#and I was working myself to the bone over this year's project

[seyaryminamoto]

This might be a bit of a spoilery question, but will we ever see a Yue and Sokka dynamic?

It certainly can be spoilery... but yes, we will see these two interacting in the story's future.

I've already said it before and I think it's kind of obvious, but it bears repeating that, as much as Yue was Sokka's first love interest in canon, their dynamic won't go into those territories at all here. Yue will develop a much deeper connection with someone else, and her dynamic with Sokka will be strictly platonic, Sokka himself ensures that's the case. There will be good scenes between them, I hope (still haven't written them!), where Sokka will hear some of Yue's wisdom, they might even discuss Rhone (if Sokka is in the mood for it...), and Sokka will also help her look inwards to figure out what she really wants in life.

So there wil be a dynamic, a very respectful one, and they'll definitely get along well... but as far as romantic connections are concerned, Gladiator has frequently thrown some curveball relationships that simply have no chance of happening in canon but that make perfect sense within the setting :'D ironically, in doing so, canon's potential relationships often feel... out of place here XD as an example, the very notion of Zuko and Jin being interested in each other romantically is something unthinkable in Gladiator, while evidently that wasn't at all the case in ATLA. Strange as this concept might feel, the Zuko-Jin situation is similar to Sokka and Yue: there's really no ground whatsoever for those two to catch feelings for each other in this setting. There's someone else who would be a much better fit for Yue in this story... :'D

[superiorsturgeon]

out of curiosity, why do you like sturgeons so much?

A chance to info dump about my favorite fish…?!

I grew up in the Great Lakes area of North America, where fishing is pretty popular but everyone knows that fish populations aren’t anything like “the good old days” when people took out huge numbers of fish while messing up their spawning sites. I got pretty into fishing when I found out that I could catch bluegill in the surrounding farm ponds, and once in a while my family took me to an isolated fishing cabin for vacation, but for years I never encountered a wild fish bigger than a kilogram or two.

BUT THEN…

I found out about sturgeon! They were HUGE fish that had once lived in the rivers and lakes all around my home, and better yet, fish almost exactly like modern sturgeon had existed all the way back in the Cretaceous period alongside the dinosaurs, and they STILL EXIST TODAY!!! The fact that small numbers of these huge dinosaur fish still existed made them seem almost like a real-life lake monster/cryptid, except that we had proof of their existence!

Furthermore, there’s just nothing else like them. Sturgeon get big. Like, REALLY big. The record for the largest sturgeon was almost 11 meters/24 feet long, which is colossal for freshwater animals. They have armor plates of bone running down their sides, and at the same time they don’t have bony skeletons. They also have a crazy mouth structure, which allows them to actually pop their jaws out like a tube and suck up food. And on top of all of this, the adults are absolute tanks. I���ve seen skin nearly 8mm thick, and it’s so tough that people make leather out of it, and they occasionally lose fins or even entire gill plates and just keep on swimming! (I found out about that last one when I tried to wrestle a big female out of a river and my hand went straight into her gills. She didn’t seem that bothered by it!)

For a long time I filed sturgeon along with Alligator Gar, Giant Mekong catfish, and Yangtze paddlefish as a semi-legendary fish that may still exist, but I was never going to see except possibly in an aquarium, until I enrolled in graduate school. For those unfamiliar with grad school in the US, it typically involves both high-level classes as well as an independent research project the student designs and carries out with help from an experienced professor. When my mentor asked what kind of thing I wanted to study, I tossed out “sturgeon” as one such possibility, expecting to hear that I would probably have to limit myself to more common/accessible species.

I was blown away when she said “Actually, I think I know a guy…”

For the next several years, I got to ride along collecting wild adult sturgeon, gathering eggs, and raising the baby fish in a lab and in a hatchery. I was holding something that I had thought of as a semi-mythical lake/river monster in my own hands! I got to see a river choked with giants as big as 2 meters long, and I got to hold a 5-centimeters mottled baby whose armored scutes were still sharp and possessed the little arrowhead shape and big black pectoral fins that remind me of Mickey Mouse ears! In the video below you can even see a little heartbeat! (Don’t worry, this little guy was returned to the tank soon after to recover from his anesthesia!)

Sadly, I didn’t find anything super groundbreaking in my research, but my experience DID land me a job working in sturgeon aquaculture! If you’ve ever had caviar that wasn’t poached, it probably came from a sturgeon farm, and if you want to see a lot of big fish up close, this is a good place to do it! I probably personally handled more individual sturgeon than there are wild fish in several sturgeon species. In addition, while the wild broodstock I mentioned above might reach 2 meters and over 50kg, the sturgeon I dealt with at the farm would easily double that, and there were a LOT of them! I got to see sturgeon behavior that had never been recorded in field guides, and even a few crazy one-in-a-million mutations like the infamous “ghost” sturgeon!

I even got the opportunity to cook my own sturgeon meat (Yeah, I basically turned into the Touden siblings from Dungeon Meshi except for sturgeon instead of RPG monsters). I got pretty good at making smoked sturgeon, but the meat is also good on the grill or baked, and people have been cooking them in various ways for centuries.

My favorite part of the job was physically wrestling the big fish! Sturgeon are easier to grab than other fish with the right know-how, but a human-sized fish often has its own plans for the day and won’t always cooperate. I was pretty good at moving the adults by the time I left that job, but it was still a wild rodeo every time!

Even more exciting was how we spawned each new generation of sturgeon. In the wild, they form massive spawning runs in big rivers that in the past would be enough to tip small boats, but in a lab or farm we have to use other means. I’ll spare you the details, but I am one of a small number of people who have surgically extracted eggs from a live sturgeon and sutured them back up to swim another day.

The tldr of this essay is that sturgeon are a big, crazy-unique fish that have been around a long time, and I’ve spent a lot of my career handling and working with them. There’s just nothing like them for a fish nerd and they’re damn cool!

(Clip art not mine, I think @sturgeonposting drew or shared it!)

[inkskinned]

i know some of the poets outside of their books, like cameron awkward-rich; who was my seminar teacher for a semester in grad school. you know him, he wrote about keeping his hand on the walls of his stupid heart. he gave us a journal without lines in it, so the pages were all blank and naked. we had to write down 3 words every day, ruminations on our own lives.

in pink glitter pen, i watched my handwriting cramp and spill from pristine and well-meaning to the slant of someone deeply suffering. the words stopped being lyrical over the course of february. bad, it said. bad and bad and bad. each day carving out a little bit of marrow, the sparrow of my heart acting as roadkill. that winter i was only allowed to eat apples, like a horse. my ocd had decided i could only touch food if it was red. i was sleeping on the floor and a spider bit me.

i wanted him to be my thesis advisor, but it was covid the next year, and we never spoke again, and i'm worried that i embarrassed myself by asking him repeatedly. for my final project in his class, i wrote about my disability. i called myself a rat, fondly.

his most famous poem is titled Meditations in an Emergency. i didn't know it until three weeks after i had graduated from that university.

at one point, he sat me down after class just to discuss some of my work. it was a night class, and we were all a little drowsy. he blinked up at me. i think sometimes the way you see the world is a little bit alarming. i wonder about that, in hindsight. i wonder if all of us who are walking on thumbtacks always recognize when someone else's spine is the undulating form of a siren. i could see it in him and you can see it in me, if you're looking.

yesterday nat said some of this is worrying.

i told cameron i was fine and i told nat i was fine, but i think maybe all of us had learned a long time ago how to be fine the way a poem is fine - because it happens outside of you. it can be honest, the confession, but it cannot be spelled out across your ribs. we make our art so that the sorrow can hang, limbless, trembling on the fetid walls beside us.

you learn to turn the ugliness into some kind of work, because you must smash the entire human experience of your stupid bones and teeth and tongue into something, so that you have anything to show for it. otherwise, what is the fucking point. why were you suffering, if not to polish the runoff and say - the melancholy is the signature of my art. i took the splinters out of my gums and filed them down into a thesis. the thesis has been turned into a book which is getting published.

cameron, to my knowledge, still has not read it.

i hope he has found his way out of the maze. i hope you and i one day write our own lanterns. i hope we are able to find some kind of peace without viscera. without having to fight for it. i hope we are able to stumble without falling. i hope one day the sky is empty of vultures and we can cross the desert of our memories without starving.

in the meantime we get up and leave the circled shadow in the writing.

[reidsworld]

Winter’s Constant

Summary: You have always dreaded winter, every year it’s a challenge just to make it through the day. Except this year, things are a bit different with Logan by your side. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Content Warnings: Seasonal Depression

Word Count: 0.6k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for requesting this, sorry that it is kind of short! I don’t know a lot about depression and seasonal depression so I tried my best to portray it.

Masterlist

Winter was on its way, and you could feel it in your bones. Every year, like clockwork, the first chill in the air sent a shiver down your spine, not just from the cold, but from the dread that settled in your chest. You knew what was coming—what always came with the snow and shorter days. The energy that had you buzzing with life in the summer, the endless side projects, the laughter that could fill a room, all of it would start to fade.

Every year, you told yourself it would be different. You’d try new techniques, new routines, anything to keep the shadows at bay. But each year, the same thing happened. Slowly, like the setting sun, you’d start sleeping more, your projects left half-finished, your once-lively spirit buried under layers of fatigue.

