#now i need to STOP and LOCK IN on the last three wips with a deadline ahhhhhh

[kirammanswoman]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES *ੈ✩‧₊˚

part 1 part 2 (wip) part 3 (wip) masterlist

three hockey player roommates that are in desperate need of a fourth roommate after their original one moved out on a whim. a professionally trained, braniac figure skater who needs to move. what’s the worst that could happen?

hockey!vi/ellie/abby x figureskater!fem!reader

warnings: reader is mentioned to be a lesbian!!!

a/n: im back n sorry it took so long, i forgot to say i was gonna make this n smau as well TEEHEE!! also ik i made a typo on the smau portion stfu ik…IF YOU KNOW WHERE THE ART FROM THE BANNER ABOVE IS FROM PLEASE LMK I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST AND CANT FIND THE ORIGINATOR

lowercase intended, unedited.

the moment you woke up to your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums at 5 am for the tenth time this week,

you knew.

sitting up from your tousled bed sheets and wrinkled pillows, you dig through the thick comforter to find your pj pants that you lazily threw off the night before. you dont know whether it’s your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums to metallica at 5 am (he for sure hasnt slept yet) or your head, but something was pounding. as you walk over to your mini kitchen in your tiny studio apartment, formula sheets, periodic tables, and notes were sprawled across the floor from the previous night’s panicked “i have to review this now or else i’ll die of anxiety before i sleep” study session.

you took a step forward, stepped on an eraser. another step, a pencil. and one more, lo and behold you’re at your kitchen counter, after two measly, groggy steps. so small, so crammed, so stuffy.

yeah. you had to move out.

morning practices weren’t your favorite, like at all. you studied for chem the night before, now you’re getting rewarded with two hours of coach medarda nit-picking at your every move. every axel, every jump, every loop. all. of. it. being medarda’s prized figure skater out of the bunch of girls was great, i mean, you were olympic bound because of her. however, the physical repercussions that come with exhausting your body in order to move so beautifully on ice wasn’t fun. you hurriedly tamed your bed ridden hair, threw on your practice clothes, stuffed your pristine white skates in your bag and sped off. that is, before almost eating shit on your tile floor because you tripped over your air fryer that was placed on the ground because the counter was far too small to stuff it in a corner. you curse to yourself as you clutch your foot— your very important foot— and you hop outside to lock the door.

when you finally locked the door (which took ages bc the dusty ass lock is older than you are) you sped walked to your car with a one track mind, a throbbing foot, and a repetitive thought.

i have to move out. fast.

-

-

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE JUST PACKED UP AND LEFT?”

“meant it how i said it you loud dipshit. her room’s empty, abby”

“yeah ellie and i tried to stop her and get an answer, i even ran out to the driveway shirtless but all she said was ‘im sorry vi but i have to go, my last payment for rent will be in for next month’ and she drove off”

the three hockey players stood in their living room, now missing a roommate, thus, missing a fourth person for rent. their former roommate, korra, insisted that she had other matters to attend to and had to move out urgently. they were perplexed, clueless, and a little angry at the sudden decision, but lo and behold, they can’t do anything about it now can they.

“alright— okay, sit down you shitheads— and put a shirt in vi, we gotta figure this out.”

“she did give us at least some allowance of time to figure something out right?” ellie responded to abby, fiddling with her silver rings. abby nodded and bit her lip while thinking if their next move.

“okay— here’s the deal.” she sat down and signaled the other two to sit as well. “i’ll ask my dad to cover the payment for the month after next month if we dont find one in time—”

“wait wait wait— what do you mean find one in time? you’re gonna go looking for a new one like a fuckass model agency recruiter?” ellie raised a brow

“no you fuckin idiot, im gonna post something on the locker room’s bulletin that we’re looking for new roommates.”

“like that’s gonna fucking find us one abby” vi scoffed

“okay listen you fuckasses— i can guarantee” she cut herself off “vi put a shirt on for fucks sake—“ she said as she threw a shirt to vi as she hurriedly threw her shirt on overtop her nike bra “im the damn captain of the team— i’ll make the rest of them look at it and convince them if we have too.”

“so— we’re taking anyone?”

“no, just hockey players”

yeah. right.

-

-

“ONE MORE TIME. CHIN UP.”

coach medardas demanding voice reverberated within the enclosed rink as you went through the last stretch of your routine again.

fuck fuck fuck ow ow ow shit shit shit—

was all you could think while repeating the final move of your routine for the fifth time now. as you hit your ending pose, medarda’s neutral face flickered a slight smile.

“good. much better. you’re free to go” she nodded you off. you thanked her and skated off the ice. everything hurt. every. single. thing. which was crazy considering you’ve been skating since 5 years old. never get used to it you suppose.

“how’s little miss perfect’s ice skating practice go?”

a voice breaks your thoughts off while you retrieve your stuff from your locker. you smile warmly at the girl with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair leaning against the door.

“hi D” you smile as you put your skates in your duffle.

“geez, medarda beat you black and blue again?” Dina asked as she walked over to one of the benches by your locker.

“black, blue, red, orange, green— the fuckin rainbow” you laughed

“ohhhh— i get it, because you’re a LESBI—” you covered dina’s mouth before she could finish.

“i swear to god—”

“no one’s here!” she muffled from her covered mouth, as she took your wrist into her hand and gently lifted it from her mouth. “plus i wasn’t actually gonna say it for real for real” she laughed.

it’s not like you had a problem with being a lesbian, fuck, if anything you thank every possible part of your existence for being attracted to women. it’s just—you had a reputation— and sometimes hiding a part of yourself was just easier to maintain that reputation. (a/n: this is fucking false, be so authentically you because you’re fucking beautiful, dont let anyone make you think otherwise. i love u.)

you shook your head at your best friends antics.

“sooo…find a place yet?” she said, fiddling with the charms on your duffle.

you sighed and scratched your forehead “no— skating and classes have been eating at my literal ass lately” you slumped at the space beside her

“babes, come on. that place is hella sketchy—“ she paused. dina never pauses. she’s always speaking, so this leads you to believe something’s turning with the gears in her head.

“anyway you need to leave soon— oh wait hold on!” she sprung up slightly. her eyes were wide and her smile was so bright it could blind people. oh no. you thought. she’s thinking. thats bad.

“you remember ellie? hockey player, short hair, green eyes, really actually very hot?” she perked up

“yea…? what about her—“ “they need a roommate!”

and there it is. a thought. from dina. she didnt even let you finish your sentence, so you didnt even let her convince you.

“no.” you deadpanned, glaring at her. “dina i refuse to room with the infamous women’s hockey trio league who probably disguised frat boys.” you started to pick up your stuff to walk out of the lockers.

“come onnnnnnn!!! its a perfect opportunity!” she walks a little behind you. “its literally falling on your lap!”

“no dina i wont—” “LOOK!” she said, as she abruptly stopped and basically yanked you by your ponytail to look at the bulletin board. with a yelp and a ‘what the fuck D!’ you stare at the slip of paper right smack dab center of the bulletin board.

“dina woodward, no.”

“dina woodward, yes.” she said as she ripped a piece of the tags hanging below with the email and number of whoever put the sign up.

what the fuck are you gonna do with her.

-

-

“see, i told you fuckers it would work.”

a sweaty, glistening abby was smirking at her roommates that were sitting on the bench. the Jackson University women’s hockey league sit at the rink’s locker room, packing up after a long practice. ellie and vi sit at the bench, staring up at at abby.

“okay?? and who is it?”

“ummm…a girl named (you)? dunno its kinda vague. she emailed ‘Good Morning, I am interested in potentially being a roommate. Let me know when and where we can discuss the details and we can decide if it’s a fit. Thank You.’”

“she sounds 45 years old.” ellie said

“and like a bossy-stuck up princess bitch” vi added, handing ellie her water bottle for her to drink out of it.

“okay shut up, she cant be that bad.”

“she’s a hockey player?” ellie asked, swinging the water bottle back like its a shot.

“she should be—“ she headed over to the bulletin board “it says here hockey players onl— oh no.” she said, while looking intently at the paper pinned to the board. abby’s eyes were hopelessly searching for where it says hockey players only.

the other two stood behind her, looking for it as well.

and alas,

nothing.

“you fucking idiot.”

-

-

after a long day of practice and a three hour lecture, you were finally fucking home.

throwing your bags onto a nearby chair by your counter, you strip off your practice clothes and make a B line to the bathroom. the relief of the hot water hitting your sore muscles felt like you were meeting an angel. truly a spiritual experience. you wash your body and hair off of the dried out sweat after practice and put on your usual giant sleep tee and headed to heat your food in the microwave. this was the usual after you got home after a long day of practice and more lectures that were frying your brain. you finally had time to relax at home.

just as you were settling down on your couch next to your cat named Dog, an email notification pinged on your phone.

📧: Abby Anderson a.anderson@email.com

Good Evening, this is Abby. I saw that you emailed about a roommate inquiry? I was wondering if you could meet at the Bison Cafe to discuss the details. Also, please feel free to leave your number so communication is more seamless. Thanks.

you’re gonna punch your best friend.

-

-

[pocketramblr]

No Longer You (Reign of the Supermen/Return of Superman) Animatic

Ok so forgive the audio quality I made this on my phone but, uh, first time completing an animatic idea! Sometimes the brainrot gets you over the hump

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Per the poll, we're going with "half of Spargus casually parents the boys and Jak doesn't know what to do with that"

Some context: this is set within a half-WIP where I was exploring ways to interpret Ashelin's manipulative little "or did the hero I know die in the desert?"

In this universe, Jak was technically clinically dead for almost 90 seconds because heatstroke is no joke and adding eco imbalance probably makes it worse. He was resuscitated inside the city walls, so the Wastelanders shrug and invoke a law as old as the city: "a "corpse" just took his first breath in our city, that makes him one of us by birth." And then he and Daxter got sent to live in the Arena barracks wing meant for younger Wastelanders (he's not loving it)

Jak was in a bad mood. He'd been up most of the night, dealing with flashbacks, and he was tired. He hadn't finished any of the work he'd been handed so far, and he was supposed to report to Damas in two hours for gods only knew what reason. In the three-odd weeks he and Daxter had been here, he'd spoken to the man all of twice. What had he done? They hadn't even let him go past the gate!

"Jak, you done with the-"

"No," Jak snapped. Immediately, he felt a little bad. Running a hand over his hair he sighed. "...sorry, Daxter."

Daxter narrowed his eyes. "You need a nap."

Jak looked away. It wasn't like he didn't know that. He bit down on a sharp retort.

He hated not finishing a task. It made him feel useless. Like a failure. But he was having so much trouble just. Focusing!

Sitting and tying nets back together was as repetitive as scrubbing the floors back in Sandover -- or the prison, occasionally, when the Baron was coming and the guards had to pretend they actually took care of the facility sometimes. It let Jak's mind wander. In the prison, that was a welcome escape. But after his escape, he didn't like letting his thoughts loose. They tipped into bad memories too often, and trying to remember the good ones was hard.

Right now, all Jak could really think about was the nightmare the morning dorm headcount had woken him from.

The image of Samos glaring down at him, hand on the controls of the Chair, was going to haunt him for a while.

The crews of the Looper, Half-Shark, and Black Eel moved along the beach, monitoring the kids from Dorm Five who had been assigned to help them. They were mostly in their late teens, like Jak, but there were a few unusually small ones -- a thirteen year old, a twelve year old boy and his eight year old brother -- given that they had nowhere else to go. There was a reason the other dorms called Five the Orphanage when they thought the matron couldn't hear them.

Most of the other ten kids were already done, or close to done. And Jak couldn't even do something he used to do all the time as a little kid.

"Y'alright there, sprout?" asked a gruff voice.

The captain of the Half-Shark stopped at the end of the pier with his hands on his hips. When Jak scowled and tangled his fingers in the cords, he made a knowing sound.

"One of those days, huh?"

"What days?" Jak growled.

The grizzled man winked and tapped a finger to his nose.

"Got a visit from the night hag, didn't ya? I won't tell. All sorts of dreams'll put shadows like that under a man's eyes in the night. You can take a break if you need."

"I'm fine."

Jak wove another two rows and knotted them in place. Silently, he willed the man to just go away. The last thing he needed was for any of the others to notice that he wasn't pulling his weight.

He'd never been around this many young people in his life. Ten was bad enough, but there were some hundred or more teenagers all told rotating through the barracks. The noise, the way they all knew each other already, it locked Jak's voice down eight times out of ten. They all stressed him out too much to even consider conversation.

