anonymous asked:

I really like your blog! I would love to start a writing blog of my own but I don't know what I would post, I've never been good with social media

Frankly? I myself have never been good with social media either. I do know a few things about how to increase the plausibility of getting more likes/followers/etc.  Firstly, know that like there is no one way to write a story, there’s no one way to run a blog. Follow the beat of your own drum and have fun with it! You could keep to a single kind of content, or you could vary it up! On a writing blog, you could post:

  • Writing tips
  • Flash fiction (very short stories which often
  • Whole works
    • These can be in a specific genre or feature specific characters consistently.
  • Unfinished works
  • Prompts (my blog’s focus, of course)
  • General posts about being a writer

If you’d like to gain a following, the best thing for you to do would be to tag generously, post at least once a day, interact with other blogs (especially if you intend to be a writeblr, simply throwing out your writing for others to read. Making friends is a great way to get others to read/share your content!), and not being afraid to reblog your own and other people’s content.

Most importantly? Don’t let post interaction and follower count determine your feelings about your content. Plenty of great works go unnoticed simply because of there’s so much out there!

Has it…has it finally happened? Have I finally internalized the fact that regardless of how anxious and panicky I am about work unfinished, my best option is ALWAYS to go to bed and get whatever rest I can instead of trying to pull an all nighter and crashing hard at five a.m. with nothing finished and sleeping through the next day?


#Egotober Day 17 - The Man With No Shadow

He has a pistol and it’s painted

Pastel pink

With bullets full of glitter and gum

He washes off the strawberry jam

Down the sink

He lies and says he’s having fun.

The mayor and the seer want to 

Avenge themselves

Their voices never leave you alone

You’re hardly a shadow of your

Former self

And yet, you don’t have one to call your own.

I already posted my fic to do with Darkiplier and shadows, sooooo have this unfinished song I’m working on instead. (i’ll finish it one day ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )







Gasoline [unfinished WIP, KHR]

Going through my folders and posting what isn’t going to be finished or is dropped, so I can get it out for good and focus on what I do want to write.

Warnings for: born-a-female-Tsuna, mentions of attempted marital rape, forced marriages, drug-induced death and general mafia behavior.

Summary: Prior to marrying Iemitsu, Nana was a very accomplished black widow. Tsuna shouldn’t have to follow in her footsteps like this, but Vongola has left her no choice in the matter. So she will have the mafia fear her as she once feared them, and she will survive.


Prior to marrying Iemitsu, Nana Sawada went under a different name, and was a very accomplished black widow. She slipped poison in drinks and drugs where nobody would think to look, put needle marks in skin and occasionally knives in the backs of men who treated her like an object rather than a person.

Tsuna never wanted to learn such lessons. She wanted her marriage, when it finally did happen, to be the once-in-a-lifetime event her mother gushed about having with Iemitsu. After the mafia came and ruined her life, she still clung to feeble hopes that maybe she could still get that.

But it isn’t to be.

Timoteo intends to make a statement, one way or another. Unfortunately, even if a woman should rule as Decima, she must still have a husband. And Xanxus isn’t about to touch the woman that froze him once upon a time. So he’s reached out beyond Vongola to allied families, and they’ve sent their best to him. And now he’s made a choice, and once again he’s forcing it on her.

Tsuna can lie to everyone but herself; she’s afraid. Terrified, in fact. The thought of a stranger touching her makes her want to vomit. The thought of this man breathing in her general vicinity makes her want to vomit, actually. She shakes and quivers and hides beneath her bedcovers, and for once, Reborn says nothing. He doesn’t scold her. He slides a mug of hot chocolate topped with enough whipped cream to give her diabetes her way, wordlessly tipping his hat down as he leaves the room. It doesn’t take someone of Reborn’s calibre to know the man doesn’t like this any more than she does. But he’s her tutor, not her father (no matter how much she wishes otherwise some days), and so he can only stand back and watch this trainwreck.

Maybe that’s why she confides in her mother. Why when everyone is gone, Tsuna goes downstairs, starts to speak, and then bursts into tears. Everything comes rushing out, every lie about the mafia she’s ever told, and she begs her mother’s forgiveness for the lies, and Nana gives it readily, wrapping arms around her and letting her cry into a warm shoulder. The tears eventually leave, and Nana sits her down, gets her a glass of cold water, and begins to tell her a story.

It is not a nice story.

But it teaches Tsuna what she needs to know to survive. Because Nana was once a prominent black widow that nobody could ever track down. Her husbands died of natural causes - all the autopsy reports say so - and while people had their suspicions, there was no evidence for them to pin her with. And after a time, she’d learned how to disguise herself, going from one husband to the next.