But this year…this year was different. You had Logan.

He noticed the shift before you even said anything. It started with how your hands slowed when working on your latest project, how your once constant, lively chatter—often rivaling Wade’s in volume and enthusiasm—began to taper off. The way your eyes lingered a little longer on the darkening sky. By the time you found yourself sleeping more than you were awake, Logan was already there, silently offering his presence, his warmth.

One day, as you lay curled up in bed, Logan slipped in beside you, his weight comforting as the bed dipped. He didn’t say anything at first, just laid there, letting you know he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Thought it was gonna be different this year,” you mumbled into the pillow, your voice thick with exhaustion. “I told myself…just this once, it wouldn’t be like this.”

Logan’s rough hand found yours under the covers, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Ain’t your fault, darlin’,” he said softly. “You don’t have to fight it alone this time.”

His words were a balm to the ache inside. You knew Logan wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things or make promises he couldn’t keep, but when he said those words, you believed him. You believed that, even if the winter was dark and the shadows crept in, Logan would be there to light a fire, to keep you warm.

As the days grew colder, Logan stuck to his word. On the mornings when getting out of bed felt impossible, he’d coax you up with a cup of coffee, holding it just out of reach until you groaned and sat up. On the days when all you could do was lay on the couch, he’d sit with you, your head on his lap, as he absentmindedly stroked your hair, his presence alone enough to calm your racing thoughts.

And when you’d have those rare bursts of energy, when you’d suddenly decide you needed to finish that project or bake something, Logan was there, helping you without hesitation, never making you feel like you were too much or too little.

There were still bad days, of course—days when the weight of it all felt crushing, when you questioned whether you’d ever feel like yourself again. But with Logan there, those days didn’t seem as hopeless. He was your constant, your anchor, and though he never tried to fix you, his steady presence reminded you that you didn’t need fixing.

You knew winter would always be hard. But this year, for the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt like you had a chance. You had Logan, and that made all the difference.

Mars speaks… (again) Depression is a serious condition, and it’s okay to ask for help. You don’t have to face it alone. If you are struggling or just need someone to talk to, my dms are always open🫶

[avatar-anna]

Assistant! Reader x Harry Styles Masterlist

April 2016

“Thank you for meeting me.”

Y/n settled into the seat across from Harry. Her hands curled tightly around her mug, apprehension seeping into her bones. “Of course.”

She had been surprised when Harry called her, asking to meet at the Beachwood Cafe. She hadn’t heard from him in months, not one call or text, not even an email. Not that Y/n really expected much when One Direction finally went on hiatus, but after zero communication, she wasn’t quite sure why he’d called her all these months later. 

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages,” Harry asked.

Y/n’s eyebrows raised a bit, but she answered him anyway after taking a sip of her coffee. “Fine, I guess. You?”

“Good!” Harry said excitedly. “Taking a break the last few months has been…I don’t know. Peaceful, but odd, you know? I’ve never had so much time to myself before.”

“Must be nice,” Y/n said, trying to hide the irritation in her voice.

“Yeah, but I realized that I kind of miss it,” he said. “I knew once we decided on the hiatus that I wanted to do my own thing, but I thought I would take a longer break, but I feel like I’m…itching to get back to work.”

That definitely seemed like Harry. Y/n had worked for him for years, and even when there were breaks between tours, he was hard at work—writing, going to Fashion Week, collaborating with other artists, vocal training, even trying new recipes in his state-of-the-art kitchen, which led to a phone call at one in the morning where Harry asked Y/n to come over and see if his macrons tasted "fluffy enough." It seemed only right that he rested for mere months before starting a new project. She could practically picture him at either of his homes in LA or London, scribbling in his leatherbound journal or playing new melodies on his guitar or piano (and the occasional late-night pastry party). As long as she’d known him, Harry had been a hard worker through and through. A little on the wild side when he had some tequila in him, but when it came down to his career, he was focused, determined. 

“Good for you,” Y/n said, meaning it. She always thought he was capable of more. “So what comes next for you? Have you recorded songs already?”

“Not quite. I’m planning a trip to Jamaica to write and record there. It’s remote, serene, a good place to get away. So we’ll have to start booking flights and places to stay and—”

“I’m sorry, ‘We?’” Y/n asked, her brow furrowing with confusion. 

Harry matched her look of confusion with one of his own. “Yeah, I mean—I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

The sentiment warmed Y/n’s heart for a moment, but his immediate assumption that she would drop everything just because he asked her to brought the irritation swarming back. “Mr. Sty—Harry, you know I don’t work for you anymore, right?”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about the hiatus? I just thought we could all use some time off, but…I guess I just thought—”

Harry didn’t finish his thought, but his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Y/n would’ve found it cute if he hadn’t been so dense. Resentment still circled around her like a fog, and she wouldn’t let it go so easily, she couldn’t. 

“I was employed by your management, Harry. To be an assistant to a member of One Direction,” Y/n explained. “I was let go. I had to quickly find another job doing something else.”

“Oh.”

Y/n supposed she should’ve anticipated being fired, but she didn’t. There was a lot of information that she was privy to that most people weren’t, secrets that were tightly bound by an NDA when she was first hired, but talks of the hiatus was very hushed. She knew to suspect that somewhere down the line the boys would finally take a break, but it came a lot sooner than she was prepared for, and she was left jobless before she had the chance to line something else up. Y/n thought that Harry would give her the courtesy of a warning, but he said nothing about it to her, didn’t offer much except a side hug after One Direction’s last performance.

So yeah, she was a little bitter.

“I’m—I’m really sorry, Y/n. I know it doesn’t make up for…all of this and everything you went through, but I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you.” 

Y/n believed him, believed that he was sorry for everything that went down, but it still hurt to know she wasn’t someone he was close enough to talk to about all of this at the time. She was Harry’s assistant, she knew that, but they’d been through a lot together. But he was ever the professional it seemed, and it was her job to remember that, not his.

When she realized her coffee was finished, Y/n stood up. “Well, it was good seeing you, Harry. Good luck on your next project. I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“Wait, but—you’re not—you‘re leaving?”

“I have to run a couple errands before work," Y/n explained. She rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “But really, no hard feelings. I wish you all the best.”

She left Harry at the table, heading for the front of the cafe and toward the busy street beyond. Her heart felt heavy as she walked away, but she tried to shake the feeling that she was walking away from more than just her boss. Former boss. Like her mother always reminded her, she couldn’t be a personal assistant forever.

“Wait!”

Y/n turned on instinct, eyes widening as Harry jogged after her, his little bun bouncing with each step. He skidded to a stop in front of her, green eyes wide and searching. For what, she wasn’t sure, but the heat of his gaze was enough to make butterflies stir in her stomach.

Putting on her best front, she raised her eyebrows, waiting for Harry to say whatever he needed to.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier. I need you, Y/n,” he said. “I—You’re the only one who really knows me, who I know will have my back no matter what. I need a familiar face in my corner.”

I need you, Y/n. Those words were her kryptonite. Year after year, Y/n heard Harry's voice over the phone as he roused her from sleep, read the text messages while she was getting her nails done or watched TV in her hotel room, or on the rare occasion she went on a date. But she had to hold strong. Y/n had been devastated by her sudden layoff, but now she had a life, and she didn't want to get sucked back into Harry's very alluring web of charming smiles, cheesy jokes, and endless adventure. That was his life, not hers.

“I have a job, Harry. I can’t just drop everything and quit because you suddenly want me to—”

“What are they paying you?”

Y/n’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Harry pushed on. “What are they paying you? I’ll double it.”

Scoffing in disbelief, she said, “It’s not about the money—”

“Triple,” he countered. Harry took her hand in his and squeezed it. He looks desperate, Y/n thought.

“I can’t just quit my job because you remembered I existed,” Y/n said quietly, pulling her hand out of his. She clung to her resolve, hoping Harry would make this easy and just let it go, let her go. “I—I deserve more.”

More of what, she wasn’t sure, but Y/n knew it was true. Harry only reached out because he needed something from her, and that hurt more than she cared to admit. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Harry said, looking down at his shoes. A pair of scuffed Chelsea boots he wore practically everywhere. Y/n had bought him a pair of Vans one year, an attempt to switch up his wardrobe, but he still chose the boots nine times out of ten. “Just—At least think about coming to Jamaica. Please?”

“Harry—”

“Not as my assistant. As a guest. A friend,” Harry amended. “We’re planning on staying at a huge villa, and I want to make up for being an idiot. Just—Just think about it. Please.”

Despite everything, Y/n found herself wanting to say yes. It was that magnetic pull she felt toward Harry that had kept her working for him for so long. He was an important person in her life, and up until he’d all but ghosted her after the hiatus, she thought she was important to him too. In spite of his misgivings, Y/n still wanted to believe that she was. 

It was so stupid, but it felt good to be wanted by him. She was an idiot, she knew that. But her friendship with Harry was legitimate, he'd just acted like a complete idiot. She'd known him long enough to know he was very capable of acting like an idiot. So even though she shouldn’t, even though she had carefully lined up her reasons not to in a little line, she started to cave. 

But she couldn’t make the decision now. Not when Harry was looking at her with pleading green eyes and his sad little puppy dog face, his cologne dizzyingly lovely. No, she owed it to herself to really think about what she wanted. If getting sucked back into that whirlwind was worth it. Worth getting her heart properly broken when she knew he would never feel the same about her.