Daxter claimed that he had two rivals and an archnemesis already. Jak didn't want to talk to any of them.

They were normal. Most of them had never been forced labor for a sage or a gangster or a resistance. They'd never been imprisoned, or tortured, or consistently told that if they weren't carrying everyone's burdens, they were worthless.

The only ones who had remotely similar experiences were the three who were rumored to have escaped Marauder slave camps. They didn't speak to anyone but each other, but as soon as he'd arrived they'd seemed to recognize the shadows hanging over Jak. During allotted mealtimes or when they were thrown out into the common area during the chaotically unstructured "free time", the two girls and the younger kid had started sitting silently with their backs to him: keeping watch so he and Daxter could eat. And Jak was not about to ask them what they'd gone through after that kindness.

Matron Pax reassigned Jak from room four to room eight within the week, putting him next door to the pale trio. All the "quiet kids" went on the same end of the hall. He appreciated that the woman paid attention to her charges' personalities, but he could've done without some of her rules.

"It ain't gonna do you no good to run yourself into the ground, son," the captain remarked. He folded his arms. "What's your hurry, anyhow? Ain't like you've got to earn amulets yet."

Jak looked up with incredulous annoyance.

"Yeah we do? We're "newcomers", remember?"

Daxter grimaced. "We don't even know how to drive!"

Captain Oaken raised his hairy eyebrows in surprise. Then understanding settled in.

"Ah don't mind them younger warriors. They're just bein' snots because they gotta earn their citizenship, while you're a born citizen."

Jak recoiled. "I think you've been out in the sun too long. I wasn't born here."

"We think," Daxter added helpfully, "We dunno where they snatched you from. Samos is a lying liar who lies, remember?"

Jak elbowed him and shook his head.

"Your king dragged us here half-dead."

"A good ways more dead than just half, remember?" Oaken corrected.

Suddenly, the midmorning sun felt cold. Slowly, he set the net down and stood up to look the captain in the eyes.

"What?"

"They didn't tell you?"

The captain sounded surprised. He scratched his nose and glanced back at the other teenagers. None of the others were close enough to overhear. Oaken lowered his voice anyway.

"Boy, you was dead dead a quarter of a minute before they got you in the gate. No pulse, not breathing. There was gawkers all over the place while his lordship got your pulse going again. Word got around."

Jak felt sick. Dead? He couldn't have been dead! He wasn't sure if fifteen seconds even counted. His brain would've still been active, right? His brain was still active, and he didn't remember any hypoxia.

Of course, he didn't remember much of anything else, either.

Technicality. It was only a technicality.

Calm down. Calm down, you didn't actually die. He's a fisherman. They tell tall tales. Probably thinks that's supposed to impress me.

"You alright, boy?" Oaken gestured to the pier. "Maybe you oughta sit, huh? You're looking pale."

When Jak only stared at him blankly, he patted the boy's shoulder gingerly.

"Don't let it get to you, eh? They brought you back, and it was inside the city walls. That's the part that matters."

Insane. These people were insane.

But...

If it meant he didn't have to fight to be allowed to stay, if it meant he maybe, hopefully, might actually have rights, maybe he could ignore some of the bizarre tendencies of this city that had...rescued? Captured? Conscripted them?

He never did finish the net. He was completely distracted for the remainder of the morning, wrestling with the implications. Eventually, the warrior on rotation as Dorm Five's resident advisor just excused him to report to the tower.

"What?! He's not even done!"

Luka glared at Jak and Daxter.

"Why does he get to leave early?"

The RA rolled his eyes at Luka.

"Because he got summoned. You could've left by now if you weren't goofing around with the fishhooks instead of cleaning the traps."

Luka sulked, but didn't say anything more about it. Jak fully expected the burly teenager to say something snide about it later that he'd probably have to smack him for. Luka, as he had been assured by the little kid, Koda, didn't like new people in the "orphan hall", and always gave newcomers a hard time. So what else was new.

"Ooooo, he's in trouble," one of the girls snorted in a sing-song voice.

Why were teenagers in Spargus so...childish?

____________________________________

Jak ignored them all. He had to follow a map to get to the citadel, avoiding people as much as possible. He tended to stay away from people anyway, but today especially he just wasn't in the mood for hu'men interaction. The one plus side of getting called up to talk to -- or be talked at by -- the king of this place was that it would probably be quiet.

Anything his dorm...neighbors...or whatever they were...said had to be taken with a heavy grain of salt. But Daxter had heard that the king didn't like more than a few people in a room with him at a time. Either he was paranoid about getting ganged up on, or he just didn't tolerate loitering like Torn.

"Hey, hold up!"

Oh now what?

Jak turned slightly to find a woman with a gunstaff approaching quickly. He tensed, ready for a fight, but she had a fairly casual expression.

In three steps she'd reached them, all while patting her pockets for something.

"Geez, I know the Youth Barracks had a population boom, but you'd think Pax would notice the naked kid."

"Excuse me?!" Jak sputtered, leaning away from her.

With an exclamation of triumph, the warrior produced a somewhat grease-stained rag. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she plucked the cap and goggles from Daxter's head and wrapped the rag around his brow and the back of his neck, just like Jak's scarf. When she deemed the result satisfactory, the warrior slapped the goggles back on him.

"Okay, carry on."

Both boys stared at her.

"What was that?!" Daxter squawked, "Did you just put a grease rag on my head?!"

"Didn't have a handkerchief." The warrior shrugged. "Listen, pipsqueaks, Foothills clan learned a long time ago: fur don't save you from sunburn. You'll thank me later."

Jak exchanged a glance with Daxter. It was true that Daxter's skin had been extra sensitive lately. They'd just assumed it was the heat and sweating. Neither had considered that he could get sunburned.

A little chagrined, Jak looked up at the woman and muttered a quick thanks. He waited, assuming she wanted something in trade. Everyone seemed to barter here, rather than pay in paper orbs.

"Alright, scram," the lady said, waving them off nonchalantly. "You look like you got chores or something. Don't ever say Mel didn't do nothin' for ya, huh?"

Jak didn't speak for the next two turns in the neighborhood. Daxter was more than happy to fill the silence for him.

"Is this what it's like bein' you?" the ottsel asked, hanging over his shoulder, "The eyes all the time? Peeps just comin' up and decidin' stuff about ya? Not that I blame em for lookin, but it does start to wig an ottsel out."

He'd once assumed that being the center of attention was all he really wanted. Even negative attention was still attention, and Daxter had learned every way to provoke people, just so they would have to acknowledge his existence. But now he wondered if there was such a thing as too much of a good thing. Because if he and Jak got into trouble, Jak wasn't the one getting all the consequences anymore. They didn't just tack Daxter on as an accompanying afterthought to "help", no, it was much worse. Matron Pax had proved adept at finding ottsel-sized chores to make him do!

On the one hand, he was being acknowledged as his own person, being nagged at to eat at the same time as everyone else, to stay in his room after lights-out, to go to school (or what passed for school here).

But on the other hand, he couldn't get away with rot anymore!

"I never know what these people want," Jak grumbled as the tower finally came into view. "Are we here to work, or are we being patronized? They're watching us, Dax. I know we're being monitored. There's no way people would randomly stop a stranger to make him fix his scarf."

"Or scold us for carrying three ammo crates at once," Daxter added.

"Or drag us off the street at noon to make us sort beads until noon rest was over," Jak agreed. "Nobody just...does that for strangers. Especially not a city where you're either useful or deadweight."

One more person tried to stop them when they got to the tower. Jak actually remembered this guy's name. Watchman Chayne guarded the elevator up to the throne room. He was a pretty easygoing guy, compared to most Wastelanders. Jak didn't mind him so much.

"Hold it," Chayne signed, raising a brow, "What are you two up to?"

"I dunno, ask Damas," Jak retorted.

"Whatever it was, we didn't do it!" Daxter added quickly, "And I have character witnesses!"

Chayne let out a soft, hissing laugh and waved them into the elevator.

"Oh, your turn for newbie check-in, huh? Just don't mouth off and you'll be fine."

"Define mouthing off," Daxter said, steepling his fingers.

Chayne blinked at him slowly, then looked at Jak, then at Daxter again.

"Godspeed, kid."

Great.

[scorpioriesling]

Dangerous Woman (pt 2)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warnings: ehh… none

Summary: Now that Eris is finally ready to confront his feelings, will reader do the same?

SR’s Note: My apologies for the wait! I have so many WIPs, requests, multi-part series, etc. right now. I appreciate your patience & continued support <3 Tags: @lilah-asteria @infintyfandoms @peachcontour-blog

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Part 1

The soda water is a relief to your pounding headache as the morning progresses, a constant reminder of the night before and just how much alcohol you’d consumed. If not for the headache, the state you were in would surely give it away; smeared makeup, ratty ponytail, the works. Thankfully, you’d rested in your own bed last night, Eris being the gentleman he is escorted you home after your… well…

That in itself was a reminder.

You couldn’t help but smile just a little bit, even though you knew today you’d have to face up to what had happened. It wasn’t the part about wondering if Eris would return his feelings — he’d all but laid them out on a silver tray for you last night. However, would said feelings change when he found out how you’d manipulated him into thinking you were someone else for a sexual experience? Well, yes. That part was rather terrifying.

Usually you’d feel heavier than a ton of bricks trying to drag yourself from bed, but this morning it’s the hope in your heart lulling you to the shower and quickly to your vanity to allot extra time for your primping before work. You knew you’d see him today, you had to be sure you were ready and obviously looked your best. Not that you’d been out drinking and, well, having sex with him the night prior.

Your burgundy milkmaid dress was simplistic but flattering, dipping low enough but not too low to anger the High Lord. Tying a ribbon to match in your curled ponytail and touching up your lip gloss once more, you set off for the Autumn Palace.

ﾟ:* ✧

“These need to be filed immediately.” Beron’s voice was flat as he plopped another hefty stack of papers onto your desk in the East Wing of the Palace. He only so much as glanced at you, making to move from your office without so much as further instruction. You nod quickly, the Lady of Autumn catching your eye from the doorway as she followed him out.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. You nodded your head politely at her, earning you a kind smile in return, one that reminded you so much of her oldest son. Speaking of…

The clock on the wall read half past three, and you hadn’t seen him all day. Usually you’d at least see him during your lunch hour as you’d stroll through the gardens, sitting under an oak tree for a quick chat or catch him passing your office a few times a day. Come to think of it, he didn’t have much need to be in the East Wing, but you’d at least find him passing by your office once if not twice a day.

Sighing, you move quick work of the record keeping, signing and dating the records and filing them into the correct folder drawers lining the walls. You tried to focus on your work, you only had thirty minutes before you were to leave, but you hoped to finish early and maybe find Eris somewhere. He had to be around, where else would he go?

Your mind wandered to last night, the way his hands felt on you, his lips, how beautiful he looked bathed in the moonlight…

You stop yourself, halting from filing a record in an incorrect folder. You shake your head, ponytail swinging side to side. Let’s just get through this, you think, turning back to your work.

ﾟ:* ✧

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when you shove the last file away, and you practically race from the office, locking it hastily and bounding down the long marble hallway toward the central courtyard. Your eyes dance from left to right, no one in sight inside or beyond the windows. All that is heard are the pattering of your maroon flats as you continue your hasty path toward the West Wing — the family chambers. If he wasn’t in the East Wing, the gardens, the offices, even the central courtyard, he must be in the West Wing.

You skid to a halt when you hear a conversation becoming louder and louder, the High Lord of Autumn’s familiar angry tone increasing in volume as you continue down the hallway. The last thing you need is to be caught, especially near the family’s quarters after hours. You make a split second decision, veering right down an unfamiliar hallway and pushing through the large wooden door at the end of it.

Your eyes squint at the afternoon sun blinding your vision, and taking a deep breath, your nose furrows at the pasture smell you’ve come upon. Taking in your surroundings, you realize you’ve left the palace, running right outside to the horse stables in the back. You glance around, noticing the large barn in front of you and not a soul in sight. Taking a few exasperated steps inside, into the shaded barn, you let out a loud sigh and sag your shoulders.

“What the FUCK!” You shout, a soft neigh coming from a stall in the distance. You bury your face in your palms, the weight of the day finally sinking in and your longing feeling all too heavy. You didn’t want to wait, you’d waited too long for this, been a coward too many times over to keep waiting. Now it was simply because you couldn’t find the male-

“Y/N?” A soft voice from behind you questions. You immediately straighten, your arms falling to your sides at the recognition. You turn slowly, heavy footsteps drawing nearer by the second.

