#i should really get into the habit of outlining

[empressofthewind]

I think the problem I run into with most of my oneshots is that I'm always delusionally convinced that they won't end up more than 1000 words, so when they inevitably stretch past the 2000-word mark, I've lost all sense of direction and consistency

[earthtooz]

x : HOUSE OF CARDS :*+ﾟ

in which: for as long as you remember, sunday covers his eyes when he cries.

warnings: 1.5k words, fluff with elements of angst, kind of follows canon- not exactly though, sunday cries gold because i said so, based on his character stories, gn!reader who is an observer to the complexity that is sunday's lcharacter

a/n: an attempt into studying sunday was made- i don't think i hit the hammer on the nail quite right, but i tried, i mainly just wanted to celebrate him + his lc coming home YAY. i wish i had more time to let the outline of this marinate, but i couldn't see it being any better than it's current state, so apologies if this isn't the best or most eloquent read of your life.

Sunday had a habit of covering his eyes with his wings when he cried.

He didn’t cry often, but you would know when he did whenever his feathers pressed against his face, hiding his golden eyes and the ichor they’d shed front he world, not allowing anyone to see the depths of his soul, the magnitude of his suffering. 

The first time he did this was at the young age of nine, a fledgling barely a decade in to the tapestry of life. It happened after he fell over while chasing you and Robin around in Gopher Wood’s gardens, knee scraping against concrete and skin peeling in the process, resulting in a nasty scratch, and his wings fluttered to cover his face almost immediately, even stifling his sniffles as traces of golden tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto his clothes.

He bared himself to you not too long after, the tears and snot drying as you tended his wound with Robin singing him a comforting lullaby.

These were the innocent tears of childhood, none of you yet changed by the harsh realities that fate would guide your paths on.

The second time was after his first music class.

It seemed Robin stole the affinity for singing from him as their music teacher berated him, likening his voice to that of a ‘duckling’, comparable to the sound of nails on chalkboard. A 12 year old Sunday was sent out of class not too long after, the start of a tantrum beginning to take place as his eyes welled up and began sniffling, fists and wings clenched.

You come to his aid not too long after, having heard the commotion and wandering over, but when he saw you, he ducked out of your sight and covered his eyes with his wings, splaying them over his face. They were larger now and capable of covering the expanse of his head, only exposing his forehead and chin as you tried to console him.

“Hey, it’s okay!” You coo, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Mr. Big Guy tells me your piano playing is amazing and that you’re a real prodigy, Sunday!”

The sniffles halt momentarily. “Really?” His wobbly voice had asked.

“Yeah! He’s proud of you, and you should be proud of that too!”

He bares himself to you, glassy golden eyes looking into you, trying to seek comfort in the familiarity of your friendliness and company. “You mean it?” 

“Of course!”

“Then… are you proud of me too, Y/n?”

“I’m always proud of you, dummy, now stop crying and cheer up!”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, wiping his face with the back of his hand as his other went to grasp yours. “I shouldn’t let that witch get to me.”

“Sunday! Be respectful of your teachers!”

Despite how often the grey-haired boy would listen to your whims and wishes, he never stopped calling his vocal teacher a witch or anything along the variant. It displeased you every time, but the most you would punish him with was a gentle slap on the arm and a scowl that would melt away as soon as he’d share his giantmoa pudding tarts with you.

A few months after that shared moment, Sunday had begun taking the Family lessons from the Bronze Melodia. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, he had dreamed of being an influence that would change Penacony and its Dreamscape for the better, and now it was finally his moment- his calling to the world had finally been heard, and they answered with a path that was of utmost righteousness and virtue. 

However, as he took more lessons, learned more about the ways of the Family, he grew into someone else. 

The third time you saw him cry was when you received the news that Robin was shot. A bullet wound to the neck, it was a miracle that she survived, but Sunday was inconsolable, even whilst knowing that she was alive, just on another planet. The distance was akin to torture because no matter how desperately he wished to be by her side, he couldn’t cross it while shackled to his duties in Penacony, so the spirit of the elder brother rested in your arms and cried. 

He sobbed quietly into your shoulder, wings covering his eyes as the two of you sit on the floor, a hauntingly beautiful image of despair as his limbs intertwined with yours. Sunday had collapsed on you the moment you welcomed him into your embrace, the ability to hold himself up being too much to stomach after knowing that he could have lost his sister. 

He cries until your limbs grow pins and needles, until you begin to feel weak under the weight of his grief and your own, until you feel the puddle of tears on your clothes drying. 

Gloved hands hold onto you tightly, and he knew something then and there.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, breath shuddering as despair rolls off him in waves, and Sunday removes his face from your shoulder, a cold look of determination staring up at you. “I must protect you, I must shield your happiness too so that we may never suffer again.”

“What?”

His words are incomprehensible to you at this point, and they sound akin to the ramblings of a mad man. “You will never struggle to be happy again, I will give you everything you need- I see it now, Y/n. The strong must guide the weak, for who else will they seek solace in?”

Realisation seeps into your bones like ice. After so many confessionals, so many witnesses of humanity at its most helpless, he has grown nihilistic, devoid of hope towards the resilience of human beings. Still, he yearns to help. Yearns to help people thrive even though he does not truly believe in things getting better, and shoulders this impossible fight by himself. 

The sweet boy you once knew has hardened his defences, fortified his walls and relentlessly chased the most obscure path of Harmony: Order. Destroyed himself under the belief of being responsible for creating a painless reality for humanity, and you witnessed the catalyst for Sunday’s own dismantling whilst he was laid on your lap. 

You haven’t seen him cry since that day. He no longer hides himself behind his wings because he no longer gives himself a moment to mourn. Devastation is engrained in every fibre of his being. 

Now, when he plays the piano for you, you don’t hear the melodic tune of the most important person in your life- you hear a complex piece of toil and struggle. When you sit next to him on the piano stool, you watch the dexterity of his fingers and how his face remains serenely calm whilst playing the hardest sonata known to man, acclimatized to the toughest scenarios that even the polished wood of the piano won’t warp his pristine image. 

Then, when he is finished, you lay your head on his shoulder as you shower him with praises, searching for a familiar fragment of him that you can grasp onto. However, all you find is a shard of bittersweet longing when he turns to place a dainty kiss on the top of your head.

Everyday before the Charmony Festival, you feel like you know him less and less. He won’t even touch the giantmoa pudding tarts you leave on his desk. 

The fourth time you see Sunday cry, he is a changed man.

After exiling himself from Penacony, you naturally grow to ache for his presence. At least Robin has returned to you and will share conversations about the mysterious future of her older brother, sometimes you cry together, over him and also over other things, but at the core of all your emotions is how badly you miss him. You miss him as you overlook Penacony’s Grand Theatre, you miss him in all the old desserts you used to love together, you miss him when you think about him. 

Letters are infrequent and never quite soothe the emptiness, but you hope that in some vast corner of the universe, he is discovering a sense of peace he could never have here. The events of the Charmony Festival still make you cringe, but knowing that he is with the kind souls of the Astral Express relieves you.

In fact, you have half a mind to be rather jealous- you want to be exploring the stars as well.  

However, he comes back to you after countless moons.

You run into him where you least expect to, on the streets of Penacony, under the vibrant advertisements for SoulGlad, Hanu’s Advertisement, and Robin’s latest album. Under the blinding neon monstrosity of Penacony’s main street, you are swept into the arms of a man who you have missed for countless moons, who you have thought of as the weeks turn into months, who you fell in love with since the time he scraped his knee after falling on pavement. 

And this time, he doesn’t cover his eyes as liquid gold drips down his cheek.

You forgot how unfairly pretty of a crier he is, but you don't have time to think about it as he pulls you close and rejoices on your lips. There's a small whimper that escapes you when you feel his tears fall on your skin, but your hands crawl up to the collar of his coat to keep him close so you can keep catching them.

His gloved hands come to rest on your cheeks in kind, stubborn to not let you stray too far again.

He tastes like giantmoa pudding tarts. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper between kisses. 

He responds by pressing you closer and pouring his devotion into your mouth.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[luulapants]

Existential despair is so common in a person's twenties, I think, because up until that point, we've had a pretty clear road map for what's expected of us and we haven't had much reason to question that map. There are still a few milestones outlined for us (start a career, get married, make babies) but more and more young people are entering the post-school world and realizing:

A) that career thing just isn't happening like they said it would

B) I'm not ready to get married/I don't want to get married/marriage isn't the sort of life-altering event that it used to be

C) I'm not ready to make babies/I don't want a baby/I can't afford to raise children right now (see point A)

And in the absence of these milestones to shoot for (which one could argue weren't the promise of fulfillment they claimed to be in the first place), what we're left with is this aimless abyss of "the rest of our lives" sprawling out ahead of us with no indication of how it will go or what we should be doing to shape it. Young people start their first jobs, find they hate them, and think to themselves, "Is this it? Am I just supposed to do this job until I'm too old to do it or die first?"

Which is, yeah, really fucking depressing!! So here's my best attempt at an alternate roadmap for young people that don't vibe with the old model. Please feel free to add in your own suggestions!

Learn how you work and what you want out of a job. Unless you've been in a job-specific training program that gives you hands-on experience, your first jobs should be experiments. Learn how a full-time job feels for you, what elements are more or less difficult. Different workplaces have different cultures and expectations - what do you need out of a job environment? Do you need to find fulfillment in your job or is it enough for it to pay the bills and leave you time to find outside fulfillment? Do you want to climb a corporate ladder or are you content to hunker down as long as your bills get paid? This period of experimentation is exhausting and may feel like it's consuming your whole life.

Learn how to make time for things outside of work. Adapting to a full-time work environment often leaves you feeling so drained that you can't do anything but go home and collapse on the couch every day. That's fine - for a little while. But it can also become a habit. You need to learn how to do things after work or you'll go crazy. Go to a trivia night. Start an exercise schedule. Take a class in your community. Find volunteer work. Join a band. You will find that putting more things into your day makes you feel like you have more time, not less.

