#i need to write on the AU but I'm too exhausted to do anything productive rip

[drippingmoon]

Merry new year to everyone, again! 🥳💞🥂

I know it wasn’t an event this year, but writing a yearly wrap-up is really therapeutic, you know? So I decided to continue the tradition, and if anyone wants to join me, absolutely view this as an open invitation^^ Introduction is over, and now let’s see what 2023 looked like:

(spoilers: I adored it. I'm also probably going to make this my fixed post, in case anyone ever wants to catch up with me. And also because my second baby, AoS, is growing, and it doesn't have an intro, but I can't leave it out.)

Stats

Aquiver, Aglow: 181k (draft 4) + 195k (draft 5) + hmm, draft 6 is an outlier, because I didn’t rewrite from scratch, so I’m unsure of the written word count. I didn’t change much from draft 5, so I’d say an extra 15-20k. Total word count: 376k+

Remains of a Night: 120k 

Aberration of Sunlight: 134k

This was definitely my most productive year to date. And I got so hungry: the more I wrote, the more I just wanted to keep writing, and honestly? I’m proudest of myself for literally carving writing time whenever I got a spot into my schedule. Mostly it was from 8pm-11pm, but I had a mad run where my only free window was from 1am till I literally felt I was dying… I’ll talk about that separately🤣🤣👌

Though, I'm seriously understating it.

Like a lot of other people, I would have all these hours when I was younger when I didn't have anything to do, yet I'd still find some excuse not to write. "I'm waiting for the right time." "I'm anxious I'm not going to get it right." "Tomorrow! Tomorrow I can start right from the morning, and I'll have more time to write, yeah?" or "I'm too tired now, it's late..." and so the snowball rolled down and downhill and I found every reason under the sun not to write, now that I think about it. Sigh. So much time wasted. But I can't regret it either, because I needed those baby steps at that time.

And now! Now I do what I thought I'd never learn to: I prioritize, and I actually organize my daily stuff so it's not so impossible anymore to have a little bit of writing time. I don't take it for granted either. It feels like such character growth for me, I'm immensely proud of it.

And for the record? This year was a huge improvement over yesteryear mentally, too. It turns out, what I needed to get over my word count anxiety… was to be faced with people who literally didn’t give a fuck about it, and just cared about the story. One of the most unexpected things beta stage managed to do to me… was to quench all my anxieties. It’s as simple as that. I read and enjoy very long books. People also do that. So, I’m very happy to say I’m no longer in a tizzy about ‘quiv. It might kill my chances for trad publishing, it might not. I’ll be happy come what may.

Because it’s so simple how working on ‘quiv or thinking about it makes me joyous, and now I can just enjoy that freely. I will miss writing this story so much. I really will. But at least I’ll have it forever to reread, and I hope this thought brings comfort to everyone who also has problems letting go, like it does to me.

Let’s break it down a little, shall we?🤩

Aquiver, Aglow◇◇◇

My little star of the hour. How fond I am of it.

Like you could glean from above, ‘quiv went through three drafts this year. More specifically: in the first part of the year, practically almost as soon as February arrived. I knew it was getting closer to the final version, and gave me the push to finish all three back to back. I couldn’t justify anymore the bazillion AUs I do with rewrites (basically, WHAT IFs from events, WHAT IF it went this different way, WHAT IF Tyrone actually said this here… and so on and so forth. I wanted to test out as many pathways as possible, and did I exhaust every one of them in existence? Definitely not. I don’t think that can happen, you just keep getting new ideas. On and on. What happened, instead, is that these couple different pathways, at some point, cemented themselves as canon in my mind. I didn’t want to tease myself with alternatives anymore, and that’s when I knew they would be it. Some bits from the first draft, some from the third, some from the second. Some were even draft 6 originals!

It’s a bit of a weird process. I definitely didn’t need to reach draft 3, and meet Mezusa, because I could’ve feasibly made it work with just Yles in the story. It still would’ve made sense, though in a different way. But if I hadn’t… I might’ve missed one of the best characters I’ll ever probably have created, and the story (and Yles) is much stronger for her, if you ask me. 

For that matter, yes, full rewrites every single draft might take a lot of time and effort, but honestly I don’t think I’d ever change my writing process (save for the moments of frustration when I think I will lol) because of the sheer satisfaction of it. Whoever said so long never to settle on the first version, I owe you a beer and probably some curses as well lmao, but very lovingly. You shaped my writing life.

I don’t have much else to share about ‘quiv, other than it’s off with my beta readers my beloved, and maybe a tentative promise that, if anyone wants, you’ll be able to read this precious ball of hope of mine relatively soon. This story is so gentle to me. And as much as I loved to write and work on it, I dearly hope that whoever decides to give it a go, is treated just the same. That’s the only wish I have.

I also don’t know if I’ll go trad or self-published. Instincts say trad, because I fuckin’ suck at marketing (fact), and I know I’d grow resentful if I’d have to put so many hours into advertising when I know I could instead… write. I’m a writer. That’s the only thing I know how to do. Trad, however, might not be as kind on a ~200k as life’s been, so I might not have a choice. If it comes down to that… I’ll just treat it as I do everything. I don't love this story any less if I just write, publish without a fuss, hope that maybe, just maybe, a reader or two will stumble upon the story and we could talk. Maybe we can have the fun of our lives, create some genuine connection. I know that’s applies to a lot of writers. I hope we can accomplish it.

And so, I’ll finish this section of the wrap-up with a kiss to my ‘quiv, for all the warmth it’s ever brought me. It’s come so far, I know it can live distinct from me from now on. It brings me great comfort. And I look forward to the times I’ll reread it, and we can relive our best experiences together. Never thought I’d get to this point. Thank you, ‘quiv.

Remains of a Night♤♤♤

Mwhahaha! And because ‘quiv took all the pressure, this left AoS to be an extremely fun and spirited experience. Literally the chillest I’ve ever been writing. In many ways, it’s more my thing than I expected ‘quiv to be: I get to murder characters left and right, it’s more plot-heavy and banking on the tension created by a creature that horrifies the characters down to their marrow, but still the only way to defeat it is to know it better, which, uh, might have unpleasant consequences for them. It’s got chase and stealth scenes, and it always shoots me with adrenaline to think about them. In short, exactly my jam.

It’s not a new book, nope. You knew it before as Aberration of Sunlight, but from the get-go I felt it would be bigger than ‘quiv. Very fortunately for me, I had a place where to break it, and behold: there’s RoaN (book 1), and AoS (book 2). There might be a third book, which I dearly hope not because titling sucks, but it depends on the Sycamine arc. More on that in AoS.

One last thing to note, before we delve into the story (hoo-ray for earlier drafts, because I can talk more frankly about them). This is the culprit of my 1am writing adventures!!😫❤ My schedule became too packed, then NaNo came round and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to honor how AoS began, because it was last year’s NaNo, aaand I’m happy to say I won NaNo, somehow, with 56k down before I died. At that time, I only had one section left to write (from both books), otherwise, hahahaha, yeah, it wouldn’t have flown. Still, most of draft 2 I’d written in September-October, with my fairy lights, late nights, and cups of hot cocoa, exactly like how life should be<3

Alright. We’re going through them chapter-by-chapter again, exactly because I love seeing the titles so much:

ACT 1

Cracked Visor, Scorpion Grass

I did it! I did! Twas another shower thought I managed to get down in time. Bare broken sentences, but they did the impossible, and arranged this chapter into a structure I adore to bits and won't ever change. (And 'quiv's naughty voice left me alone for once and I could write it properly!) While I don't think I'll ever be happy with a first chapter (not as a concept, but the writing — part of me will always wish that the reader just had all the information already lol), this one is in the right place.

It pays its respects to the story of the broken helmet at the foot of a spaceship, and how it reconnects Madigan with all the people who'd suffered from being tethered to the planets when they yearned to fly, but the Beast punished them cruelly for it. It makes him feel phantoms of their efforts. The tone is exactly what I needed this story to start from: melancholy and numbly hopeless, against the backdrop of the Beasts's echoed cries.

Rain Through the Universe

Unlike 'quiv, because RoaN and AoS are way more plot-heavy, it's not as easy to change things willy-nilly (whereas 'quiv was all about character bonds and dynamics). As such, it's very similar to draft 1. Because of that, I'll frankendraft next (select and combine drafts 1 and 2, rewrite to connect them) and afterwards I'll try something I've always wanted to. (Scrivener keeps hinting at it!) I'm gonna split the chapters into scenes, and focus on those individually and how I can just rewrite them and set their purpose in stone<3 I'm excited!

As for the chapter itself, gods, I love the atmosphere. Just the wreckage of a sundered ship, and Madigan’s sudden madman appearance making a lasting impression on Spica, because how could it not. They no longer answer distress calls in that age, it just means more dead bodies. In fact, they're forbidden to. Madigan instead brings him what he himself lacks: hope. And a lot of crawling around while dreading the Beast's lambent eye opening, and oh my, the moments are really flying by😈👏 extreme fun for me as the writer.

Aberration of Light

If you remember, the books follow two timelines, which will connect at some point. The first and main one is Madigan and Spica’s story. The other is Holloway’s, in the distant past of that universe, and who’s been dubbed the most selfish man in existence. That’s important, because of how the Beast came to be. But that becomes important later. For now, a weird-ass new recruit has joined the ship, and the witchy crew will very soon start making bets if she’s the Beast in human flesh, which really wouldn’t bode well for their future.

Night Falls On Their Reflection

Draft 2 became Spica’s draft. It was high time. He didn't exist in the original idea beyond chapter 2, but he refused to die with his story untold. And now he's one of the most independent thinkers I've ever written. Now he's Madigan's son (yes, even at 25), best friend, back-to-back partner all in one, and I could watch the trust and mutual respect between these two forever. To be sure: Madigan comes up with the dumbass plans, and Spica's only too happy to follow him through everything (it is good fun.)

He's repaying the incredible kindness Madigan's shown him when answering his distress call, after all.

But it goes a bit further than that, doesn't it? Madigan is used to watching over myriad people. He's the Superintendent of his planet, and while he genuinely loves people, kindness is his default. It doesn't go further than that for him. He doesn't necessarily think people need, much less desire his presence there beyond Madigan extending help, and most of the time, he's content with that. Kindness does make him happy. And it should be the same with Spica now, shouldn't it? He's kind, but he's not Spica's family, nor ever will be. Yet he immediately feels a connection with the boy, that has nothing to do with bonding over escaping-a-cosmic-disaster. And so does Spica.

This is the moment when Madigan starts feeling guilty, for stepping where he should not. But here's the beauty of Spica's character: he's nothing if not dead sure of his own feelings, and what he sees with his eyes. It's okay if Madigan keeps unexpectedly taking steps back. For very long, there'd been nobody to support Spica's beliefs. So he does the same, as when he followed his heart to go into dead space: he believes in himself and Madigan, and that their paths aren't meant to diverge. They mean too much to each other for that to ever happen.

(In short, and legend says you can still hear me screeching about these two ten thousand years later, I love these two so much, and especially the parallels between Spica going alone into outer space and loving Madigan.)

(And, okay, obviously all these developments don't happen in a single chapter, but I couldn't stop gushing🤭🥰.)

Who Puts These Tombs in Ice

Overall, I think draft 2’s Luitgart performed worse than draft 1. Mainly it's the setting I want to revert (still an icy, sempiternally dark hell, but with different ice constructions) because some of the beats are a huge improvement, and again, I gotta combine the two. Otherwise, I’m still as obsessed about the Luitgart arc as I’ve ever been, and huge thanks to it for being so strong it could function as an ending of its own, allowing me to split the book.

Gettin’ into spoilery territory, but I have to un-kill Madigan so many times it leaves me in hysterics. That was what I was supposed to fix this draft. It got worse. Considerably.

(One constant: the chapter being a love letter to Madigan, and how his first answer will always be to help the other, no matter if they deserve it or not<3 and finally, finally, he gets acknowledged for it, and the favor returned.)

