the process. And so do these writing tools.

1. Session buddy (Chrome extension)

Good for: Reducing browser clutter by restoring windows and tabs for your writing project. In seconds. Cost: Free.

When writing, I usually do web searches to find related content or topics. These often become input into my writing piece. I arrange browser instances and tabs within each instance. Then, place them carefully on the screen to move around as needed.

Now, say I need to work on something else. Fine:

Click on the session buddy icon, in the Chrome toolbar

Name and save the session

Close the all the windows

Now you’re ready for action on a new task. Distraction free. Without any browser clutter.

Then, when it’s time to resume that project:

Click on the session buddy icon

Select and open the named session

Everything like before, instantly

Here’s a list of alternatives. Try and use what works for you.

Bonus: Get the step-by-step social media strategy guide with pro tips on how to grow your social media presence.

Get the free guide right now!

2. Hemingway app

Good for: Writing anything succinctly and clearly. Cost: Free online, $19.99 for the desktop app.

Hemingway app will make you a better writer. Period.

That whole jargon thing I complain about, it all goes away when you write like Ernest did.

Same for long sentences, unnecessary adverbs, superlative adjectives, and passive phrases. And, with hints for alternatives.

Write what you write

Paste it into Hemingway app

Visually see what works, what doesn’t

Make your changes, to do more of what does work

Paste back into your writing piece

Use Hemingway app often to build your writing skills. After a bit you’ll need it less. Though I still use it often to keep me in check. An amazing tool.

3. Markdown

Good for: Writing an easy-to-read, easy-to-write plain text format, then convert it to HTML. Cost: Depends. There’s a load of editors to write your markdown. Some are free, others cost. But not much.

Markdown allows you to write plain text for nearly all your writing projects. Find and choose a Markdown editor, for Windows, Mac or web.

Word, Google Docs, and the others of that same ilk? Oh please.

Feature bloat, complex to use, and limited to a tool. No thanks.

Markdown just works. With a simple WYSIWYG editor for headers, bolding, italics, bullets, highlight, horizontal dividers, and quotes.

Who needs more than that?

And, instantly convert your work to HTML to post on any platform, using their already-in-place CSS formatting.

In other words… you write text, export as HTML, publish anywhere.

Not sold?

Fine, try it out on your next writing piece. Easy to learn, even easier to use.

Markdown is the only way I write nowadays. Be careful, the same might happen to you. If you’re lucky.

4. ZenPen

Good for: Distraction free writing. Cost: Free.

There’s plenty of clutter in life. ZenPen is one small corner of the distraction-free-universe to help you write without outside interference.

Go to zenpen.io

Type and write

Copy and paste, or download (via markdown, plain text, or html)

Do something beautiful with your new Pulitzer-prize-like content

5. Grammarly

Good for: Making your writing clear, effective, and correct. Cost: Free online

Grammarly promises to keep your social posts on point. It will flag everything from contextual spelling errors to poor word choices. And, the tool integrates with lots of online platforms, including Twitter, Gmail, and Tumblr.

I make up words all the time, and misspell others. Not always a bad thing for getting people’s attention. As long as one is intentional about it.

Use Grammarly to convert the unintentional to the intentional.

6. Pomodoro Technique

Good for: Staying focused, for writing or anything else. Cost: Depends on the specific timer tool you choose. Loads of free ones.

I know, I already mentioned this.

It’s worth another mention.

The Pomodoro Technique is a time management method developed by Francesco Cirillo in the late 1980s. It uses a timer to break down work into 25 minute intervals (usually), separated by short breaks. Each interval is known as a pomodoro (Italian for tomato).

Cute, huh?

But Pomodoro is more than cute for getting s&$% done.

I use it all over the place, especially when writing:

Define a section or two to write

Set the timer (for 25 minutes)

Work until it rings (and only on that task)

Put down a checkmark on a piece of paper

Take a short break

Lather, rinse, repeat

Works as a good tracker, too. For instance, four checkmarks = about two hours for the completed effort.

I use an online Pomodoro timer that makes an obvious tick-tock (a kitchen timer works great, too). My wife knows not to interrupt me when in this highly-focused state.

As long as I follow up with her about the ever growing to-do list she came to me for.

7. Dropbox Paper

Good for: Writing and collaborating with others. Cost: Free for the individual or small business. It costs for the enterprise.

Dropbox paper is my main writing, editing, and collaboration tool. Clients dig it, too. I teach them how to use it in one minute.

It looks and reads beautiful

Super-duper easy to write, distraction free (with a simple toolbar that pops up only when text is highlighted)

Works as web content editor, versus a document editor (who needs line breaks anymore?)

Write together with others, real-time

Alert your mates, immediately, with comments off to the side

Export and download in the common formats to publish elsewhere

Not much more to say. Try it yourself. I dare you.

Compose, schedule, and publish your expertly written posts to all the major social media channels—including Instagram—from one dashboard using Hootsuite. Try it free today. 

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