“Y/N, are you,” Eris’s fingers lightly grace your exposed shoulder and you literally jump at the contact, causing him to retract immediately. His eyes search yours, his face the portrait of concern at your unusual attitude towards him.

“My Gods, Y/N — are you alright?” He asks softly. You face him, your mouth only opens to speak and you close it, unsure what to say.

“I… um…” You try. He reaches for you again, but thinks better of it, curling his fingers into a fist and dropping his hand.

“My dearest friend have I,” he swallows, unfurling his fingers to twist the silver ring on his index finger nervously. “Have I done something wrong?” He asks. Your eyes widen, and you take his hands in yours. His gaze flicks toward the contact, but your focused on his face.

“No! Oh Gods no Eris, never,” you assure. His whisky irises meet yours again, brow furrowed in uncertainty as his thumbs delicately trace across the backs of your palms.

“Well then, what has you so upset?” He asks. His tone, the honestly in it just breaks your heart in two. You knew this would be hard, but standing before him, before your Eris, the male you’d loved so long… admitting your truth would be the hardest thing you’d ever done.

But, it had to be done.

“I… I didn’t see you. Today.” You begin. He smiles a little, the corner of his mouth tilting upward as his gaze fixates on your delicate fingers still sitting in his.

“…I didn’t know you’d been looking for me.” He says after a moment’s pause.

“I was,” You continue. “I had… a matter. To discuss, with you I mean.” You stammer. His eyes drift toward yours once more, gazing at you through his half lids.

“Mhm… and that matter was?” He prods. You sigh, pulling your hands from his grasp and turning from him. You pace, taking a few steps and then turning back toward him once more.

“What’s so important you can’t talk to me about? Come now, we’ve been friends for…” he tilts his head. “Well, forever, anyway.” He shrugs. You meet his gaze again, and he scoffs looking away. “Unless you came to tell me you dropped the male you’ve courted, I can only await the day-“

“I never courted a male, Eris.” It comes out more forcefully than you’d like, but it has him peering at you once more in confusion.

“What are you talking about.” His voice has dropped an octave. He doesn’t ask — he demands. Heat creeps up your neck, all the words in your head feeling like the milky substance of the Cauldron, bubbling, bubbling…

Bubbling over.

“I never had a male to begin with Eris, I only said that because I was doing things to try and get your attention, because every time I would think I was getting close with you, you’d shut me out so I made it up-“

“Stop.” His voice halts your rambling. The short red locks of his hair fall to his forehand as he shakes his head slowly, eyes downcast toward the ground below. “Just… stop.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep it from trembling. You were sure he was going to banish you from speaking to him ever again, and you hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

“Eris, I… there’s more-“

“I slept with someone last night.” He interjects. You raise your eyebrows at his interruption, and his apologetic gaze meets yours after what feels like an eternity. “I went to a brothel. And I slept with another female.”

You only stare blankly at him. “Eris, that’s… you’re allowed to bed whomever you please-“

“Not when I’m so madly in love,” he steps forward, grasping your hands once more and holding them close to his chest. Your breath hitches, his eyes searching yours for any answers. “I’m in love, Y/N. I have been for a very long time, I think.” Your bottom lip quivers and you allow it, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as the moment you’d only ever dreamed of was finally happening right before you.

“Then why push me away for so long?” You whisper. Eris’s face falls slightly, but his hands slowly snake their way around your arms and down your back.

“I wouldn’t live if anything ever happened to you Y/N,” he says, leaning in closer. One tear falls as you gaze hopefully into his eyes, and he wipes it away with his thumb. “You know how my father is. He’d destroy anything I hold most dear to my heart.” He swallows thickly, and his nose bumps yours gently. One hand rests on your waist, the other still cupping your cheek as his thumb gently brushes over the skin.

Inch by inch, he pulls you closer, eyes fluttering closed when his soft lips finally touch yours again. This feels different, this kiss is so soft, so tender and full of love. You can’t help but allow a few stray tears fall, parting your lips to keep kissing Eris as your hands find their way to his shoulders. He holds you close to him, only pulling away to come up for air a few minutes later.

It’s quiet, the only sounds that are heard are your shared breaths and the fidgeting of the mares in their stalls around you. He gazes down at you, resting his forehead on yours before he shakes his head and chuckles. You can’t help but smile up at him.

“What is funny?” You ask. He sighs, pulling back a bit to run his gaze over your face, down your neck and over your chest.

“I’m but a fool for not realizing it sooner,” he mutters, still shaking his head. You only raise an eyebrow.

“Realizing… that we could have been together much sooner if you’d just allowed me in before now?” You tease. He looks skyward, contemplating.

“Perhaps,” he suggests. “Or, realizing the beautiful female who sits behind a desk all day is actually quite the little performer after hours,” your cheeks heat at his accusation — the realization that he’s finally figured it all out.

“Isn’t that right, bunny?” Your jaw drops dumbly, and he tuts.

“Ohhh bunny,” he purrs lowly, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t leave your mouth open like that unless you want me to put something in it.” You close your mouth, eyes wide at his bold choice of words outside the confines of a private room. His hand has begun tracing idle circles through the fabric of your dress at your waist.

“Eris… I was going to tell you-“

“Doesn’t matter. Figured it out anyway.” He shrugs, his other hand moving to cup your cheek once more as his amber eyes bore into yours.

“Right now I’d rather you use those pretty lips to kiss me again anyway.”

ﾟ:* ✧

[whirlybirbs]

— have some wips !

i have so many things cooking in the kitchen that i think i just need to share. so, happy monday! here are ten works in progress.

below the cut are works for: nanami kento, toshinori yagi, keigo takami, katsuki bakugo, sylus, ryomen sukuna, kyojuro rengoku, estinien wyrmblood & thancred waters

1.) nanami kento / f!reader — a little workplace romance fic with a pining trope set around the time nanami leaves his finance job to teach.

Nanami is cleaning off his desk. Not there's much to clean off, really. You catch a glimpse of him through the divide in monitors. You steel your gaze. For the last two years, he sat across from you in this small office. When in doubt, you would lean around your computer and lock eyes with him. He would answer your questions on the details of his recent sale, and when your heels would brush his dress shoes under the desk's small opening, neither of you would say a word about it. You should have enjoyed it more while it lasted.

2.) secretary!toshinori yagi / f!reader — another office romance set during vigilantes! i love a good "secret identity" moment.

"Between you and I, sir, I know Mr. Yagi's health has been a bit touch-and-go. He has not shared the details with me, nor have I really asked," you shrug as you eye the stack of finished paperwork, "However, I just wish to do the best I can this week so that he may ease back into work with not nearly as much stress." All Might's face is hard to read. Suddenly, the character is back. "Well! A high compliment! Anywho! Good luck with the socks!" And he's gone. When the door to your office closes, you're confronted with a few things. The first is a shameful realization that All Might is hot. The second is that now you feel strange owning a ten-pack of underwear with his winking face on each pair. The third is stranger, more tangled.  Is he sexy because he reminds you of Mr. Yagi? Or is he sexy because he's All Might? I mean, the hands. They're the same hands.  Do you have a thing for blondes?  ...Do you have a thing for Mr. Yagi? Oh. Oh.  ...That energy drink needs to be discontinued. 

3.) meet & greet part two — hawks / f!reader — i know i have been so slow on updating this one, but i promise i am working on it, i just have the attention span of a pigeon.

Wild eyes fly to the large, glass windows lining the far end of the bar — there's someone there, sliding slowly down the floor-to-ceiling panes. Your face contorts into a look of confusion, then disgust when you realize... ew, there's slime trailing the... The bird. Your eyes widen miles long, and then your head snaps to the waitress in panic.  She's still staring, as is most of the waitstaff and patrons, when she mutters: "Is that... Hawks...?" Oh shit. It is. Yep. Mhm. It's him, unceremoniously sliding down the windows of Sakura Spring, one of the nicest restaurants in this city. His back hurts — and fuck, his nose is bleeding, and ow, it's been a while since he's hit a window that hard.  The slime in his feathers is making any sort of controlled descent nearly impossible.

4.) pro hero!bakugo / f!reader — this was originally a halloween piece that i have been marinating on for a while. mina is a great wing woman and pro hero dynamight likes pretty girls in all might costumes.

You're snickering as you give the green soju bottle a strong spin.  It goes and goes and goes and goes — three and a half whole spins. It begins to slow, creeping to a stop, and the whole room goes silent when they follow the line of the neck of the bottle. You clam up. Bakugo grits his jaw. The bottle is pointing directly at him. He sits back, narrows his eyes at you, and you swear he almost sneers.  "I can spin again," your tone is apologetic like you've just inconvenienced him in the worst way possible. You bow your head, moving to reach for the bottle, "Since you're not playing—" But, Bakugo's already standing up.  Your eyes must be a mile wide. And Mina, god... Mina is screaming silently as the blonde gets up, tugs his black jeans up, and shoves his phone into his back pocket.  Your hand is frozen mid-air. Then, Dynamight — the Dynamight — throws a look over his shoulder at you. "...Are you comin' or what?"  His voice is... almost shy. 

5.) sylus / mc!reader — literally do not look at me i told y'all i wouldn't be able to come out the other end of love and deepspace unscathed by the sylus bug

He's frustrating.  He's so — BLAM, BLAM, BLAM — goddamn irritating.  The cascade of empty casings slows as the air rings. The target three meters ahead of you, down range, has been torn apart — the bullseye is no more than tatters now.  The air smells like spent gunpowder.  You exhale and finally lower your aim.  Your jaw is tight as you thumb the magazine release. The empty cartridge slips into your hand before you place it down forcefully on the range's shelf. Like always, you cock back the hammer and eject the last remaining bullet. You catch it, then slam it down to the table. The pistol follows. It's fast. Practiced.  "It's fine." Sylus hasn't torn his eyes off you once. He's leaned back against his workbench — long legs stretched out before him, his boots crossed at the ankle. His expression is unreadable, as always, but his voice is imperceptibly soft. "Just fine?"  "I prefer my standard issue—" "Those pistols were junk," he cuts you off sternly, and you finally look backward at him from down range; he is glaring now, "Haven't you ever heard the expression 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth'?"

6.) heian era!ryoman sukuna / f!reader — when i tell you this might be my favorite thing i have ever written i mean it and it is not even done yet. this fic is literally me being INSANE. mmm tasty human flesh, bad bad mental health, black mold consumption, all of it.

"You care for them." He sounds... curious. You smile up at him, squinting into the sun. You're squatted in the gravel, your palm open as the little fetal things clamber over your palm and feast upon a bad cut of meat. Too much fat. They chew and chew with their misshapen mouths. Their bone-colored skin is covered in gore.  You're delighted at the sight. "Do you not?" you ask softly, with such honesty it shocks him; no one speaks with him. They answer to him. You tip your head back down and coo at them, "You are their King, after all." Sukuna scoffs. He wanders a few feet from the sight and turns his eyes up the great cherry blossom tree in the center of the garden. There are other minor curses there, watching. His lip curls. "They are insignificant, mindless things." That sentiment hurts. Stings. Aches. Your frown is pained as you continue your doting, but your voice is clipped. "They are nothing of that sort." "Mind your tone, little shrine maiden," he reprimands sharply, his teeth glimmering in the sunlight; he turns, crosses his arms, and pins you with an unamused look, "You dare challenge me on that fact? You said it yourself, I am their King." "...They are made of emotion," you murmur, an ache of rejection stinging through your face. You have more to say, more to explain. Does he not understand it? You don't dare lift your head.  Sukuna doesn't like how... quiet you've gone. He doesn't like it.  He... fuck.  He's going soft, isn't he?