ACT 2

Lemon-Dotted Days + Remnant

Two Holloway chapters! I’m actually massively pleased with how they’ve turned out. Last year, I said the main issue was that I had an outline, and that never works for me. So I did what I do best and rewrote everything from scratch, and the result is both uncanny and… unexpected.

Unexpected, because I never in my life thought Holloway’s voice would make me laugh so much. He’s supposed to be unsympathetic, but then you get his interactions with Saintlark (the new crewmate, possibly Beast) where they’re contemplating the harvest of a nebula, and he’s harshly critical of it, which gives Saintlark hope… only to go deadpan One Moment Later: if they’d used the nebula to prolong their lives instead of bolstering the war, they wouldn’t have died like clown idiots. 

And, they could’ve maybe stolen immortality from the nebula. They would've had to share it with him, of course. Or he would've murdered them to get it.

That, my guys, is his personality in a nutshell.

I have a lot of feelings on Holloway now, and most involve me huffing and slapping my forehead while groaning, but oh my gods. Was it ever so fun. And wait, wait, wait. Since I'm talking of humor (apparently a lot of comedy fit into this horror lmfao) I have to show you guys the following section🤣🤣👏:

Corpse Snow

The drifters are set howling on the ice. They share glances, five separate vehicles nodding at each other. Madigan revs up the engine, splitting the air with a jet of steam and vibration.

The last of the marines are climbing into the box. A figure flashes past Madigan’s drifter — and he leans over, teeth grinding because of his ribs, and he does his very best to grab someone by the back of their suit and pull. Workout days were never his strength, though. He only succeeds in stopping them in the frost smoke.

It’s Spica dangling from his hand, expressionless.

Lieutenant Hahn instantly seizes on the situation. He throws Madigan a long, withering look. “Whatcha doing, Boss?” he asks softly, about to unhinge his jaw again.

Madigan nudges Spica into the drifter. “Picking up your boy.”

Spica gets the hint and deposits himself into the front seat, glancing from his father to his Superintendent. He seems to give up on whatever’s going on, and makes himself cozy in the frosty spot. And Madigan, of course, pretends not to notice Hahn’s drifter sliding closer.

“And you didn’t consider I might want to have my son with me?”

Madigan looks up and sighs. “Lieutenant, dear Lieutenant,” he starts pleadingly. “Why won’t you show some leniency to a poor, wounded man?”

Hahn’s drifter stops, summoning a breeze across the icy floor that gently rocks the other vehicle. His breathing distorts the comms with static. “And what exactly is my son right now?”

“My trusty navigator,” Madigan answers easily.

“Sir’s emotional walking stick?” Spica pipes in at the same time.

They both look over. Spica’s quietly turned to the navigation, as serene as daylight, seemingly oblivious to how Madigan's expression changes, lightning-fast. He quickly hides it under the guise of a polite mask, as the marines stir and turn their attention on them. They’re snickering.

Lieutenant Hahn throws up his hands, giving up on everything.

This is also the first 30k chapter I’ve ever written. It's everything I've ever wanted to do with ice.

Heart of the Void

The end of the book. Originally, it was the ending section to Corpse Snow, but since it already got so ungodly long, I chipped off that bit and I have to say I’m very happy with how it works as an epilogue! So it ends the frosty, weary journey, and I can’t see the two books as separate yet, but here we bid goodbye to the first.

Aberration of Sunlight♧♧♧

I did the unthinkable and created a fifth arc. This might not seem like much to you, but I was screaming bloody murder you guys😭😭😭. Sigh. It’s so sigh. For so long, AoS consisted of four clear-cut acts, but it was necessary. With the introduction of Sycamine, and making it two books, it was just needed. It’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever done because I was used to four😃💔

(The chapters continue from where RoaN left off – from chapter 10, to 21.)

ACT 3

Retro Spectrum

Sycamine, oh Sycamine. Definitely the break I needed before Days in Darkness. It made for a really neat beginning. It’s calmer, focusing on the knowledge they have on the Beast. It’s also a reflection on Procyon (their main star) and the story of the two straggler dog constellations, and what they'd been running away from. I liked the direction it took. It veered away from the Beast for a bit, so the tension kept expanding in the background. And when it returns, well... maybe they shouldn't have been so eager to see it again🤭.

It suffers from the same syndrome as draft 1’s first chapter… it’s there in the vicinity of the idea, but too much to the left. Not bad for a first attempt. The setting annoys me – I really don't enjoy writing cities, and AoS didn't change that. So, for our next try, I was thinking... maybe we don't need to be on the planet, but up close and veeery personal with it. It's a secret❤.

And, oh gods. I put a moustache-twirling villain in this. And then I couldn’t stop myself from naming some sucker Sweetman Calories. I don’t know what happened to me during those days, but I’m crying🤣🤣🤣.

Toast to the Light

Holloway and Saintlark’s story is slowly coming to an end. Unexpectedly bleaker than draft 1, yet it feels much more sincere. Holloway has a way of saying everything Saintlark needs to hear. No surprise. They did that to themselves.

Dissonant Recognition

Ahhhh, the Madigan-is-slowly-losing-his-grip-on-reality chapter, or maybe he should really stop staring into the suns. One of my favorites<3 Also because it features Moren (!!!) who has a blast staying in the grey morality area, because she doesn’t know if her actions could ever matter, or if she could change anything. Does she just exist? Is she a player or just pawn? Who knows. Besides that, she gets along great with Spica. They form such a teasing duo, the level of mutual respect they felt for each other on sight was a delight to write. My favorite ally of theirs, even if her destiny lies elsewhere.

Night Beneath the Elevator

Best title hands down, dethroning Solgesis. I’m going batshit crazy about the visuals, it's exactly my thing. This half-light slanted over an elevator waiting in a rundown basement to be boarded. And there's something underneath it, and always has been. Something insidiously creeping up and waving its tendril fingers at you as you're just waiting for the fucking thing to ascend. Immaculate, guys, I'm telling you, and I'm cursing my hands because I can't make a wallpaper of this. I want to eat that atmosphere.

Time-sensitive missions, y'all.

And why the heck did nobody inform me I was going to add Command as an actual character and have them talk with Madigan?! That entire convo, made up entirely on the spot but somehow with a direction, made me realize what an idiot I’d been for not doing it sooner. They mean so much to Madigan, after all.

(And Mariya. So much Mariya in these chapters.)

ACT 4

Loop System

Like Who Puts These Tombs in Ice, draft 1 might’ve done it better. Not Spica and Madigan, though, because of the sheer development Spica’s been through and the dynamic he’s managed to form with the crew. It's different from Madigan’s, but similar enough that it’s got Hahn commenting lightly: [Spica’s] picked up quite a few habits from Madigan, hasn’t he? Almost as if they’ve gotten very very close, huh? How about Madigan tell him more?

(I adore writing Hahn.)

Outreach

Another Holloway chapter. Doesn’t have the punch of the kids subplot from draft 1, but this just makes it worse for Saintlark personally, because, this time, the consequences are on her.

Days in Darkness

I knew the moment I first got the idea this would be my favorite chapter. Well, it finally happened in draft 2: when the entire crew is here, this time, and ready for the final countdown, to relive the experience of being trapped in a ship that's disintegrating. No more heroes left behind. I'd been so tired writing this chapter in draft 1, but this time around it was incredible. Everything went up sharply from here, both in terms of events and how on fire I was.

(Maybe less than the gorgon, but I was.)

ACT 5

Echo Terminal

The first of the two log chapters.

I've never written smoother, more visual chapters than in this period. Days in Darkness changed me so much, I was writing day and night by this point and couldn't get enough. Well, I hit my limit in the second half of the very last chapter, but I am beyond satisfied. Even the Beast's metamorphosis took me by storm, because I'd been wondering what the final verbs, the final images, the final design for it was going to be. I didn't expect it to come to me this early, and with such thrill. Those were my very best days of the year, and I toast to them.

(And I knew it was going to be fantastic when Halo's Warthog Run OST started blaring in my head, with as much adrenaline.)

Where, Now? + Solgesis

My beloved. The second and last of the two log chapters, but it’s Noelle Saintlark’s log.

Holloway’s timeline ends here. Or maybe it just gets carried into the future. I thought I’d want to rewrite his parts again, make the plot just a tiny bit more psychedelic and nonsensical because it’s so close to the Beast… but Solgesis put all my fears to rest. Even the formatting and layout is a bit of that special thing I’ve always wanted to try, and it really changes the perspective of the previous chapters. There's a new confession that stands at the heart of Holloway's stories.

Honestly, the only thing that needs urgent working on is the anger at the end of the chapter.

Anger is so hard for me to write sometimes. Not because I don’t connect with it, but because I feel self-conscious writing it. The wildest I felt it was when I tackled 'quiv's chapter 3 and Imera's Turning speech, both in quick succession (before I'd even written draft 1. I'd been taking notes.) Since then... I just thing back to how keenly I'd felt that anger, and I kind of intimidate myself out of it. Kind of like a natural resistence, I quench it from myself. Which is actually hilarious when you think about it. It’s like I’m going I BANISH THEE FROM MY BRAIN because generally, as a person, I dislike feeling and operating on anger. But no worries. I’m going to find a way around it.

Watch me😎.

What Goes Around…

(Now it’s the time for me to start crying some rivers, and, alright, it won’t be visible so I’ll say it: the chapter titles are holding a conversation, guys. They speak to each other. And sometimes it’s both sides of the same coin, like how What Goes Around (comes around) hints here. If you take two chapters, one from the beginning and one from the end (for example 1 and 21) it'll tell you a little secret. Okay, What Goes Around and Rain Through the Universe communicate through their plot, which I can’t spoil but of course it has to do with Madigan and Spica and how they first meet… but there is one title pair that does it best visibly. 

Lemon-Dotted Days and Days in Darkness.

And I hadn’t even planned this. All the parallels I wanted to draw… I feel like they built themselves, guys. They really did, and it makes me so wildly happy I don’t even know how to stop my hands from flailing.

And, with them being 21 chapters, they meet in the middle, on the one unpaired chapter.

Called Toast to the Light.

I friggin’ love everything.

New Sunrise, Forget-Me-Right

Of course, Forget-Me-Right is a play on Scorpion Grass. But it’s also such a gentle name for the chapter, because everything ends here. Lying on their backs, staring out into the universe, and it really, really is over. Just a dark horizon on which stars flare and bloom. And suddenly, that maddened rush to make every sacrifice count, to remember every soul they’ve encountered because the legend says the Beast absorbs you when it kills you – all that suffocating pressure dissipates. Lightness remains. Because they’ve protected each other.

For the first time in my writing journey, blood rushed to my head with such emotion I had to stop writing, which never happens. I had to look up and exclaim, holy fuck. But how could I not, considering how the story ends for the Beast? I am speechless. A lot of gorgeous surprises this draft.

Conclusion□●□

Whew, what a year it's been! As for how 2024 will probably look like, though I don't like making plans: finishing the beta stage for 'quiv, and tackling RoaN and AoS's draft 3. Thaaaat one I'm actually starting on Christmas, when I can (finally!!) reread draft 2 with my mug of hot cocoa (or maybe mulled wine for a change) and, no surprises here, I'm hyper stoked for that<3 <3 <3 I legit can't wait to see where the new draft brings them. I might not have set any expectations for them, but they're vying to keep up with 'quiv and I adore it🤭❤

As for my lovely friends... well, you know by how I spam your tags how much I adore you and wish you happiness forever🤩🥺🥳 I don't know what my activity will look like in the near future, so for now I won't be saying anything, and my semi-hiatus continues. Semi, because you're unforgettable and I crave to see what everyone's been up to and (!!!!) what you've written!

So let's meet in 2024 again, and all the best wishes to you, the reader🥰🥂❤.