Now she cups Tsuna’s small hands in her own, and drops the mask she uses around everyone. “Tsunako, do you want to learn how?”

Tsuna can’t say yes fast enough.


Her first husband dies to poison.

It’s tradition, her mother insists, when she shows Tsunako had to make a clear, tasteless, odorless toxin that’s practically untraceable once its inside the system. It’s homegrown, and Nana is a perfectionist at teaching it. She has Tsuna make batch after batch after batch until eventually she gets everything perfect. And then she gets a dropper and begins to administer one drop to Tsunako a day.

One drop doesn’t kill her. It makes her feel like shit, but she muscles through it, because a true poison user is protected against whatever they brew. Bianchi is the same way - she can eat whatever she makes and the poison won’t kill her or even make her queasy. Nana is immune to whatever toxins she injects into the veins of others, and eventually Tsuna will be too. They have time - the wedding isn’t due for a while, and nobody is going to force her and her husband together until then.

Tsuna sees Reborn watching them, once, but he vanishes too quickly for her to ask him if he’s going to tell anyone what she’s doing. She doesn’t ask afterward, because there’s a look in his eyes that’s… proud. It makes her feel warm, and when he drills her on her lessons later on, she doesn’t complain, driven by her twin desires to survive what’s coming, and make the man that has become her father in so many ways proud.

Spring passes into summer, and the wedding is held. People flock from all over to see it, and Tsuna is dressed to the nines and sent out at the alter. Her husband is a tall, weedy-looking young man who looks far too smug. She hates him at once, and his oily touch doesn’t remedy that.

The poison is not in his drink, but in her lipstick, and when they kiss (him pressing far too close, too hard, disgusting) she feels a sense of predatory satisfaction. The next morning she wakes up and screams, which brings the bodyguard outside the door running. She plays the part of the horrified wife, discovering her husband’s cold, lifeless body in bed. They rush the body away, and bring her to Reborn to keep her safe while they go question guests and comb through the drinks menu.

Reborn eyes her fingernails, but his eyes flicker upwards when she taps her lip in pretend thought. There’s a ghost of a smile across his face, but it fades once the door opens and Timoteo enters, looking both furious and terrified. He questions her if she feels ill, or if anything felt off at the wedding. She answers no to both, wringing her hands and playing up the ‘Dame-Tsuna’ act to full effect. It works, and the old man leaves.

“You’ve been hanging around Bianchi too much,” Reborn murmurs, not moving his lips, and Tsuna has to bite her own to hold back her return of its not Bianchi I’ve been spending so much time with lately, but you already know that.


The death is passed off as a heart attack a week later when no results come up showing foul play. Tsuna doesn’t even get to play the widow in mourning before Timoteo’s given her another husband, this time in the form of a 40 something lech that’s like every old man out of a hentai. The old man gropes her and laughs too loudly and tries to sneak a hand up her dress to cop a feel, but Tsuna smacks his hand away and smiles the same smile her mother does at home even as her stomach rolls and her anger burns a hole through her heart.

He tries to take her no less than four separate time against various walls, each time growing more and more impatient and annoyed when Tsuna darts away. The poison is in her nails this time, and when he finally grabs her too hard she scratches him ‘on accident’ and then demands he leave her alone, she doesn’t want to be touched. She closes herself off in her room and locks the door. Her new husband pounds on it and snarls demands, but she puts her headphones on and ignores him until eventually he gives up and goes away.

This poison is far more slow-acting, and it doesn’t strike until early the next morning during breakfast. Bianchi and Reborn have taken her out to a nearby cafe for breakfast, citing ‘comfort food in these troubling times and a female shoulder to cry on’. In reality Bianchi wants to know her methods and trade tips, and Reborn pays for a tiny cake and congratulates her on finding sneaky solutions to her problems.

“I thought you’d go running off and tell Timoteo,” she confesses to her tutor. Reborn gives her a look.

“I’ve been around this business long enough to know how these things go, Tsuna. Trust me, I don’t judge you one iota for what you’re doing. But you should probably change your methods here shortly.”

She nods, having already planned to use a needle on whoever the unfortunate third soul is. They finish breakfast and head home, laughing and talking about whatever strikes their fancy, and when they arrive home its to a Timoteo that looks far older than before. “Grandfather? What’s wrong?”

He gives her a pitying look. “There’s… there’s been another death, my dear.”