7.) bruised ego part 3 — young!all might x f!reader ; derecho — this is a wildly angsty fic about derecho being forced to relapse on trigger and being sent home to her family's fishing village and it's me chasing down the feeling of longing you get from a ghibli movie

This is bad. It was supposed to be like any normal, first-shift patrol. Noon to night. You two were on your usual route through Shibuya Crossing when — what is now understood as a preplanned attack — six Yakuza members caught you both unaware.  You were separated in the fray. From what Toshinori has gathered in the hours after the incident, the handful of yakuza knew you — they were from the same crime family you'd managed to shake after your arrest and rehabilitation. They knew who you were and they knew exactly what would happen when they lodged a full vial of Trigger into your thigh in the scramble to apprehend them.  "We're just lucky this didn't happen at rush hour," the lawyers said during the debrief an hour ago, "We'd be facing far worse than one serious injury and one fatality." The fatality: Hishiro Ioiri. A member of the Shie Hassaikai. The man who'd been stupid enough to be in your grasp the moment he slammed the drug into your already activated nervous system.  The news has been replaying the footage over and over and over — your rampage only lasted fifteen minutes, but it was the longest fifteen minutes of Toshinori's life. Four blocks of the highly trafficked, commercialized transportation zone: effectively rendered totaled. Blown-out. Any and all electrical was shot. Fuses melted. Panels of glowing advertisements fried, their LEDs burst like every transformer in a mile radius. Pop, pop, pop.  You inadvertently blacked out Shibuya Crossing.  Not until after you electrified Hishiro Ioiri to death on live television, that is. Not until the rage swept you away, and the years of forgetting what Trigger felt like rushed back up to meet you full force.  Toshinori's knee bounces as his mind swirls. 

8.) kyojuro rengoku / f!reader ; hashira — this is loosely related to my other rengoku piece, but this is all about unrequited yearning and responsibilities keeping lovers apart and it hurts me, actually

"You oughta get some sleep, Kyojuro." "When she wakes." Rengoku doesn't lift his head. His arms remain crossed, braced along his crisply starched uniform jacket. His characteristic unruly strands of gold and crimson spill along his back and shoulders.  Tengen can hardly swallow down his concern for his dear friend when he notices a shadow of stubble along the Flame Hashira's jaw. Never in all the years that he's known Kyojuro has ever seen him unshaven.  ...He looks like his father.  Tengen exhales and pushes off the doorway. He enters the private room, taking careful stock of the sun dappling your cheeks as you remain unmoving in bed. The window above you is open, the breeze is soft. Your crow is perched there, as still as a statue. One black, beady eye asses Tengen, then returns to watching you sleep.  The Sound Hashira's voice is soft — coaxing.  "She'd want you to eat, y'know." "As I said," Kyojuro reminds him firmly, "When she wakes." Damn. Shinobu said it was bad, but she didn't say it was this bad. Tengen isn't entirely sure how Shinobu figured out the fickle, unspoken thing: that you care for Rengoku as much as he cares for you, and Tengen doesn't ask. Kocho is creepy like that. Creepy and smart. Creepy-smart.  But this? He's never seen Kyo so... extinguished. Dull. Half-there.

9.) estinien wyrmblood / f!reader ; warrior of light —literally do not look at me don't fucking look at me this has been in the works since 2023 i cannot stop thinking about it

The hymn is as soft as falling petals. As sweet as spring. A long-forgotten tune hummed on a high octave. Soft, ephemeral. The opposite of everything he knows about the woman ahead of him. But, Estinien Wyrmblood — as he drags himself onward, over a fallen log, and deeper into the ancient wood of the Dravanian Hinterlands — supposes that now is as good a time as any to be taken with the sudden, fleeting, and delicate beauty of the dear Warrior of Light.  You're a few yalms ahead of him, slipping through the thicket and chasing bundles of firewood with open arms.  Beneath his helm, his mouth twists into something shy of a grimace.  He should have heeded Master Alphinaud's pleas to join them.  Perhaps then he wouldn't be so silently taken with the rarity of a quiet moment with the Warrior — and perhaps he wouldn't be so keenly aware of his own faceted personality.  Introspection does nothing good for the soul, not when the nibbling rage of Nidhogg in the back of his mind is enough to keep him awake night after night. Not when, even now, he can hear the wyrm's mocking snarl somewhere in the back of his mind. Early evening light filters through the broad leaves and dapples the grass. The Azure Dragoon heaves a sigh from his lungs, then stops long enough on the path to violently wrench a dying branch down from its perch. Into his arms, it goes. Firewood fine enough. You catch the jerky, hasty motion out of the corner of your eye. It's almost enough to make you laugh.  Estinien — in the short time you've known him — has become an admirable companion.  He is, after all, renowned as Ishgard's Azure Dragoon. The knight's title is a thing worth marvel and awe. The very idea of him being surrounded by the pomp and circumstance of the title earned is enough to draw a slow smile to your face.  From your spot, crouched to grab a low branch, you slip your gaze across him.  Tall. Broad and imposing and decorated in armor as dark as the hide of the mighty Wyrm he seeks to destroy. His intricate armor tinkers as he moves with ease through the brush. That helm of his hides all. No gaze — only an inky flash of obsidian.  Only a deep frown. You call it as you see it, crouched in the brush as you pull another branch into your arms.  "You're frowning." The jest from your lips is unprompted. Estinien realizes, suddenly, that he is not yet accustomed to the rasp of your voice.  You're a warrior of little words — that much was made clear from the start. Now, in the quiet lull of travel, he's begun to hear more of your words. Be it traded softly over the fire with Alphinaud, or over thoughtful conversation with Lady Iceheart.  "Pardon my lack of enthusiasm for menial chores."

10.) thancred waters / f!reader ; warrior of light — and on that note DON'T LOOK AT ME DON'T LOOOOOK AT ME

...You shouldn't be resting. You clench and unclench your hands three times. The joints ache. There are scars littering those digits like starlight. The everlasting reminder of false Gods and mighty Men brought to their knees by you.  You. Pathetic, exhausted, sweating you.  You should be getting back to the others in Mor Dohna, keeping them updated. Tataru is most likely worried sick.  You're about to give in, to muscle yourself up and heave your chest piece and pack back on. This moment of reprieve — however slight — will have to do for now. But, then, you hear rustling just beyond your shoulder.  Your face tenses and your fingers move to the dagger in your boot. Surely Feo Ul would forgive you for skewering a pixie? If they knew their dearest, sweetest, little sapling was vexed by this mood? This tiresome, begrudged mood?  Yes. Yes, they'd allow it. You're sure of it, and perhaps it would teach those winged-beasties something about minding their manners — especially around an already sour Warrior of Darkness, Light, and everything in between.  ...Whatever your damned title is nowadays.  But, the tell-tale giggle of a winged pixie never comes.  Instead, the familiar voice of a certain ashen-haired Gunbreaker meets your ears; soft and smooth and... hesitant.  "I do hope I'm not intruding." Thancred Waters. Master of Espionage. Aether-torn. Father figure. Once-romantic.  ...Still romantic? There was a time in your life when you knew him mostly as a wine-tongued Lothario — as charming as they came and with wit as sharp as a knife. He waded through whispered secrets, peddled kiss-muddled rumors, and used them to shape the stake of the realm.  Back in Ul'dah, when you first met all those moons ago, you shook his hand in the hot sun and he met you with a smile as sweet as honey.  You understood it then, and you surely understand it now. Thancred himself supposes he's a different man than he was all those years ago back in Ul'dah, back when he first met you — after all, with Ryne turning her expectations to him, he could ill afford the old ways of being. That's not to say he misses it much; no, grief changed that. Where he used to long for the momentary release of a wandering touch, he now yearns for the more tender things.  Lies can only keep a man fed and full for so long.  And there's surely no sense in lying to himself: he cares for you. Deeply.

[dalishthunder]

WIP Wednesday

I tag quite literally every single person who reads this.

A short huff escaped your nose, smacking his hand away with your chopsticks as he reached for another, “They’re not done yet.”

“So?”

You scrunched up your face for half a second, taking your eyes off him to make sure the dumplings didn’t stick together as they cooked, “Patience is a virtue. It will taste better if you wait.”

He rolled his eyes, licking the residue off his fingers. You were right of course, dango tasted much better with red bean paste, so he waited, watching you.

Your own cursed energy swirled and eddied in agitation… you always seemed to get so restless when he watched you work, though doubly so when you ate. Which he supposed was unsurprising… humans had such a stigma around eating. Especially among the noble and imperial courts, it was bizarre. Eating was the most enjoyable activity one could partake in, beyond even sex, though sleep was likely a close second.

Eating, then sleeping, then fighting, then sex.

Eating and fighting often went hand in hand though so perhaps more rumination on the proper order of that list was needed.

At least you had stopped that vexing coquettish picking at your food before eating it. You still had a tendency to eat slowly, but you no longer shied away from eating in front of him despite the frustration of being watched. It had been many years since he’d actually spent any amount of time with another person without devouring them… the woman who had spawned him had been the last.

Though he had devoured her too once she had outlived her usefulness. Her and that infernal shaman.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Your voice roused him from his thoughts.

“Which one?”

“Is there something you need?” You repeated.

He just blinked, “I didn’t answer because it was a dumb question.”

Narrow eyes just stared at him before there was a flicker of understanding and a grimace; He came whenever he smelled food. A sigh escaped your lips, “I suppose I should have expected as much.”

You fished out the dumplings, skewering them and slathering them with bean paste before handing them to him, keeping three for yourself. He stared between you and the dumplings.

“What? You wouldn’t deny a humble monk their alms, now would you, Lord Sukuna.” Sarcasm dripped from his name as it passed your lips, and before he could say anything, you ate one. They looked comically large in your hands… just as everything did. Or perhaps he’d simply gotten used to how small everything looked in his own.

“Now, now, Crane, you know very well I would deny a monk their alms.” He purred, leaning over, finger dipping under your chin. “But you were making these all for yourself… monks aren’t supposed to be selfish.”

“I was going to bring them to you whether you sought me out or not,” You replied, grip tight on the skewer.

“I didn’t ask you to make such an elaborate snack.”

Once more, your eyes narrowed at him before you blinked, face settling on mock subdual, “I thought perhaps you would enjoy it, but if you truly doubt my selfless intentions, by all means,” Slowly, you pulled a dumpling from the skewer, pressing it to his lower lips.

He had meant it to tease, dango were little more than marbles to him. All three would have been one singular bite. Bothering you was just fun. But if you were going to be selfless….

“Who am I to deny such an offering?” His eyes locked with you, lips parted, your fingers slipping past the muscle and teeth. It would be so easy, so satisfying, to bite down, feel the crunch of bones and the tang of iron. But he refrained, tongue sliding over and between your digits, savoring the salt of your skin as he accepted the proffered treat.

Your fingers lingered for a moment, eyes calculating and curious.

Sometimes on limbo between sleep and consciousness he could still feel the prick and drag of needle and thread even after so many years.

Any moment, you would grab hold of his tongue and use your technique.

How many had tried to cut it out now?

He would bite off your hand in retribution of course, no matter how delicious the sting.

Could he stop himself from devouring you completely when that happened?

He could, but he probably wouldn’t.

But the searing pain never came, your thumb rubbing along his taste buds. The agitation was gone now, your energy evened out. It still carried the heat of his own… but smoother as it circulated through your body. Your every touch drew from his well of cursed energy, and that pull from your hand inside his gut, where cursed energy boiled hottest….

A soft, low moan escaped his lips, lower eyes fluttering, and quick as a flash, you ate the last dango on your skewer.

He’d had half a mind to push you down and have you on the kitchen floor, but his dango were singing to him so he tucked into them instead. They were quite good; Chewy, sweet, and a bit nutty from the bean paste… but they tasted better with the salt of your skin. He left two, dropping them unceremoniously in front of you.

“Alms for a well-behaved monk.”

[btheleaf]

What do you think happened to Pema when Chief Beifong attempted to detain her?

Well, *twirls my hair* I have this WIP full of @lis-muerta's headcanons where Lin is Very Unwell about the whole thing and actually does arrest Pema, and Pema comes out the other side of the arrest three days later with no small amount of ptsd because Lin is NOT making good decisions.

Here's about 670 words of the 2.7k that exists in my drafts.

Day 1

The clock on her office wall ticked down the hours and minutes until she could go down to the cells. She wanted nothing more than to begin questioning now, but she knew she would get better results if the solitary confinement was already at a full day’s hold by the time she pulled her prisoner out of there into the interrogation room. That-- and she needed to be coy about it. The prisoner wasn’t registered in any of the logs, and no one could know that she had Tenzin’s new child bride locked away in a dark corner.

First shift ended, then hours later the second shift started to filter out. Saikhan, the brave, stupid man, had actually asked her if she wanted to get drunk tonight because it looked like she had something on her mind. She knew it wasn’t an offer to actually talk, just an offer to get inebriated with a coworker. Lin refused. The breakup wasn’t public yet. Tenzin was away on a trip. Pema was in a cell. No one knew. No one had to know.