Find a community. Making friends as an adult can feel impossible. Where do you find these mysterious friends everyone seems to have?? This goes along with #2, though. As you start regularly attending the same activities, you will find that repeat interactions with the same people turn into friendships or at least friendly acquaintances. Say yes to invitations. Get involved in your local community. Strive to be connected enough to bump into people at the grocery store.

Unlearn bad lessons. We all internalize some messed up things when we're growing up. As you start off your adult life, that's the time to actively work at unpacking the things you've brought with you from childhood and deciding which things are helping you and which things are harming you. This might mean therapy or joining a spiritual group or reading new things or just making special time to be in your own head.

Learn the lessons you missed. In this, I mostly mean practical things. "Adulting." Areas of your day-to-day practical life that are causing you extreme stress are probably related to a knowledge or experience gap. Do you hate cooking and cleaning or were you not taught how to do it properly? Are you afraid of making medical appointments or is it just something new you're not used to? Does money make you queasy or do you need to learn how to make a budget?

Find something fulfilling. This can be your job. It can be volunteer work. It can be faith. It can be a hobby. It can be creating things. It can be challenging yourself physically. It can be activism. It can be going for walks in nature. Everyone finds fulfillment in different places. If you're not finding it where you are, look somewhere else.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 4

WC 1123 Masterpost CW allusions to past torture, dehumanization, anxiety

“Looks worse in person, doesn’t he?”

Dick was jolted out of his thoughts as Jason spoke. He gave little nod, but didn’t look away from the kid asleep on the bed. Seeing the photos were bad enough, but Jason was right, he looked worse in person. It was distressingly clear all that he’d gone through between the fainter marks that the flash of the camera had washed out and the way the kid’s bone’s were clearly outlined under paper thin skin.

“It’s wild seeing someone who looks so much like B looking so fragile,” Jason continued in a low rumble. “Like, none of us think the old man can do everything anymore, we’re all beyond that childish notion, but doesn’t mean that B still doesn’t seem larger than life. To see a kid with his features look like that…”

“It’s going to be okay, little wing,” Dick assured hi. “We’ll look out for him now.”

Jason snorted. “Always the optimist.”

“Nope,” Dick said, shaking his head. “I’m just pretty sure that anyone who comes for him, you and little Red will put in the ground.”

Dick could see Jason start out of the corner of his eye at that, but didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, Dick finally entered the room instead of just lingering in the doorway like a creep.

“What’s the plan, baby bird?”

Tim stopped twirling the screwdriver in his fingers (a nervous habit) and glanced Dick’s way. “I want to fit a piece of insulating rubber between the collar and his skin. I should be able to get it off without zapping him, but they didn’t… I’m pretty sure they didn’t intend it to ever come off, or at least not cleanly.”

“So rubber as a back up, makes sense. What’s the catch?”

“Well, like Duke said, we don’t know what will happen when we remove it,” Tim answered, “and I’m pretty sure he won’t stay asleep for it. He stirred some when I was checking it over earlier. I want the collar off him but…”

“Pretty sure that’s more important than rest,” Jason said. “He’s got as long as he needs to rest after. Besides, gives us a chance to get some fluids and food in him.”

“Okay, you wake him up then,” Tim said, tone edging into snippy. The baby bird really was stressed by this.

“Now hold on,” Jason started back.

Dick just rolled his eyes and squatted by the edge of the bed. Gently, he rested a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He rubbed a slow circle with his thumb. “Hey there. Can you wake up for a little bit? We want to get you more comfortable.”

The kid gave a sleepy snuffle and turned his head, nuzzling his cheek against Dick’s hand for a moment. Dick could feel when the kid actually woke up by how rigid he went.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, remember? You ran into Red Hood and Red Robin. They brought you to a safe house. I’m Nightwing, but they’re both still here.

“Hey Kid,” Jason said, his voice distinct behind the modulation.

Green eyes fluttered open and darted quickly around the room. The Kid was too young to have to catalog all the exits and makeshift weapons, but that’s exactly what he was doing. Dick slowly removed his hand and rested it, palm up, on his knee. The kid seemed to chase the touch for a moment before he went the other way and pushed himself to sit up back into the corner where the bed med the wall.

“Sorry,” he croaked out.

Dick nudged the sealed water bottle on the side table a little closer to him. The kid took a moment to look from it to Dick and the others in the room before he reached out very slowly to take it. Dick was sure the kid thought they were going to take it away by how quickly he snatched it back once his fingers were on it, but none of them commented on it. None of the commented on the way he checked the seal either before he broke it and chugged half the bottle.

“Maybe go slow with the rest of that bottle, but keep drinking it. We’d like you to eat too. If you’re not comfortable eating something we—”

Jay cleared his throat and Nightwing rolled his eyes behind his white out lenses. “That Red Hood cooks, we have MREs and bars that are sealed.”

“We can also cover your stitches so that you can take a shower,” Jason said, “but only after you eat. Don’t need you falling over in the shower.”

“And before you eat,” Tim chimed in, “we want to get that collar off.”

The water bottle crinkled loudly in the kid’s hands. He started, dropping it on the mattress then scrambled to pick it up.

“Shit, sorry, I’m…”

“It’s just water, Kid,” Jason said. “It will clean up fine.”

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” Dick asked, voice soft. He tapped out a rhythm on the bed frame with his blue stripped fingers.

The kid took a shuddering breath and then another. Jason left the room as the kid breathed, coming back with another bottle of water and an orange juice to set on the side table.

“There you go,” Dick soothed. “I’m going to talk about it, is that okay?”

The kid gave a jerky nod.

“Do you want the collar off?”

The kid nodded again. “Yes.”

“Is it going to harm you if we take it off? One of us Bats is a meta too. He said there could be a backlash of power.”

“I can control it,” he whispered. The words were barely audible over the nearly bottle that he was twisting in his hands. “But the collar… if you… it, um, shocks.”

“We know,” Tim said. “But I know how to take it off. We’ll put rubber between your skin and it too, so even if I tries you won’t feel it.”

The kid’s eyes seemed to flash brighter as he looked up at Tim. “You can? I tried to but I didn’t have… I couldn’t find the tools. All I could do is kill the tracker. It zapped me out for a day. I was so sure that… right, yeah, please, I want it off. You all… you’d do that?”

“Of course,” Dick said.

The green shifted to him. “But you don’t even know what I can do.”

“We know you’re a kid with a collar around your neck that hurts you. That’s enough for us,” Jason said.

The kid looked between all of them before he slumped forward. Dick gently plucked the water bottle from his limp fingers.

“Please,” the kid said. “Please.”

--- AN: Y'all, darlings, I am... so tired I didn't have it in me to read this over before posting so I'm sure there are double words and wrong words. Be kind to my soul. It was a very busy day with a lot of important things and fatigue is kicking my ass. But before anyone worse, I wanted to write this and I'm happier having gotten some writing done!

Still, I hope you like this part! We got Dick POV this time! Stay delightful, my darlings.

I no longer tag, you can subscribe to the post here.

[agirlwithglam]

S.M.A.R.T goals:

How to set and achieve your goals

What does SMART stand for?

S - specific. don't just set vague goals like "i wanna get fit" or "i wanna get abs". how are you gonna know when/ where to start? if you want to get fit: your goal could be "go to the gym for 30 mins everyday" or "i want to run 5k in under 30 mins". whatever works for you. some other examples: -> if your big goal is to get high marks on your next test: your "mini" goals/ steps should be to study everyday for at least 30-60mins. -> if your big goal is to get money/ become rich: your steps/ mini goals should be to save $___ daily first. and also figure out a way you can make a mini business/ get a job.

M - measurable. make sure that your goals are measurable- meaning that you should be able to track them. some examples: -> if your goal is to read more: then create or find a habit tracker or something so everyday when you read, you can mark it down for that day. ! recommended resource: James Clear's habit tracker journal- you can find it on amazon.

A - Achievable keep your goals realistic and attainable. if you know you dont have the time/ energy to read a whole book in 1 week, dont do it- otherwise you'll get easily discouraged. the goldilocks principle: don't make it too easy, where it doesn't give you a challenge, but don't make it too hard either, otherwise you'll get easily discouraged.

R - Relevant basically a WHY. why do you want/ need to accomplish this goal? have a motivation which drives you. make sure your goal is relevant to you in some sort of way. example: -> if you want to learn a language such as spanish, why do you wanna learn it? because you want to travel to Spain one day? to be able to communicate with someone? even if the purpose is as simple as "wanting to be bilingual cus it makes me feel cool and impressive" - if that motivates you, then go ahead!

T - time bound your goals need to have some sort of deadline or urgency attached to it- otherwise you could take all the time you want to start and procrastinate as much as you want. having a deadline for the goal will motivate you to take action sooner, than later.

how to use SMART goals effectively:

decide on the goal. (something that you actually need/ want to accomplish.)

break it down into smaller steps. (very small. so small that you can start working on whatever it is NOW.) you want to get high marks on your test? lets break it down. study 30 mins everyday -> walk to desk -> get material out -> identify what you need to study -> find your weaker topics & write it out -> create a planner or smth -> start studying. // need help? find videos online, go thru material again, find study tips, etc.

write them down. (helps you stay accountable. also people who write their goals down are 42% more likely to achieve them than people who don't write it down.)

create an action plan. (relates to the 2nd point. outline the necessary steps to take, identify resources, set milestones, plan for potential obstacles.)

monitor and evaluate progress. (regularly review your goals, mistakes, and progress. what could you do better to be more efficient and quicker? how can you learn from your mistakes?)

stay committed and flexible. (you really need to be committed to achieve the goals, you shouldn't just start off super excited, doing great in the first week then slacking off. you've made a commitment to YOURSELF. respect yourself enough to stick to it! but also be flexible with your goals. if you're reeeallyy not able to do it one day, plan to do a bit more the next day. stay focussed and don't get discouraged by setbacks.)

celebrate achievements. (recognise when you've hit a major milestone, and celebrate it! this helps you maintain motivation and a sense of accomplishment. and reward yourself!!)

random additional tips:

visualisation. (such a strong form of manifestation. everyday visualise yourself with your goals, feeling all the emotions and thoughts that come with it! visualisation can also really boost your motivation and drive to achieve it.)