#ayearofwriting #2023 #aquiver-aglow #aberration of sunlight

[from-izzy]

that's him, that's just who he is | tbz lee sangyeon

» ​PAIRING: tbz lee sangyeon x gn! reader (implied afab reader...?)​ » TROPE/AU​: childhood friends 2 strangers » GENRE​: angst!, comfort later (more like a peace of mind after all the angst), little bit of fluff from the flashback » WORD COUNT: 2985 » ESTIMATED READING TIME: ~11 mins » WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!): as far as i'm aware, none! navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series introduction 🤍 series masterlist

my first story for my personal healing project!

this story reflects how i personally see sangyeon and i am a bit worried that i made it 'too personal' to the point that you guys won't really understand what's going on 😭😭 but i really hope this isn't the case.

another thing i want to emphasise and add! i'm still not used to writing for gn!reader so please, if you see something that should be changed, tell me straightaway! 😭😭 this is a very important topic and as much as i've proof read it, i am still able to make mistakes!

other than that...let's go!

“I’m home!” 

The house chorused in a series of ‘welcome back’s and variants of ‘omg! I need to tell you something!’. You hug your mum in the kitchen, craning your head forward to her shoulder, observing her working hard on the food that she’s making for the neighbourhood party that is happening across the road from your house in about two hours or so.

You relax in contentment as the smell of your mum’s homemade food fills the whole house and you can’t help but let out a deep sigh to relish the familiarity of it, only being able to get a whiff of the aroma maybe once a week, sometimes unfortunately even less.

“How was work?” Your mum strikes up the conversation when you put your chin on her shoulder, your whole body almost dangling if you could due to the exhaustion, “You look like you’re enjoying it.”

You roll your eyes in response, whining for your sister across the other side of the room, in front of the television to keep it down as you could barely hear the sizzling of the meat on the frying pan, “Well, it’s fine, I guess?” 

“Why? Cause at the very least you can see the love of your life?” Your chin detaches from your mother’s comfort, your spine straightening and you let out a gasp, almost scandalous at the words your mum just said, “Hey! You were the one who told me that all your co-workers were teasing you both for that ring on your finger!”

“True.” 

A radiant smile pulls up on your lips when you remember the way your partner knelt on one knee after casually asking you “Do you want to have little, mini versions of us walking around someday?” You, being slow, just leisurely answered back with a “Duh! Of course!” and before you knew it, the ring on your left fourth finger solidified the promises between you two to make that, and so much more happen.

Leaning onto the cupboard that stretches from the floor to the top of the ceiling, you play with the continuous silver band and the shiny diamond protruding on your ring finger. Already touching and feeling it so many times, you remember its grooves and design happily, reciting the next spaces of the ring in your head easily. The smile pulls up further on your face and you squeal at the thought of you walking down the aisle soon.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Your sister shouts in obvious annoyance, “You told me to be quiet and now you’re the one being loud!”

Ugh, this little demon.

“And what are you doing when mum is obviously working her ass off in the kitchen?” You observe your very very lazy sister’s surroundings: she rests her whole body on her side to watch the blown-up performance stage of one of the many groups that she likes, fully stretching and sprawling on the whole couch, bags of opened processed foods on the glass coffee table within her reach and her phone somewhere in the messy pile, “Geez, do something productive for once in your life.”

“Hey.” She finally sits up, not bothering to pause the big screen as the cheers of the fans could be heard clearly and from the corner of your eyes, you could see the new ‘ending fairy’ trend in the new generation of K-Pop, zooming from one member to the next, “Being happy is being productive.”

And you couldn’t refute that, knowing that she was absolutely right.

“Hey!” Your mum hollers your attention back to the kitchen behind you, the steam of the soup creating a soft and white fluffy barrier between her somewhat mischievous and guilty grin, “Do you mind helping out with the mango dessert? I don’t think I can finish it in time. I slept in and started preparations late.”

“Sure!” You immediately agree, glad to be spending some time with your mum anyway, “I’ll just quickly wash up and change. I’ll be right there!”

The routine isn’t anything special for a regular neighbourhood party: shower, do some quick skincare, put on light makeup, style your hair appropriately, match it with appropriate attire and off you go to the kitchen with an apron to save your clumsy, silly self.

“What do you need me to make?” Your eyes quickly scan the fruits, ice, beverages and decorative flowers.

“Your sister was craving some fruit punches. I only have mango and passionfruit available.” Your mum sets some more ingredients for you to use on the kitchen island before turning away to face the stove once more, “You’re good at making these things.” 

“That’s just an excuse right, mum?” The older woman chuckles, nodding in agreement.

You were about to ask your sister to get an idea of what exactly she wanted but the underaged sibling suddenly squeals and the beginnings of a soft instrumental bounce from the walls of the house before a deep, gentle timbre sings. Your lips twitch when the younger girl turns up the volume at the masked man on the television screen. 

“I should add alcohol to this.” You mutter as you start to work on the drink, focusing intently back on your work.

But along the way…

Is a voice from deep within you telling to to listen carefully to the male singer.

When your hand retrieves the unpeeled mango, you stare at it fondly, turning your hand to observe the little marks and imperfections on the skin. Suddenly, the fruit didn’t seem to just be a fruit. The orange-yellow shading reminds you of a boy from your childhood who had the same hoodie as the colour and you remember how he said he would dye his hair to be the same colour when he could one day when he gets older.

Having some sort of background to hair and colouring as your auntie has a salon herself, you commented that it would need a couple of bleaches and an unhealthy hair condition for him to achieve the vibrant colour. You could hear the surprised and stuttering voice in your head, compromising his choice to have a more pastel, lighter look rather than the look that would totally steal the attention of any crowd. 

Smiling at the really faint memory, you couldn’t help but sigh as you recalled that you no longer had contact with your primary school best friend. You both separated when you entered different high schools and despite promising to still have daily meetups in the neighbourhood park, you immersed yourself in your studies as he immersed himself further with the things he wanted to do. It was somewhat bitter but you both had the feeling it was coming anyway. Ultimately, you were glad that the friendship didn’t fade away because of some dramatic high school, hormonal drama.

“Lee Sangyeon, you’re such a good singer ugh!”

“W-Wait…” Your fingers quickly retract from the fruit peeler, whipping your head to the television at the familiar first name that your sister cheerfully shouted for.

It’s also when you realise that your sister isn’t watching live television but rather a replay of a video;  I mean, it had to be a replay because your sister obviously knew the name of the singer even when he still had his mask on to conceal his identity. 

Unknowingly, your eyes stuck to the screen, the mango slowly rolling out of your grip, your breath hitching as the familiarity of the song starts to take over your whole mind. The first observation you had was that his voice changed drastically. It wasn’t as high pitched and the lower register made your entire system start to relax when your lips unconsciously started moving to the shape of the lyrics to the song.

And there he was.

When the MC announced the name that you knew all too well, every muscle in your body froze except for the ones around your eyes as you couldn’t help but let a tear slip out. The nostalgia hits you and the second observation you had was that his smile never changed. It was still the gentle, wide ones that he always offered you whenever he answered your ridiculous questions or when he would ask you to accompany him to play on the swings instead of the slide. No, he didn’t have that hair colour that he talked about with you around fifteen years ago but his light brown shade showed you that he definitely did use similar hair products to achieve the look. 

But that smile.

That smile told you a lot; one of them being that you were sure that Lee Sangyeon was still a very much reliable, positive person.

Even when he introduced himself to the audience, bowing politely as his hair was all messed up due to him taking off his mask, you could tell that even though he was nervous and most probably sweating buckets, he still beats all the allegations from when you were children saying that he looks cold and unfriendly.

His smile and the way his eyes disappear behind his eyelids make the corner of your lips lift as well; even his eyes still hold a smile similar to his lips. It contrasted heavily with his no evident smile, the vertical lines between his eyebrows and how he only made short bursts of eye contact with the audience when he was singing beforehand. 

“You should just become a singer! Not an astronaut!”

“Should I?” Sangyeon could barely kick the surface of the sand with his legs, adjusting his posture on the swings to make sure that the swinging didn’t make him fall off to the ground and potentially embarrass himself in front of all the other kids, adults and their pets.

“For sure!” You exclaim, excitingly rattling the metal chains that held your weight in the air. You lean forward a little bit to escape the said chains and observe your friend beside you, “You have such a gentle personality and I could see you becoming the best leader ever! I could see you taking control, making sure that everything will go well and just being really reliable. Or you could go solo but honestly, it would be fun to see you dancing on stage.”

“Oh come on!” The little boy grunts in response to your laughing, recalling the way he was forcibly picked out from the crowd to do a little routine. Needless to say, he ran down the stage to sit back down with you, hiding his reddened face behind his arms above his knees, “Was I really that bad?”

“Nah.” You immediately saw the smile from back, “You looked a bit silly though.”

Sangyeon rolls his eyes away, still with a wide grin on his face as he observes the sun setting behind the trees and he takes notice of the way the warmth from the orange light slowly disappears from the top of his head to his forehead and is now down to just his chin.

“Well, I’ll just have to go with the flow, I guess.” You admire the way that Sangyeon looked at life. At such a young age, you always thought that he was mature and would take the cruel obstacles that life threw at him one step at a time, “It’s simpler that way anyways.”

His positivity definitely grew on you healthily and he would occasionally remind you that even though life is crap, it’s okay to feel like the whole world is against you and to cry once in a while. Your friendship with Sangyeon most definitely strengthened your mental health and amidst the hard times in life, you also believed that good things would happen one by one slowly. 

“As they say,” You follow his gaze to the barely visible hemisphere that was once high in the day, “Simple is Sangyeon.”

“But I guess I still want to be greedy and achieve all the things that I want quickly with whatever it is that I’ll pursue.”

The little chuckle that escaped from you made Sangyeon turn his attention back. He then sees the series of nods and your closed smile before hearing your approving hum, “Fair enough, fair enough.”

That was around the end of primary school and was one of the last regular meetups before high school where it became irregular and unsteady. 

You were happy though. You still are.

You’re happy that you met Sangyeon even though life took you to your different, diverse paths. Making friends in high school was a big pain in the ass as you had to start all over again from basic introductions and discussions of hobbies. It was so much easier because Sangyeon’s extroverted self carried you to make friends and drag other people into the conversation easily.

“You alright?” 

Your feet had a mind of itself when you realised that the television wasn’t on your ten o’clock anymore but more like your twelve. The younger at the couch had her legs tucked in beneath her body, kneeling on the leather sofa with both of her eyebrows raised in suspicion and concern.

“Y-Yeah.” You gesture to the big screen with a chin tilt, “So…which group is this?”

“THE BOYZ! Oh my gosh, this is what I was going to tell you about when you walked into the house! Look! There are eleven members and they’re all so handsome!” 

The contrasting volume between the two siblings, as they engaged in their back-to-back conversation, had the older woman from the kitchen sighing at ease. Though time was running out and they needed to finish as soon as possible to avoid being late (or being late at an unmannered time), she could see how her oldest child bent their upper body down and used their elbows to support their weight on the backrest of the couch while her youngest flips through the various video contents of the said group. She also remembers the existence of the now way more mature boy that she once knew personally and she has always been aware that even though the friendship ended peacefully, it was still hard on you as you jumped from group to group to find the right people to spend your time with.

Turning the red line of the stove knob to ‘off’, picking up the steaming pot and placing it on top of the coaster to the barely changed arrangement of ingredients that she sets for the dessert on the kitchen island, she lets out an exhale that blows the fragrant ginger away from her face. She didn’t have the heart to tell any of her children to help her out anymore, not when the younger was enthusiastically teaching the older the names of all the members once again after the latter only recalled around three of the names; the mother thought it was a good effort already on her behalf. 

Similar to the stuttering one who points at the still unfamiliar member, she rests her elbows on the cold table stone, one of her palms as a rest for her cheek. The ‘ten more minutes!’ reminder on her phone rang but as soon as the first note blared, the mother let out a quick, surprised sound, lunging to reach her phone across the island, tapping on the ‘silent’ button repeatedly, not wanting to break the chaotic atmosphere of her two kids, “I guess after all these years…”

Finally making the final decision inside her head, she opens the group chat for all the mothers in the neighbourhood to tell them that they won’t be able to make it to the monthly gathering. Amidst the happy squealing and claps when you were able to recite all the members’ names, the front door clicks open to reveal the other parental figure for the two busy children.