Finally the 24 hours was up just after midnight. Lin stomped out of her office and everyone on third shift gave her nervous salutes and greetings until she was finally out of the room. She took the elevator down to the lowest basement level and eyed the empty desk, glad that her men weren’t incompetent enough to post someone to an empty unit. Lin turned down the hall to get to the last cell. She used her bending to open the large metal door and Pema immediately started up again.

“Let me out of here, Beifong! You have no right to keep me in here!”

Lin noted that the woman- girl already looked worse for wear after spending a single day alone in her small cell. There were prominent bags under her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday, her clothes were wrinkled, and her words had a bite to them, but the look in her eyes was enough of a tell that Lin knew she was scared. Good.

With a motion of her arms, the metal cuffs on Pema’s wrists connected together in front of her.

“Stop it!” Pema screamed. “Let me out of here!”

Lin took a piece of her vambrace and turned it into a long, flat band. She then sent the metal to hook around Pema’s face, right over her mouth to silence her. Pema tried to pull it off, but Lin kept it in place with her bending. She stepped into the cell and Pema attempted to hit her with her cuffed hands. Lin manhandled her into a secure hold, one hand on the shoulder, the other with a fistful of her dress right on the collar at the back of her neck. She pushed Pema to her knees to get the point across that she was in control here. Pema tried to twist out of her grasp, but Lin was stronger.

“Stop acting guilty, Pema.”

Pema shouted something into her gag that sounded like it could have been ‘you fucking bitch,’ so Lin pulled her back to her feet and pushed her forward.

“Move.”

She shoved Pema out the door and got her into the elevator. A little use of her seismic sense and knowledge of who would be where in the back hallways at night made sure they weren’t seen as Lin got her to the interrogation room. She pushed Pema down into the chair and secured her handcuffs to the table. Lin took her time getting her notepad and pen out of her side pouch before sitting down and looking at Pema again. Her eyes were furious now. Lin let the metal gag drop from her face and put the piece back in her armor where it belonged.

“What is this, Beifong?” Her voice shook. Lin could feel her heartbeat pounding through the surface of the table. “What crime are you charging me with?”

“How old are you, Pema?”

“What?”

[writtenbygracewilliams]

Writing Challenge!

I was tagged but the lovely @harnitbee

Rules: Post a snippet of a current WIP

I’m very indecisive and have works and mutuals from lots of fandoms, so I’m posting a few. Pick your poison.

Bridgerton

Anthony trotted easily down the three flights of stairs from the master bedroom to the kitchen the next morning. He slotted easily underneath Kate’s arms when he walked two steps ahead.

“So nice of you both to finally show signs of life,” Edwina hummed amusedly, hitting her mug against the island and making Anthony almost hit the ceiling. Kate tensed and tightened her knuckles.

“What are you doing in my kitchen?” Kate asked, highly annoyed. Anthony wanted to shrink into nothing.

“I have questions,” Edwina shrugged innocently. Kate untangled their fingers, loosely gesturing for Anthony to sit and wait at the dining table across the room while she made breakfast.

“If I had’ve known you were visiting, I would’ve asked Maya to do breakfast,” Kate said airily, opting to avoid Edwina’s point entirely, as she pottered around the kitchen.

“We don’t need a chef,” the youngest rolls her eyes, still easily slumped against the counter, “what I need is answers.”

“And you think you deserve them?” Kate muttered, before clearing her throat and deciding she would be the one to ask questions, “where is Francesca this morning? You abandoned her again?”

“She’s visiting her mother for the weekend, we’ll head back to Cambridge together tomorrow night. Don’t worry,” Edwina spun around, staring pointedly at Anthony, “she is well taken care of. But apparently, not quite as well taken care of as you.” Anthony gulped, words caught in his throat. He enjoyed this back and forth decidedly less than he had last night.

“If you have something you want to say to me, then say it,” Kate huffed, putting a mug of chai in front of him as he sank further into the bench seat against the wall, not allowing the time for Anthony to reach a conclusion on what he should respond with.

“You see,” Edwina mused, “you said repeatedly you don’t do relationships, there were rumours that hit your reputation in business deals, and next thing I know you have this arm candy with you at every event. I can say that objectively, I’m a lesbian. And let’s not forget I’m dating a Bridgerton as well, I know they don’t have money.”

“I’m not asking these questions of your relationship,” Kate fired back, angry at her sister’s dangerously accurate assessment. She could see Anthony’s embarrassment in her peripherals.

“How could you?” Edwina laughed, “we met at a uni party at 19. Besides, I don’t have a company to keep pretty.”

“No,” Kate snapped, “only a trust fund.”

Hawaii Five-0

A few beats of silence pass through them both, the lingering air feeling full of things they want to say but can’t quite articulate.

“I’m in your office you know,” Danny says quietly.

“I do,” Steve mumbles, “I want to come home,” he adds eventually.

“So what’s stopping you?”

“I’m,” Steve chuckles ironically, “I’m actually in Jersey right now.”

“What the hell are you doing in Jersey, Steve?” Danny says in disbelief.

“I spent ten years falling in love with you, maybe I would fall in love with jersey too,” he shrugs, saying it so casually despite the weight of the words. The confession, always unspoken but never forgotten, hangs between them on a pendulum.

“You might,” Danny considers, “but you wouldn’t have to. Ten years ago I met a man who made me fall in love with Hawai’i, which I didn’t think could be done.”

Suits

“Harvey, what are you—“ Mike fumbles over his words when he opens the door of his crusty Brooklyn apartment, and sees his boss in his overpriced three piece suit.

“Shut your fucking mouth, and let me talk,” Harvey demands, barrelling past Mike into the small apartment.

“Harvey—“

“Let me talk, goddamnit!” the older shouts in anger, slamming his hands on the table and turning around with a seething breath to lock eyes with his associate. Mike gulps, and sits on his couch with a small nod. “Don’t you ever come into my office and talk to me like that ever again, how you did today. That was so far out of line, you should be glad I didn’t throw you out the window. I wanted to fire you! Donna said—“

“I know what Donna said,” Mike chuckles.

“Is this all a joke to you?” Harvey snaps.

“At this point, I wish it was,” Mike laughs bitterly, “because if you don’t get your shit together, I’m gonna be the first person in your office tomorrow.”

“Mike, you don’t get it—“ he grits.

“No, you don’t get it!” Mike yells, standing up and firmly locking eyes with Harvey, “I get that you don’t like feelings, but I’ve seen through you since day one, and all I get in return is your constant bullshit excuses. First it was Cameron Dennis, then Daniel Hardman, then it was the merger, and Ava Hessington. So I left, like any self respecting dom. I convinced myself that I was reading every single signal wrong. But now I come back, and you act submissive when no one else is around. What do you want from me?!”

“I didn’t bring you back,” Harvey mutters.

“That doesn’t change shit, and you know it.”

“Feelings are hard,” Harvey conceded angrily, not backing down from a fight, “but you know what’s harder? Having clients constantly ask Jessica how the hell my name got on the door, and they can expect loyalty, if I can’t even get married—let alone be open about my position.”

“Then be open Harvey,” Mike scoffs.

“You know why the hell I’m not,” Harvey counters, jaw set square, “I tell one client, and suddenly all of Manhattan knows, and I’m gonna get marriage proposals until I suffocate under them.”

“Fuck off,” Mike eventually says after a few long beats, breaking eye contact and walking to the door. “You came over here, and abused the shit out of me for trying to make a move, then complained how hard your life is while you choose to be single. If you can’t say what you want to say, then get the hell out of my face.”

~

Okay! That’s it. Let me know what you want more of because I’m kind of at a standstill with all of them tbh.

I’m tagging @hydriotaphia @andthebubbles @mayberrycryptid @butdaddyilovehimmm @gonnadosomethingwmylife and whoever else wants to!

–GW xo

[kingdaddydaichi]

☆ title: redefining (ch. 11) | ( ch. 10 ) ☆ ( ch. 12 - wip )

☆ pairing: cop!daichi sawamura x single mom!reader

☆ wc: 2.5k

☆ synopsis: four years after leaving your toxic ex, you find yourself a single mom to a 11-year-old boy named musubi, who harbors a lot of misdirected anger. you hear from his fifth grade teacher, mr. suga, more often than your own mother and a resulting friendship is born. meeting suga’s best friend wages a war between your head and your heart - one that challenges everything you think you know about love and police officers. neither are to be trusted. both have left you lost and scared when you needed them the most. so, when a cop comes knocking at love’s door, just how strong is your resolve to keep your heart under lock and key?

☆ warnings/notes: sfw. cop!daichi. mutual pining. angst. domestic disturbance. fear. idk like, the way daichi talks to subi might come across as patriarchal? but it's the way i feel like daichi would speak to him under the specific circumstances, how he knew he would get through to him. i am deeply sorry for the massive real-life time gap between chapters //sob. but i'm committed to finishing this series. my love for daichi and this story is settled deep inside my bones. I'M BACK BITCHES /aff 🫶🏼

she's falling in love now losing control now fighting the truth trying to hide but i think it's alright, girl yeah i think it's alright, girl

losin control - russ

Life can be a rip-roaring bitch sometimes, y'know?

The first week or so after your fallout with Daichi had been relatively easy. The fact that you were still angry at him helped a lot more than you'd have liked to admit. The battle to get him off your mind was constant, but all you had to do was remember the way his eyebrows angled inward when he yelled at you. You’d never seen him like that before and it had scared you, triggering your fight or flight response on top of the heart-wrenching pain of seeing him being a little too friendly with his ex.

But what you kept pushing down with all of your might was the fact that daichi was right. He had called you on everything you’d worked so hard to hide from him. The fact that he’d seen you so clearly scared you more than the look in his eyes when he raised his voice at you. He had been angry, yes. But a lot of hurt had weaved its way into his words as well.

Halfway through the second week, however, things started to go downhill. You found yourself reaching for your phone a couple of times to tell Daichi about something ridiculous or funny that had happened only for your fingers to stop short as your heart sank.

Oh. right. I'm not supposed to do that anymore.

You’d even tried venting to Suga about Daichi in hopes that he would validate you, but he wasn’t as sympathetic towards your plight as you would’ve liked: “But isn’t this what you wanted?” he'd said. “You’ve been saying that whatever the hell was going on between you two had an expiration date…” “You’re right. It’s probably better this way so you and Daichi can each find the people you wanna be with...” That last one had really dug deep - the thought of Daichi with anyone else made your heart splinter and your stomach wretch. But you had swallowed your heartache down with the lump in your throat and nodded with a meek “Yeah, exactly,” knowing deep in your bones that you didn’t mean a word of it. Suga knew it too.

The week after that was the week from hell. Crying in bed every night because you missed Daichi so much was made that much worse by your shitty week. Life could’ve just given you a normal week but NOPE. Every single day, multiple times a day, you’d pick up your phone to send him an angry text about your boss or the rude ass lady at the grocery store. Or the fact that some really, really important notarized legal documents got lost in the mail. Three trips to UPS, two trips to the post office, and $91.00 later the paperwork finally reached its intended destination via next day air. You wanted to ask him to arrest the incompetent twat who put your mailer on the wrong truck in the first place and then smile at his reaction. To top it all off, your son’s behavior had hit an all-time low. You’d been hoping that it would’ve improved after the disciplinary hearing, which Subi had attended as well but, if anything, his behavior at home had gotten worse too.

You wanted to call Daichi. You wanted him to come over and hold you as you curled into a ball against his chest. To feel his hands in your hair and his lips on your forehead telling you that ‘everything’s gonna be okay’. Because you’d believe it If Daichi was the one saying it. He’d make sure of it. But you couldn’t do any of those things and it made you cry. Like getting kicked when you’re already down.

Daichi didn’t have it much better. 

He’d called and apologized to Yui, who had called him a “fucking asshole”. There was the drunk driver who had puked on him while doing his field sobriety test (he probably deserved that, he’d guessed). Then there was the day he got stuck directing traffic in a torrential downpour. The police-issued waterproof ponchos had done nothing for his wet socks and the sloshing in his shoes. 

There were also all the little annoying things that kept happening to him - his washing machine quit working (mid-cycle, no less), he got a flat tire (in a different torrential downpour), he stubbed his toe one morning while getting out of bed (talk about a rude awakening) - nothing too serious but just enough to piss him off. 

The worst of it was finding out his mom had to be hospitalized for Covid. She had to be on oxygen, but the prognosis was good. She was expected to be okay and eventually make a full recovery, but of course it made him worry about her nonetheless.