PRIORITIES. (remember that also, all goals aren't equally important. prioritise the ones that really matter. this doesn't mean that you can't focus on the other goals, just make sure the ones that need more attention, get more attention.)

positive language. (use kind and encouraging words towards yourself. know and understand that you are that girl who can achieve ANYTHING she sets her mind to.)

seek support. (ask friends and family or a mentor for help. if you want, be careful tho, share your goals with them to help you stay accountable. and if you know a person who's achieved your goals, GET ADVICE FROM THEM! where better to get advice from than someone who's been through what you're going through?)

stay organised. (self explanatory. just stay organised. messy space = messy mind. clean space = clean mind.)

maintain balance. (of course your goals are important, but so is the age you're currently at. especially if you're a teenage, DONT WASTE THESE YEARS!! get out of the house! make friends! go to parties! LIVE LIFE TO ITS FULLEST. also make sure that you get the adequate rest needed!)

write about your journey. (write about the struggles, the obstacles, how you overcame them, insights you got on this journey, etc. trust me, it'll be so interesting and helpful to read when you're older.)

[dreamgrlarchive]

Dear dream girl, I really want to be my dream girl but I don’t know where to start. I feel unmotivated most of the time and I only get a burst of motivation at like 3 am. I just what to glow and radiate good energy for myself and find/do what I like

Oh, So You Wanna Be a Dream Girl? 🎀

starting your dream girl journey

Congrats on choosing yourself and your tiara; I am so proud. Prepare to not be liked, to be judged, and to stand out. It’s lonely at the top.

*this guide is for starting the process, not reaching the end result because my version of my own dream girl is inevitably different than yours. bare in mind i’m not holding your hand. i’m nudging you in a good direction.

what is a dream girl?

a dream girl is a girl that has finally fallen in love with who she sees in the mirror. she’s the girl that she can depend on. she has her desired look and she’s on the path to self actualization actively. she’s aware of her branding. she holds herself to the standards she holds other to; and they are HIGH. her self worth isn’t contingent upon a love interest, amount of money, or social status. she’s simply that girl.

do some healing.

yes, i said it. healing. like i’ve said before, you cannot put glitter on literal garbage. that’s not even the slightest bit appealing. you’re gonna journal about your childhood, your biggest influences in life, your biggest fears and how you feel life has treated you. this calls for shadow work. shadow working really helped me figure out some of my toxic traits and how some of the things that were considered normal to me as a child have affected me in the long run. you’re also gonna write hypothetical letters to your loved (and not-so-loved) ones, including yourself. let it all out. say everything you want that person to know. around you or not, dead or alive. prepare to clam up, cry, get angry, feel anxious. good. you should. you feel clammy, hot and sometimes pain when your body is fighting off and healing from a physical sickness. now you’re dealing with the developmental, mental, and emotional parts. you’re doing yourself a disservice choosing to stay the same toxic, nasty, mean, or victimized person you’ve always been.

what do you want?

before you can start to even do the smallest improvements, you have to have a clear goal. or else you’ll just be running around in circles (heh) over grandiose blurry wishful thinking. ultimately resulting in you giving up and choosing to be basic bc it’s easier. what do you want out of life? how do you want to be treated? what do you want to do? what makes you happy? and most importantly, how do you want to feel? see, it’s more than just the frills and glitter. you have to know what you’re trying to get to, internally and externally.

grab a diary, adorn it with pretty little details and commit to it. pair it with your fav writing utensil. outline all of your goals. every single last one of them. you can categorize them, scale them from short to long term, easy to hard. it doesn’t matter. do absolutely what you want to do to make a concrete record of your goals that’s digestible for you.

what are you going to do?

*fabulosity by kimora lee simmons*

compare your dream reality to the one you’re currently experiencing. what is she doing that you aren’t? that’s it. do that. anyone can read blogs about the process and other people success stories but those posts aren’t gonna change your life unless you get up and go for what you want. i don’t know what exactly you desire out of life. you do. so you have the instructions for this journey. the first part was easy, this is simple but not nearly as effortless. it’s up to you and not anyone else. you teach others how to treat you. improvements you can make include better: hygiene, self talk/treatment, outward energy, work ethic, discipline, health, consumed content, relationships, looks, habits.

the work

it’s time to apply yourself. get up everyday and actively work towards your goal. be kind to yourself. take yourself to the doctors. get active. eat right. find your passion. DO THE HEALING.

everyone’s journey is SO different so i’m just going to do a quick rundown of the importance of each of the ten facets of your dream girl journey (that build upon each other. ie; looks do not benefit you when your hygiene is insufficient):

*these facets are loosely based on maslow’s hierarchy of needs

health - are you taking care of yourself? please treat yourself how you would your loved ones. you’ll be surprised how physical issues manifest mentally, and vice versa. get adequate sleep. take baby steps if need be. some of these adjustments may be huge to you. be gracious with your journey.

consumed content - everything you engage in is your diet. the company you keep, food you eat, music you enjoy. you get the idea. do you feel light and ready to take on the day? or do you feel drained and sick more often than not. make some adjustments wherever you see necessary.

hygiene - extremely important. stick to a routine for your hygienic needs. you should have rituals you engage in everyday. don’t forget that your health and hygiene go hand in hand. oral and feminine hygiene is so crazily important. please don’t neglect yourself. i talk about my routines in detail here.

habits - daily habits are so crucial to your lifestyle. adjust these and consciously break your bad habits by supplementing your life with equal and opposite habits.

self talk/treatment - simple. be kind to yourself. hold yourself accountable for flaws and mistakes while loving yourself enough to be patient with the journey of improving.

outward energy - be very aware of the vibes you’re permeating. again this is so a huge determination of how you will be treated and how you will live your life.

work ethic/discipline - it’s gonna take serious accountability to escape the desire to stay comfortable. you have to tell yourself that you deserve *your desired end result* so you will *make specific change/adjustment.* it’s that simple (again simple doesn’t mean easy).

relationships - if you don’t like the way you’re treated by those in your life, those relationships need to be reevaluated. you can make some trims on your circle, have some honest conversations, or adjust your behaviors (because sometimes, YOU are the problem).

passion and career - in order to feel fulfilled in life, we all need a purpose. discover yours. incorporate your passion into your daily life.

looks - develop your signature and hone in on it. looks are very important to your perception (self and public). check out this guide to help with this part. however you wanna feel is how you should display yourself.

be a dream girl!

you’ve discovered all the facets of creating your dream self and reality. now it’s time to apply what you’ve learned. start showing up in life in the fashion you want to be seen in.

that’s it! the rest is up to you!

- xoxo, dreamgrlarchive 🎀

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Punch At First Sight

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> You and Lockwood have met a few times before, however after a punch to the face for the third time, Lockwood, which a push from Lucy, decides to make things different.

Disclaimer: Multiple uses of the f-word. Mentions of accidental violence, ghosts, Kipps being a dick, a slap across the face. Fluff, angst, hints of jealousy, and Lucy giving Lockwood a needed talking to. Not Proof Read.

It was meant to be an easy case. 

A couple of type ones haunting an abandoned building just outside of London. The local ghost hunters had all created that big of a myth they had scared themselves away. And the cost of a Fittes agent was too high of a price for the type of ghosts they had. So, Lockwood and Co were the business chosen. 

Only, it would have been nice to know if one of the previous agents had reached out to an old friend to take care of the job as well. 

But, no. 

Instead, whilst listening out for the ghosts, Lockwood stepped around a corner and when getting ready to attack what he thought was a ghost, he was met with a punch to the face and then a voice calling out; “Oh my god, you’re human.”

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

Then, through watered eyes, he saw the outline of the person who had punched him and it seemed she had clear enough vision in the dark to recognise him. 

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

“Holy crap. I am so sorry. Are you okay? Wait. Why are you even here?”

“The same as you, I’m guessing. Unless you tend to sneak into abandoned buildings at two in the morning.”

“Sophie didn’t even tell me they hired someone else. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lockwood managed to stand up straight this time just as Lucy and George came running round the corner. 

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

George looked from Lockwood to you. “Y/n?”

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“She was hired.” Lockwood explained just before Lucy spotted him. 

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Lockwood said, with a slight smile as he looked at you. 

Then came a scream. 

“Considering we’re all here and considering no-one else was hired to do this job-” George began. 

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished. 

“And since we’re here with minimal weapons.”

One of the ghosts, a woman, came floating through a wall and turned to look at them. 

“Run?” you offered. 

“Run.” Lucy replied. 

Making a break for it, you all tried to outrun the ghost before another one of her friends joined her, pushing all four of you down a different corridor. 

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

By the time the sun was beginning to rise over the city, you all made it back to Portland Row where a fresh bruise had made its way to decorate Lockwood’s face. 

“You have a hell of a punch.” Lockwood said before prodding his own bruise in his reflection of the pan on the stove. 

You chuckled, pulling a bag of peas from the freezer before closing it and walking over. “Quit moaning. It could have been worse. Here.”

Standing, Lockwood seemed to have grown even taller than you. Taller than when you’d both last met. 

Looking at you, you watched as his eyes closed at the cold contact of the bag as you pressed it to his face. 

“Hold it there for a while. It should help with the swelling.”

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.”

You narrowed your gaze a little and clicked your tongue. “You’ve already used that line.”

“Have I?” Lockwood seemed to think for a moment before, “Oh, yeah. Suppose I have. But it is true.”

“Hey, the first time was an accident. I thought you were trying to-”

“The first time is an accident, three times is a pattern.”

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.” you said before, “Maybe? Can never be too careful when hunting alone.”

Lockwood’s demeanour changed for a moment. “Alone? You’re hunting alone again?”

“Relax. I’m safe enough.” 

You moved backwards and began to tidy the kitchen a little to give yourself something to do whilst Lockwood leaned back against the kitchen counter, lowering the frozen bag from his face so he could watch you more closely. 

“Are you?”