“What’s up with those two?” The man amusedly comments at his two precious children, dipping his head down to kiss his wife, “Don’t tell me they tried something for the first time.”

“No, no, no.” Immediately backing up the radiant smiles on both the younger’s faces that pasted on their faces across the room. The couple stays in the hallway, watching the way that you finally sit down on the couch properly next to your sister who shows you yet another stage and a song that you were sure was going to make it to your main playlist, “Let’s just say that there’s a boy who not only makes our oldest the happiest, but now also our youngest.”

“Well,” The dad exhales happily at the good news. One of his hands tucks itself into his pants pocket, the other wrapping around the waist of his lovely wife, “that’s good to hear. Sounds like a decent guy. Who is it?”

“Lee Sangyeon.”

“Damn,” he nods, slightly pouting as he reflects on his own actions, “maybe I should take notes from this guy.”

“Don’t be silly, love. You’re a great dad.” Before kissing another reassuring kiss onto his lips, “Lee Sangyeon…he’s just that type of person, you know?”

“What type?”

“The type that’s capable of making people happy.”

You and your sister finally take notice of the new figure in the house, jumping from your seats to tackle your parents in a hug. More variations of ‘welcome back’s and ‘omg! I need to tell you something!’ spewed out the still-excited youngsters. Your mum calms you both down from your jumping sprees, placing a hand on each of your backs. You make eye contact with your mum and she could see the swirls of adoration, peacefulness and a sort of…relief just swimming freely in your eyes.

The hand on your back runs up and down, your mother understanding how you feel without you even saying it. Once more, she lets her thoughts run and thanks the boy on the screen who was a strong figure in your childhood:

“That’s you. That’s just who you are, Sangyeon.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series introduction 🤍 series masterlist tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️

#deoboyznet #k-labels #k-films #tbz x reader #the boyz fanfic #the boyz imagines #deobi #deobiwritersnet #sangyeon x reader #the boyz x reader #the boyz x you #lee sangyeon #sangyeon #sangyeon x you #sangyeon imagines #sangyeon scenarios #lee sangyeon x reader #sangyeon fluff #sangyeon angst #sangyeon fanfic #tbz fluff #tbz imagines #tbz scenarios #the boyz #tbz

[lesbesapphic]

Sooo yea I'm not doing the best right now😣 I'm mostly bedridden, and not cuz I'm tired or lazy I just don't have the mental energy to step out of bed and do anything and it sucks😞 soooo idk i you have time or anything but it'll be cool if you can write maybe a dabble of a reader that just doesn't want anything anymore? I just need some cheering up I don't really mind if it Natasha orrr Wanda from any AU really🥺 (kinda messy ask but eh)

👻

Heyy! I totally understand how you feel. I don't have motivation to do anything either these days. College is killing me. Yet i have to get up every morning for it and next week (Monday) is my birthday, I don't even feel motivated for that.

I hope you feel better soon. If not you can always talk to me. I hope this little drabble of Gold Rush makes you feel better. I wrote it the moment i got back from college instead of taking a nap but it is worth it if you feel better. Take care.

PS- I hope the app thing works out for you. Do try it.

Tired

Gold rush au

Warning - tired reader, fluffy.

You groaned and turned to your side, hiding your face in the pillow when Natasha pulled the curtain back to let the sunlight in. You don't know her obsession with sunlight and waking up early but you assumed it came with age and responsibilities.

Yes you were going to call her old.

You felt someone laying down next to you and from the sweet fragrance, you can tell it was Wanda, freshly out of the shower. You moved closer to her and draped your arm on her only to pull back immediately at the coldness, "What?" Wanda laughed out.

"You are cold." You answered, your voice muffled as you face was buried in the pillow to avoid the bright light. Why did the sun decide to shine so bright?

"Which you should be as well once you decide to shower." Natasha butted in and you head clinking of dishes next to you on the side table, assuming it is the breakfast.

"I dont wanna.." You replied and hummed in content when Wanda started running her fingers through your hair, gently working her way to the ends.

These days you weren't feeling productive at all. Wanda and Natasha both had noticed this, at first they didn't intervene to give you your own space and hoping you would get back on track and just needed someone rest but now things have piled up and you were even more exhausted just by thinking about all this. Wanda nodded slowly at Natasha and watched as Natasha gently helped you up.

You resisted at first then let her had her way knowing they wouldn't let you go without eating your breakfast, "Come on, let's have breakfast." Natasha said as she placed the small foldable table on the bed, placing the plate of pancakes on it as well as Wanda's black coffee, "Thank you." Wanda moved forward when Natasha leaned in to place a kiss on her lips before placing one on your forehead. You couldn't help but give a light smile.

"Not feeling good again?" Natasha asked you as she took a sip of her own coffee, watching as you slowly cut your pancakes before Wanda decided to do the job for you which you were more than grateful for. You just didn't feel like doing anything and there was so much to do.

You nodded slowly at Natasha's question and took a bite of your pancakes, they were amazing, you wanted to tell her this but didn't even feel like talking in that moment. You watched as Wanda and Natasha exchanged a look before Natasha nodded at her.

"Do you want to talk about what's bothering you? Natasha asked and you let out a sigh of frustration at your situation before deciding to speak up, "That's the thing. Nothing was or is bothering me. I just felt too tired to do anything and now everything is piling up and it is making even more tired to think about it.", You answered and could even feel yourself tearing up in frustration.

Wanda sensed the sudden mood change and instantly wrapped her arm around you and you laid your head on her shoulder, slowly sniffling back your tears. You felt pathetic like this. "It's fine, Sugar. It happens. Even Wanda and I had and have these days when we were in college and even now." Natasha spoke up and you nodded listening to her, atleast it reassured you that they understood how you felt. Related to it.

"Wanda even more often than me." Natasha added and you chuckled when Wanda threw a pillow at her head, giving her a fierce look yet playful look.

"Ouch!"

"Don't listen to your Mommy. She is getting old and with old age comes the forgetfulness." Wanda turned your head toward hers as she started speaking, ignoring Natasha who was giving her a pitiful look. "You know, Natasha had such days so often in college that I used to literally look after her. You know how she gets when she is in her koala mode?" Wanda questioned and you nodded slowly, often seeing Natasha clinging to Wanda or sometimes you.

"Hey! That's not koala mode. I just get tired." Natasha argued and Wanda gave a big smile as she motioned to Natasha when she used the word tired. "See, it happens. It is natural to feel like this."

"Natasha, more coffee, please?" Wanda held out her mug and Natasha shook her head, "After the pillow you thre-" Natasha's eyes comically widen when she saw Wanda picking up another pillow and you only laughed at their antiques.

"Threw at me, I am gonna get you all the coffee in the world, Your highness." Natasha quickly took the mug and did a mocking bow, making even Wanda laugh. "I will be back in a few." Natasha leaned in and kissed your forehead again before leaving. Not before Wanda called for pancakes for herself as well.

"Yeah so where was I?"

"It is natural.." You whispered, your mood sulking down again at the reminder of everything you have to do in the back of your mind. "Yep. You know how i helped Natasha deal with it?" Wanda asked and you understood why she send Natasha away knowing she might not enjoy the conversation that showed her in such light. She always prefer to be the strong one, being there for you.

"How?" You asked, opening your mouth when Wanda fed you pancakes, occasionally eating a bite herself.

"First, we stop thinking about everything we have to do at once and focus on the present." Wanda tapped your forehead before picking up your phone and downloading something.

"Now we make a planner for the day. Do you have any deadlines near?" She asked as she opened the app, you watched her fingers glide over the screen, it distracted you a little before you focused again.

"I have an assignment next week. I have to start making summarised notes for each lecture i attended last week." You started listing the stuff you had to do and Wanda continued to typed in the app. Before holding it out to you once you were done.

"See for today, first thing you have to do is take a shower, then get ready for the day, ask your friends to send you the notes, outline the assignment, summarised one lecture and research on the selected topics of the assignment.." Wanda pointed out and you noticed how she had broke down the tasks into mini check list and you could already feel the mess much more sorted out. The work that you had been dreading seemed much more easier and manageable.

"See you already had breakfast so you can check it out." Wanda held the last bite of pancakes to your lips and you finished it before checking the box, you already felt like you were in control as you finished one of the task. Now you just had to shower and text your friends, and two of the tasks would already be done. You could feel lighter already.

"This is perfect! Thank you so much, Wanda." You moved forward and embraced her in a tight hug which she wholeheartedly returned, rubbing your back, enjoying the warm embrace, "And at any point if it gets overwhelming, you could always use the special feature on this."

"What's that?" You asked pulling back to look at her, the smile still evident on your face.

"Call us." Natasha answered from the doorway and you turned to look at her, smiling when she made her way toward you both, handing Wanda her mug and pancakes. "You can call us any time throughout the day, kitten."

"Thank you so much. Both of you." You kissed both of them on the cheek before getting out of the bed, "Always, Sweetheart." Wanda squeezed your hand before letting go. "Now go shower while I deal with the your highness." Natasha playfully slapped your butt to send you away and you laughed when Wanda's scoffed and whine when Natasha took her pancakes away only to attack her with the pillow.

"Y/N! Save me!" Wanda cried out in surprise and you instantly jumped back on the bed, shower could wait now that you have everything sorted out.

#gold rush au #gold rush au ask #wandanat sugar mommy #lesbesapphicwrites #sugar mommy natasha #sugar mommy wanda #wandanat x reader #wandanat au #wanda maximoff #reader #mcufic #natasha romanoff #wanda x reader #natasha x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff x you #wanda x nat #wanda x nat x reader #natasha romanoff au #natasha x wanda #natasha x y/n

[firefly--bright]

all my daughters.

jean kirstein x gender neutral!reader (modern au)

summary : the crushing weight of everything and everyone changing is a bit too much. jean wants to bear the burdens with you.

warnings : hurt/comfort, mostly just therapy for my crumbling mental state, amateur symbolisms (?), established relationship, no use of y/n (im trying smth new) not proofread!!!!!

a/n : this is kinda like flaws but worse? idk I just needed to write something to comfort me and I'll be nothing if I don't use my writing to fix me <3 anyway! self projection as always but I love you if you relate to this and I'm always here to listen if you need someone to talk to. I'm also probably gonna take a hiatus after this fic but we'll see (I'm here to talk to regardless of that!) <3 i honestly don't expect this fic to get that much traction but anyway! enjoy!

taglist : @holding-ishu-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody

masterlist is linked in pinned post! ✿ requests for jean kirstein are open! ✿ enter my taglist ✿

inspired by these songs : all my daughters (demo) by dodie

ajib dastan hai yeh by Lata Mangeshkar

you were used to contradictory sentences. double negatives that were only meant to confuse you, double positives that you thought meant anything but, adorned with a sarcastic smile and a roll of the eyes that left you needing to figure the meaning out yourself.

jean was a walking contradictory sentence. he was a walking double negative, one that you didn't know how to understand. he was blunt but sweet, cold and warm, never being in one spot with his feelings, always on his feet but not running away. somehow he stayed.

all your friends were moving on. every one - sasha was moving out with her boyfriend niccolo, a chef who she had become extremely close to over the past year and who treated her in the highest of regards. your other roomate, Mikasa, was also moving out, but not with her boyfriend, eren, as you had suspected but instead for a chase of starting a new flourishing business of selling handcrafted oxidised jewellery online. that and being closer to eren, she had explained to both you and sasha.