And through every bit of it, you were on his mind. He missed you something fierce. But some of the things you’d said still weighed on his heart:

“...how cruel can you be?” “You’re not even my type.” “Just go back in there and fuck your ex-girlfriend!”

That last one had hurt the most. Did you really think that lowly of him to think he’d do that to you? 

To be fair, he also remembered some of the things he’d said to you:

“Would you have liked it better if i’d introduced you as my fuck buddy…?” “What? Not toxic enough for ya?” “...you don’t have to be a jealous girlfriend about it…!”

They made him cringe every time he remembered. Sometimes the words you had thrown at each other kept him up at night.

Tonight was one of those nights…

Daichi was reading in bed, trying to take his mind off of you when his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Thinking it must be work-related at this time of night, he picked it up to see who was calling. When he saw your name on the screen, his heart wanted to claw its way out of his chest. What could you possibly want? Best case scenario was you wanted to apologize, but that could wait until tomorrow. If you didn’t want him to make you a priority anymore, he was going to honor that. Worst case scenario was you were reaching out to him for another booty call, and he was done with that. 

Either way, he let your call go to voicemail, but just as he was about to put his phone back down, your text came through as three little numbers:

911

Daichi sat bolt upright and immediately tapped the call button. Halfway through the first ring, you answered. “Daichi?” You were crying and he could hear a young man’s voice yelling in the background.

He sat forward in his seat, wide brown eyes darting this way and that. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Subi,” you cried. There was a loud bang accompanied by a muffled sob from you. “He threatened to hurt me and now he’s throwing things…”

Before you could say anything else, daichi was on his feet, throwing on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before heading for his front door. “You at home?”

“Y-yes.” you were crying so hard you were wheezing. “Daichi, please…please help?”

“I’m on my way.” His voice was remarkably low and stern and comforting as he told you to go inside your bedroom, lock the door, and stay there. He made sure you didn’t have any injuries and stayed on the phone with you for the 10 mins it took for him to get there. It normally took twice that long to drive from his place to yours, but he had his blue lights on, going well over the speed limit. 

“Daichi, I’m so scared,” you sobbed. 

“I’m almost there, (y/n). Just five more minutes. Come on, deep breaths.” He talked you down enough that you weren’t crying as hard. “Alright, I’m here. Do you know if he’s still in the house?” 

“Yeah, I can hear him. But the front door is locked.” 

“Do you feel safe enough to come out of your room and open it?” 

You’d heard Subi’s voice getting further away and the slamming of his bedroom door. “Yeah, I think so.” 

You slowly came out of your room and hurried to the front door, nearly collapsing in Daichi’s arms when you swung it open. He hugged you and told you everything was okay. He walked inside slowly, noticing some broken glass and other, obviously thrown, objects on the floor, and called your son’s name. Your pre-teen came out of his bedroom to find a man he didn’t recognize standing in the living room. 

“Who’re you?” he asked. 

“I’m Daichi, a friend of your mom’s. You must be Musubi.” 

Musubi narrowed his eyes at him and shrugged in response. 

“What’s been going on, man?” 

Your son crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe it’s none of your business.” 

Daichi’s dark brown eyes remained steady on him. “Well, seeing as how your mom is my friend and she’s scared and crying, I’d say it is my business.” 

The boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s not that big of a deal-“ 

“Wrong again. Your mom doesn’t feel safe in her own home. That’s a problem. It’s just the two of you living here, right?” 

Subi shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“Then that makes you man of the house, doesn’t it?” 

Your son’s eyes met Daichi’s for the first time since he first spoke to him. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“And as the man of the house, don’t you think it’s your job to protect everyone in it, including your mom?” 

The boy didn’t respond, but his facial muscles relaxed as he maintained eye contact with Daichi. He had his undivided attention now. He was speaking to him man to man and your son was listening intently. 

“It’s a big responsibility to be in your position,” Daichi went on, nodding towards you. “Your mother and her safety are under your watch. She doesn’t feel safe with you when you’re the one who’s supposed to be protecting her.” The off-duty police officer's voice remained calm and even as he tilted his head. “So tell me, Musubi: do you really think you’re qualified to be man of the house?” 

You watched and listened with awe as Daichi took command over the situation, showing Subi what it means to be in full control. He leveled with your son while making him feel validated and understood. Rather than telling Subi how he should talk to you, Daichi did far more by showing him what it means to be a good man; he was teaching Subi how to treat others with respect in the way he spoke to him - by demonstrating to him that you get respect from others by being respectable.

Your son’s gaze fell under the weight of Daichi’s words. His beliefs about what it means to be a “man” had just been challenged and shaken to the core. He thought it meant being loud and aggressive, lording over others, calling the shots and expecting others to submit to him - no doubt all the tactics he’d learned from watching his father. 

“You think you’re in control here? Because, from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.” The boy’s gaze followed Daichi’s as he looked around at the broken items in the room before looking over at you, still trembling and sniffling. “If you lose control, it means you don’t have it, Musubi. It’s that simple. Do we have an understanding?” 

The boy’s eyes locked with Daichi’s again and he nodded. 

“Good man. Now,” Daichi said with quiet authority, “Clean up the mess you made.” It wasn’t a request.

“Yes, sir,” Subi murmured as he started picking up the pieces. 

You couldn’t believe the words that just came out of your son’s mouth. Yes, sir? You looked up at Daichi - The Musubi Whisperer - wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Never even raised his voice and had him under his complete command. 

“(Y/n), can I talk to you for a minute in the kitchen?” Daichi said it just loudly enough that your son could hear how his mother should be talked to - by asking, not demanding. 

“Of course.” You followed Daichi until your son was out of earshot, then whispered, “How the fuck did you just do that?” 

Daichi shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of experience. Oldest of 5 kids. Team captain. Cop.” You smiled and nodded, wiping the last of your tears away. He put a tentative hand on your shoulder. “You okay, (y/n)?” 

“I think so,” you sniffed, wiping your freshest tear away with your shirt sleeve. “I’m so sorry to have troubled you, but you were the first person i thought of-” 

Daichi shook his head and pulled you into his arms. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you called me.”

Whether it was the catharsis from the highly charged situation or your need to feel Daichi close was irrelevant when you fastened yourself to him. Before you could think, your arms were around his waist and your head tucked against his chest. 

“Thank you,” you said, your shaky voice muffled by the warmth and weight of Daichi’s arms wrapping tightly around you.

“If it happens again, call me again. If you need anything at all, call me,” he said, rubbing your back. This was the Daichi you’d known all along and fucking hell, you missed him.

You tightened your hold around his waist. You were so immensely relieved to hear him say that. Maybe he still wanted to be the one you called. Just maybe he wanted to be the one you needed. 

“I will,” you said, nodding against his chest.

Before he left that night, he shook Subi's hand. “Take care of your mom.” 

“Yes, sir.” Holy hell, there it was again. Daichi hadn’t even told him to call him sir. Leastways, not with words. How did he do that?

“Do I have your word?” Daichi asked, squeezing Subi’s hand. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright, I’ll stop by in a couple days to see how things are going," he looked at you, "...if that's okay." 

Your son’s lips pursed as he fought back a smile as he watched you nod. “Okay.” 

After Daichi left, Subi said, “You should find a guy like him, Mom.”

Your mouth dropped open, your heart skipping a million beats. Your son had no idea who Daichi was, what he did for a living, or the highly complicated nature of your relationship with him. Finally, you smiled and said, “Yeah? He’s a good guy, huh?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “He’s alright.”

Your son turned to you with his shoulders slumped and tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.” 

Your body shook with tears as you nodded against his shoulder. “I know, baby. I love you so much.” 

Subi squeezed you tighter as he told you he loved you too.

ch. 10 ☆ ch. 12 (wip)

series mlist | daichi mlist

☆ taglist: @chaoskrakenuwu ☆ @ceo-of-daichi ☆ @honeybunny-sawamura ☆ @yuujispinkhair ☆ @luvkun4 ☆ @briokayama ☆ @mrs-sawamura ☆ @heroesfan101 ☆ @millenialfanfictionaddiction ☆ @citrustsuki ☆ @darthferbert ☆ @crystal-lilac ☆ @hannas16 ☆ @cookiesandmilksx ☆ @strawberrystepmom ☆ @anejuuuuoy ☆ @maexc ☆ @little-ms-awkward ☆ @patheticliesblog ☆ @strawbmarma ☆ @lomons ☆ @victorianhorrors @gazzybums ++ ask/dm/comment if you wanna be added to or removed from a taglist

[thatrandyalexfroma03]

I need help

So I need frank opinion - first off, is this funny or does it cross a line

Second, does it fit the WIP vibe after the 8x17 scene. I feel it might be much humour after all the heavy stuff but then it might be the counter weight it needs.

Also is Zach still on a cusp of being a douche (I don't want him a total asshole, but I also want him to be a little too much (just a lil))

So, if you have any comments, either comment or message me Buck/Tommy/Zach shower scene....

Tommy has lived alone for a long time. 

A long peaceful time.

So the next morning he leaves Buck, who is a surprisingly deep sleeper, lying in bed, all wrapped up in the blankets, hair an adorable mess and sneaks (is sneak the right word, it’s his house) into the shower.

And call him stupid, call him forgetful, call him guilty of bad habits but he doesn’t lock the door. 

So he’s mid soapy groin wash when the door opens, to his mild concern because it could be Buck, hopefully be Buck. 

Please be Buck.

No, the universe did not love him as Zach waltzs in. “Morning Daddy T, how’s it hanging?” 

“Zach!” Tommy did not screech, but he might of screeched, but all that achieved was Zach leaned against his bathroom sink, fully looking at Tommy in all his soapy, naked, wet glory. 

“Yo bro, you good?”

“Zach, I’m trying to shower here.”

“Duh, I’m not blind.” Zach replies, loosing interest in Tommy, instead squirting a load of toothpaste on his toothpaste as Tommy just kinda stands there in his glass shower trap. 

“Do you think maybe you should leave?” Tommy suggests because he is naked.

Zach stops mid brush, face covered in toothpaste, toothbrush hanging out the side, and looking completely baffled by Tommy’s perfectly reasonable request. “Huh, dude, I’ve seen your cock before, it’s cool bro, like chill daddy chill.”

The door opens again, because now Tommy’s bathroom is a party hall. Except Tommy’s never been a fan of parties, especially parties where he’s naked.

“Yo Buck, did ya get it last night?” 

Buck is still a mess from last night, from everything and he almost snaps but then he stops. 

Because why not have some fun? 

It’s hard to be seductive when you’re mentally messed up from your Best Friend calling you a self centered asshole (again) but he tries to summon his best Buck 1.0 persona.

“Nah,uh we didn’t but I thought we could this morning… why, you wanna join Zach?”

Zach makes a choking noise, and his face goes bright red as he tries to splutter out something, and Tommy has given up on the thought of any dignity in his house, that he paid for, because he’s whipped by this six foot two menace with the baby blue puppy eyes and dom voice. 

“Well Zach, that’s not an answer, there’s room in that shower for three of us.” 

There’s a squeak again, and Zach looks like he might melt into the floor when Buck grins, “Dude, I’m just messing with ya… it’s okay, I know you’re straight, right?”

Zach freezes, toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth like a white flag of surrender. “I…uh…I mean…I don’t…” he sputters, every word somehow making his blush deepen before he scowls. “That’s not funny man.” 

Tommy feels the need to remind them that he is here, in the shower, not getting any peace.

“Zach, go.”

“Why me? I’m the victim.” 

“OUT, Zach.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez, touchy.” Zach spits out the toothbrush into the sink, wipes his mouth on the nearest towel, and Tommy groans because of course it’s his towel and backs toward the door. “You know…” He pauses, and it’s never a good sign if Zach thinks about what he’s going to say before Zach settles on, “Never mind, it’s a joke, it’s fine… I’m going, I’m gone.”

The door finally shuts behind him, and silence falls in the steamy bathroom. Tommy leans his forehead against the glass, breathing hard. “I hate you,” he mutters.

The shower door slides open a crack, and Buck’s grin peeks through. “No, you don’t.”

Tommy glares halfheartedly. “Are you going to come join me?”

Buck smirks at him, before tilting his head towards the sink, “I’m thinking we’ll have a visitor in say three….two….one…”

The bathroom door opens, and Zach pops his head around the corner, “Sorry dudes, don’t mind me, I just left my phone on the counter… by accident… oh, you’re still not in the shower yet.”