"I'll show up at work, you know," Harry said. "I'm not above it. You might think I am, but I'm not."

Y/n had no doubt in her mind that he would. Along with being an idiot, Harry was very stubborn, and very persistent. She had years with him to know that. Did she really need Harry Styles showing up at her place of work?

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” she finally said, trying to pretend like her heart was screaming to just agree. But her heart was an impulsive little shit that was bound to get her in trouble.

Harry’s face broke out into a wide grin, one that displayed those famous dimples and lit up his entire face. It was hard to feel like he didn't think she was the only person on earth to exist when he looked like that, like he was convinced she’d already said yes. “I’ll take it.”

[tosomeonessomeone]

soaked.

words・ 2.5k /pairings・Bang Chan x reader / genres・fluff / warnings・ none

As you strolled down the familiar streets of your hometown, memories flooded back from your childhood. The laughter, the adventures, and the bond you shared with Christopher Bahng, the leader of Stray Kids, seemed like a distant yet cherished echo.

Christopher, or Chris as you fondly called him, had always been your partner in crime. From building makeshift forts in the backyard to dreaming about conquering the world with your talents, your friendship knew no bounds.

Years had passed since Chris left your small town to pursue his dreams in South Korea. The world had known him as a rising star, a beacon of talent and charisma leading Stray Kids to fame and success. But to you, he was still the same old Chris, the boy with endless dreams and an infectious smile.

You were lounging on your couch, scrolling through your phone when a message pops up. 

Chris: Hey, you there?

You: Yeah, what's up?

Chris: I'm back in town for a break. Let's catch up over dinner tonight?

You: Definitely! It's been ages since we hung out. Where do you want to go?

Chris: How about that burger joint we used to love?

You: Sounds good! See you there at 7?

Chris: Perfect! Can't wait to see you!

You grin, excited to see Chris after so long. Memories of your mischievous adventures flood back as you head to the burger joint.

As you arrive, Chris is already there, leaning against the wall, looking as cool as ever.

"Hey, stranger!" you exclaim, approaching him.

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hey, you! Long time no see."

You both settle into a booth, exchanging stories and laughing like old times.

"So, how's life as a K-pop star treating you?" you ask, taking a big bite of your burger.

Chris rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, you know, the usual. Dance practices, fan meetings, and dodging crazy rumors."

You chuckle. "Must be tough being an international heartthrob."

He shrugs. "Eh, someone's gotta do it."

Throughout dinner, you reminisce about your childhood antics, from building forts to pulling pranks on neighbors.

"Remember the time we tried to skateboard down that steep hill and ended up in the bushes?" Chris laughs, shaking his head.

"How could I forget? We were lucky we didn't break any bones," you reply, laughing along.

As the night wears on, you realize how much you've missed Chris's company. Despite his fame, he's still the same goofball you grew up with.

During dinner, in between bites of burgers and sips of soda, Chris leans in and asks about your life.

"So, what have you been up to, besides stalking me on social media?" he teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

You chuckle, taking a sip of your drink before replying, "Oh, you know, the usual grind. Work, family stuff, trying not to embarrass myself too much."

Chris nods, genuinely interested. "How's work treating you?"

You shrug. "It's been busy, but I can't complain. Pays the bills, you know."

He nods sympathetically before his expression brightens with curiosity. "And what about your family? How's everyone doing?"

You smile, glad to share. "They're good, thanks for asking. Mom's still the same old mom, doting on everyone. Dad's busy with his projects, and my sister's off on her own adventures."

Chris nods along, listening intently. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he leans in a little closer. "So, any special someone in your life? Or are you still single and ready to mingle?"

You roll your eyes, but there's a hint of laughter in your voice. "Oh, you know me, Chris. Still navigating the treacherous waters of singledom."

He laughs, giving you a knowing look. "Well, if you ever need a wingman, you know who to call."

You both share a laugh, the easy banter flowing between you like it always has.

As the conversation continues over dinner, you can't help but inquire about Chris's fellow Stray Kids members.

"So, how are your kids?" you ask, genuinely interested in catching up on his bandmates.

Chris's eyes light up as he talks about each member, sharing anecdotes and updates about their lives and careers. He laughs as he recounts their latest shenanigans during practice and on tour, painting a vivid picture of the bond they share.

"They're all doing great, still causing chaos wherever they go," he chuckles, a fondness evident in his voice.

Then, with a playful smirk, you decide to turn the tables on him. "So, Chris," you begin, raising an eyebrow playfully, "what's the deal with you? Any lucky lady catching your eye these days, or are you still playing the field?"

Chris chuckles, running a hand through his hair before settling back in his seat. "Ah, the eternal question," he quips, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "As for my relationship status, let's just say I'm enjoying the single life for now."

You nod, understanding his stance. Being in the spotlight can undoubtedly complicate matters when it comes to romance.

"And what about all that flirting with fans?" you prod, unable to resist teasing him a bit. "Are you just a professional heartthrob, or is there more to it than meets the eye?"

Chris laughs, his grin widening. "Ah, you caught me," he admits, his tone light but genuine. "Flirting with fans is all part of the game, you know. It's about connecting with them, making them feel special. But at the end of the day, it's all in good fun."

You nod, appreciating his honesty. Being a K-pop idol comes with its own set of rules and expectations, after all.

As the night wears on, you continue to chat, trading stories and laughter until the restaurant begins to empty out around you. Despite the fame and the distance that separates you, tonight feels like old times, a reminder of the enduring bond you share with Chris, your childhood friend turned international superstar.

You and Chris make your way back home after dinner, laughter echoing through the streets, you can't help but marvel at the unexpected turn of events. The rain pours down relentlessly, catching you both off guard, but instead of seeking shelter, you find yourselves caught up in the moment, running through the streets like characters in a romance movie.

"This is insane!" you shout over the sound of the rain, unable to contain your laughter as you splash through puddles.

Chris grins, his eyes alight with exhilaration. "I know, right? Who knew we'd end up in the middle of a monsoon?"

You exchange glances, the sheer absurdity of the situation only adding to the sense of adventure. With each step, the rain pelts down harder, soaking you both to the bone, but neither of you cares. In this moment, nothing else matters except the sheer joy of being alive, of feeling the rain on your skin and the thrill of the unexpected.

As you round a corner, a small awning comes into view, offering temporary refuge from the storm. Without hesitation, you both dart beneath it, breathless and exhilarated, the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Wow, that was intense," you gasp, trying to catch your breath as you lean against the wall.

Chris nods, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tell me about it. Remind me to check the weather forecast next time we decide to go out for dinner."

You both burst into laughter, the shared moment bonding you even closer together. And as you stand there, drenched but deliriously happy, you can't help but feel grateful for the simple joys of friendship and spontaneity.

Chris chuckles, his laughter mingling with the sound of raindrops. "Well, you know what they say about spontaneity."

"Yeah, it definitely keeps life interesting," you reply, glancing up at the darkened sky above.

You glance up at Chris, his features illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. His eyes meet yours, sparking with an intensity you've never seen before, and in that moment, everything else fades away.

Feeling emboldened by the electric energy between you, you reach out and take Chris's hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Without a word, you continue running through the empty streets, the raindrops falling around you like a symphony of whispers.

As you round a corner, a small square comes into view, the cobblestones slick with rain. The soft strains of music drift through the air, beckoning you closer. With a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you stop and turn to face Chris.

"Hey, do you want to dance with me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris's eyes widen in surprise, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. But then, a slow smile spreads across his face, and he nods, his hand tightening around yours.

"Absolutely," he replies, his voice low and husky.

Together, you step onto the rain-soaked cobblestones, the world around you fading into a blur of colors and sounds. In this moment, there is only the two of you, moving in perfect harmony to the rhythm of the rain.

As you stand there, laughing, dancing, and soaked to the bone, you can feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken tension hanging between you like a delicate thread. The air crackles with anticipation, charged with a magnetic energy that draws you closer together with every passing moment.

And then, in a bold and unexpected move, Chris reaches out, his hand finding yours with a gentle urgency. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each heartbeat.

With a wordless understanding, he draws you closer, his body pressed against yours in a dance as old as time. The rain falls around you, a steady rhythm punctuating the silence as you move together in perfect harmony.

His touch is electric, sending shivers racing down your spine as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you surrender to the pull of desire, your heart beating in time with his, as you drown in the depths of his gaze.

In that moment, with the rain falling around you and the world spinning madly on, Chris leans in and kisses you. It's not a fleeting touch or a casual gesture – it's a declaration, a moment of raw and unbridled passion that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

His kiss is electric, sending shockwaves coursing through your body as you surrender to the intensity of the moment. Every brush of his lips against yours sets your heart ablaze, igniting a flame that burns brighter with each passing second.

In that stolen moment beneath the stormy sky, you lose yourself in the intoxicating rush of sensation, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of rain and the feel of his touch. It's a moment suspended in time, a glimpse into a world where passion reigns supreme and love knows no bounds.

As the rain continues to fall around you, you cling to each other, lost in the dizzying whirlwind of emotion. And in that moment, with Chris's lips pressed against yours, you know that you've found something worth holding onto, something worth cherishing for eternity.