Marco wasnt moving, per say, but he was already applying for his masters in law to broaden his perspective, and there was a prospect of him going abroad for his soon to approach future. he was currently visiting his extended family. Connie, surprisingly, was the first of your friend group to actually get a job at a marketing firm, and even if it was sort of exhausting, people praised Connie's charms and puns that made people buy the products. he was also helping Mikasa with her business, alongside eren and armin.

jean, currently making dinner for the pair of you in your mostly empty apartment, was also interning for an architectural firm. well, he hadn't started yet, but he did get accepted with the interview he gave last month.

and you? even though you were currently looking for new roomates to occupy the now empty spaces in the apartment, you felt lost. sure, you had a plan, and had also applied for a handful of internships, but that didn't mean you knew what you were doing.

you were used to keeping things and people in boxes. it started ever since you were in middle school and had just heard about books like Harry Potter and divergent, books that had a clear distinction of which people belonged where. you'd define people with those distinctions so it was easy to figure them out; it was easier to think of someone in a faction or Hogwarts houses or godly parent instead of actually trying to figure them out with all their complexeties. eventually it graduated into astrological signs that were probably all bullshitted anyway, and into MBTI types. there was always an explanation for something, and if it wasn't given them you'd find it out for yourself as you always had. but you couldn't go by those simple classifications anymore. they were too narrow and too claustrophobic.

but you also hated too-wide expanses that came with simply existing. the expanse of your unknown lifespan, the limitlessness of unlimited time, the enormous amount of things you had yet to learn. it was easy to get lost in nothing. how did your friends and family and all the people around you ever manage to make a clear path for themselves with a multitude of stops and landmarks when you didn't even have the basic gravel and stone and concrete to get started on making a road for yourself? would you be yet another chapter that ended in a fullstop in their thick books that they'd flip away from? the change - the uncertain steps - were never something you looked forward to.

helping mikasa and sasha move out was a challenge, another full stop in their books, helping Connie by teaching him how to properly format professional emails was another landmark that he passed, seeing Marco off at the airport before he caught his flight was another certain step.

the wide tumultous blue of the sea that you were floating in and it's unnerving depth used to be somewhat manageable. you had been swimming with your friends for a long time until your fingertips got all shriveled up, but now it seemed as though they had all swam away from you and towards a shore they were looking forward to, but you werent. the horizon line was all you could see, and you dared not to open your eyes underwater to see how deep the water was.

you were happy for them, ofcourse you were. you loved them with all your heart, and sections of your essential heart were left only for them with their names carved into the ridges of your brain. but the change was too much, too empty, too wide, too limitless, too uncertain.

a knock on the wood of your bedroom door made you turn your swivel chair towards the noise, and jean stood there against the doorframe, leaning on it. "dinner's ready. didn't know which movie to watch, though." he said, and only half of his words are registered by your ears.

you nod, your lips quirking up only slightly. "I'll be there in a bit," you say, watching Jean's brows knit closer together. you loved the way his forehead crinkled in obvious worry and concentration, but you didn't have the tongue to speak out your admirations.

he tilts his head. ever the observant, he asks, "what's wrong?"

his tone is patient. his words demand acknowledgement.

you sigh a little, knowing you can't hide anything from him. you thanked that quality of his, even if it was a little inconvenient at times, because his unrelenting persistence was the reason you felt so loved today, the reason you and jean had gotten closer in the first place.

your shoulders slump, "i dont know how to explain it," you say, because it's true, but also because even if you could explain it, you wouldn't know where to begin. but you begin anyway, even though you know it would end with you trailing off. jean would understand anyway as he always had. "just.... everything's changing... and I, i dont know, i dont really like change, I guess." there's a pause and you refuse to look at his face which you're sure is observing yours carefully as he always does. "it's just...too much." you say, shrugging at the end. "it's too much and I don't know how to deal with this. like everyone's dealing with it better than I am and I don't even know if I've....if I've grown much, if at all. i dont know what I'm supposed to do. i dont know what my role is, like i just, i wish there was an author writing my life so I'd know what to do because I don't know how to...how to do everything myself. i-" you didn't know when the lump had formed in your throat, refusing to be swallowed down anymore after being ignored for months on end. "i dont know anything, jean, and it's scary." you say, and your eyes don't shed tears even if theyre stinging. you wish you could cry just to get it over with.

you were probably overreacting. everyone was doing so great with themselves, and at the end of the day, it wasn't a big deal. so what if everyone would move on with their lives? wasn't that what was supposed to happen? so what if your friends would probably forget you? shouldn't you be glad that you had them in the first place? wasn't it better to have felt alive for the first time than to not have felt it in the first place?

warm and sturdy arms wrapped around your unshaken frame, and you were pulled away from your rolling chair to sit down on your bed. the mattress dipped comfortably under you as it always had and jean smelt like he always did and you took comfort in the predictability. your sheets would smell the same today and tomorrow and the day after, your clothes would be in the same closet, your mirror would be in its same place in the bathroom and jeans arms would always hold you softly.

he held you for a couple minutes as you wallowed in your own sea. your legs were in his lap, leaning your weight on his arms. your eyes were closed, and you felt his warm hands rubbing circles in their place on your thigh and on your back.

you speak again, feeling the need to be understood even though you already were. "i just wish that... that I could freeze time whenever I have a good day." you say, and it's the final nail in your coffin and the final scoop of dirt on your grave. it's all you have to say, it's all jean needs to hear as he holds you a little tighter.

he hums in thought, no doubt thinking of a proper response. sometimes you wish you could take a peek inside his head, just to see, even for a useless moment, what he was thinking about. and more selfishly, if it was about you.

but that didn't matter because who was jean if he didn't speak his mind? his cheek rests on the top of your head and you can feel his warmth, and you wish you could let his warmth spread all over you, you wish that it would ignore the barrier of your skin and go straight to your organs and muscles because your warmth hadn't felt like it had been yours for a very long time and Jean's heat would be much more than welcome. but that was wishful thinking and you feel him kiss the top of your head instead, and you accept it.

"you know," he finally starts, and you can hear his heartbeat. "when we first met I had one of the moments you're talking about. the want to like.... somehow freeze the moment and just relive it forever." he says. you don't move, you don't dare remove your head from his shoulder afraid that if you did, he'd be another thing lost to the depths of your mind.

he continued. "what I'm saying is, i know what you're scared of. that your friends will forget you and move on without you. but... i dont think they will. i dont think anyone can. don't you think just like you have parts of them in you that they have parts of you in them? I've seen it. sasha started talking like you like a month after you guys moved in together. Mikasa likes buying flowers now. Marco texts like you. Connie has so many jokes that only you'd understand. and i-" he says, cutting himself short with a small breathy chuckles that makes your heart dangerously stutter, "i dont think that, god forbid, if we were to ever not be together, i dont think that i would ever be able to forget you. but that's probably because I'm in love with you and that's not changing for atleast this lifetime," another short laugh, "i dont think any of our friends, any of your past friends could ever forget that you existed. i mean, you'd always be there. youd always exist even if it is in the back of their minds.

"and you don't have to know everything. it's not a race. it's just...a nice walk, if anything. you don't have anyone or anything to catch up to. you can take your time, love, and i know it's hard convincing yourself of that, but you can. and if it's any consolation," he says, grabbing your hand that had formed into a loose fist on your knee, encasing your hand in his, "I'm...I'll be here. even if we aren't talking, which I'm pretty sure won't happen, but even if it does, I'm here. i will be." he says, squeezing your fist.

his words breathe comfort into your lungs that rested inside the prison your ribs had become. your chest felt a little lighter, the stubborn knots in your stomach were slowly undoing themselves and maybe his words didn't undo any damage nor did they paint over it but they did help heal.

you breathe in deeply, burrowing yourself even further in his shoulder, and he thankfully gets the message as he holds you tighter, like he's the only twine holding you together. you nod, and he kisses the crook where your shoulders meet your neck.

"thank you," you whisper, something that could get lost in his clothes but he catches it and shakes his head. you know what he's going to say before he even says it and you smile a little.

maybe jean was a contradiction to himself, a double negative, a not not persistence. and maybe you did feel lost, maybe time had swam away from the desperate deathgrip you had on it. but jean was there. he wasn't a fullstop or a chapter, he was more of a "okay, and," sentence, something that continued over with a comma, and he wasn't a guide that held your hand towards the shore, but he was more of an insistent presence that helped you not drown by holding your hand. he wasn't the shore itself, but he did provide the comfort of finding footing against the depths.

not a race, not a stand, just a walk. a walk with your hand in Jean's, a walk with uncertain but hopeful steps.

not a book, not a chapter, just scribbles of incoherent but excited writing in a diary.

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x you #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

[milo-hypno]

Milo, your Fanfic Q&A reblog - would you do 3 and 14 for Married AU? there's definitely some black magic happening ^^

Absolutely, I'll do my best!

3. If this work is an update/new chapter, how do you stay motivated on multi-chapter works?

I mean, a lot of things are at hand! The satisfaction of bringing an idea I had to life is certainly nothing to sneeze at - and since I like to print my works, knowing that when it's done I'll be able to hold a finished product in my hands is a nice motivator.

I also can't lie and say that the feedback I get from readers doesn't help - I do my best not to write for it, but all the same, knowing that people enjoy what I do is a nice drive.

But I think the thing that keeps me most motivated, actually, is sprinting (will touch on later) and sharing the nights work with a close friend. We both write in-fandom, and every night we sprint (well, she's certainly more dedicated to it - I do my best to be daily, but I miss sometimes) and then afterwards, we will send each other what we wrote, and then give feedback.

It gets me more excited to write every day, and gives me a gentle external pressure to work something out when I'm stuck. I can talk about my works, get advice, and give in turn - which is great for me! It also has a quicker deadline, so I can't just procrastinate and go "Ah, I have another 3 days to get it done, I don't need to write tonight."

14. Explain your writing process for this work.

I can't say I have a massive like, 12-step program, but the routine I've found works best in the past year is:

1 - initial plan, which usually involves writing a scene out that has Just Come To Me, or messaging a friend to talk about it with. For Married Au, it actually started with talking to a friend about a wholly separate AU, where we were trying to think of a reason why two characters might get married without being in love. (I had... a certain fixation to the trope at the time.) I was also juuust recovering from covid at the time.

That quickly turned into "Hey, what if Grian and Mumbo got married for like, an internal compass"

After that, I first talked about the idea more with said friend, and THEN I wrote a solid thousand words of outline.

When I outline things, I'm careful to make it more like guidelines/reminders, instead of say, "Grian breaks down in front of Mumbo in the middle of the night, Mumbo says "Hey don't worry I've got you."

My first 3 chapter outlines look like this:

Which is really nothing more than planning pacing, and enough of a reminder to jog my memory - anything too detailed, and I find that writing the scene can be exhausting - though, I do have notes with more details the further in and more plot-ridden a chapter is.

Other than that... all I do is:

Sprint (semi-)nightly - a writing sprint being a set amount of time where you write as much as you can. Discord has a bot available that allows you to do so with friends, which is very fun and a good motivator!

The habit is easy to break, but rewarding. When I was working on my DSMP fics, I used to average 100-200 words a night. Now, I average 500~, and sometimes I'll get a massive amount of inspiration for the scene, and will get up to 2k usually. (The most I've ever written in one night is 5k words - and man, my wrists ACHED at the end!)

Write consecutively - I used to write scenes like I was throwing darts at a dartboard, going to whichever plot point I wanted to at the time. It worked for me back then, but now, I've trained myself to the point where I barely write scenes before their time in the story. (Co-writing a fic with Ski helped a lot in that regard, because you're forced to keep it linear.)

I don't stop myself from doing a scene, however, if I'm in the mood - often times, I end up grateful I did so, since the scene could be a lot different with even a few hours between when I wrote it, and when I could have.

And finally, like I said above - exchanging the day's writing with a good friend, and sharing the excitement for it, is a massive motivator and key step for me.

I think the one thing that I trip on, however, is if I get to a scene where I didn't have enough planning - mentally, or in an outline. Usually, I don't improv story beats, just how it plays out exactly - but I have a vague shape in my mind for everything. So I guess my best advice is... if you have a spot in your story where it's just a "fill in the blank", maybe do so sooner than later.

#asks #ask game #milo's rambles #I hope this helps because honestly it's become very ingrained in me #so I don't struggle as much with writing large quantities

[littleoddwriter]

Roman Sionis: If I had flesh falling off my face, I would expect you to put a bullet in my head.

Victor Zsasz: Happily!

Roman: Don't be that excited about it.

Victor: You wouldn't even have to ask, boss.

Roman: If you didn't have flesh falling off your face at all, I'd still put a bullet in your head.