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 9th Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Hey again y'all!! It’s the 9th day of writemas, which means we are inching closer and closer to the end of the year and holiday breaks. I hope everyone is excited for a break because I know I definitely need it! This week for me is finals so I will be prioritizing studying for classes because I really need to lock in for that 4.0 lol. But, if it's a sentence or just like 2 words there will be something for y'all to read every writemas this week! So anyway yapping aside, here is the invite post if you haven't joined or seen it yet and here are the prompts for today, day 9!!

Prompts used:

Dialogue: "I will take no more from you, consider this my mercy."

Narration: The swish of the blade from her hand to his was as silent as the rippling of her skirts as they twirled, silently battling one another against the music.

Read about the WIP here!!

ENJOY :D

(Back to the distant past with this one kinda)

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

“Targeting for Harrier. One point deducted. Reset!” 

A tiny part of Melina died when she heard the words. Nothing like Infuriated, she bit down on any response and gripped her sword tighter and held it up higher to her opponent. She threw her hand back down when she heard the bell’s signal for round over. Melina threw off her helmet and fixed whatever sweat soaked stray hairs were in the way of her vision. She gritted her teeth and forcibly held back the tears welling up. Get your act together. Quickly, she turned around and wiped her face off as she walked back to her starting position on the mat. After catching her breath and calming down she placed back on her helmet firmly with newfound strength.

She did a quick pivot around to look back at her new match partner this week. A boy from the Queen’s Academy. The mere mention of the school put a bitter taste in Melina’s mouth, fueling her anger even more. The boy himself was quite average at fighting, all things considered. Considering, from what she could tell, he was quite the hot-shot in the academy. Melina wet her lips in anticipation for the match to start. She might even win against this shrimply boy. She analyzed the boy in front of her further. After the moment's rest, he looked tired still, something she could use to her advantage. 

“Positions set. Match begin!”

Suddenly the bell across the room rang again. All Melina could see were flashing colors across her field of view. What she could make out was her target, which was all she needed right now. Locking in her sight, she struck in an opening made. Then–Hit! 

“Point to Harrier. Four to three. Reset!”

Melina knew she had this covered at this point. Melina smirked to herself, she loved to win against magic users. She knew they were all held back by not relying on it for everything. It gave her a great opportunity to humble fools like him for once. She got back into position and awaited further instructions.

The bell sounded off again. Before she knew it, she flew off her stance and towards her opponent. The swish of the blade from her hand to his was as silent as the rippling of her skirt as they twirled around the mat, silently battling one another against the music that played in her head. This time was a little harder, he seemed to be more prepared that last round. That’s fine. She can draw this out longer if that’s what he wants. The air around them heated up as their blades clashed together. Eventually, one would slip and take the win. Melina was counting on his exhaustion to get the best of him this time. Slowly, as it got more and more intense, she had whittled down her competitor to the point where she controlled the mat. With one decisive stroke to his chest, she hit him. Inside her helmet, her smile grew larger when she realized she won. 

“Harrier is victorious! With an amazing streak of 5 wins, can she even be stopped?” The announcer buzzed in delight.

She knew the answer was no, of course. Moments after, the room erupted. Applause consumed the whole arena. Melina smiled and took off her suffocating helmet, she sure did love the noise. All just for her. Overwhelming peace overcame her. Then, someone came over to ruin her glory.

“Good game, Harrier. That was a great match. I would love to do a few more rounds with you again sometime. ” 

Melina gave the boy back a hard eyed look. She furrowed her brows in annoyance at his words.

Her newly defeated opponent spoke again through a half-laughing tone, trying to brush off her glare, “You are very quick, I must say.”

"I know what I am, thank you. Now, I will take no more from you, consider this my mercy to you.", Melina snapped back at him. How dense could he be?