You both break from the kiss, a shared breathless moment passing between you as you gaze into each other's eyes. The rain continues to fall, a gentle cadence echoing the pounding of your hearts.

Chris's voice breaks the silence, soft but filled with emotion. "Wow," he breathes, his eyes searching yours as if trying to unravel the depths of your soul.

You smile, feeling a rush of warmth and affection wash over you. "Yeah," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "Wow indeed."

There's a tangible energy between you, a connection that defies explanation. It's as if the universe itself has conspired to bring you together in this moment, under the cloak of a stormy sky.

Chris reaches out, his hand finding yours with a tenderness that takes your breath away. "I... I didn't plan for any of this," he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You squeeze his hand gently, reassuring him with a smile. "Me neither," you confess, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you like a comforting embrace.

For a moment, you simply stand there, lost in each other's gaze, the world fading away around you. In this moment, there are no expectations, no uncertainties – only the shared promise of what could be.

And as you stand there, hand in hand, you know that no matter what the future may hold, you'll face it together, bound by the unbreakable bond of love and possibility.

You can't help but let out a nervous laugh, the tension of the moment giving way to a lightheartedness that feels like a balm to your soul.

You shake your head, still incredulous at the whirlwind of emotions that brought you to this moment. "Who would've thought a rainy night and an life update dinner would lead to... this," you say, gesturing between the two of you with a mixture of disbelief and affection.

Chris smiles, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "Sometimes, life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it," he muses, his tone thoughtful.

You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you. "Yeah, I guess it does," you reply, your heart filled with a newfound sense of hope and possibility.

As you stand there, sharing a moment of levity in the midst of the storm, you realize that sometimes, the most beautiful connections are forged in the unlikeliest of circumstances.

Chris breaks the moment with a nervous laugh, his cheeks tinted with a rosy hue. "Um, so... I guess I should probably.. you know.. say something here, huh?"

You chuckle, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. "Go on, Chris. Lay it on me."

He takes a deep breath, his expression earnest yet endearingly shy. "Okay, here goes. I... I've always admired you, you know? From the moment we met as kids, you've been this constant presence in my life. And tonight, being here with you, dancing in the rain... it just feels right."

Your heart swells at his words, touched by the sincerity in his confession. "Chris, that's... that's really sweet," you reply, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. "I have to admit, I've always had a soft spot for you too."

He blinks, surprise evident in his eyes. "Wait, really?"

You nod, feeling a surge of courage wash over you. "Yeah, really. I mean, who else would I want to dance in the rain with?"

Chris's laughter fills the air, a melody of joy and relief. "Well, in that case, I guess we're both pretty lucky, huh?"

You nod, feeling a sense of lightness settle over you. "Yeah, I'd say we are."

And as the rain continues to fall around you, you both stand there, hand in hand, sharing a moment of laughter and connection that you know will stay with you long after the storm has passed.

[mercurial-thrills]

I've been taking writing seriously for eight years. Here are eight lessons I've learned.

*Buckle up, this is going to be a long one*

As I squinted at my phone in the darkness, I stared at my Calendar. Blocks of red and pink were blocked into my schedule: do schoolwork, take a quick break, attend an online co-op class, sign up for a school workshop, finally read the first chapter of that thick textbook I bought.

Then, I looked above it all, the day of significance in magenta.

"Anniversary of Secrets." September 9th. The day I chose to take writing seriously. Between unfinished stories on loose-leaf paper, and untitled documents of characters on my desktop, writing had only been a spur-of-the-moment activity.

But then, September 9th came along. From visions of girls riding dragons and comments of classmates writing their own stories, I realized I could be like them. I could take writing as seriously as they did, spending more time on my stories than fixated on my favourite series.

In fact, writing became a fixation of my own. Over these eight years, I have watched countless videos, read a few books, and wrote hopefully around a couple hundred thousand words. As well, I have amassed a fair amount of writing advice. Here are eight of the lessons I learned over the years.

Lesson #1: Outline First, Write Later.

Ideas popped into my head like a game of whack-a-mole. They popped in and out whenever they pleased. I dreamed of cat-eared superheroes, of zodiac themed dystopias, of strange, American-style Isekais before I knew what that word meant.

My attempts to outline the story were inflated by my urge to write it. By the time I started writing my first official project, I decided to write the outline and FINISH the outline before jumping into the story.

Lesson #2: Embrace Diversity

If you've been on the Internet in literature or writing related circles, it's hard to avoid the topic of diversity, and for a good reason. Diverse situations and characters create new perspectives for readers and writers alike.

I learned to embrace diversity through a video made by Jenna Moreci:

After watching this, I thought more about my character's racial and ethnic backgrounds. Along with that, my characters became much more queer, and far more neurodivergent than I could've fathomed back in the day. Their backstories and family situations are more diverse as well: some of them were in foster care. Others came from big families.

The most important thing is to not do this offensively, and honour every culture you come across that's different than yours. Thankfully, there are plenty of resources online, such as Writing With Color(https://www.tumblr.com/writingwithcolor).

Lesson #3: Take Inspiration From Your Favourite Things.

My first story, Secrets, took direct inspiration from the books Harry Potter, Bone, Percy Jackson, Masterminds, and Eragon, respectively. But my second big project became a result of my Voltron obsession (which, assuming you're reading this on Tumblr, I'm sure you're familiar with).

The story formed as a space opera with alien planets I invented myself, and a human species who evolved to conditions on Kepler-22b. I'm not going to deny that I drew inspiration from the "Leakira and the Defenders Of Tomorrow" AU. Though this project is now its own being, I cannot deny where its origins came from.

Lesson #4: Do NaNoWriMo. Seriously.

First of all, I'd suggest staying away from the actual site. There have been numerous controversies, including demonstrating support of AI for creative works, and predatory behaviour on its forums. That doesn't mean we cannot still participate in writing a novel within a month.

Doing an unaffiliated one-month writing challenge will likely not help you get better at writing. Quality over quantity, after all. However, it will help to create a writing habit, and force you to think of unorthodox situations where you could write words… like, on the bus, in a bathroom stall, or in a waiting room.

Lesson #5: This is not going to be a career. Not for a while.

I was a 17-year-old, frothing at the mouth, obsessed with what my hands could produce at the click of keys. I wanted this to be my career. Badly.

However, college loomed around the corner, and I could not fathom spending so much money to learn creative writing in university, when it would have so little pay-off later down the line. Plus, I knew the field was a competitive one, and boy, I was not ready to compete.

If you want writing to become a career one day, go for it. Work hard on your writing. Focus on it like a bird focuses on looking for its worm. Keep in mind, however, whether the pay-off will be worth it for you.

For example, if you are willing to compete and set yourself apart, it would be beneficial to study English, Creative Writing, or Journalism at a university. You could become a copyeditor, a journalist, or a teacher, with some extra learning. However, what if becoming an author feels unstable? You could consider a career in a transferrable field such as office administration, library technician, marketing, psychology, or accounting.

Lesson #6: Fanfiction is good.

When I got into the game Terraria, I spent many hours traversing the right side of my world and building cube-shaped houses, and far too many hours before I thought I was powerful enough to fight the Eye Of Cthulhu. That aside, I started writing fanfiction inspired by the franchise.

Surely, there’s not much canon material regarding the NPCs whose names change when they get killed. So, I made my own. I elaborated on characters that had pre-existing relationships and made up my own where there weren’t any. It was a brilliant practice in writing when none of my other ideas seemed appealing.

I have since finished said fanfiction, but I still write about certain fandoms from time to time. It helps to have an outlet for creative ideas that would not fit your other stories.

Lesson #7: Don’t Fear The Critiquer

Reading my works aloud startled me to the bone. Thankfully, my friend clarified that this writing club gave good critique on his own worldbuilding. So, I showed up, and oh, am I ever so thankful I showed up, because it has, quite literally, changed the way I see writing.

Reading out my writing to others has made me better at sharing, and at accepting critique. I received a lot of praise, and I also realized a lot of mistakes. Most of all, I learned not to fear what people thought of what I wrote: chances are they’d like at least part of it.

Lesson #8: Every little bit counts.

After many years of taking it slow, life started to get busy again. Life became more cluttered, and I fought to balance my classes with any extracurriculars I may have had, with therapy appointments and going to the doctor’s to sort out health shenanigans, with the full time summer job I had, and with nurturing my relationships.

If you had a hard time reading that sentence, that’s what my life has been like for the past year or so. Busy, cluttered, hard to organize, but still manageable in small chunks. This is what writing while busy should look like. Little bits and pieces of writing, whether it be in a chapter or short stories.

The Big Conclusion

Plot twist: These eight lessons I learned were relevant to each of my eight years spent learning the craft. I spent them embracing the craft, learning to make good settings, and understanding how to create interesting plots. At the same time, I have yet to self-publish any fiction other than a short story.

Still, I’m happy with the progress I’ve made in these past 8 years. It’s been a long journey, but with every year, I learn so much more.

If you’re looking for where to start, this is where you should: whether it’s writing down that random idea that’s been sitting in your head, or scribbling down a drabble about the rain outside, just take one first step.

[childrenofcain-if]

Hello, Axel, I'm a big fan of all your works and have been following you since the first blog you had of What Lovely Bones. I'm super excited about this new book and it really looks like you've found your niche and moved along with it so far.