Victor: For what reason? Wait- You're saying you would shoot me-

Roman: Moving on-

Victor: What the fuck?!

#Source: Buzzfeed Unsolved #tw murder #roman sionis #victor zsasz #zsaszmask #incorrect dceu quotes #incorrect dc quotes #incorrrect quotes #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #harley quinn birds of prey #i had it the other way around first but then thought this way it would fit them way better hjfhjkgfdsfks #i need to write on the AU but I'm too exhausted to do anything productive rip

[sunnytumbies]

I'm somewhat confident that Amy's stress baking enables one or more of the other characters to then Stress Eat the baking, which could lead to Tummy Fic (tell me if I'm right and also you don't have anon asks turned on. c; might get more asks if you hit that switch!)

Whoops! Anons, you are now free to enter–sorry bout that! 

So, funny story: Tiny, you are right–you are so right, in fact, that I decided to write a lil fill for this! I had like 500 words written and then accidentally closed the tab :’), and for whatever reason my response was even more determined writing to finish it. Long story short, it’s now a /4391 word monster/ that I’m not even all that proud of, but I’m posting it anyway! It’s gonna be confusing & maybe a headache for me later because this is happening later in the story than the first “major story event” fic I’ll be posting but...here we are.

Content warning: this fic involves dysphoria, mentions of menstruation, self-loathing, and binge eating as a response to stress. Please be mindful should you choose to read!

___________________________________________________________

Amy hums lightly to herself, dusting the last of the madeleines with powdered sugar, breathing in the comforting aromas, honey and lemon mingling with cinnamon and apple, almond and vanilla, chocolate and bread. She can’t pretend that this was a good decision, can’t act like she would not have possibly benefit more from a day of studying than a day of baking, but the knots in her chest have finally started to loosen, and it’s hard to take that as anything but a win. She plates the madeleines and slides them into the last remaining patch of free space on the L-shaped countertop, clutching the notebook that belonged to her mother close to her chest. 

It’s not that Amy only ever bakes French desserts. She adores the challenge of baklava with its stubborn phyllo dough, loves the thrill and the spectacle of a good Baked Alaska; it’s just that sometimes, she needs to hear her mother’s voice in the only way she knows how–baking the way Maman taught her, dutifully reading the advice scrawled in the margins of her recipe notebook in eccentric cursive, cleaning as she cooks (”Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir, Amelie,” she’ll find herself muttering at times in a poor imitation of her mother. It translates to “It is better to prevent than to heal,” which she thinks is sort of intense as far as wisdom about cleanliness goes, but then, she’s never forgotten it). Professors will likely always butcher her last name, flattening the syllables into something harsh and ugly; classmates will continue to express their envy at the ease with which they assume she sails through her foreign language requirement, oblivious to the unique heartache of struggling to write in a language that flows from her lips with more ease than English sometimes; but no one can take this from her, her mother’s recipes in her mother’s own words, the familiar tastes and smells of home. 

It started with the croissants, shaping the dough she’d prepped earlier this week in preparation to make pains au chocolat--she can’t stop her lips from quirking up in a small, proud smile, now, looking at how perfectly they rose, how flaky the croissants are, how tantalizingly the smell of chocolate and freshly-baked bread is wafting off of them, how they glisten with brushed-on butter. But when her eyes glanced over the mostly-full bottle of fruity olive oil in the pantry, how could she resist whipping up a lemon curd tart, with its buttery almond crust and rich lemon custard filling? And it would have simply been silly to waste the lemon zest she had leftover from the tart--not when she could make the madeleines, tiny delicious cakes sweetened with honey and brown sugar, the tang of the lemon zest cutting through the sweetness in the most delicious way, complimented by the dusting of powdered sugar. Then, she thought, that was an awful lot of citrus--she simply had to offset it with a quick apple mille-feuille, the autumnal scent of roasted apples, maple syrup, and apple brandy making her wistful for October. But wait--no mille-feuille was complete without the bourbon whipped cream on top, and shouldn’t poor lactose intolerant Cal have plenty of options too? Besides, a simple spiced bread wouldn’t take too long, and the mixture of star anise, ginger, and cinnamon, sweetened with honey and rife with dried apricots and plums, would be sure to make a delicious sweet toast for breakfast.

Even still, it wasn’t truly over until she noticed that several cartons of eggs--which she, for obvious reasons, tended to buy in bulk--were set to expire soon, and it would certainly be foolish to waste so much money--really, she hardly had a choice! She made chocolate macarons with orange ganache, a cherry buttermilk clafoutis; she made kouign-amann, with its buttery dough and sugary crust, and, in a desperate bid to eat through the eggs, another batch of macarons, this time with raspberry-rose buttercream. Struck with a flash of inspiration, she used the egg yolks she’d set aside while whipping the whites into stiff peaks fit for a meringue to make toasted-flour sablé, a sort of moist little sugar cookie, and while she was at it threw in a batch of snickerdoodles--cookies were easy to both make and get rid of in bulk, and besides, they were Cal’s favorite. Lastly, she decided to tackle a chocolate pound cake--quatre-quarts au chocolat de juliette, her mother’s handwriting rebuked her, along with an all-caps reminder to bake it in a bain-marie, PAS au four!!!!!. It made Amy laugh a little, but she couldn’t deny that the water-bath made for a much richer, much more moist final product than the oven. 

She feels a brief rush of shame, looking over it all--it’s truly an improbable amount of baking she’s done, here--but her heart is full, her back aching in a satisfying, productive way. If nothing else, she’s made the house smell like home and has ensured that anyone who enters can leave full and satisfied. Finally, she removes her apron and checks her watch--perfect. She has about half an hour to get to work for her 8pm-midnight shift, a fairly non-intensive desk position at one of the campus libraries, and she’ll more likely than not have enough free time to look over her chemistry notes. As for the baked goods, she opts to leave them out, but takes a few moments to write out sticky notes (“dairy free! Come right in, Cal!”; “full of dairy! Cals beware!”), and smiles gently as she thinks of Cal coming home to a warm kitchen and plenty to eat. “That boy is too damn skinny,” she mumbles to herself fondly, and flicks off the kitchen light, leaving the one above the oven on to bathe the kitchen in a warm, welcoming glow. 

Cal is not having a good day. 

He shivers as another gust of wind blows what feels like through him, making his teeth chatter as he attempts to sink even lower into his hoodie. The slumping motion does not agree with his cramping lower belly, and he groans, straightening back up with an arm looped around his stomach. 

Any day at this time of month for him is a difficult one. He knows for a fact that he “passes,” but he still feels uncomfortably seen, feels like he has to hide himself from view as much as possible. It certainly doesn’t help that his skin hurts, that his belly bloats and his bound chest becomes sore, that despite the fact that he no longer bleeds, he gets all the associated symptoms, yeah, thanks for that, genetics. Even so, Cal isn’t new to this, exactly, and he can deal with the cramping, can even handle the accompanying dysphoria like a champ, but today has been extraordinarily awful. He couldn’t sleep last night, feeling in turns too hot and too cold, and barely made it to his bio class this morning; all the coffee machines were down in the dining hall, meaning his eyes were burning with exhaustion by the time he was halfway through bio, let alone his other two classes of the day; perhaps most damning at all, the paper he’s been counting on being due next week is actually due this week, causing him to spend an extra few hours in the library after class, barely awake, forcing himself to get something, anything onto the page; and, the cherry on top of it all, he missed the last bus home, hence tramping home now in the dark and the rain. More than one car has splashed him as it’s passed, and his jeans are practically soaked through. 

He’s cold, he’s exhausted, he barely even made a dent in the paper, and his fucking stomach hurts, the cramps now joined by an anxious knot; as much as he wants to take comfort from the fact that he can see the apartment complex getting steadily closer, he also knows that he’s going to be home alone, and something about that just does not sit well with him at the moment that Cal doesn’t want to analyze, thank you very much. 

He shivers his way up the stairs leading to the apartment, down the exceedingly long corridor, through the front door, and is almost immediately assailed by both a rush of welcome warmth and a rush of smells so delicious and overpowering that he knows immediately that today was a stress-baking day for Amy. Something drains out of Cal then, equal parts tension and restraint, the anxious buzzing of his thoughts thrown off by the sheer number of baked goods spread across the counter top. He lets his backpack fall to the floor with a thud. His stomach rumbles--he ate today, but not well--and he sort of knows he’s doomed when he catches the scent of chocolate, as well as when his eyes land on a plate of snickerdoodles (which very much does not make a lump rise in his throat, okay, it’s whatever, it doesn’t  matter, Amy made his favorite cookie for him in the middle of her own stress-fueled baking marathon, it’s whatever). Amy will be home soon. Quincy, too, at some point. He’ll be fine. He just needs to do what he can until then, and there’s no shortage of snacks to keep him busy while he waits. 

Shocking no one less than him, Cal has many, many regrets, and at least half of them are baked goods he has put into his body over the last hour. He whimpers a little, oh-so-gently palming his belly, which has distressingly little give even when he ventures to apply a little more pressure with his fingertips. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this bloated, heavy with food and swollen with almond milk, and he’d be lying if he said he’s not fighting tears, beyond ashamed to be in this state: slumped sitting on the floor, back supported by the side of the counter, shirt riding up to expose the pink flesh of his belly. He has to swallow thickly a few times, imagining the sugary sludge that’s surely squelching through his insides right now, trying to force back a dangerous burp that squeezes out anyway and leaves the taste of honey and cinnamon in the back of his mouth. He tried to be good, and that’s maybe what sucks the most. He started with a few snickerdoodles, ostensibly the only dessert on the counter that had been made for him, unable to hold back a little groan of pleasure at the taste, buttery and comforting and complemented perfectly by the crunch of cinnamon and sugar. He had four before pouring himself a tall glass of almond milk, chasing a few more cookies with it before deciding to investigate the irresistible scent of chocolate wafting from the plate of croissants. The chocolate might be a bit much for his lactose intolerance, he decided, and opted for two thick slices of the spiced bread instead, toasted and slathered with ghee. He swore they tasted like fall, like tramping through leaves and Halloween costumes when he was young. Something about filling his stomach after being so hungry and uncomfortable all day, recklessly, indulgently, eased the tightness of his chest, until he could scarcely even feel the chill from his still-damp jeans. 

He had already begun to feel rather full, but his interest was still piqued by the croissants, and he hadn’t even tried the little sugary-looking roll things, or the macaroons, or the cake--Cal squeezes his eyes shut, now, swallowing hard, struggling to even think about how much he’s eaten, but unable to completely erase the contrast from his mind between the overflowing countertop when he first arrived and the countertop now, an alarmingly high number of the cluttered plates more empty than not. All that really matters, he guesses, is that at some point filling his tummy began to hurt more than help, and he kept doing it anyway, and now his cramps have merely been replaced with sickly twinges and upset burbles. 

He tries to take a deep breath, which hitches as an ominous gurgle bubbles from the top to the bottom of his packed belly, and the tears he’s been clamping down on start to roll down his cheeks. He can’t do this, not alone, at least, and Amy’s shift still has 3 hours to go--they must have just barely missed each other. Part of him knows that he will probably feel worlds better if he simply allows himself to throw up, but he can’t handle that, not right now. He cradles his aching stomach for a moment, one trembling hand cupped under his lower belly, bloated and hot, and one resting on the hard little bloat of his tummy, even that feather-light touch ushering up a series of strained burps. After another moment of feeling his stomach contents swirl and slosh uncomfortably inside him, the nausea and misery outweigh his pride, and he hesitantly lets go of his aching stomach, swiping at his tears and pulling out his phone. 

I...fucked up, he texts her, and sends it before he can think twice about it. She replies almost instantly, one of his favorite things about Amy: ?????????????And a moment later, while he’s still figuring out where to begin: everything okay, honey?

The fragile control Cal has over his emotions abruptly slips at that, and he lets out a choked sob, swallowing hard when the motion upsets his tummy further. It hurts so fucking much, but Amy, Amy who bakes his favorites even in the middle of her own mini-crisis, Amy who takes the time to write adorable little sticky notes oriented around Cal’s dietary restrictions, Amy who calls everyone in the world honey because she cares about everyone in the goddamn world, Amy the literal human ball of sunshine--just, fucking Amy, okay? 