She threw down her helmet on the floor, almost hitting his feet and ran out of the room, determined and bright eyed.

~~~

Melina patiently waited for her parent’s enthusiastic conversation to end, but it kept going on and on. She tried to interject multiple times, but nothing would work. Finally, her mother turned her head over to face her daughter for once.

“You got a penalty. Clearly, you didn’t control the match and yourself well enough.” Her mother's face dropped immediately as she uttered out after a long period of ignoring Melina, then back to cackling as they returned to conversation. 

Melina stared at her shoes. Well, she wasn’t wrong. The penalty was on me. I need to control myself better next time. I can do better, much better. Both of Melina’s parents walked past her, avoiding her touch as they made their escape out of the room, not even acknowledging her for a second time.

She might have won the match. But really, she had lost. I mean, what kind of sane parents would appreciate having a daughter like that, one who messed up even her win?

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

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

TAGLIST SO FAR: @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

@thebookishkiwi @viridis-icithus @corinneglass

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[stabbyfoxandrew]

Mer Roadtrip please :))

WIP Wednesday (3/12) | Mer Roadtrip AU (Part 119)

Neil wakes to the phone ringing. It's almost enough to induce a heart attack, he fistfights and karate kicks his blankets until he's finally able to free himself. When he rolls around to reach for the offensive sound, he's met with darkness and Andrew's grinning face. His eyes shine gold in the dark and his fangs are visible in this smile. Neil is surprised he's awake, until he looks down and realizes Andrew is looking through the room service menu again.

"Why, that was hilarious. Do it again." He says, making Neil glare at him. "I can tuck you in tight first, that would make it funnier I think."

When Neil is able to unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he croaks out, "What time is it?"

"Nine-oh-nine," Andrew reads off the clock Neil is blearily squinting at. The phone rings insistently yet again. "Did you order a wake up call? Should I start packing?"

"No." Neil stares at the hotel's landline for a moment before he picks it up. "Hello?"

"Nathaniel," comes out of the receiver and Neil's skin crawls. Barclay? What does he want? Neil must be silent too long because he gets a cleared throat and an, "Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Oh, I've woken you up. I apologize. After we spoke last night, I realized that your mother had a second lock box in our safe and I wanted to inform you before you had a chance to slip away. Since I know you'd be in the wind soon and I wouldn't have a way to track you down." Barclay says. Neil looks from his bag beside him to Andrew, who has abandoned his breakfast mission to stare at Neil instead.

"Who is it?" He mouths.

"Barclay, he says my mom has another box downstairs." Neil says with the receiver held to his chest. Andrew makes a face at that and Neil puts the phone back to his ear. "Thank you, Mr. Barclay. I'll be down shortly." Neil sets the phone back in its cradle without a goodbye and drums his fingers on the nightstand.

"More cash, that seems like a good thing to me." Andrew comments. And it would be, but something just seems… Off here. If only Neil were awake enough to figure out why.

"Yeah. But..." Neil rummages through his bag until he comes up with the binder. It has everything in it. Everything. But there is not a second key, no receipt. Nothing. "I don't have another key."

"So?"

"My mom kept up with everything." Neil takes a chance and sits on Andrew's bed with the binder across his lap. "See, this section is for Colorado. This is the slip for this hotel, it had the key and the receipt in it. And a note from mom detailing how much there was here. But it's empty now, so..."

"Things get lost, Neil. I did. Well, actually I was stolen from the sea and sold... But still. You two traveled all over, right? Perhaps she misplaced it. It happens. My brother lost his house key three times before Nicky finally demanded he start keeping it on a…" Andrew's expression closes off when he realizes he’s speaking of his family and he drags his tongue over his fangs. "My point is, things go missing. Go downstairs and get your mom's money."

"Yeah. Alright. After I shower and get some clothes on." Neil says as he packs his binder away again.

"Heaven forbid you start running around naked." Andrew mutters while Neil is pulling out some fresh underwear.

"What?"

Andrew blinks. "What."

Neil shakes his head and goes to scrub yesterday off him. When he's done, he brings his dirty clothes and the hotel's soaps and puts them into his bag.

"Thief!" Andrew accuses. Neil rolls his eyes.

"We might need this stuff later on."

"Did you want me to grab the toilet paper? The spare towels? Perhaps the Bible? I have no use for that, but it would make a decent fire starter if we have to camp out in the woods."

"Stop making fun of me. And I've lived in the woods. Not fun." Neil slips his shoes on and grabs his phone, holding it up so Andrew can see him slip it into his hoodie pocket. Andrew nods approvingly.

"What about your hat?"

Neil blinks. "My hat?"

"That was part of your character. And you were using it to cover your evil, scary hair or whatever,” Andrew tells him. Neil sends a glare his way but Andrew pays it no mind. He starts to leave the cap off to prove some ridiculous point, but he catches sight of himself in the mirror and shoves it onto his damp hair. In the reflection Andrew is appraising him from the bed, when he notices Neil noticing him his eyes dart back to the menu in his hands.

[vilandel]

Children's Masquerade

Now, I also got a grip on myself and made a post for @lyranova's Halloween event. Later than everyone, I know. I have a lot of wips to work through^^' But the posts of everyone else were actually motivating for me to write my own and I wanted to write more about my four Nozessa daughters, I thought that it was the perfect occasion 💕

@blackclover-emc

If you want, feel free to interact 💕

Characters: Vanessa Enoteca, Nozel Silva, Nymphea Silva, Valentina Silva, Lavinia Silva and Cassandra Silva

Relationships: Nozessa and their daughters

Summary: Before they enter the ballroom for the Children's Masquerade, family Silva is making last minutes adjustments and feels the excitement...

“Now, now, Cassandra. If you don’t stay still, I can’t bind this adorable bow on your dress.”

“But mama, I’m excited!”

“I know, Little Cat. I’m excited too. But your adorable black dress needs its silver bow to be perfect. It matches your little cat mask so perfectly. Now come, just a minute then you can hop around.”

Cassandra pouted, which was even more adorable with her black and silver cat mask, but of course she did as her mother asked. Vanessa giggled as she tied the silver bow around the waist of the black puffy velvet dress. For someone who adored black, her five year old daughter was certainly a very lively and even loud one.

“There, you’re ready for the Children’s Masquerade Ball,” Vanessa laughed, as she stroked the puffy sleeves and the silky but wild silver locks that just wouldn’t stay still. Cassandras hair will always be untamed. “Now, you’re ready, my little black cat. Oh, aren’t you the cutest thing ever.”

“Stop it, mama, you’re choking me.”

Of course she didn’t and Cassandra was only protesting for the form, as she hugged Vanessa back. Of course she did.

All of her daughters were big on hugs, after all.

Speaking of, hopefully the rest of them were ready as well. The twins were just three steps away, Nymphea checking for lose pale pink hair within the braiding hairdo Valentina got for today’s ball. Unlike her twin, Nymphea had decided to let her loose and a waterfall of wavy silver hair fell onto her back.

Her wonderful twin daughters were so different, not only in the hair colour, but also with their ball gowns. Nymphea choose a night blue gown, shoulder free, that flow over her like a waterfall, only held by a small silver belt, and that was embroidered with so many little silver stars. Valentina choose a wide amethyst purple dress that looked like a rose when she was turning around, with silver roses around her bodice. The mask they were wearing matched their dresses perfectly.

So different, yet so close and still subtly similar. Looking at them, it was hard to believe that they were only thirteen years old. Already thirteen… time certainly flew by. Only two years before Nymphea and Valentina would be old enough to get their grimoires and join the Magic Knights.

Vanessa smiled, thinking how Nozel was already slightly fearing that day.

Speaking of her handsome husband…

Nozel was to the stairs that lead to the ballroom, kneeling in front of Lavinia. Their eight year old daughter looked so adorable in her puffy rose pink dress, with the silver ribbons around her waist and the cute little silver bows at the bottom, plus the matching butterfly mask. But the blush on her cheeks just wouldn’t disappear.

Poor baby girl, she was always so shy, so a ball, even one especially made for children, was like one big journey into the unknown. Which was probably why her hair, the same rosewood as Vanessas, was in her usual pig braids, as a familiar comfort.

“Don’t worry, Lavinia,” Nozel said in a comforting tone. “You either remain with your mother or with me if it’s too much for you. Or with your big sisters if we aren’t around because of circumstances. And you also don’t need to join the other children for the ghost hunt game later on.”

“I know, papa, and I’m grateful. It’s just… will I be able to at least see that famous pianoforte?”

“You can even play on it, if you want I can make arrangements.”

“But… playing alone… in front of so many people…”

“I will play duets with you, if it’s okay for you.”

“You will? Oh thank you, papa.”

And with that, Lavinia hugged her father tightly. Vanessa was in awe at the view. Just another proof that Nozel was a wonderful father.

He looked so good in his new burgundy ceremony suit, inclusive one shoulder cape and the matching mask. It was simple, just a few silver Silva crosses embroidered here and there. Burgundy suited him so well and Vanessa wished once more that Nozel would wear darker colours more often.

Since he was wearing her usual colour, she had decided to follow his example and wear his for the ball. To be honest, Vanessa loved her new blue and shining silver dress, which underlined her curves subtly but perfectly and the matching mask was even more than comfortable.

“I can’t believe our tiny uncle managed to pull his idea for a children’s ball through,” Valentina giggled as her twin finished checking her hairstyle. “I mean, it’s a really cool idea, but the way he presented it was so chaotic.”

“That is uncle Asta for you,” Nymphea pointed out calmly, taking her twins arm.

Nozel stood up, holding Lavinias hand tightly. “Asta had the idea, as the Wizard King, but once he realized that the kind of ball he imagined needed so much preparations, he panicked. I thought Nebra gave him some lessons about organizing such gatherings.”

“Oh, she did, honey, and she was rather good at teaching that stuff, I know I learned a lot,” Vanessa laughed, still hugging Cassandra. “But Asta is a lovable idiot and thank goodness that Noelle and the others helped him making this idea real. Isn’t it so sweet? It is such a wonderful event for his debut as Wizard King and for all of you kids.”

“Mama, don’t cry please, think of your make-up,” Nymphea just said. And Vanessa had to admit that she felt a bit teary.

But it was such a great idea and her dear baby girls having fun made it even better. Plus, spending time on a ball as a family, all six of them? Vanessa just couldn’t say no. Usually, children under fifteen couldn’t only attend to balls under very complex circumstances no one cared to understand, but this event was especially for them.

“I can’t wait for the ghost hunt,” Cassandra grinned as she punched the air.

“I mostly look forward for the food auntie Charmy made,” Valentina replied. “I can’t wait to try her new pumpkin beignets.”

“I hope the dances will be diverse for the occasion,” Nymphea said with calm grace, but her shining eyes revealed how excited she was to do her hobby for a whole evening.

Lavinia said nothing, but the whole family knew how much she was looking forward to the pianoforte.

Nozel looked at her and Vanessa smiled back at him. Their daughters were definitely looking forward to this Children’s Masquerade. Despite Cassandras and Valentinas wild excitement, Lavinias adorable shyness and Nympheas royal calm, it was already very promising that their girls will have a lot of fun.

“Aw, look how happy we all are and for a ball even. This deserves a group hug. Come on!”

Vanessa would expected protests from at least Nozel and Nymphea, but they gave in like the other three without any resistance. Cassandras mask almost fell from her face as she was squeezed between Valentina and Nozel, but she giggled at it.

The family hug lasted quite a while, before Nozel coughed awkwardly. Right, it was rather unfitting for royals still. “We shouldn’t be late. You four go ahead. This ball is first and foremost for you and the other children.”

“Alright. Nymphea, you the queen of this sisterhood, you lead,” Valentina said with a knightly curtsy, like she so often did.

Nymphea seemed to think for a moment, before she actually took her twins hand with a soft smile. Valentina seemed stunned for a second, before she grinned back and took said hand. Then the twins each took the hand of their little sisters, Cassandra on Valentinas side and Lavinia on Nympheas.

Together, the four Silva sisters descended the stairs towards the ballroom, royally and easy going at the same time.

“I love our daughters,” Nozel whispered they observed them descending the stairs. Vanessa chuckled and put a quick kiss on his lips.

“I love them too, honey. We are blessed with our angels. Now, how about we follow them and see if we meet people we know?”

Nozel offered his arm and Vanessa took it with pleasure. This ball was already starting wonderfully in her books.

[cyclogenesis]

life update

Got back from my grandmother's house late last night and wrote down 1,000 disconnected words from I think...three different WIPs because I thought of scenes in the car and didn't write them down at the time because I was driving. Driving did not, however, stop me from trying to photograph the gigantic moon. Didn't work. Just a blurry sky ball. (Yes I could have taken a voice memo but I was also singing along VERY loudly to the first Paramore album. Sorry for multitasking!!! All We Know Is Falling is a perfect record!)

Bounced out of bed at 7am thinking I would do stuff today but the stuff I ended up doing was looking at Tumblr because I was tired from a long weekend of socializing and also couldn't figure out which WIP I wanted to tackle. The jealous Logan one I started before Body Count which has some good stuff but also might suck? The super stabby one where they fuck in the Odyssey and then later fall in love (quirky!!)? The one where they come across a bunch of other multiverse versions of themselves, including the two scenes I've already written both of which are breathtakingly self-indulgent? Something around the handful of tiny snippets I've written that are not connected to anything larger but somehow almost all compare Logan in some way to a cat?

Also need to participate in capitalism (gross) and shoot some stuff because I went mildly ham in Visalia yesterday and found some amazing pieces for my vintage shop (link! sorry! capitalism! survival!). Went through everything again this morning and realized that I did actually buy more stuff for myself than I'd realized, but in my defense I'm in a 1980s Venice Beach stoner bro style era and these black stonewashed jeans fit me perfectly. Sorry! Ken doll masc phase! Also keeping the 1989 neon New Kids on the Block t-shirt to wear sincerely and the D.A.R.E. t-shirt to wear ironically! Whatever!

Sent my father a seven text thread entitled Conversational Bibliography because we saw each other this weekend and every time we hang out it results in multiple recommendations, this time including language apps (2), New Yorker articles (1, earthquake-related), books (3, 2 of which were earthquake-related), and the link to my Deadpool/Wolverine fic, because he likes reading my stuff and gives me charming feedback via text. And he always takes my recommendations and reads what I recommend which is why he's now also a Locked Tomb stan. Adorable. Love that guy.

What will I do tomorrow? Gosh, you tell me!!

[therealgchu]

WIP Wednesday - Seven Days

hey, look at me with a post! tagging the coemancer crew this time since i'm actually posting! @silurisanguine, @atonalginger, @eridanidreams, @toxiclizardwrites, @aro-pancake, @bearlytolerant, @order-of-the-eye, @fangbangerghoul, and whoever else i may be missing.

so, my main fic is on a bit of a hiatus while i wait for my thinky-blob to process some stuff.

in the meantime, i started writing a new one. it's a short, 7 chapter series called Seven Days. it's a stand-alone piece, not necessarily tied to my main fic. however, since starfield is all about (spoilers?), it gives you an amazing playground in which to play.

this story has been floating in my mind for about a month. and it was just recently that she demanded her story told. i don't know why, but as i was trying to bang out what to do with my current chapter, she rose up and said, WRITE ME. so i am.

the first chapter will go up on friday. i warn in advance that this is a pretty dark story. no fluffy, warm and fuzzy in this one.

Seven Days - Day One

“You’ve made a big mistake,” the blond yelled, getting ready to charge the Starborn. The Starborn grav dashed and closed the gap before the blond had a chance to even unholster the laser pistol at her hip. The Starborn withdrew their revolver, the one they specifically modded for this purpose and held it inches from the blond’s face.

The woman held her hands up, “Why are you doing this? Who are you?” she demanded. Her voice triggered a memory in the Starborn’s mind of another blond woman’s last order to them so many lifetimes ago. You need to grieve. You need to stop. This isn’t what he would have wanted. The memory flashed by in a blink of an eye. The Starborn then cocked their head in a quizzical fashion. “I am done with you ordering everyone around, Sarah Morgan,” they said flatly, and pulled the trigger. The revolver’s explosive round obliterated the woman’s face, shattering her skull into fragments.

“NOOOOO!” a man screamed from the direction of the garden, as he came charging into the room. The Starborn turned to see him run towards them, and their vision swam, almost graying out from the shock. Not him, never him. Why was he even here? In all of the universes they’d been to, he was never here on this day, which is why they always picked it to raid the Lodge for the artifacts. So why was he here now? They instinctively released an anti-gravity field, which stopped the man dead in his tracks, floating but unharmed, as he continued to yell and swear at the Starborn.

Several pirates reported that the hostages were safely locked away, and no one was harmed more than necessary. They nodded and instructed three to remain with them, and the rest were free to loot as desired, and reminded them that all of the rooms had safes. “When the anti-grav field dissipates, I want him taken. If you have to, knock him out, but do not harm him any more than that. If you do, you will answer to me,” they instructed, as a tiny ball of plasma started forming in their hand as punctuation. The pirates nodded fearfully, and did as they were ordered. The man tried to make a break for it when his feet touched the ground, but he wasn’t a match for three against one. One of the pirates knocked the man out cold with the butt of his rifle. “Take him and throw him in the brig. If you have to, drug him,” they ordered.

The Starborn grabbed the artifacts, turned on their heel and strode out of the Lodge.

[bestworstcase]

Hello! You've mentioned being a NanoWrimo veteran, and I was wondering if you had any advice for planning out your writing for the month? I was going to do an outline beforehand to prepare, but I'm not sure if that's authentic to the NanoWrimo spirit.

i am i’ve been doing nano most years with wildly variable success since i was fourteen. my best advice is:

start writing now.

not your actual nanowrimo project necessarily and not the 1.6k and change daily you’d need to ‘win’ but start writing every day right now. if i’m going into november from a dry spell i like to start with a daily goal of minimum 100-200 words for a week and then at the end of the week, set a new goal of a few hundred more than daily average. rinse repeat until you’re in the habit of writing a decent chunk every day. THE POINT OF THIS is to avoid hitting the “”two week wall“” which is a thing that happens because writing 1.6k+ words in a day is pretty easy but writing 1.6k+ words per day every day for a month is really hard if you don’t, you know. train for it.

you will get the most value out of nanowrimo if you think about it as a writing marathon. it’s difficult because it takes a level of endurance and discipline that you probably do not have unless you’re already a prolific daily writer.

outlining is in the spirit of nanowrimo and has always been part of the culture; some people outline extensively (‘planners’) some don’t (‘pantsers,’ as in writing by the seat of your pants), many fall somewhere in the middle. the only hard rule if you want the, like, pure nanowrimo experience as it was originally conceived is: don’t start writing the actual story until 12:01 AM on november first. you can have anything from zero plan to minutely detailed scene-by-scene notes for the entire novel locked and loaded, but on day one you open a blank document and start writing.

another thing i’d really recommend is trying to write over that 1.6k daily baseline. an extra 340 words per day for five days will net you a free day and those are nice to have in case you hit a day where you can’t write for whatever reason. it’s a lot less stressful to bank up extra words ahead of time than to miss a day or two and have to catch up.

if you don’t already have a process for turning off your inner editor, start trying to figure one out now. the temptation to delete and rewrite a paragraph dozens of times will bite you if you indulge it. try things like hiding your text so you can’t read it (set font and page to the same color, or use wingdings), try sprinting apps like write or die, stuff like that. you are trying to complete a rough draft. it’s okay for it to be rough.

lastly, use the time between now and november to figure out warm ups that work for you. these are quick, simple writing exercises separate from your wip that you do before every writing session. here are some that i like:

set a timer for five minutes and write continuously, stream of conscious, without stopping until the time’s up.

set a timer for five minutes and write a loose synopsis or ramble about the scene you plan to write: what happens, who’s in it, what subplots is it advancing, what pieces of foreshadowing or set up do you need to work in, what’s the emotional tone, etc.

pick an object in the room. spend five minutes describing it in exhaustive but simple detail. think “this cup is a tall red cylinder. it’s made of glass. there’s about a half-inch of clear glass at the bottom. the red is bright and saturated, firetruck red. it’s sitting on my desk with sunlight falling through it, casting a red shadow. there’s water in it with three ice cubes. the cup is about six inches tall.” <- you want a stream-of-conscious list of observations, basically.

use a random [name/setting/plot] generator and write 2-4 paragraphs of something stupid based on the output. just the silliest or most overwrought or edgiest grimdark or saccharine bullshit you can spew out.

take the last five hundred or so words of your last writing session. read them over. open a blank document and transcribe them word-for-word (or nearly, if you can change a word here and there without breaking stride). the idea is not to edit, but to write out a decent chunk of words quickly, without thinking much about what those words are. (i like to do another warmup and then this one and then just keep going when i hit the end of the chunk i’m transcribing.)

the idea is to preempt writer’s block by giving yourself 10-15 minutes of no thoughts head empty rapid-fire word vomit to get your brain on track and ready to go. warming up before your writing sessions will dramatically reduce the frequency of sudden creative paralysis when you sit down to write.