“Yes, Lockwood. I’m fine. Honestly, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

You held his gaze for a moment, a million thoughts running through your head until it landed on He’s just a friend…

From there, you shifted yourself from the kitchen table and placed the empty glasses in your hand in the sink beside him. 

“Move here.”

“What?”

Lockwood stood tall once more and turned to face you properly. “Move in here. Lucy got a deal when she bought her bed, so she’s got a second one spare. We can set it up on the other side of the loft. I don’t like the thought of you hunting alone.”

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

“What happens if something happens to you? Look, I can put you on the payroll so it won’t be a favour. You’ll be working with us. And you’ll have a team behind you. You’ll also be safe. Please.”

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

Looking up at him, you saw the desperation in his eyes. 

It wasn’t often he opened himself up or let himself show any kind of vulnerability but when he did…

“Okay. Fine. But you can’t hover over me.”

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.” 

“Why did George kick you out of the Archive room in the last case we were in together?”

Lockwood thought back and when he didn’t answer, you answered for him. 

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

“But before anything is written, the others have to agree. Lucy, too.”

“She will. I know so. It’ll be nice for her to not be outnumbered.”

You moved in three days later.

Lucy had prepared the spare bed for you and even decorated the walls behind your bed with a couple of pictures she found in some old boxes that had yourself, George and Lockwood in them. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want to do, but I thought I would do something to help at least.”

“I love it.” you smiled, dropping one of the boxes onto your bed. “Thank you.”

Over the following week, yourself and Lucy got to know one another, sharing stories late into the night when researching cases and in desperate need of a break. 

Lucy came to learn what Lockwood meant by the punch when you all met not being the first time. You came to find out what brought Lucy to London. And you both came to discover that, with the right planning, you could both scare Lockwood and George. 

Only, one night, George and Lucy decided to tag team which also gave them a chance to talk about you and Lockwood. 

“Do they know? They have to know.”

“Don’t bother.” George sighed. “Three years and nothing has changed.”

“They’ve been like that for three years?”

George just nodded. 

“Seriously?”

“You know I walked into the kitchen yesterday and they were slow dancing in the kitchen and…it was like nothing happened.”

“Yeah…” 

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked. 

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

“Maybe,” Lucy nodded. “But that was then. Now you’ve got me. Tag-team. What do you say?”

“Well, considering it would take an earthquake to wake them both up from whatever coma they’ve convinced themselves that they’re in…sure. Why not? But how.”

“I haven’t got that far into the plan yet.”

But it didn’t take too long. 

After six months of living with each other, the plan practically made itself. The chemistry between yourself and Lockwood was palpable and even more so when you were outside together. 

Like when you and Lockwood were in the library with George and Lucy where Lockwood was standing behind you, reading the section of paper you were pointing to, his arms caging you in from where you sat, when a group of Fittes Agents waltzed over. 

“You might want to give your girlfriend a little breathing room, Tony. After all, PDA can be off putting especially in such a public place.”

Standing, and not denying it, Lockwood practically burned Kipps a hole in the ground for him to fall through. 

“Relax, Tony. Just having a little fun. So, are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Kipps couldn’t help but widen his smile. “You’re not. Well then, Tony.”

However, you were up like a shot standing beside Lockwood. “But I would be very careful in your next choice of words. He might not be my boyfriend but he is my friend.”

Closer up, Kipps seemed to recognise you. Or at least, that’s what his face told you. 

“You know, for all the people in the world, I wouldn't have considered one of the best rogue agents being best buddies with our very own Anthony Lockwood.”

“And why not?”

“Although, rogue is very fitting for Tony. After all, it was breaking the rules that got him into trouble in the first place. Sweetheart, if I were you, I’d walk away whilst you still can.”

The only thing anyone could remember was hearing the contact of your palm across Kipps’ cheek and the red mark left in its place. 

“Fuck you.”

It took a moment to get over the shock before Kipps and his team walked away and you relaxed a little before grabbing your jacket and telling the others you’d be back. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, Lockwood. I’ll be back in five.”

It was in those five minutes that one of Kipps’ team found you by the vending machine. 

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

“Why? You didn’t say it. And I’m guessing you’re assigned to be with him.”

“Still, I could have said something to stop him and I didn’t.”

“Something tells me even if you did, he still would have said it anyway.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

Meanwhile, across the room and up a level, Lucy spotted you talking to Victor. Even laughing every once in a while. And when Lockwood joined her, she saw the pain in his eyes before a brick wall came up. 

“We should be getting ready. George found something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

For the rest of the day, Lockwood seemed closed up. Especially towards you. 

“What is your problem?” you eventually asked him. 

“Nothing.”

“Lockwood, I heard you snap at Lucy earlier.”

“She made a mistake.”

“Exactly,” you cut him off. “A mistake. And she’s never made one before.”

“One that could have put one of us in serious danger-”

“We were outside the perimeter.” You could have laughed, until Lockwood asked you a question you weren't expecting. 

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

“Kipps? You did see me slap him, didn’t you-”

“Not Kipps. Vinny. Or Vincent or…whatever his name is.”

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded. 

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know if you’re fraternising with the enemy.”

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did. 

“You know what, fuck you, Lockwood. What I do with my time outside of work is no concern to you. You know what, do this yourself. I’ll go and help George.”

A few minutes later, Lucy walked inside the room to a very grumpy Lockwood. 

“What the hell did you do? Fraternising? This isn’t Bridgerton, Lockwood.”

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

Sighing, Lucy did as she was told, but not before telling Lockwood a couple things he desperately needed to hear. 

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

Picking up some of the iron chains and laying them down, Lucy explained. “It might not be Victor, but one day it will be someone. And it probably won’t be long before they come along and whisk her away from your grumpy arse because you’re too stubborn to tell her the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That you like her. Love her, even. If my gut feeling is right. And it usually is.”

“Lucy-”

“Look, you can go on being an arsehole because you’re scared. Or you can talk to her. All I’m saying is do something about it before somebody else does. Both me and George have seen the way you look at her. It’s more than you want to admit, Lockwood. But one day you’re going to have to, or else you are going to lose her and all you’ll have is a bruised eye and a broken nose once every couple of years, if that.”

Lucy didn’t say anything else after that but Lockwood did apologise for snapping at her earlier which she forgave him for after calling him a frustrating bastard. From then, she watched as you all completed the job together and that look that she often saw in Lockwood’s eyes, returned when he looked at you. 

Yet, by the time you had all gotten home, he still hadn't apologised to you. So, with a hard nudge from Lucy, Lockwood finally made his way to find you. 

“Do something before somebody else does, and that includes apologising. And she’s in the Library. Goodnight.”

Lockwood stood outside of the Library door for a while, trying his best to find the right words so he wouldn’t end up with a broken nose, despite how much he probably deserved one. 

You had lit the fire to try and cancel out the cold that had seeped in through a forgotten open window, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was midnight, not 6 in the morning. 

“Hey.”

Looking behind you, you tried your best not to roll your eyes at Lockwood as he walked inside. 

“I’m just looking over some old cases. Just so you know that I’m not fraternising with the enemy by reading a book.”

“I shouldn’t have said it like that.” Lockwood began. “I shouldn’t have said it at all. I just…I guess I panicked.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

“Really, really sorry. For the fraternising comment and the bullshit excuse.”

You took a minute and it was the longest minute of his life. 

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know, that’s why I forgave you. But a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt.”

Lockwood smiled. “Okay. One tea coming up.”

Only, as he walked away, you answered his question. 

“And I’m not…fraternising with the enemy. Victor and I were just talking. I think you’d like him. I think he might hate Kipps just as much as you do. And, no.” you shook your head. “I don’t like him. Just so you know…”

Lockwood nodded and for a moment, turned to walk away until Lucy’s words echoed again in his head. 

“Do something about it, before somebody else does.”

So he did. 

Sighing under his breath, he took the jump, turned around and reached for you. 

Taking your head in his hands, he cupped your jaw before bringing your lips to his. At first, it shocked you and for a split second, he thought he was about to get his nose broken for good this time. 

Until you kissed back. 

You felt yourself stumble a little but Lockwood caught you, holding you close to him before his forehead came to touch yours, your eyes still closed. 

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

You shook your head, “Don’t apologise.”

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

“So you’re not going to break my nose.”

��Not this time,” you laughed a little. 

“Okay…then I’m gonna jump. I like you. Well, I more than like you. Like way, way more. And I…I want to do something about it before someone else does.”

“Like Victor?”

“Yeah,” Lockwood laughed a little. “Like Victor.”

“Then…good. I’m glad you finally jumped.”

“You are.”

You nodded. “I mean, you have terrible timing but yeah, I’m glad you jumped.”

“Good.”

“Good. Now, are you gonna kiss me again or am I gonna have to-”

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice. 

[catmomjudy]

There were lots of posts over Father’s Day about Buck and Bobby’s father/son relationship (with the 911onabc Instagram actually presenting them as father and son alongside the more traditional father/child relationships on the show).

Bobby has been pretty much acknowledged as Buck’s “Dad Who Stepped Up” in canon:

(GIFs: @neverevan, @kenneth-black) I collected this info for a reblog I did the other day, but I figured it was deserving of its own (expanded) post.

Up until 6x11, Buck and Bobby’s relationship was fairly accepted but never stated outright. Fans accepted it as part of the “family you choose” vibe of 9-1-1 (as stated outright by Eddie in 3x11). But many signs were pointed out (similar to the way fans point out hints in the relationship between Buck and Eddie):

The way Bobby gives Buck chance after chance, right from the start (1x01), going back and forth between compassion and “tough love”

The way Buck gets under Bobby’s skin—“I made you mad” as Coma-Buck says in 06x11—when he’s doing his best to keep everyone away (S1)

Bobby helping Buck learn to tie a tie (1x06)

The way Bobby jumps on a suicide bomber to save Buck (2x18)

Bobby’s extreme and emotional reactions during the lawsuit arc (S3a).

Et cetera, et cetera.

But what about Athena?

I often see “Athena being Buck’s mom” on lists of things that make people DNR a fic. And I get it: Some fics push it to the point of overt mush, and also tend to be the same fics that woobify Buck (who, as I’ve posted before, is a real, live Adult). And “mush” and Athena Grant don’t really jive.