She drops to her knees in shock, Bianchi by her side instantly, hooking an arm around her shoulders and murmuring comforting words as she ‘helps’ Tsunako up. Reborn’s face is shadowed, but Tsuna can see the sparkle in his eyes from her position. “What happened?” she asks in what she hopes is the right tone of voice.

Later, Reborn toasts her in the privacy of the bedroom, and Bianchi congratulates her on another job well done. This death is passed off as a choking accident, as apparently the man had been shoving as much food in his gullet as possible when the poison had kicked in. Nobody had managed to get to him in time to prevent the ‘choking’, which just made the victory all the easier.

12th house and past lives

If you have no planets in the 12th house and are unsure of the house cusp, calculate the sign before your own ascending sign. For example, if you have Leo rising you have Cancer on the 12th house cusp. If you have Capricorn rising, you have Sagittarius on the 12th house cusp 

Sun in the 12th house/Leo on the 12th house cusp: The remnants of social importance from previous lifetimes activate through the spirit, there is a constant pressure to feel understood and gain acceptance, there is a spiritual purpose that in this lifetime is not recognised as they once were. In the past life the individual could have been a social representative, sovereignty, leader, artist, or public figure

Moon in the 12th house/Cancer on the 12th house cusp: The family dynamics and karma from ancestors is passed through to the individual such as past traumas, addictions, spiritual abuse. The individual made a lot of sacrifices, and the natural maternity can be astounding, they give form to the term ‘natural mother’, or 'natural father’. The individual may have been a devoted parent, crone, witch, nurse, or work with women in the community 

Mercury in the 12th house/Gemini or Virgo on the 12th house cusp: Thoughts from previous lifetimes make entrance so the individual can feel as though their mindset is trapped in another time. They can experience strange visuals or flashes with no origin. The individual may be a brilliant automatic writer or channeller because the memories of past life studies are so fresh. In past lives Gemini 12th house may have been a teacher, academic, messenger, writer. Virgo 12th house may have been a calligrapher, healer, pharmacist, nurse, witch. Virgo 12th house may carry on sicknesses from past lives that must be dealt with consciously 

Venus in the 12th house/Taurus or Libra on the 12th house cusp: The individual was a figure of beauty in previous lifetimes, likely revered for their artistry, femininity, and vision. There may have been abundant finances that are not so available in this lifetime, so the individual is used to a lavish life and may accumulate as though this is still so. Libra in the 12th inherits relationship dynamics and trauma from previous lifetimes, there is lingering heartbreak that needs to be healed

Mars in the 12th house/Aries on the 12th house cusp: The individual was forced to constantly fight for their life previously, so the survival dynamics can still subtly activate themselves, there can be unfounded fears about the world and inherited reactivity to danger. The spirit is used to danger, and it needs to be soothed in this lifetime. There may be troubles with men due to abuses in the past life 

Jupiter in the 12th house/Sagittarius on the 12th house cusp: The individual can access tremendous knowledge and wisdom through the portal of the higher mind because this was studied intently previously. The individual was likely a scholar, philosopher, or spiritualist. Because of the divine intimacy that was attained, the individual has inherited an intrinsic belief in the good powers of God and feels secretly protected. The abstract mind had been previously cultivated 

Saturn in the 12th house/Capricorn on the 12th house cusp: The guilt of the unfinished work in previous lifetimes is haunting, the individual feels they have inherited an intense responsibility that they are not ready for. Karmic family dynamics have been inherited that relate to the father, this relationship can be highly pressured or non existent 

Uranus in the 12th house/Aquarius on the 12th house cusp: Intuition and the ability to respond to this has been primed and cultivated in previous lifetimes meaning the individual is open to the flow of profound and developed intuitive wisdom that seems to come from nothing. There is natural spiritual knowledge that has not been consciously learned. In previous lifetimes the individual may have been a social outcast or reject, they may have been prosecuted for their progressive vision or knowledge. They may have been an astronomer, astrologer, occultist, scientist, academic, revolutionary 

Neptune in the 12th house/Pisces on the 12th house cusp: Dreams, visions, addictions, and sicknesses from past lives live through the individual they may be at hostage to previously cultivated psychic activity and psychological escapism. There is generous karma to relinquish, the individual may have been a mystic or mentally unwell. They have naturally adapted to the dreamlike state of reality 

Pluto in the 12th house/Scorpio on the 12th house cusp: This is a lifetime of constant, painful, and severe transformation in order to completely abolish and perish the demons that have been accumulated in previous lifetimes. The individual was a force of goodness and powerful societal change, in this lifetime they are offered the rectitude of focusing on themselves and reconciling the light and shadow