I've always felt that you were a great writer and you've only gotten better over the years, I sometimes feel like a proud sibling because I've been here since you were nineteen and you're now twenty one, if I'm not mistaken 😅

Ok I'm rambling now so let me get to what I wanted to ask: how does your writing process go and do you have a schedule to work with. I really don't want you to feel burnt out over things in the future like you did with your other projects

wow, we have an og here, it seems. glad to have you onboard for what’s been like 3 years now (i think)!

i wouldn’t say that i have a particular ‘niche’ when it comes to genres and whatnot, but it’s not very surprising to see the assumptions either. i’ve been decently motivated to write this story and have been very productive without burning myself out so no writer’s block on the horizon yet, but i won’t jinx myself.

i don’t think i have a specific writing schedule, to answer your questions. my creative juices flow freely sometimes or just remain stagnant the other times. i do write my ideas down when they come to me so i won’t forget about them later. but i’ve also learned that you just can’t force yourself to write when your brain is running low on motivation or ideas.

it’s a five-step process for me when i do decide to write:

review the notes which includes the ideas i previously jotted down sporadically.

adjust them to how it might fit onto the scenes that i’m writing.

connect the ideas and assign characters, choices, and ultimately the consequences of said choices.

talk to myself for the dialogues and note them down as well, laughing to myself like an escapee from a psych ward and patting myself on the back for particularly witty one-liners.

black out while typing and later gain consciousness with a terrible back pain, hands cramping up, and at least 5-10k word count per writing session.

a lot of these ideas will never see the light of the day—e.g.: MC getting hit by a hockey stick so hard that they get a concussion and can’t hear out of their right ear—but they do serve as a runway for other ideas to take off.

if i had any advice to give writers, it’s to just. write. it. down. maybe you think it’s irrelevant/weird when the ideas first come to you, but by that point you already have the foundations ready. all you have to do now is to adjust it and build up on it.

[yngjwonluvr]

𝗨𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗗𝗟𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦 // ʏᴀɴɢ ᴊᴜɴɢᴡᴏɴ

pairing: non-idol! jungwon x fem! reader

genre: smau, fluff, enemies to lovers

warnings: swearings, mention of humiliation, goofy jungwon

wordcount: 868 not proofread

author's note: Happy Sunday, y'all! Got nothing to do so I made this. I know it's boring ++I'm not good at writing but still did my best. Hope you guys like it!

synopsis: In the competitive world of business, longstanding rivals Jungwon and (oc) are forced into an uneasy partnership when their families orchestrate a merger to save their companies and make a stronger bond. Complicating matters further, they find themselves bound by an arranged marriage. They have to face their rivalry and determine whether there is true love between them or if their marriage is doomed to fail as they work through the difficulties of combining their personal and professional lives.

“What?!?! But dad-” I was about to make an excuse about the information that I just heard when my dad cut me off, saying “You can’t say no, dear; you already signed the partnership contract.” He said, making me sigh. “But I didn’t know that it was going to be him who would be my partner for this project.” I reasoned it out. “But dear, a contract is a contract. No more excuses, okay? Whether you like it or not, you’ll work with him.”

I nodded and left my dad’s office, feeling defeated by the fact that I had to work with my longtime enemy, who’s known for his looks, intelligence, and wealth. I guess you already know him….yes! The one and only YANG JUNGWON. He’s the son of my father’s friend. But Dad and Uncle being the best of friends doesn’t make me close to Jungwon. Instead, annoyance and anger took over. Why? Because he rejected me harshly and freaking embarrassed me 3 years ago at their house party when I told him that I liked him, and he answered, saying, "I don't like spoiled brats," and started laughing with his friends. And from that day on, I started hating him to the point that seeing his face made me want to break his bones.

‘Aish, I’m stressing myself more just by thinking of him.’ My thoughts were interrupted when I heard my secretary call my name. “Yes, Lia? Do I have a meeting later?” I asked. “Oh, no, Miss Yn. Your mom just wanted me to tell you that you guys are going to have a family dinner at the Yang's residence later at 7 pm,” she stated, which made me roll my eyes. “Aish, again? Alright, I’ll take note of that. Thanks for telling me.” She smiled and bowed before leaving as I went to my office to continue the work that I had left when my dad called me to his office.

“I bet the partnership will be our topic tonight,” I sigh.

----------------T I M E S K I P—--------------

I flinched when I heard my phone ringing. I groaned before answering the call without looking at the caller’s ID. “Hello?” I started. “Oh, Yn dear, are you still planning to attend our family dinner tonight?” the person on the other line sweetly asked, which made my eyes widen. It’s Jungwon’s mother. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry auntie, I must’ve fallen asleep while doing my work and didn’t notice the time,” I explained. "It's okay, dear. Take your time. We are not rushing you," she assured. "Okay, Auntie, I'll just pack my things and call Dad to fetch me." I said, "No need, dear. Take your time; I already sent someone to fetch you there since your parents are here already." Auntie said. “Okay, Auntie, I'll be leaving now,” I said, informing her that I needed to go. “Alright. Take care, dear. Bye,” she hung up, as I left my office and went to the parking lot.

I was peacefully walking in the parking lot while using my phone when something hit me—a candy wrapper. “Oopss,” my eyes automatically shut, and I felt like it rolled back inside my head. “What the heck are you doing here, Yang Jungwon? ”I turn around and see him grinning so widely that my blood boils in irritation. “What's with the full name, Missy? And chill, am I not allowed to see my lovely business partner? "He answered with a smirk while leaning on his car hood. Hearing his last two words pissed me more. "I am not working with an arrogant man, like you." He chuckled and played the lollipop in his mouth. He took the lollipop out of his mouth and offered it to me. "Do you want to have a taste?" he asked. "Yuck," I said, turning my back on him as I started walking away. "Hm, planning to ditch the dinner? "Jungwon asked. "Nah, not this time," I answered as I continued walking.

"Then should we go? "He asked, which made me stop walking and turn to face him again. "What did you say? 'I asked, wanting him to repeat what he said to make sure that I heard it right. "I said, if we should go already?" he repeated while walking towards me. "Huh? What do you mean, "if we should go? Yang, "I asked confusedly, "Oh, mom didn't tell you? "Tell me what? "I asked back. "Tell you that she asked me to fetch you." Jungwon answered my question with a smirk, holding my hand as he started pulling me towards his car. "What??? But why him, Untieeeee?" I whine while trying to escape from his grip as he laughs. "Yah, let's go; it's already 6:40," he said. "I know, and I don't want to go with you, Yang," I protest. "But you don't have a choice," he said while opening the passenger seat door. He made me sit there and go to the driver's seat. "Plus, we're going to be late. My wife doesn't like being late, right?" he added while giggling as he started driving.

‘Right, business partners also mean you are in a fixed marriage.’

[the-arceo-analysis]

Double A, The Arceo Analysis.

wip audio drama by klaus j

The Arceo Analysis is a series in the making (by yours truly!) which will mainly feature a long audio drama... With a twist! The plan is to combine the audio aspects of podcasts with visual aspects of artwork and site design. Eventually, Double A will have it's own website, where listeners can find transcripts, social media links, designs, artwork and more...

Double A follows an arrogant scientist, Klaus Ormr (centre), and his good-looking assistant, Poseidon Delito (to the left!) through Arceo, Velum per the request of Sean Lokachari (front right).

Arceo's Apprentice Detective's Agency (or the AADA for short!) is an up-and-coming agency just a few buildings down from the old one, Bronzeward, which was indefinitely closed due to suspicions of tampering with evidence not even three months ago.

Founded by a man with no interest outside of the title - Markus Porter - Lokachari is left to help six young adults become hardworking detectives. Despite his extensive experience as Bronzeward's lead detective for over 20 years, being left to train six people with no clue what they're doing is a draining task. Having no other choice but to cash in a favour brings in two old friends- who had moved away three years ago after a life-changing accident no one wants to recall.

The Arceo Analysis has everything a podcast fan could want- The Horrors, psychological torment, strange homosexual pining, disability representation- and much more! The main cast consists of 9 characters, all of which are vastly different with completely contrasting backgrounds!

A little about me (the creator) and the origins of Double A under the cut!

Hi again! I'm Klaus. (Yes, the main character is named after me (more or less!)) I'm queer in a couple different directions, and you can refer to me with he/him/his. I just recently turned eighteen and graduated from highschool, which means I've been working on since I was maybe 15? (Note: Didn't pass my maths classes) I have a handful of mental illnesses and a few more that aren't confirmed just yet but highly suspected. At the moment I've got a dislocated shoulder with bone damage! (Skating accident & several falls after the original dislocation) Rather painful but we make do with what we can!

Due to my mental illnesses, Double A has been put off more than a few times. I'm rather severely depressed, making my day-to-day life hard, not to mention my hobbies and work life. Despite this, I've been keeping at it as much as I can, getting progress under my wing consistently enough to update every few days.

I got into The Magnus Archives two-ish years ago and ever since I've had a fascination with horror audio dramas. (Though, I've only got that, The Left Right Game, half an episode of The Silt Verses, and 20 episodes of Malevolent to show for it) I'm also very invested in House M.D., Arcane, and Hannibal NBC!