But I think something “Athena is not Buck’s mom” complainants also forget is that Athena is BOBBY’S WIFE. And she seems to be fully cognizant of how Bobby feels about Buck. So, she quite often makes efforts to support and nurture that relationship.

And Athena rocks the step-mom vibe with Buck pretty well. It’s just more subtle (kind of like it was with Bobby until 6x11, as outlined above):

(Gif: @neverevan, @mattoidmeerkat)

7x03: Why Buck? Why does she specify “Buck” in this instant, if it’s not to imply “If your boy could see you now!”

3x14: This is one instance (I think the dumpster diving with Taylor in 4x11 is the other, and there may be more that I’m not remembering), but, just like with Bobby and Michael, Athena has that “Mom Radar” going and has a habit of catching Buck up to no good. And that look isn’t “Cop Face.” It’s classic “Mom Glare” with a side of “I’m Very Disappointed In You Young Man.”

(Gif: @mattoidmeerkat; Photo: Official still)

6x11: Athena is the only one other than Chris who gets to give a true speech to Coma Buck. The step-mom and the step-son.

2x10: Buck at family Christmas dinner at Athena’s house. And remember that Hen was/is Athena’s best female friend, so Hen and Karen being there isn’t necessarily related to the firehouse. So, Buck has been invited to his captain’s fiancée’s house for Christmas dinner with his captain’s fiancée’s family.

And there’s more!

In 3x04 (the Dinner from Hell), Athena is the one to invite Buck:

Bobby: I still can't believe that you invited him without talking to me first.

Athena: I just wanted him to know that no matter what, he's still family. Thought dinner would give you two time to work things out.

And in 3x10, Athena is the one who Buck calls about the Christmas party. He obviously felt comfortable enough with her at this point to do that:

Bobby: Athena, what are you doing here?

Athena: We came to save you. Someone said you were ordering takeout for Christmas dinner.

Buck: I did vote for turkey. ( Laughs )

(Dialogue from: https://tvshowtranscripts.ourboard.org/)

(Gif: @fireladybuckley)

It should also be obvious from the above gif that that extremely cute photo/gif of Buck from 3x10 that people like to post (and gush over) is Buck’s expression when he’s greeting ATHENA.

Also note that 3x10 is also the ep where Buck first outright stated his feelings for Bobby, so showing his comfort with Athena (and his bashfulness and happiness at being thanked and complimented by her) right next to this is quite telling.

(Gif: @mattoidmeerkat)

🤷🏻‍♀️

(Gif: @fireladybuckley)

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏᴜʀ [1, 2, 3, 5] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 10k

“I have not been meeting with Steve.” you scowled behind gritted teeth. Balled fists return to your side. Pin-point daggers shoot back, unphased.

It’s an absurd notion on its own, that you betray him in the slightest. You also know you’ve had sneezes last longer than that conversation–how the hell did Tony know about it?

“Try again.” He doesn’t return your heat in his voice, leaving that to be felt through his grasp. 

“Fine, I ran into Steve, but come on, you seriously think I would–”

“Not sure what to think given how easy it just was for you to lie to me.” 

“You’ve been lying to me from the start!” 

You pulled yourself from his grasp, tossing the bag onto the island. Cream marble and translucency make for wonderful camouflage, almost losing itself in the light entirely.

“I’d hardly call my personal habits comparable to sneaking around.” 

Adrenaline does what it knows best, keeping you pliant and pissed. Two things that erode rationalism like rust. The iron spreads to whatever argument you would’ve made had there been more time to prepare. Or sense to see the mosaic pattern here. Time stills for no more than a few seconds–and that’s all Tony needs.

“So, go ahead, please. Tell me more about what I should think .”

He says it so permissively, you might have obliged if his jaw loosened even a bit to do so. That tiny breadth of space is stalked through by shiny leather oxfords. You’re given a not so pleasant reminder of his stature when he's in front of you again, more overwhelming than before. The cool stone island digs into your back. 

“Here I was actually worried something could have happened to you–turn’s out you’re searching for, what , exactly?” 

The reversal almost worked, really. The reminiscent guilt came back as it always does. You felt the same way for wanting to leave back in California months ago. Even all that time ago in that dimly lit boutique. Tony showed you time and time again how much he loved you– wanted you, and here you were, finding another reason to push him away.

You were so close to giving in. The marble’s nearly swallowed the powdery bag whole by now, for it takes you longer to see the plastic outline bouncing back at you. 

Tony waits, hands tucked into the pocket of his suit pants (in a very deliberate attempt to hide his own unease). His eyes still bore back into you like a hawk, and you wanted to surrender to them until their pin-point, reddened nature dawned on you. Then, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the tempo beating fast your own. The shake in his hands when he held you in place.

To Tony, you meet his eyes with something far more heart-piercing than anger, and he gets a sick feeling of deja vu. You wouldn’t know–his face stone cold from years of practice. But this close, you can see something worse. 

“You’re wasted right now .” 

You don’t bother making it a question (it’s a quiet scoff). Nor do you bother to wait for the response he’s struggling to muster. Decades of life yet he lacked a great deal of experience in getting called on his shit.  All the air seems to leave the room, saving just the few breaths you have remaining in your lungs. 

“We’re done.” 

You use them wisely, calmly , even, to head for the elevator and as far away from this as possible. Despite the fact your ears are ringing. Don’t ask where you find the willpower. You push past him, rather easily because Tony moves for the sanctity of his shoulder and knee. 

Your fingers go to grace the brass buttons, but Tony crosses the threshold with far fewer steps and positions himself between you and the opening door. 

“ Move , Tony.” you say sternly, though it feels ridiculous raising your voice at someone whose gaze you have to look up to meet. 

“Don’t want to keep Mr. America waiting, of course.”

“Seriously?” you scoff, eyes rolling. “You’re still on that?”

“I don’t know, you still wanna lie to me?” 

“How many times do I need to tell you–”

“I know you were with him, so you can cut the bullshit.”

“I told you, I ran into Steve. That’s . It. ” you respond, making another move for the button just for Tony to shift an inch to the left. 

“You two looked very cozy outside that bar. Let me guess, he ordered a Manhattan and you just couldn’t say no.” 

“For god’s sake, no . He came out while I was waiting and asked me not to tell you–end of story.” You’d hoped that added details would be enough to assuage him–at least to move out of your way.

“So, you decided all on your own to rummage through the bathroom?” 

As many of his questions tend to be, he already knows the answer. Even still, the look you give is telling on its own. 

“I mean, really–” he chuckles dryly, “Please tell me what is so special about him that you keep trusting him over me.” 

“He, for one, isn’t controlling or watching my every move–out of the way, Tony.” you repeat, exhausted. 

Tony’s eyes dart down to the elevator panel he’d done such a phenomenal job of blocking, before glancing back at your pleading face. That seems to do the trick, because he presses the call button himself and gestures open arms into the small space. 

“By all means, knock yourself out.”

Shocked, but without another word, you enter. As you turn and press L for the lobby, you expect Tony’s irate face staring back at you.

Instead, you catch the patterned fabric lining the back of his suit vest as he walks away.

Once the elevator doors shut, Tony loses his last semblance of composure. 

A sheer crystal serving tray by the stove behind him, topped with an array of ornate glasses, is thrown straight across the kitchen where it crashes to a million pieces at the plush living room rug. 

He truly does not enjoy your penchant for storming off today or any other day.

Today is the worst, though, for two reasons. One, he’s not certain that letting you leave was the best move in the long-term. Two, you promised never to do this in the first place–you fucking promised. 

Another innocent bystander (this time a glass pitcher) joins the pile in the living room. 

Stuttery hands brace the counter. It’s of little effort for him to keep a hardened facade in the face of anger, but now that you’re not here to see it, the stone mask cracks. Shame, guilt, anger and that sneaky trickster known as self-righteousness blend up into something new entirely. There’s no pride in this for him, truly. 

The billionaire was so certain when he saw the photos. You and fucking Rogers of all people, talking so close. Paranoia and a lack of reasonable perspective means his first thoughts are not pleasant in any shape or form. He wasn’t controlling , everything he did was preventative. This was self-confirmation (and a shit ton of jealousy). You’d simply done the thing he was most afraid of. 

Or it was the thing he was most afraid of. 

The counter stays tight under his grasp until his hands sport two fresh indentations, cursing himself and trying not to think about how breakable the chandelier is. 

Just as he was sure of the photos, he was sure of you . You wouldn’t leave him, you were here to stay, you wanted him–right? 

Only now under the cool touch of marble does he realize those ideas could never possibly co-exist. 

No one as good to him as you would betray him, you wouldn’t. But you could reach the breaking point he sought so heavily to avoid in the beginning.

All alone in his tower built atop money and bad habits, the chandelier is spared as the great Tony Stark starts to break instead.

That is until he remembers he isn’t alone.

“Jarvis.” he calls out, and the older man emerges from the hallway no louder than a mouse.

Don’t feel embarrassed, the walls and loyal ears have certainly heard worse. Discretion is 90% of his job after all. In fact, right now he’s pretending not to notice the tears running down Tony’s face.

“Find out where she went.”

Tony keeps his head trained to the countertop anyway, just in case. Jarvis turns to follow through his instructions, but stops as soon as he starts. Decades of serving the Stark family is enough to know he’s probably better off holding his tongue. He speaks for your sake.

“Sir, I suspect she went home.” 

At this, the wetness is dried by his shirt sleeve, already grabbing his coat to follow you. 

“Sir,” Jarvis quickly interjects, Tony’s fingers on the call button. “Might I suggest…waiting until the morning?” 

He doesn’t need to say why. Tony can guess well enough.

You actually had no destination in mind. The thought of home felt disgustingly empty, and the reminder that you only still had it because of Tony would definitely stay persistent. You couldn’t bear to think about what you might've done to pay for it otherwise. Going to a friend’s would require an explanation you absolutely could not give. For a while, you wander just as before. You must look insane to the people passing by–makeup definitely stained and running.