Yeah. I mean. I’m safe, but I’m not okay. I… Cal doubles over as a cramp twists deep in his belly, panting a little. Maybe it would be easier to just let himself be sick. You baked...a lot. I had a bad day. 

:((((( did u see my notes???? what’s going on??????

Cal has to blink hard against the tears at that, a new layer of guilt joining the anxiety and the shame of all he’s eaten. Stress-baking or not, this all had to have taken Amy a few hours, and he’d eaten right through a fair amount of almost everything. 

I’m sorry. I did see your notes. It’s not lactose, I just ate a /lot/ and I feel sick and I don’t know what to do 

A moment later, his phone buzzes with a call. It’s Amy, of course. 

“H-hey,” he manages, sniffing, and then hiccups just before a deep burp gurgles up from his churning belly, clamping a hand over his mouth for a moment as his gorge rises with it. 

“Cal, honey,” Amy says, sounding so fucking sad for him. It’s not like she’s never seen the fallout of his stress-binging before. “How much did you eat?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cal says hoarsely, his throat burning from stubbornly swallowing back stomach acid. “I’m just nauseous and sick and--and—” He falters, feeling like a child. “And I just really had a bad day, like a really bad day, Amy, and I know your day wasn’t so good either or you wouldn’t be stress-baking but I just, I’m so fucking tired, and my paper is due and—” He gags, suddenly, and has to take a moment to collect himself, hyper-aware of Amy’s concerned silence on the other end of the line-- “and I can’t do this alone,” he finally manages, voice cracking, and it is only the knowledge that openly weeping would send him over the edge right now that keeps him from dissolving into exhausted tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Cal. I wish I could be there,” Amy murmurs soothingly, and it’s almost, almost like she’s there. “If I could leave work I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I’m going to call Quincy for you, okay?” 

Cal’s heart squeezes at that, half-anxiety, half-hope, and maybe something else, too, a deep sense of being known--Amy knows that Cal knows that she can’t leave work. Amy knows that there’s only one other person that he’d want. Amy knows that he can’t--because of anxiety, because of what he sees as a low stakes problem relative to Quincy’s very high-stakes life, because, because, because--reach out to him himself when he’s like this. “Okay,” he whispers, and hope she hears the gratitude in it. 

“Of course,” she says, so warmly that it makes Cal’s heart ache a little. “Hang in there, okay? Try to stay calm for me. I’ll let you know when he’s coming.” 

“Love you,” he mumbles, and lets his phone clatter to the floor as soon as he hears the beep that means she’s hung up, clutching at his belly, feeling his stomach lurch and rumble. He’s so fucking full. He’s such a fucking idiot. 

Some time later, Quincy comes for him. 

Cal startles when the door creaks open, then whimpers a little at the resulting complaints of his stomach. There’s just so much pressure, his stomach tight and hot as though nothing is moving at all, though with all that he feels burbling against his palm, that can’t possibly be true. Quincy looks a little frantic in the doorway before his eyes come to rest on Cal, still curled up pitifully on the floor, both hands pressed gently against his bloated stomach. 

“Oh—” Quincy breathes, shutting the door behind him, crossing the space between them in an instant and crouching in front of Cal. “God, Cal, Amy scared me half to death. Are you alright?” 

“I’m—” Cal has to stop and breathe, composing himself as a wave of nausea crashes over him, his stomach squelching unpleasantly. All at once, he realizes that he’s no longer alone, that perhaps even if he should keep suppressing everything, he no longer wants to, and he no longer cares if he’s sick, he just wants to feel better, wants to be in his bed, wants to be warm and comfortable and safe--all at once, he’s doubling over his own lap, sobbing his heart out, barely even registering the flicker of amusement he’d ordinarily feel at Quincy’s eyes going comically round behind his glasses. His stomach aches, pain ringing throughout his abdomen at the movement, and before he can process much more than that a warm palm folds itself over his distended stomach, firmly enough to quiet the cramping there, but lightly enough to keep from exacerbating the nausea.

  “Cal,” Quincy says, in that low, soothing voice of his, “I am so sorry that you’re hurting, and I’m going to make that go away, but to get you feeling better, I have to get you off the floor. I can’t imagine that you are ready to move just now?”

  “No,” Cal breathes, his usual shyness dominated by hours of physical discomfort. “Please, just—” Tears dribble down his cheeks, his lack of sleep and general exhaustion beginning to catch up with him. 

Quincy seems to hear him anyway. “Okay, hey, heyheyhey, okay, that is perfectly fine. I’m here, alright? I’m here to help you feel better.” 

Ever so gently, Quincy eases himself behind Cal, so that his back is supported by Quincy’s chest rather than the hard base of the kitchen counter. Equally gently, his arms wind around Cal’s waist, both hands coming to rest on his abused stomach. He applies pressure to the bloated space between Cal’s navel and his ribs, rubbing in broad, gentle strokes, almost immediately ushering up a deep belch that has Cal going slack with the smallest but most welcome measure of relief. Quincy is so damn warm, and his rough palm is heaven where it rests on his lower belly, supporting the bloat from below to take the strain off of his overfull stomach. His other hand moves from that space in the middle of his abdomen to his stomach, the noticeable overfull bulge where the organ ought to be, rubbing in gentle circles. The pressure is almost too much and Cal shifts to tell him so, succeeding only in ushering up several more rumbling belches, one right after the other, left gasping with the relief of it. He is still painfully aware of how full he is, packed utterly to the brim with food, but the release of trapped air is so needed and so lovely. 

Quincy holds him like this for a while, coaxing up the occasional belch, paying extra attention to the twinges that make Cal groan with nausea. Cal finds his eyes watering again, this time with sheer gratitude for his dearest friends, for their kindness, for the quiet lack of judgement Quincy exhibits as he rubs his aching tummy. Eventually, Cal feels like he might be able to move without throwing up, and Quincy supports his weight with an arm around his waist as they make their way to Cal’s bedroom. 

“I’ll be right back,” Quincy says after depositing Cal on the bed gently. “Amy said you’d want a hoodie and some shorts. How did she do?”  

Cal smiles a little sadly, having trouble finding his voice, and Quincy barely misses a beat, busying himself retrieving one of Cal’s biggest hoodies and a soft pair of pajama shorts. “Either way, let’s give it a try. You should probably take your binder off--all that squeezing can’t be helping, and no wonder you’re shivering in those wet jeans!” He ducks into Cal’s bathroom for a moment, filling up the cup next to the sink with cold water from the tap, and offers it to Cal, making sure his shaking hands don’t cause a spill before he lets go. “Try to take some sips of that, okay? Trust me. We need to break up all that sugar.” 

Cal can’t argue with that, nodding, and waits until Quincy lets the door swing mostly-shut behind him, taking the deepest breath he can manage. His stomach twinges as he bends over to put the water on his nightstand and lifts his arms to pull off his shirt. wriggling out of his binder, and he pants for a moment as the sudden release of pressure on his stomach causes the nausea to flare before it thankfully passes again. He puts on the hoodie, immediately comforted by the billowing fabric, and wriggles out of his jeans and into the pajama shorts as quickly as he can manage, forcing himself to take a measured sip of water. His stomach tightens around it, and he swallows hard. 

“Hey,” Quincy says softly, knocking twice on the slightly-ajar door before pushing it completely open with his elbow. His hands are occupied with a tv tray, carrying a heating pad and a steaming mug of tea.  “Don’t force it. You’re still very full.” 

“Y-yeah,” Cal manages, finding his voice. “Tummy really hurts.” 

“I know,” Quincy murmurs apologetically, offering Cal the heating pad. Cal practically melts when the heat makes contact with his sore belly, instantly beginning to soothe his cramping muscles, even working its magic on the fullness, just a little. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Cal. I know you’re very full, but when you can, you should try to drink some water and this tea. It’s peppermint, so it should help with the nausea.” 

Flicking off the overheard light in lieu of Cal’s carefully-hung string lights, Quincy leaves the mug of tea on the bedside table closest to Cal, spreading the quilt at the foot of the bed over him, and Cal instinctively lets his head drop onto Quincy’s shoulder when he climbs onto the bed beside him. 

Cal nearly weeps again when Quincy reaches  for his bloated tummy without being asked, resuming a soothing pattern, rubbing wide, sweeping circles over his abdomen, applying pressure to the bloated place beneath his ribs, to his tense sides, to the hard knot of his stomach. Each instance of carefully-applied pressure coaxes up a series of rumbling belches that Cal didn’t realize he was holding in, eventually freeing up enough room for him to sip at the tea. 

“Amy will be home soon,” Quincy says after several moments. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like an idiot who stuffed my face with sweets all afternoon,” Cal mumbles, still wrestling with guilt, and Quincy frowns as his belly emits an audible squelch, smoothing a hand over it in slow arcs. Cal drinks a bit more deeply at the tea, unable to withhold a sigh of relief as it begins to fill the burbly places in his tummy, blissfully soothing the ache. 

“You aren’t an idiot, Cal,” Quincy says sincerely. “Amy says this sometimes happens when you get overwhelmed. You’re overwhelmed.” 

Something about the sincerity in his voice makes something big and terrifying shift in Cal’s chest, and he abruptly puts down the mug of tea in favor of hiding his face in Quincy’s chest, narrow frame wracked with tired sobs. He dimly registers that at least his stomach doesn’t react poorly to the movement. “I am,” he manages eventually, as Quincy gently shushes him, stroking his belly as though to keep it calm. “I am so exhausted, Quince.” 

“So rest,” Quincy says simply, “at least for now. And when Amy gets here, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do next. Okay?” 

Cal sniffs, nodding, still hiding his face, and Quincy lets him, simply bringing his arms around him, smoothing his hands over Cal’s back. Against all odds, particularly the still-overpowering sense of fullness, Cal feels his eyelids drooping. All of a sudden, everything has caught up with him, and he can barely form a coherent thought. It has been a day, his belly is now more warm than upset, and Quincy is a very, very comfortable pillow. 

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Quincy says, and Cal feels the rumble of his chest as he gives a low chuckle, too far gone at this point to respond. He’s going to have a lot to explain when he wakes up, but for now…

For now, Cal lays with his head on Quincy’s shoulder, arms looped around his neck, and Quincy pulls the quilt up around them. “I’ve got you,” Quincy murmurs, and the next thing Cal knows is blessed sleep.

#tiny-tum #perhaps it's for the better since i s2g that entire 500 words was the first sequence describing what amy baked but #i think they were like. better words! #i digress this is what we've got #Amy #Cal #Quincy #stuffing #stress eating #stress baking #belly rubs #dysphoria #side fic #answered #i think the reason im so unhappy with this is that i want quincy to be somewhat mysterious until the major fics are released but also i just #cant imagine anyone being super invested until they know more about these ppl #which is fair #but...yeah! hope ppl enjoy! #why am i so anxious about this

[this-solaris-life]

Hello! I'm loving your new "You're My Muse AU!" ❤ If you're still taking prompts, this isn't exactly from the list but you know that trope where 1 character is all like "Don't be afraid, I'll protect you!" but then they collapse into a puddle? Well i was rereading the "Jealous Lan Bunny" and LWJ doesn't like horror movies. But what if they watched one (idk why) and WWX is the first to get scared (& maybe LWJ doesn't get scared at all?) but he has to comfort WWX? If you wanna😁

Thank you so much Nonie for requesting this! I absolutely love tropes where the plans backfire making the other be the  protective comforting one! I hope you enjoy this! I had so much fun writing it! 

///

It’d been fifteen minutes ago that Lan Wangji had gotten out of bed to go answer the front door. He wondered if it would have been his beautiful boyfriend but then Wei Wuxian would have just used the key code and crawled into bed with him. To his surprise, it’d been one of his Uncle’s private secretaries holding his paperwork that he needed to review and sign. Which is why he is now at his dining room table after letting his bunnies out of the bunny wall to roam around while he reviews the papers. The morning light bright coming through the window behind him. He’d actually slept in today. While working with one of his favorite production teams it was also exhausting. Lan Wangji was thankful it was over which is what caused this paperwork to be sent to him. So he was still in his pajamas. A cup of hot coffee in his hand. Little Suibian hopping happily under the table around his feet and Wangji’s face nuzzling his hand that’s wrapped around his freshly filled coffee mug.