The Arceo Analysis is a project I've been working on for almost three years! It originated as an idea between myself and an old friend (though many characters had already existed prior to that) that I remade into something new after we ceased contact. I'm incredibly passionate about it and I sincerely hope that it can bring you the comfort and joy it's brought me over the few years I've had the honour of creating it.

I don't take myself very seriously, and I very rarely post large walls of text like this- Most of my tumblr is shitposts and artwork, with the occasional update on script progress!

If you'd like to reach out and ask something, whether about myself or my work, please hit up my ask box! I'm not very comfortable DMing followers.

[n0t-kayyy]

HEY YALL!! THESE R MY NEW STATS AS OF EARRRLLYYY feb!!. I post body checks, but there's always a CW and/or cut in page!! 😋😋

I lost my prev. GW achievements, so this will be pretty short.

SW: 160

LW: 111.6

CW: 111.6 lbs (bmï 16.4)

GW1: 112 lbs (bmï 16.6)✅️

GW2: 110 lbs (bmï 16.2)

GW3: 107 lbs (bmï 15.8)

GW3: 105 lbs (bmï 15.5)

UGW: 100 lbs (bmï 14.8)

IM A MINOR AND IVE BEEN STRUGGLING W AN ED FOR LIKE 3 YEARS😨🙏 ANYWAY THIS IS ALL ABT MEEEE SORRY ITS SO LONG!!!

INTRO UNDER CUT

Hi, my name is Kay!! Im a big reader, especially of classic young adult stories, like what Louisa May Alcott and Frances Hodgson Burnett wrote.

I crochet and am learning to knit! I like small projects, and I've made bags, hats, little toys, etc.

I watch mid-2000 tv usually, but I do enjoy some more recent shows and movies. I listen to music, especially at night.

I play basketball and do HJ, LJ, and discuss.+ i recently started ballet!!

I dress mainly in a downtown esc style, with like a hint of americana and a California teen (think brandy and jean shorts+ tie dye😭). Sometimes, i throw the occasional long skirt in there.

I love taking little trips, like on the train or across town, to take myself thrifting or out to see pretty cafes and such!

My favorite animal/ insect is moths, but my favorite pet is cats!!

Likes:

Thrifting

Antique jewelry

2000-10's movies

Hiking and swimming

Beach trips

Collages/Scrapbooks

Coquette&downtown styles

Fall candles and baking

Collecting bodyspray/lotion

Artists+3 fav songs:

Alex g- Mis, gnaw, kute.

Dazey and the Scouts - nice nice, grown, wet.

Pigeon pit- F.M.I.D, wichitalk, love letters.

MOBO- rock bottom, the waterboy returns, hope.

Adrianne Lenker- zombie girl, Womb, forwards becon rebound.

Fiona apple- IWYTLM, under the table, fast as you can

CSH- IWYTKTIA, Over exposed, deadlines

Black box recorder - girl singing in the wreckage, england made me, child psychology

Whatever, dad- chiot, Ok(gm album), death of a phone call.

Pavement- Nail clinic, Frontwards, range life.

TV Girl - one of these mornings, act like u never met me. It almost worked

The flat Stanley's- Tony perks!, look, i really love u, but..., Me v ur friends.

Mitzki- Dan the dancer, Shame, Townie

Books:

TPOBAW

Fight club

Mysterious skin

Girl interrupted

Speak

Lovely bones

The broken girls

Frozon Charlotte

The silver crown

The Yellow Wallpaper

A storm of strawberries

The reader

[recurring-polynya]

Fanfic Round-Up 2024

I did not have a very good year of writing--I failed a lot of the projects I started and I generally did not have a very good time overall. I did work very hard at it, though, so here's a list of what I have to show for it. I posted 145,857 to ao3, which is... a number, I guess. By my own wordcount tracking spreadsheet, I wrote about 110k words this year (not counting the failures), which is very, very close to my numbers for 2023 and 2022. Anyway!!

The biggest thing, of course, was completing Damage History, the sixth installment of my long-form, slow-burn Renruki saga, the Heart is a Muscle. On the surface, it's a hurt-comfort story about Renji getting some long-overdue surgery to get his kidou ducts fixed, and Rukia fussing over him, but it's also about excavating old traumas and letting people love you even when you don't love yourself. At 108k words, it came in as both my fourth six-figure fanfic, and my fourth-longest overall. It came in a little lower on the kudos side than previous parts of the series, but the comments were very kind. A year later: I still have mixed feelings on this one. I think I put too much of myself in it. I regret the title. I should have left it as "Ductwork."

As a follow-up, I cleaned up and posted I'll be the blood if you'll be the bones, the old Inuzuri story I wrote in 2019 that served as a basis for the flashback parts. It used to be buried deep in my Tumblr, but now you can read in pretty ao3 formatting.

Apropos of nothing, I finished and cleaned up an older story I had about Rose strong-arming Kira into helping with this restaurant review column.

Over the spring and fall, I did some requests:

Byakuya, under duress, has to give Renji a hug

Byakuya is forced to deal with the fact that his sister is in love with his adjutant

Kensei returns to Squad 9 and finds out that they run a newspaper now

Chad and Orihime do War Manicures

Thirteen Squadron's Eleventh Seat Kuchiki Byakuya goes to the movies

Dr. Renji sees his captain's bankai (part a | part b)

Then, I did a couple more short stories for the Bleach Returns! even in October:

Renji cons Hinamori into going to a Kuchiki Byakuya Demonstration Fight with him

Even though he's gone, Hinamori helps Captain Komamura save face

Then, just for me, I wrote a story about Inuzuri Rukia making Renji look at her boobs. It is, without question, my favorite thing I wrote this year.

I ended the year by falling ass over teakettle into the burnout pit. December is always very stressful for me, and I'm sure that part of it is just that, but it's not all of it. I ended 2022 pretty severely burnt out, didn't write for the first 3 months of 2023, got severely depressed instead, and dealt with it by bullying myself into writing, which is what I have been doing ever since. It's, um. Well, it worked for a while, and it's really just not working anymore. I am trying to go into 2025 with the intention of doing Gentle Writing, as per this post. I would still like to try to finish a little in love, now and then, which I tried to do this fall and failed (for the second time), but beyond that, my only writing goal is to write things I like.

[yellowwwcrayon]

Here's the Genderbent!AU with female Logan. Forgot to also post the AO3 link here. I actually really enjoyed writing this one for myself haha :) There might be a second installment one day

“You dick,” Logan hissed, slapping his hand away and yanking Wade’s knife out of her side.

“Sorry, thought you were Victor coming to gut me from mouth to anus and wear my skin leather as a new pair of Christmas pajamas.”

His heart was thumping for a whole different reason now. She was so close he could smell the faint salty tang of sweat and lingering wood smoke on her.

“You’re not the first or last man I’ve fucked, Wade. Victor will get over it,” Logan said, her tone bone-dry. And yeah, he figured a looker like her would have gotten some action in the six years since they’d crossed paths, but to hear it so casually confirmed still stung.

Wade scowled. “Whore.”

[vveissesfleisch]

it was all a blur and then it was nothing

Fandom: Masters of the Air

Pairing: John Egan/Gale Cleven

Rating: M/18+

Word Count: ~2.4K

Summary: A slice of postwar life, featuring hurt & comfort on a sleepless night.

A/N: Happy @hbowardaily summer exchange to my lovely recipient, @newcathedrals! i hope this scratches your hurt/comfort itch with our beloved pilots, & that you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. xx

Read it here on AO3.

Gale awoke with a start. 

He wasn’t disoriented. His heart wasn’t pounding.  

It had been a dreamless sleep, or at least one left unplagued by clear blue skies riddled with flak, fire, and death, or endless marches through German wasteland in a cold that froze him, blood and bone and core. 

He reached over to find the sheets beside him cold and rumpled. His heart sank. John had been sleeping so well this week. 

He absently stroked his fingers over the indentation of John’s body, half-heartedly debating whether he should roll over and try to get back to sleep. John would return when he was ready, but the thought of him up and about somewhere, pacing, smoking, worrying, had him heaving himself out of bed and pulling on his pajama pants. 

He leaned against the bedroom doorway, blinking blearily into the dark, yawning hallway. “John,” he rasped. He cleared the sleep from his throat. “John.”

Silence was his only response, so he made his way downstairs. 

It was quiet here too, save the steady drip from the kitchen sink. John would want to fix that this week. Gale smiled, mildly surprised that he wasn’t under there right now working on it, but there were plenty of things in their home to occupy idle hands on sleepless nights. 

Their home.

A place they could call their own. A place where they could exist as nothing more than themselves, together, two sides of the same coin.

It was still a heady thought, even a year later. 

Down in the basement, John had wedged a workbench against one of the walls, the one without the leak. He’d taken to tinkering with various woodworking projects down there. Right now, he was refurbishing an antique captain’s chair he’d picked up at the church flea market to accompany the drop-leaf table he’d refinished last month. Gale often found him down here in the middle of the night. 

“Might as well make myself useful if I’m not sleepin’,” he’d joke with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. 

Not tonight, though. The basement was as dark and quiet as the rest of the house. 

The garage was dark, too, indicating that John had decided that Gale’s old pickup was not currently in dire need of yet another upgrade. 