A rudimentary pros and cons list is drafted, revised, deleted, and drafted once more. Sure, you didn’t have a slew of loves to compare it to, but you knew the one you had for Tony was irreplaceable. No one ever made you feel this wanted , this loved , this special .  No ex of yours left a dozen roses by your door–or waited in the car for hours while you slept. They didn’t fill their lacquer kitchen cabinets with herbal teas just because you mentioned liking them once . Hibiscus and rooibos flooded Tony’s kitchen so long as it kept you happy . Every other relationship was a caustic whirlpool. Tony was a dizzying fantasia. You gleefully closed your eyes so many times that the thought of opening them made you nauseous. 

You swallow stale bile and keep walking. 

The dusky hue in the sky grows to a fine oceanic blue above you until you gain enough sense to go home. Out of spite (and totally not because you have no other way), you take the subway home, cheeks raw from the night’s sharp wind on your tears. 

Your heels clank awkwardly on the metal descent, echoing on the platform. It’s empty, sharply different from the vamping nightlife outside. It’s not long before your train hustles down the track, stepping on to an disturbingly, equally empty train car. 

You slump into the first empty seat you see. In a calmer mood, you might’ve bothered with your phone, instead staring into your reflection on the glass pane. The gentle rocking starts soon after, and you work on putting your mind somewhere besides bergamot and red. 

Tony does not like waiting.

He would be working, if he could find even a shadow of concentration. All he can think about is you– the grit in your voice. 

At some point in his marathon around the penthouse, the small pile of glass is quietly cleaned away. Out of sheer boredom (and latent regrets), he considers creating a new one.

Why would you leave him– how could you leave him? 

In the idle night hours, pacing from room to room, Tony almost wishes you had cheated on him. Then, he could be right. He could skip past silly little thought pieces over his vices addiction and fly straight to indignity. It wouldn’t be his fault, would it? He wouldn’t have to explain a damn thing to a world that didn’t care for him.

Everyone betrayed him in the end, even you. 

With enough clarity, he might be able to see the shame hiding under all that self-righteousness, but alas. Years of practice and all. 

The best he can do for now is scalding admonishment. 

And a pinch of paranoia that his own actions caused Steve to seek you out–again. Tony knew the soldier was stupid, but that would be moronic . He made himself perfectly clear this morning, no shot Steve chose this as the method for exacting his revenge. It wasn’t a well-guarded secret amongst Tony’s circle that you were to be left ignorant, you weren’t like them . Really, he’d purposefully (and harshly) informed this as much. If Steve wanted to embarrass him then he failed succeeded miserably. The fact he would even attempt such a thing is the greater offense. 

Tony’s self-indulgent, not an idiot. Even under watered layers of complexes, he knows the greatest offense lies ten feet away on his kitchen counter. In fact, it’s what keeps him awake through the night. Awake and thinking–thinking about how fucking flawlessly he was keeping everything under wraps. This infallible image he crafted for you was gone. No longer could he hide behind a glass barrier of false separation. Foolish Tony–believing a second chance would come so freely. 

He made the same mistake twice. The odds he’d get a third chance were slim to none. At the time, he felt lucky to even have Pepper. Clearly he’s doing something worth rewarding on this Earth, because then he found you. Or, alternatively, God realized what a disservice he’d done by walking missile Tony’s way in the first place. 

You were invaluable. Nothing like his playboy flings or one-night stands. From the moment he laid eyes on you he knew his life would never be the same without you.

You promised , and he intends to make good on it even if you won’t. 

Tony can’t recall the last time he waited for a damn thing in his adult life (much less to sober up), and he doesn’t care much for starting something new today. Then, he remembers just how much patience he has for you. He waits for you patiently as you oggle every mural, piece of street art, or weird boutique. He waits as quietly as can be while you sleep, and he waited months for you to feel comfortable enough to spend consecutive nights at his home. 

There’s a pit growing in his chest–one screaming that his hard work might be swirling down the drain. How stupid he was for letting you storm off. With each passing second, you were sinking further from his grasp.

To hell with waiting. 

After all, he’s Tony Stark –he’d deny himself of nothing he desired. He didn’t work this hard to settle for less than that. 

In his defense, he does attempt to do the courteous thing of calling before showing up randomly in the middle of the night. Your phone, hopelessly abandoned deep in your purse, rings to no answer. It totally doesn’t make him more irate. 

One extremely lonely, and infuriating train ride later, you make it home. You jump when a knock vibrates through your apartment–though you know there’s only one person who’d show up in the middle of the night. Still, you tiptoe across the living to peer through the peephole anyway. While you were not super enthusiastic about seeing him outside your door this soon, the defeated slump in his shoulders gives you some satisfaction. 

A very brief, stereotypical through-the-door conversation ensues. You shout for him to leave, to which Tony provides the usual platitudes to just open the door and you respond further with a stout fuck no .  You roll your eyes at his continued pleas, and turn for your bedroom. He could sit out there and talk to the door all night like a madman if it suited him, but you weren’t going to spend a precious second on this earth listening to it. 

You don’t even make it past your couch before you hear what you swear to god cannot be your lock turning. God, Buddha, and everything else divine must have been busy, because Tony stands in the entryway, illuminated by the kitchen stove light. 

“Have you lost your mind ? Where the hell did you get a key?” 

He shrugs and looks around like it’s obvious. 

“The lease holder is usually given a key, especially if they’re paying.” 

The aghast scoff can’t wait to leap from your throat. 

“You know what, fuck you .” you spat, flying past him to the door. “No good deed , huh?” 

Somewhere between you storming out earlier in the night and his decision to come here (or maybe walking up the creaking stairs) he seems to have gotten the impression you were in a joking mood. There’s nothing but sweetness in his voice now, yet you still can’t trust that you know where his head’s at. Your night had been tumultuous enough without him showing up. 

Your fingers just barely wrap around a cool metal knob, the hall light leaving a thin warm line on your face. Tony braces a heavy palm above your head the second it does, closing it shut with a frame wobbling thud . 

“A bit rude to run out on me twice, don’t ya think?” he smirks, looking down at you. 

“A bit rude to force your dirty money on someone then hold it over their head, don’t you think?” you mock, stupidly trying to pull the handle open a second time, unbudging against Tony’s palm, biceps testing the elasticity of his silk shirt. You were getting tired of constantly feeling trapped. 

You wish you’d stay far away, in the safety of the living room where citrus didn’t take you over. Where that hopeless little part of your brain could stay quiet and not scream to wrap your arms around his torso. Also because the door doesn’t move a fucking centimeter, so it was a waste of energy regardless. 

“If you wanted someone who’d let you work yourself to death or end up on the street, you should’ve called that guy from your high school reunion back. You know–the real handsy one with the mohawk.”

“I’ll get right on that if you move out of the fucking way.” 

“Please, like I’d ever allow that.” Tony laughs, and you’re wondering why you appear as some sort of one-woman comedy act by every man in this city.

“What the hell do you want? I told you–I’m done with this.” 

He ends his chuckle with a tsk , leaving you in the living room to sit at your kitchen table. The feet of the metal chair make a discordant screech across the linoleum and he turns the seat towards you before sitting. 

“You don’t mean that, honey.” Tony smiles, tapping his shoes against the floor.

“I meant it.”

He gestures back towards the entryway.

“Nothing but space and opportunity to run away again, what’s stopping you?”

“You just said you wouldn’t let me.” You’re giving it your all not to shout, to scream at him for how insane this is. If you were still at the tower, you might not have bothered–far away from neighbors with loose lips and thin walls. 

“I’d never allow you to waste your time with someone else. Storm off as much as you like–that won’t keep you from me.” 

It’s all cool words and charisma, with a sickeningly violet weight that flips your stomach. He’s far across the space, and the door is still within inches of your grasp. 

“Find literally anyone else to sit here and play this game with you.”

“What part of ‘ I want you, and only you ’ do you not understand?” 

The kitchen stove light still illuminates his figure, casting a dim shadow over his back to shadow his figure across the floor. His feet continue to tap idly, head resting on his palms as if confused to why such a statement even needed to be told to you (again).

“You were getting along just fine before you met me, go back to that–I don’t want any part of whatever the hell else it is you’ve been lying about–”

“I’m not letting you go.”

That sweetness is his voice is pushed out to make room for pure desperation. The words waiver as they leave him, clearly fighting against whatever instinct wanted to hold it in, though you can’t help wondering if that’s all that caused the shake. An air of silence falls, where he watches you from the kitchen with stabbing eyes. Walking away is logical, but something unnatural freezes you in place. Plus, you’re not certain he wouldn’t fly to the door again the moment you touch it. 

“Why me?”

Another short silence and this time you’re the one to take advantage of it, louder than you needed to be.

“And why accuse me of sneaking around? I barely even spoke to him how the hell did you know–”

“Were you not?”

Your nostrils flare, nails digging into tight wound palms.  Water droplets leave the kitchen faucet in out of time drips. This is why your fingers shook and bore a million typos to correct. Lying to Tony Stark was one of the stupidest riskiest things you could do. 

“I just needed time to think–”

“To play Nancy Drew..” He corrects. It’s not tempered, just matter-of-factly–like a lawyer pointing out bad evidence.  

“I needed to see for myself–” 

“ Asking totally wasn’t an option.” Tony meets your volume with too much ease.

“Like you would have told me the truth !”

“I’ve never lied to you–”

“Oh, right , you only speak in half-truths, or say it’s nothing to ‘concern myself with ’!” Your anger pulls you across the creaky floors of the entryway, feet tethering on the wood boundary lining off the tile of the kitchen. 

“You’re not–”

“That’s the real reason Pepper left you, isn’t it? Not any of that bullshit you tried to sell me L.A–she left because you play like some larger-than-life billionaire and not the shady piece of shit you are.” 

You don’t have to continue your slow stampede into the kitchen, as the chair makes another unsettling screech on the tile when Tony suddenly stands. An indignation only complimentary to your own is expected, but it isn’t what you get.