Lol hi. This was supposed to be a lil comic but I’m too sick to finish it haha. Made it into a cellphone screen instead, holla if you gon’ use it. The pokemon plushies are inspired by a pokemon au fic. Read Taking the Long Road by Prince_Duke cos solangelo pokemon AU is so cute. I’am in love with the idea of Will having a Psyduck. AND OMG I ALSO HEADCANON THAT WILL IS A TOTAL KEITH FANBOY. He’s prob watching right now and fanboying so much. 

anyone shocked that Terry Pratchett would have his will explicitly state that his unfinished works and computer were to be run over by a steamroller, have not been paying attention.

this is a man, who when he found a meteorite on his property, forged a sword from that meteorite so he could have a star sword.  because let’s face it, that’s the coolest shit ever.

also, see quote:

“I save about twenty drafts — that’s ten meg of disc space — and the last one contains all the final alterations. Once it has been printed out and received by the publishers, there’s a cry here of ‘Tough shit, literary researchers of the future, try getting a proper job!’ and the rest are wiped.“

Old Forgotten Works (1/?)

-Unedited works that I’ve never gotten around to finishing! So I decided to post them the way they are!-

-Can You Be a Good Boy, Max? Part 3-

“No!” Max cried, trying in vain to wiggle out of Petrol’s vice grip on his sash.

Pikeman sighed at the theatrics, “Snake hold his arms.”

Snake walked around to the other end of the cot, and forced Max’s hands to rest in his lap.

“I don’t want it! I don’t want it! Let me go!” Max screamed, tear prickling at the corner of his eyes. Pikeman sighed and poured the clear liquid on the rag.

Max wiggled his arm free and tried to claw away. His pupils were like tiny dots on among a sea of jade and turquoise, and his breathing came out in short pants. He struck Snake and the fight to wrangle in his arms started again.

“He’s like an animal!” Snake yelled over the boy’s screams. Max was whipping too wildly for Snake to grab his arms, the only thing keeping him in place was Petrol’s steady grip on the worn sash.

“Maxwell stop! Just let us clean it!” He hissed, but Max’s focus was on the Pikeman grabbed the smaller boy’s flailing fist, and held on tight.

“No! No! Leave me alone!” Max whined, tears were free falling now. The three scouts exchange glances. Never had Max thrown such a fit, even after his worse nightmares Max would be somewhat conscious enough to answer their questions.

“Edward I- I don’t think-” Snake dodged a sharp kick and fought the urge to return the gesture. “I don’t think he knows where he is.”

Pikeman stared at the fighting boy, every part of him screamed wild animal in this moment. His wild curls sticking out in every direction from his constant pulling and the deep cuts down his arm caused by his own nails.

“Max!” The troop leader tried to get his attention, he snapped and clapped. He even stomped his foot, but Max kept on fighting.

Pikeman tugged hard on the boys arm, and Max’s fear filled eyes landed on him.

“Maxwell! Stop screaming and focus.” Pikeman’s tone was stern, and when Max tried to gracefully kick the teen in a rather unpleasant place, Pikeman tugged even harder on his arm. Then it all happened at once.

The sound of tearing.

Then the sound of all hell breaking loose.

The strain of Max getting pulled against the already torn fabric was enough to rip the sash in half. Max leapt forward and in shock Pikeman let go, and Max ran pushing the red haired teen into Snake. The two toppled too the floor with sharp gasps of surprise and pain.

His feet hit the wooden floor, his steps echoing out as he sprinted to the door.

Maxs hands wrapped around the brass door knob, he could already feel the cool night breeze coming through the screen door, hitting his face and filling his chest with the frigid air.

But an arm was wrapped around his stomach and pulled him away from his only shot at freedom.

“No!” He moaned, and struggled even though the initial adrenaline was dissipating.

Petrol hugged the boy tight against his chest, and sat down with his back to the wall.

“Let me go!” Max sobbed, but it was useless. He went rigid against Petrols stiff frame, but eventually he went limp, his head resting against the older boys forearm.

Max’s eyes were glazed over, his tears dripping onto his dirtied collard shirt.

Pikeman and Snake detangled, they stared hard at the two. Petrol was keeping a close eye on the boy he was holding. His arms wrapped right around the small frame.


Ever wonder what things look like before they are finished? Here are a couple of snapshots as well as dumb doodles and some work that will never be finished.

I’m looking through old stuff if you can’t tell. But I for one, love seeing unfinished work or progress work from other artists :3

P.s. I have some aged^!au shiro/keith in there and also a running away Shiro back from my GSF!au