Gale understood John’s need to work with his hands, especially now that they were no longer manning yokes or guns. While he enjoyed fixing a car or shed as much as the next guy, Gale preferred to take his pencil to paper, which is why John usually found him holed up in the second bedroom that served as a makeshift study with a weighty textbook on nights when he was the insomniac. 

“How can you make sense of all this stuff,” John would say, shaking his head fondly so his overgrown curls fell across his forehead in an entirely too charming – and enticing – fashion. 

“The more complex the equation, the more closure I get from solvin’ it,” Gale would reply, already distracted, pushing a soft, rogue wisp of dark hair behind his ear. “Guess it’s kinda peaceful.”

Peace. 

Gale couldn’t believe he’d ever thought it would come easily, now that the war was over. 

No one had warned him how maddening it would be, trying to cram himself back into civilian life, a puzzle piece that had once fit, now warped beyond hope of its edges ever matching up to the negative spaces. 

Unable to find John in any of his usual haunts, Gale returned to the kitchen. He was toying with the idea of putting on a pot of coffee when he spied movement in the backyard. 

John was out in the pitch-black garden, mid-summer moonbeams bouncing off of his white tee shirt. 

Gale approached cautiously, not wanting to startle him. He was kneeling in the dirt beside a neat row of sprouting string beans, labored breaths syncing up with the silvery strike of the trowel into the earth.

Gale rested a hand on John’s shoulder. “John.”

John said nothing, just kept digging and digging, until he finally threw the trowel to the ground with a frustrated grunt in favor of his hands. 

“They didn’t bury him,” he said, voice straining. Gale knelt beside him as he heaved clumps of dirt and mulch into a growing pile. “They didn’t bury him, Buck.”

“John.” Heart aching, Gale grabbed his forearms. His skin was clammy with effort in the slight evening chill. “John. Stop.”

John turned to him, eyes wild and mournful, the ghosts of tears etched on his cheeks like an epitaph. 

It had to have been a bad one, to upset him like this. 

Gale knew the feeling entirely too well. 

“What happened?” he asked softly. “Tell me.”

“There was…” John thrashed, a half-hearted attempt to buck Gale off, but Gale tightened his grip. “There was just…nothing. He was there, he was with us, and then he wasn’t. And there was nothin’ left.”

“I know.” John could have been talking about any of them: their lost brothers, lying dead in a ditch somewhere, bodies slowly rotting back into the earth, little more than a home for maggots and fungus, or burnt to nothing in the sky, antimatter. “I know.”

Each of them still visited Gale, too. 

“I have to…he has to rest. It’s not right.” John glanced at the hole in the ground, eyes glittering with fresh, unshed tears. Gale wished he could wipe them away before they fell, along with all of the hurt. “I gotta lay Curt to rest, Buck.”

The name tore into Gale’s tender heart like shrapnel. Of all of the names, all of the faces, all who had been lost before their time, Curt had hurt the most. It hurt to the point that they rarely spoke of him, though he had been a dear friend, someone who they could easily envision occupying a third bar stool, or seated at their table for Sunday dinner. Though the memories were fond, the knowledge that he would never get to see what it was like, after, cut too deeply to invoke them. 

“He’s gotta…” John hung his head, voice breaking as tears began to fall. “He can’t…”

Gale pulled John close. John buried his face in his neck, clutching at him fiercely as he let out great, body-shuddering sobs. Gale held him as the stitches holding his heart together itched and popped, reopening wounds that time had failed to heal. 

“It coulda been us,” John mumbled against Gale’s neck. “It coulda been…it coulda been you.”

“But it wasn’t.” Overwrought, Gale grabbed his face. He searched his eyes, as desperate to remind himself as he was to remind John that they had survived. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t us.”

John’s kiss was sudden, hot and urgent as a summer thunderstorm. That raw, jagged crack in Gale’s chest began to close itself back up as he returned the kiss with equal fervor, driving away tear-salt and anguish with every pass of tongue and clack of teeth, cloaked away from the world in the night, here in their little garden behind their little home that they had made together after everything, in spite of everything. 

“I’m sorry,” whispered John wetly, breaking away from Gale. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Gale brushed their noses together, a near-unslakable craving for closeness blooming deep within him. “Come inside. I got you.”

John allowed Gale to help him up, abandoning the trowel in the disturbed dirt. He didn’t let go of Gale’s hand as he led him up into the bathroom.

“Sit,” said Gale, and John obeyed. In the light, Gale saw the streaks of dirt and hastily wiped tears on John’s face, the smudges on his white tee shirt, the stains on the worn knees of his pajama pants.

John started to protest when Gale ran the bathtub tap, but any objections died in his throat as Gale stripped off his shirt. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The tub was too small to comfortably fit the both of them, but that had yet to deter them. John got in first, then Gale slid in between long, bent legs to face him. He said nothing as he ran a warm washcloth over John’s face, gently ridding him of sweat, tears, filth, and mucus. Gale expected at least one less than subtle overture, or for John to bat his hand away, but John just let himself be washed, a helpless adoration eclipsing the sadness in his eyes as his breathing steadied. 

Their gazes met as Gale ran the cloth down John’s arm. Gale’s knee brushed against John’s as he scrubbed him clean, one large hand after the other, evoking a lovely, helpless little whimper. 

The negligible amount of space between them suddenly seemed an eternal abyss. 

With a wry smile, Gale teased his hand between John’s legs. 

“Buck –” inhaled John, but Gale simply rested his fingertips against his inner thigh. He relished in John’s shiver as he softly dragged them down to his inner knee, his calf, until he lifted one of John’s feet out of the water. 

Thrown off balance, John gasped and slipped down until his calf pressed against Gale’s shoulder. Alarmed, he grabbed the lip of the tub to stop himself from sliding further underwater.

The sight was so endearing – and ridiculous – that Gale couldn’t help himself. He laughed. 

John’s eyes crinkled up around the edges as he laughed, too. Gale could have cried with joy at the sound – not only was it his favorite sound in the world, it was also the sound of fear and pain leaving John’s body, at least temporarily. 

“You good?” Gale bent his leg to kiss the inside of his ankle. 

“I think I’ll manage, somehow,” said John, rolling his eyes as he pulled himself back to a seated position. 

When Gale moved to wash his foot, John gently kicked the washcloth away. “Okay, Saint Cleven,” he said, eyes bright with mirth and more than a little desperation. “Just take me to bed already.”

Gale dropped his leg and surged forward. Way too much water sloshed over the side of the tub as he kissed John as though his life depended on it, because it did, it always did. John groaned and kissed him back, his need sliding hot and hard against Gale’s stomach. 

“We’re here,” he whispered into Gale’s mouth, almost like he hadn’t meant to. “We made it. You and me.”

An incendiary yearning flared in Gale’s chest. He wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, nearly climbing into his lap as he pressed their bodies as close as they could get. “That’s right. You and me, baby.”

John clutched at him, sighing and kissing, touching and grinding. For a delirious moment, Gale thought that they might not make it to bed before forcing himself to pull back. He needed to be closer, and judging by the way he was looking at him, like he might not survive a moment’s separation, John felt the same. 

Gale dried them both briefly in the same towel, just enough to avoid trailing water from the bathroom to the bedroom. 

Their bedroom.

He couldn’t find it in his heart to feel the crushing weight of guilt he so often did when he thought of all of those who hadn’t made it as he laid John down on the bed, near-feverish desire colliding with the burning joy that they were alive. He kissed him deeply before guiding him onto his stomach, entranced by the way his back muscles rippled in the moonlight. He pushed morbid thoughts from his mind as he trailed kisses across bath-damp skin from John’s shoulder to his neck, pausing to nibble on his ear, choosing to focus on the delicious sound of John’s breath, heavy with pleasure, rather than sorrow, as he worked him open. 

Sometimes he couldn’t believe that they were able to have this, that they had survived and prospered when so many others had not. 

But they had. They had survived, and John was here, so wonderfully, beautifully alive, and so wonderfully, beautifully Gale’s. He arched beneath him and whispered the name he’d given Gale when they’d first met, as indelible as ink in skin, as holy as an ancient prayer.

Gale pressed his chest to John’s back as he sank into him, sighing as blood-stained memories and grief melted away in the heat of ardor. Gratitude lit him from within as he laced their fingers together and buried his nose in the damp tendrils plastered to the base of his neck. He inhaled deeply and nearly finished on the spot; the scent of the man who had been with him through the best and the worst times in his life, who understood him better than he understood himself, was an intoxicant like no other. And John was just as gone as he was, moaning and drooling shamelessly onto the pillow as he pushed back to meet Gale, desperate to be closer, closer, closer. 

“Love you,” panted Gale against a flushed cheekbone, his heart hammering against John’s through layers of bone and muscle, rushing blood and heaving flesh. “God. I love you.”

John let out an ecstatic sob and tightened his grip on Gale's hands until his knuckles turned white. He turned his face into the pillow, and Gale saw him through a rapturous release, vision blurring with adoration as John’s body trembled beneath his, before following him quickly over the edge of bliss with a gasp. 

Afterwards, they laid on their sides in the sticky sheets, fingers and legs tangled together, watching each other breathe as they came down. The droop of John’s eyelids signaled how quickly he was fading, but he kept forcing his eyes open, like he couldn’t stand not to look at Gale as long as he was awake.