“I didn’t come here to be judged by you.” His mouth barely moves to say it–as even the slightest parting would cause him to shout back and have the fight you seem to be dying to have.

“Why the hell are you here?” A better phrased, more favored question in your opinion would have been ‘ why did you break into my apartment after I dumped you? ’, but the answer’s surely the same.

Tony can glare down lasers at you as much as he likes, he’s not getting his way (for once)–you aren’t crumbling (for once).

“I need you.”

That disgusting, heart-string tugging desperation comes back and it turns out you still haven’t built your defense strong enough. You’re taken aback, because you had prepped for a full blown argument. You had enough ammo loaded up to keep this going all night. But somehow, it’s a heavier three-word declaration than I love you .  It’s not a murmur or with a racing chest. 

And it is wholly true. Life had him placed on a giant, constant stage. Where he needed to be someone else–someone stronger and with rougher edges. It kept him enclosed. Where everything he hated about himself was reflected in everyone and everything around him. That kind of cycle is self-feeding. A snake gnawing at its exhausted tail for eternity. It was a spur of the moment decision to stop for a drink that night. Truthfully, he had more than enough already coursing through his veins, but the tower felt emptier than usual in his mind, and this career warrants you very few friends. 

Maybe it was the flickering neon signs–glowing brand names across the sidewalk. The bustling noise flooded the rest of the quiet street like an overflowing bucket. It was a grimy, crowded hole in the wall–small, and cut away from the sprawling residential neighborhood around it. It reminded him of his life before he fucked it up. When no one knew his name or where he came from.

You were just an added bonus. He had planned to relish in the chaos of everyone around as he drank for inebriation instead of taste for once. But dark red nails pass him the glass, and he finds himself stuck watching them for the rest of the night. Despite the man Tony was, he wasn't anyone to you, and a woman like you shouldn’t have been anything to him.

He comes back simply out of craving. That anonymity , that freedom. From responsibility, from judgment. Tony realizes he’s befriended the snake too long. He accepted everything around him as a product of fate and piss-poor luck.You changed that. You made him remember a long forgotten fact–that everything he wanted was within arms reach. 

Suddenly, your eyes take great interest in grout speckling the tile below. There wasn’t enough room for disbelief in the quaint walls of your apartment.

“You’re the only person who doesn’t see me, as–I don’t know, me?” he exhales, running over his face as he re-takes his seat.

“You,” you trail off, shoulders loosening just to earn a small tremble. “--actually mean that.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

You’re gathering the bravado to say something along the lines of ‘ well asshole you were high as a kite when you told me you loved me and never said it again ’. Maybe without the asshole part. A difficult act indeed.

"I didn’t sign up for any of this." you murmur, trying to quench any further questions and avoid a very stern ‘ I told you so ’. But Tony's gaze remains fixed on your arm, making your nerves spike. “–if I had known everything, your work–”

“You wouldn't have agreed to see me, really ?” Tony grins and cocks an eyebrow that you miss in your deep inspection of the tile. “You weren’t clueless when we met.” 

“I wasn’t but–”

“But what?” He sharply interjects. He can’t stand how your eyes land anywhere but him. This conversation is giving him deja vu, and not the whimsical kind. It’s the kind that wraps around the body and stops the flow of blood.  “All of sudden you wanna have a ‘ come to Jesus ’ moment and find some moral high ground?”

Tony’s, unsurprisingly, not wrong. You had good enough sense the moment he slipped into that barstool, asking for a whiskey list as if the knife-shaped tear in the cushion couldn’t tell him that was pointless. A brief glance and finger of Jack Daniels was all he got from you. You spent the rest of the hour catering to the usual Friday night crowd of drunks, only thinking of him again when the shiny green bills made a funny reflection underneath his empty glass. 

Honestly, you were more surprised no one took it for themselves.

It’s when he shows up a second night that you bother with conversation (purely out of gratitude and nothing else, right?). It’s the second night when you stay so, so much later than you should have, talking to someone you knew you shouldn’t be. You ignored it all then, just as you have for the last eight months. Burying your worries under a mountain of attachment and clouds of insecurity. 

You were lucky. Shit, you feel that same gratuitous pang right now. Grateful that he still wanted you. Actually, to put it in his words– needed you. You’re not certain how much longer you could’ve kept it buried if you hadn’t asked Steve directly. You didn’t want him to be right, but all he did was validate every worry and order a swift excavation of everything you hoped wasn’t true. 

“I kept telling myself that it was nothing, but–”” you trail off quietly.

“ But ?” he repeats.

You definitely can’t meet his gaze now, waiting for him to call you naive or tell you that this is somehow some huge misunderstanding. He doesn’t speak, though, and you can’t stop your mouth from opening under the weight of everything spinning in your head.

“But Steve says you’ve been doing this since you were in college.”

“That’s how Steve tells that story?” He scoffs.

“Come on, what else? Lay it on me, doll.” You watch a misshapen shadow stretch the length of the kitchen as Tony makes a dramatic beckoning of the hand.

“Why? So you can figure out what you don’t have to admit to?”

He takes a deep sigh that shifts into a short chuckle.

“You’ve been told a very half-cocked story, my apologies for trying to fix that. Trust me, Steve’s had it out for me for a while now.”

“I trust him a lot more than you right now.” 

“That would be a bad choice.” 

You snap your head up at the scorn. Where you gained this inclination to shoot back at everything with fire–you don’t know. You swear it’s just Tony, where sometimes you just want to match his arrogance tenfold.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that? I’ve learned more about you from him and so far, he hasn’t been wrong.”

“You know more about me than anyone, without running around behind my back.” 

“Yeah, there's just the woman you’re still married to, the cocaine in your bathroom, your company, whatever the hell it is you do while I’m sleeping because you surely aren’t–”

“Alright, alright, okay,” he interrupts, tossing his hands up in defeat and leaning back. “Would you just sit down for a sec–humor me, will you?”

Sullenly, you pull out the matching metal chair across from him. As you sit, folding your arms over your chest, you wonder how fate has aligned that you’ve met such an infuriating and intoxicating person. And why you were even giving this hail mary display the time of day. 

“Let me tell you a story, it’s a good one, swear.” Tony flashes a diamond grin and it takes everything in you not to return it. It does cool your nerves somewhat.

“Better be a good one.” you respond, and Tony promises it’s worth hearing. 

“I’m in my last year at MIT taking this exam for this real stick-up-his-ass professor–I’m talking this guy doesn’t have the muscles required to smile, just all nonsense. It’s my last godforsaken test before winter break and I’ve gotta pass this to be done with this soul-sucking school–”

“You? Stressing about school? Already this story’s got holes in it.” 

“Did you miss the part about this guy being a hardass? Because I could’ve sworn I mentioned it.”

“The test was all about theory and it didn’t matter how much you knew, you had to answer it the way he would. I actually had to focus for once and I’m on this question about integrating quantum computing with electrical grid systems, you know how the ions might–”

“Totally, right.” you remark once you realize a science lecture is inbound. Tony’s ramblings often came late and always flew completely over your head. Tonight, you’re just finding it hard to care. 

“You are a really bad listener, you know that?” 

That earns an instinctive smirk from you, but you sigh and let him continue.

“I’m ten equations and at least five paragraphs into this question and my pager starts going off. I don’t even bother checking what it is–I just hit silence and keep going.” he tells it like it’s a true epic, the sort you swap at tailgates or weddings to try to one-up someone else’s, but you get the sense it’s not. 

“An hour later with like, the worst cramp in my hand and 500% certainty I failed, no big deal, I finally check the message–call Jarvis back and he tells me my parents were in an accident. The weirdest thing was I didn’t even think they were dead–” 

“Tony–” you start, though you weren’t even sure what to say. 

“Honestly,” he chuckles dryly, the bravado in his voice silking away. “I was kinda relieved, for a second. The old man would’ve ripped me a new one for failing that test and I just thought he was a little banged up–too busy nursing a broken arm or something to check my grades.”

Tony’s laugh fades off into a somber sigh, shifting in the wobbling chair. The count of drips in the sink to your right tells you it’s been silent too long. You still don’t have the words to fill it. What kind of words would they even be? Of comfort? Humor to dispel his sadness? If he even was , that is. You gave up on trying to read him. 

“Anyway, my point is . I wasn’t ready to do this– I was 21, getting an electrical engineering degree, notice how that has nothing to do with medicine or biotech. So I did the cowardly thing–let someone else take the wheel and I’m still paying for it twenty years later. Believe me, I’m not loving this either.”

“Then why don’t you stop? I mean you still have a legitimate company, stop using it to make things you don’t want to make.” 

“It sounds so incredibly simple when you put it like that. Gee, wonder why I didn’t think of that earlier.” He makes an exaggerated face of amazement. “Look, I didn’t want you to know because I don’t need someone else telling me how to handle things–it’s my company, it’s my job to sort this out.”

“Does your job require you to test the product yourself?” It’s a lot ruder than you mean it to be, but it’s the real issue corroding your mind. 

“That’s one of the benefits we offer at Stark Industries.” he laughs. 

You still aren’t feeling humorous, scoffing and standing the moment you realize he isn’t taking a word you say seriously. Tony’s fast behind you, stepping between you and the arch into the living room. 

“Okay, okay. But you’re worrying yourself over nothing, doll. I’ve got it handled.” he assures you (poorly), bracing your shoulders with his hands. 

“Yeah, from here it looks totally handled.”

Contrary to the snare in your words, you weren’t a heartless monster. You weren’t playing moral adjudicator like Tony might think. You can recognize this as one of his rare moments of emotional theater, but you can’t be bothered to care knowing what comes after if you fall for it. Especially when you can tell from how not-serious he’s taking this that there’s not a chance he’d stop using anytime soon. You were just tired of being lied to. And you weren’t going to keep watching him self-destruct. All you needed right now was your bed and hot, long shower to put this day behind you.

Tony sighs, abandoning your shoulders to pinch his nose.

“It’s just…You experience things and then they're over and you still can't explain 'em. This business, Pepper, things I can’t even put into words. I...I'm just trying to make sense of it all. The only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because you’re around a lot more. Which is great. I do love you, I'm lucky. But, honey, I can't sleep, not when there's so much to be done to get out of this.”