He was about to take a drink when his phone started chime with the Facetime jingle. He turned his phone over seeing that it was Wei Wuxian, he quickly answered excitedly. He might have slept in but his beautiful boyfriend likes to sleep in till at least ten or eleven. The call connected showing that Wei Wuxian was sitting in the back of one of his agencies transport vans.

“Lan Zhhaaan!” Wei Wuxian greeted him cheerfully as he answered. A beautiful smile on Wei Wuxian’s face as the man waved to him, he quickly pulled out the phone case kickstand so he could sign to him. Golden eyes took in that his normally short hair had been altered a little bit with some extensions to make it longer like his own currently is with silvery white tips. The hair let him know two things: the first that Wei Wuxian was awake this early because he’d had to go get the hair done and second is that today must be the photo shoot that Jiang Cheng had told his xiongzhang about. His gaze shifted to the comfy burgundy sweater Wei Wuxian was wearing. It was a little bigger on the man exposing his collar bones. He hadn’t realized that his boyfriend had taken it from his closet but it looked good on him.

Good morning, Wei Ying. Lan Wangji signed before taking a sip of his coffee. Wangji moving at the sound of Wei Wuxian’s voice towards the phone. Though it decided to plop down on top of the papers halfway there making Lan Wangji chuckle.

“I was having a good morning, but now I’m having the best morning now that I’ve been blessed with seeing your face.” Wei Wuxian replied, winking at someone off camera as he adjusted the airpods in his ears. Which meant that either Wen Ning was with him or Jiang Cheng. Considering that he didn’t hear a snappy comeback he guessed that it was Wen Ning.

Shameless. Lan Wangji gestured, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. He knew that the other could see the reddish tinge to his ears by the mischievous little smirk on Wei Wuxian’s face.

“I’ve got a pretty boyfriend so please allow me to gush about him from time to time.” Wei Wuxian teased. Lan Wangji let himself roll his eyes because Wei Wuxian’s time to time was every day. The man had a way with words that always had him enthralled.

“Speaking of time. I know that we are supposed to be meeting for a lunch date today but Reina just finished with my hair and we are on the way to the set. Is it okay if we raincheck for dinner instead?” Wei Wuxian asked.

That’s okay, I have to take these to Shushu. Lan Wangji signed before gesturing to the papers that Wangji was currently warming for him.

“Good! I have the perfect movie for us to watch tonight.” Wei Wuxian giggled while wiggling his eyebrows at him.

I’m sure you do. Lan Wangji laughed making Wei Wuxian’s smile beam.

“Now, don’t cook anything, Lan Zhan! I am going to bring us dinner okay? I’ve got to go now, Lan Zhan. Love you.” Wei Wuxian said after his gaze shifted off screen.

I love you too. Lan Wangji signed, blushing as Wei Wuxian blew him a kiss before ending the call. This time he could feel the heat on his cheeks. It didn’t matter how many times his boyfriend had said i love you to him, it always felt like the first time. His heart starts racing a little and the feeling of happiness in his chest.

He smiled warmly as he shook his head. Lan Wangji picked up Wangji putting the bunny in his lap as he refocused on the paperwork. The stack was thick this time but at least once it was done he could focus on Wei Wuxian coming over for their movie night date.

Continue for the rest

#you're my muse au #wangxian #prompt req #thank you nonie #I hope you like it!

[gaegurikyu]

I’m your ID

Pairing: (Stray Kids) Hyunjin x (Female) Reader

Genre: Idol au (Like real life), Fluff,

Warnings: Small anxiety but nothing big I promise, One (1) curse word, Lots of heart melting fluff

Word Count: 1,441 [Masterlist]

Summary: "But one stage caught your eye. There were 9 people but you could only follow one. It was the same guy who let you in, the same eye smile and the same small dot. You point to the screen and ask your boss for his name, to which she replies: “Hyunjin from Stray Kids, I think Sanha might be friends with them.”

A/N: Im trying to brand out and write for all the groups I stan before I go into longer stories/series so I decided to write some for my friends to cheer them up while I fill this blog up! Sorry if you're not cool with that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. 💕💕💕💕 @heartskun This ones for you bby, ily and have a good rest of your day life. Also I thought this fit you well because queen of makeup? Yes. Names??? Are hard to come up with.

Also, this is currently !UNEDITED! for now

You're rushing down the streets of Seoul, you may look unhinged to others but you don't care. You're late to the stage show and you're 100% sure that your boss is going to scold you for not getting this makeup there sooner. You're turning the last corner, and your phone's gps tells you the back entrance is on this street.

You glance from it and sure enough the location is obvious. Security and small barricades set up around the doors to keep the wards of fans and paparazzi from going any further.

You waddle up to the entrance line through security in your puffy marshmallow jacket and colorfully designed scarf. Your giant tote bag is in hand, you know security will check it, like always, only to find pallets of eyeshadow and giant amounts of lip tint. You stay glancing down at your phone, texting your superior that your outside the entrance and that she should stick to clothes before she tries anything with your expensive foundations.

The security guard recites a large yell of “next!” Which makes you jump and look up to see youre the next he's referring to. You allow him to check your tote, praying that he doesn't break or open any product that could spill everywhere, as you go to reach for your company provided ID. When you feel it missing, a tidal wave of worry and anxiety falls over you, climbing into your heart as it speeds up to an erratic beat. The Security guard looks through the tote once again when he sees the uneasiness present on your face, but ultimately finds nothing.

“I'm sorry miss, but I can't allow anyone in without an ID. It's protocol, again I'm really sorry. But if you could call someone to get you from the inside.” You nod in understanding and step slightly to side to let others in. ‘He's just doing his job,' you tell yourself as you text your boss (that is really more of a friend to you).

You retrace your steps in your head,leading you to remember dropping your ID on your apartments wooden floor as you swung your jacket on. ‘Fuck, I hate winter,,,’ you try to keep your tears from forming. It's a dumb reason to cry but you've had a rough day and this could be the final crack.

The text from your boss tells you to stay put as she comes to take you in, so that's what you do. You stay put while wiping some fallen tears. Until an arm wraps around your shoulder gently and a pair of lips softly talks into the shell of your ear, the yelling of the fans is extremely loud and the snaps of camera shots are headache inducing, but it's all a white noise as you process what you heard.

“What are you here for? I mean, what's your job?”

You look up and see the person attached to the voice, he's very attractive. He's wearing a black wool coat with a light brown turtleneck underneath to shield him from the cold and a black bucket hat pushes his messy black hair into his face. You don't fail to notice the face mask that is pulled under his chin or the little dot that is present under his eye. But you quickly end your starring when he tilts his head a bit to hurry your thinking.

You turn as pink as the blushes in your bag as you utter a small, “Oh, I, well, I'm here for Astro, Im their makeup artist,,,, but I dropped my ID at home and they won't let me in,” shameful of your own clumsiness. You fidget as he pulls you with him towards the security guard, “Yeah, I figured that last bit.” He sends you a small smile, mostly in the eyes, as he turns back to the sentinel.

“She's with us. She's our makeup artist, she just got here a little early. She's always so forgetful and clumsy, right?”

You nod even though you aren't really listening to what he said, lost in your own sea of thoughts. 'He's an idol… I mean of course he's an idol dummy, look at him! But why would an idol help me? Who is this guy???’  Your thoughts are cut short when he continues to guide you past security to the door, which he opens for you.

“Any friend of Astro is a friend of Stray Kids,” He bows slightly at you and you give a small bow and  wave in return. He turns around and leaves to find his group, but he also leaves you dumbfounded. Your brain is complete mush as your boss shakes your shoulder and drags you to Astros dressing room, asking about how and when you got in backstage.

But ultimately those questions are put aside as you are brought back to reality of your job. You enter and greet the 6 members you had known for years now (with the needed honorifics) before starting on their makeup and eventually sending them to the stage with wishes of good luck and thumbs up.

You sit down, exhausted after both the rush to get here and the rush of your heart. You've cleaned up all your supplies and are watching the broadcasted music show on the t.v. in the dressing room while drinking some coffee. You're proud to see your boys perform as you high five your boss for a job well done and you even belt out some Chungha lyrics, ignoring the laughing of your friend, by the end of it.

But one stage caught your eye. There were 9 people but you could only follow one. It was the same guy who let you in, the same eye smile and the same small dot. You point to the screen and ask your boss for his name, to which she replies: “Hyunjin from Stray Kids, I think Sanha might be friends with them.”

You nod and take another sip of your coffee as the show continues. 'Yeah that makes sense,,,’ you think as you recap to what he said at the door, 'Hyunjin, huh?’

Once all the performances and awards and speeches came to a close, Astro shuffled back into the room looking tired and ready to go home. You two offered them their hoodies and water as you went to work brushing out their hair and removing their stage makeup. Telling them how well they did and how cool they looked.

You wrapped it all up with a shut of one of your cases and gave your farewells for the day, most of them gave you a small hug or ruffling your hair before throwing on their coats and leaving with their manager. Before Sanha left he handed you a small note before giggling a bit mischievously and bolting out of the room to mess with Jinjin.

The note in your hand seemed kind of random and you glanced at it peculiarly before opening it up to reveal a small letter addressed to you in messy, rushed handwriting. It read:

-

Here's my number y/n-ssi (Rocky told me your name)

02-***-**56

Just in case you need someone to remind you to get your ID or get you past security again ;) Text whenever if you need me to be your ID instead

-

You smiled, putting the new number into your contacts before searching Stray Kids into your spotify. Plugging in your headphones and saying your goodbye to your boss as you walk out that same door into the cold seoul night. A small giddy smile on your face as a catchy beat resonates in your ears.

Bonus scene

Hyunjin smiled at his phone, the light illuminating his face in the darkness of the car, when he saw the notification telling him you had added him on Kakao talk. 'Even your profile picture is super cute,,,’ He thought to himself, clicking the add back button.

Chan took a small look at Hyunjins phone and then his smile, concluding to everyone in the car that “She added him guys!! There's hope for our Hyunjin!” Everyone began teasing him for his move on the girl that was Astros makeup artist, but he ignored them.

He was in too fond of a mood to acknowledge Jeongins bad imitation of him, the sarcastic “She's with us!” followed by a chorus of laughs fell deaf to his ears. He sent you a small text of 'Hope you got home safe y/n-ssi,’ before turning around to pinch Jeongin and pull his ears. Laughing along with the rest of the boys in the car.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids soft hours #content: gaegurikyu #gaegurikyu #kpop fluff #soft #stray kids jeongin #stray kids woojin

[rsmrymnt-tea]

Hi!! I'm here!! I miss talking you too!! I've mostly just been lurking because I know you've been busy and I didn't want to put any pressure on you to have to answer my asks or anything. I hope things clear up for you so you have the energy to talk about and think about and do the stuff you want to do!!

I'll definitely be around to send obnoxiously long asks when you have the time and space to engage with them!! Until then I'm sending you love and good vibes!!

- 🐝

🐝 nonnie!! ;w; it’s so good to see you!!

Hoped that I’d at least still have the energy to draw and write and think up fun stuff for the TSL AU and finally get some fics out that have Dola speaking and interacting with the boys and stuff but ah… More than anything I think I actually need to do something that numbs the brain.

Which like, sucks because internally I’m so upset that I have to exhaust my brain cells on schoolwork. Doesn’t feel productive in a way that satisfies me at all and it makes me so >:( sigh…

Thank you for the love and good vibes, 🐝 nonnie!! Gonna need them big time to power through

#tbh wasn’t even mentally okay enough to go back to class to begin with but sigh #mother wants a diploma already #and tbh I want one too but just not /now/ #but there’s no way I can afford my classes by myself so… #idk it sucks all around #chat & colloquy #🐝 nonnie