“Think I’m gonna pass out,” he finally mumbled.

“That’s alright.” Gale pressed his hand to his lips. “So am I.”

“Good.” John’s chuckle turned into a noisy yawn. “You could use it.”

Gale stared at him long after he drifted off, tracing everything from the slope of his nose to the delicate jut of his collarbone with his eyes. 

No detail was too small to be savored. 

As sleep eventually overtook him, he hoped that if he did dream, he would dream of John, just like this, face unmarred by tragedy, snoring softly beside him. 

He hoped he would dream of peace. 

[yuurivoice]

Laying in bed having a think.

As I try and tackle three intertwined (four? fuck) narrative stories more meticulously than I've crafted any of my narratives thus far, I find myself making several realizations.

BitterSweet is a product of me being at several mental low points but failing upwards. BitterSweet wasn't even intended to be a real narrative, but rather an introduction to Seth then sort of a choose you own adventure, listen to either "path" type thing. When the story revealed itself to me it was very exciting, but I was just going episode to episode and seeing where I'd end up.

Chapter 2 had more planning, a pretty defined outline, and was executed just about to perfection. I think 2 is probably the strongest in terms of knowing wtf was going on and seeing it through.

Chapter 3 is one I feel deeply conflicted about. Plans had to change on the fly multiple times. The scale got out of hand. I was on the struggle bus and only managed to write an episode two at once. It was a mess. We hit some high marks, and some of my favorite performances are in there, but there's this dark cloud over it for me. It's a shame, but it got done.

I can see really clearly how my struggle with my mental health, ADHD, etc. played significant roles in hindering me. So on one hand, I'm thrilled that I was able to make something cool that so many people appreciate and enjoy despite how challenging it was. On the other hand...there's a lot I wish could have been different.

Those wishes have informed many of the choices I'm making now as I tackle Shattered and Echoes, as well as BitterSweet and the unnamed thing. I'm not hitting the big red launch button until it is complete. I've never done that. But I want my writing to be tighter and more cohesive. I'm lucky that making shit up as I went and hitting the broader strokes I knew were there worked out as well as it did, but also I've tripped over myself a time or two.

As ambitious as I'm trying to be with weaving these stories, I want to make sure that when you step back and look at the big picture, it makes sense, but is also really fucking dope.

That's my hope.

This next batch of work is going to be special for me. I'm in my medicated era, but I'm working with a lot of the bones put in place by a version of me that was operating well below capacity.

Reading those first drafts I wrote last year was humbling. God they were bad. Frustratingly so because when I took a hammer to it, what I cooked up in significantly less time on the second draft was so much better than what felt like I had to pull teeth to accomplish before.

I try and tell myself not to look at all of my work through that lens of "I could have done so much better" but it's frustrating. I've gotta cook with the groceries that version of me brought home lol.

It boils down to this. When these next projects launch and the dust settles, I don't want to be glad it's over. When I finished BS3, I breathed a sigh of relief because it felt like I just got out of a year long brawl.

When I finish these projects, I want to be proud. I think that's the conclusion I reached. I was not proud of my work, because it was tainted with compromise and frustration that outside factors fucked with several aspects of it.

So I'm trying to prove to myself that I can do better than that. For myself. I've shaken off the frustration that I'm an entire year behind schedule. I've committed myself to completing it all before it sees the light of day. I've streamlined the process. I really tried to set myself up for success.

When I was struggling I'd cut every corner, I'd phone it in, I'd toss out ambitious ideas for the sake of just being able to call it done.

There's a lot less of that happening now. I'm able to at least try and hold myself to something resembling a standard. Now I just hope I can execute.

Thanks for reading. Sorry about all of whatever that was.

[smolthealmighty]

Even the Losers Get Lucky Sometimes

This might be the fastest I ever wrote a fic, and it was for Spinner's birthday (happy birthday to the boy)! For those not in the know, 4 is an unlucky number in Japan, while 8 is considered to be a lucky one. Take the fact that Shigaraki was born on the 4th day of the 4th month and Spinner was born on the 8th day of the 8th month and...

“None of this canned stuff look appetizing. How about we try cannibalism? Moonfish did and he turned out fine!” Toga declared as she tossed another can of miso-mackerel from the top shelf of the empty cabin’s kitchen pantry over her shoulder.

“Great idea!” Twice agreed as he searched the bottom shelf, then quickly countered, “Not all of us have quirks that allow us to consume human viscera!”

“If we’re being serious then I nominate Spinner to be our meal.” Dabi proposed, as he kicked the discarded mackerel can into the next room.

“Hey what did I do?!” cried Spinner as he nearly tripped over the can.

“Absolutely not, no one’s eating anyone, and especially not Spinner,” Tomura said as he paused his raid of the kitchen cabinets, “Honestly you can’t resort to cannibalism just because you hate canned mackerel.”

“Why not? C’mon look at how much meat he’s got on those bones!” Dabi exclaimed as he grabbed and presented one of Spinner’s arms, “There’s enough protein on one bicep to feed us for a week!” Spinner yelped in response and yanked his arm back, sending Dabi stumbling from the sudden momentum.

“Because Spinner’s the good luck charm that’s why! Now stop thinking about cannibalism and start actually looking for food in here.”

“No need, I found the jackpot!” Mr. Compress called out from the basement, presenting his findings as he reached the top of the stairs. “Behold, mitsumame with pomegranates for Toga, honey mustard-flavored bacon for Twice, and while I couldn’t find soba noodles, I did find gyudon for you Dabi, so you can start building meat on your own bones.” Twice and Toga grabbed the cans out of Mr. Compress’s hands and started fighting over the lone can opener. Dabi rolled his eyes, but accepted his can anyway.

As the League retired to the living room to eat their fill before planning their next move, Tomura and Spinner headed down the stairs to grab their own basement meals.

“Hey, thanks for taking me off the potential menu,” Spinner said, as he and Tomura reached the bottom, “But I’m confused about what you said earlier. Why am I the good luck charm?”

Tomura turned towards him, an incredulous look on his face as if the answer was obvious, then replied, “My birthday is April 4th and yours is August 8th.”

“Um… happy birthday? Wait that’s not for at least another half a year! What does your birthday have to do with this? Better yet, what does MY birthday have to do with this?!”

Tomura sighed, and explained, “Because I was born in the unluckiest day, and you were born on the luckiest one.”

If Spinner’s expression had been one of confusion before it escalated to one of bewilderment now, so Tomura figured he had better clarify his thought process further.

“Okay look. My life sucked to put it lightly. I dunno exactly what happened before meeting Master, but I assume it was traumatic enough that my brain wiped it out of my memory. Hell when I really think about it, even the time I’ve spent under him was kinda shitty. I only started having actual good things happen after I fully formed the League, right about the time we first met you know. Maybe things aren’t the greatest, but it’s like your inherent lucky numbers cancels my unlucky ones out, leaving things okay and manageable rather than an endless barrage of game overs.”

“That’s… that’s honestly the nicest thing I’ve heard directed at me in a while so thanks,” Spinner said, his cheeks visibly warming, “but I wouldn’t consider myself to be ‘lucky’, not after what I’ve been through.”

Tomura paused for a minute, a look of intense internal focus taking over his face, then said, “Well, maybe I’m lucky to have met you.” Spinner’s face warmed further, but a contagious smile spread across his face too, and the pair of villains fell into comfortable silence as they surveyed the endless options of preserved food on the shelves.

Suddenly, Tomura perked up and asked, “Hey, wanna know why I recruited you?”

Spinner startled at the abrupt change in topic but nodded anyway.

“Ok. I know you arrived 10 minutes early and used the extra time to psych yourself into entering the bar,” Spinner let out squeaks of embarrassment as Tomura continued without acknowledging them, “I could hear you mumbling through the door while I was grabbing more Mountain Dew-”

“You had Mountain Dew by the door?”

“Secret stash, not important and do not tell Kurogiri next time you see him. Point is, I heard you quoting Ambrosio’s final monologue from Blight Upon the Righteous and… yeah, my mind was made up before you walked in.”

Spinner stood with his mouth agape for a full ten seconds before bursting into laughter, one part disbelieving and one part utterly giddy.

“You decided to hire me because I quoted an old RPG?”

Tomura squirmed a bit but affirmed, “Yeah, I guess the reasoning sounds stupid out loud, and to be fair learning that you knew how to wield a sword definitely sweetened the deal, but I liked the idea of having someone on the team who I could talk on equal terms with for once. It’s a change of pace from talking up to Master or talking down to a bunch of faceless grunts, and even then, its only ever about the next big scheme.”

By then, Spinner’s chuckling had subsided and his smile had turned into a look of soft admiration, encouraging Tomura to admit one last thing.

“Spinner, you’re the only person I know who I can act like a 20-year-old with and still take me seriously afterwards. I hope you know how much I appreciate that.”

“It’s nothing that special”, Spinner claimed, “Don’t you do the exact same thing for me?”

Feeling his own face break out into a blush at the realization, Tomura turned back towards the shelf to pick his choice of lunch, but not before letting Spinner see that his answer made him smile.

“Still,” Spinner continued, “that was one hell of a gamble you took on me.”

“If recruiting you was a gamble,” Tomura replied, handing Spinner a can of nikujaga that matched his own, “then I won the jackpot.”