You’re stunned into silence again. Because Tony speaks a thousand miles a minute and you’re still getting used to hearing ‘ I love you ’ from a sober mouth.

“Tony, this isn’t–” you stammer.

“I know, I know, you’re gonna say this doesn’t change anything but I can’t do that without you, I won’t.” 

Calloused hands brace your sides instead. Warm and loose instead of strict and holding. You can feel the static though. There’s an electric heat jumping between fingertips and white fabric that wants to hold you tight until you can’t tell the difference between his skin and yours. You’ll never see it another time so clearly, but the glaze in Tony’s eyes is desperate– unyielding . You’re scared to give in and only slightly less worried about what it means if you don’t.

You were pissed that he kept something from you– again . You still were. The whole world seemed privy to exactly who Tony Stark was, except you. You were an outsider looking in through frosted window panes. Like the new kid watching everyone else giggle at an inside joke you couldn't possibly understand. 

But you couldn’t say he didn’t care for you. The most damning part was that you loved him . Whether it was truly reciprocated was another question, but you couldn’t think of any other reason he’s standing in your kitchen at three in the morning, letting the stained brown walls wash out the blue details in his suit vest. 

So, you rather than blindly submit, you place a wager. 

“Then promise me you’ll get help.” You force your voice to be stable, confident. You meet his eyes with the same bravado, stepping back from his grasp. If done properly, and he needed you as much as he so claimed, then you win your self-made bet.

You notice he doesn’t reach out to hold you close, instead staring pensively into you for a moment longer than you would like.

 “Okay, done.” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly. “That all?”

“Really? That simple?” you ask, baffled

Tony shrugs again, the crisp folds of his vest giving way to a stout laugh then a sigh.

“If that’s what it takes.”

Afterwards, you’re able to easily separate your life into three segments. There’s life before you started dating billionaire Anthony Edward Stark, life after, and life when you started dating Tony . They are too separate individuals, afterall. You learn that in due time. 

Anthony Edward Stark is a wealthy businessman, arrogant, withholding, charming, and a few notches above dedicated to you. He hates vegan food and wasting time.He's utterly hopeless in the kitchen, with a preference for iron red and a penchant for dry martinis (always dry, you learned this from serving him a classic out of habit on night two). There’s a collection of Black Sabbath albums hiding under his office desk, and there’s a slightly larger collection of ballpoint pens in the trash can nearby–caps gnawed to uselessness in one too many spirals of concentration.

Tony is much the same, in all respects. Eeeeexcept there’s that ex-wife he seemingly abhors. And the designer powdered death he proliferates through the city. And the addiction he promises to hold at bay. He keeps his end of the bargain, though and vicariously becomes someone new once he sleeps a whole lot more. Okay, okay so there's a lot. Overall, he is calmer. The fiery temper is dulled, replaced with an occasional unwarranted annoyance at the most mundane of things. At first, it’s concerning to you–watching his face screw at tailgating cars or broken zippers. Then, you find it pretty amusing, seeing someone so perfectly sewn together furrow their brows at long lines instead of losing it altogether at moments of chaos. Though you quickly figure out why he avoided sleep in the first place. 

It doesn’t happen until your third night back at the tower. A drizzle coats the high windows of the bedroom, the moonlight barely enough to see the rise and fall of his chest beside you. You’re deep into sleep, curled into Tony when you’re jolted awake by a sudden movement. Your eyes flicker open, confused and scanning the silk sheets before he twitches again, muttering in his sleep.

Barely awake, you shifted onto your side, planting a hand on his chest. With his arms no longer wrapped around your side, another twitch sends them flying to his chest.  His skin was warm, damp, mutterings continuing to fall from his lips–angry broken pleas for someone or something to stop. You’d think the windows were open with how bad he shivered.

“Tony,” you called out softly, rocking his shoulder. “Wake up.” 

It takes a few more attempts, each shake growing stronger as you gain more clarity. One of them must have woken him, arms leaving his chest to push your arms away. Fresh off a nightmare and no more awake than you were, he used much more force than needed, completely overshooting your hands to inadvertently strike your cheek.

You winced at the unexpected blow, your hand instinctively flying to your slight sting. Swearing softly, you met his wide-eyed gaze. He moves away from you in the same instant, breathing heavily at the edge of the bed

“Shit–I’m sorry– Fuck,” His hands ran across his face and through his hair more times than you can count, still struggling to catch his breath. “I didn’t know you–”

“It’s okay-Are you okay?” you interrupted, far more concerned about the way how terrified he sounded in his sleep and barely feeling it anymore regardless.

“Yeah, all good, bad dream.” Tony swung his legs over the edge, head resting in his hands. “Shit, that shouldn’t have happened.”

You wanted to press him about it, but decided against it while his voice is this shaky. 

Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal. You don’t say anything when the shakes turn to muffled sobs. Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal.

Neither of you speak about it. Not then, the next morning, or ever again. It just becomes a new part of reality. Anthony Edward Stark doesn’t sleep. Tony has nightmares that can turn into full panic attacks and render him a tremoring mess. Afterwards, he takes a cold shower and returns to bed without a word. Not that you know what to say anyway.

This is somehow harder. To watch him lose control. You were, as most lovers are, impeccably biased. Tony’s life was enviable to anyone with a brain, and yet he was as fractured as anyone.

“Honey, you plan on eating?” he asks, tapping the rim of your porcelain plate with his fork. 

You’re brought out of your deep thoughts and back into the present where roasted lemon fills your nostrils from the salmon below. You blame the restaurant–far too quiet to keep from drifting off. The candlelight flickers gently over the small table, creating small dancing shadows of you and Tony on the white linen. 

You met his inquisitive brown eyes, giving a small apology before grabbing the cold metal fork. Despite its mouth-watering smell, the taste is anything but. You attempt to hide your displeasure, but such an act is useless this close. 

“What’s wrong?” Tony abandons his own meal to question you. 

"Nothing, it's just... a little overcooked for my taste," you reply, trying to sound lighthearted. You were never the kind of person to send a meal back, and certainly weren't about to start at a place with a Michelin star.

“Could have sworn you ordered medium.” His posture stiffens, eyebrows raised. 

“Simple mistake, it happens.” you shrugged, preparing for a second attempt. 

You don’t get the chance, as Tony stands abruptly, grabbing the plate before your fork could make an impression. 

“Be right back." he assures you, a cold detachment in his voice. 

Without waiting for a response, he strides away from the table, towards the back of the restaurant, leaving you confused. 

After a few moments of waiting, a sense of unease begins to gnaw at you. You rise from your seat and, with hesitant steps, vaguely follow the path he took to a set of wide swinging doors. The soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the narrow hallway, casting long shadows against the walls.

As you approach the kitchen, a waiter hurriedly scurries out, giving you a glimpse of Tony inside, one hand typing away idly at his phone and the other resting on a prep table, wrapped tightly in a blue rag. 

Blood stains the pristine white of the chef's uniform, his nose crimson and dripping onto his graying beard as he flips a fresh piece of salmon. He spares you a brief timid glance when the doors swing. One hand dabs poorly at the splotches while the other white-knuckles a metal spatula. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you step cautiously into the kitchen, abandoning the warm lights of the hallway for the fluorescent kitchen overheads.

"Oh, hey there," Tony says casually, an icy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 “He’s remaking your salmon.” he explains enthusiastically, returning his attention to his phone.

You stand frozen, watching crimson bleed through the rag. You guessed the chef didn’t take too kindly to criticism, and you know Tony doesn’t take no for an answer. 

Maybe you didn’t know what calm looked on Tony after all. 

You assume you should be grateful. Grateful that he did as you asked and stopped hiding behind his own layers. You got exactly what you wanted after, Tony, wholly and entirely bare for you to see. No more paranoia that you weren’t enough or that this would all come crashing you both down into murky waters. Well, there was still a chance of that. Only now the waves are crystal clear, revealing everything you begged to see. 

At least he got more sleep this way. 

You relished in waking up next to him–when it wasn’t from night tremors, of course. You could watch the sun streak through the curtains and glow around his features, calm and peaceful. It’s a moment of absolute solitude you look forward to each night. Listening to nothing but the faint calls of birds and muffled rumblings as the city woke up 93 floors. You bide the time hill wakes by running your fingers along his chest and shoulder, memorizing scars by feeling alone.

This morning you awake too early, daybreak barely starting and an inability to fall back asleep. Quietly, you pull yourself from Tony’s tight embrace and tiptoe your way downstairs for a cup of tea. You forgo bothering with the lights, getting enough light from the shy horizon to make your way around. You open the kitchen fridge in the hopes of finding a lemon, only to jump nearly out of your skin when a sound comes from the island behind you. 

“ Christ !” you yelped, slamming the door shut and turning to the source.

Harley laughs and takes another bite of his apple, making the same loud crunch as a moment ago. “Aw, did I scare you?”

“What is with you people and sitting in the damn dark?” you question rhetorically, walking to the end of the kitchen to turn on the lights. You tighten the short silk robe around your pajamas, standing across from him. “I was trying to surprise the old man for his birthday, which you are ruining, by the way.” he remarks, pointing a wagging finger. 

“Tony’s birthday?” you ask, confused. “I didn’t know–”

The young man interrupts with a dismissive wave as he swallows another bite. “He doesn’t like to make a ‘ thing ’ of it, don’t sweat.” He gives complimentary air quotes, sitting back in the barstool.

“Fair enough.” You turn back to the cabinets to complete your original task. Behind you, Harley’s teeth piercing the fruit fills the early morning silence, interrupted by the flicker of the stove as you heat the kettle. You feel him eyeing you the entire time but decide not to feed into this time for your own peace. 

“Thanks, by the way.” Hot water is making its way into a lilac mug when he speaks again. 

“For, y’know.” he adds when you pivot with a puzzled face.

“No, I don’t know.” you respond exasperatedly, feeling a dig coming your way. You dip the tea bag into the water, stirring as he just stares back at you. You roll your eyes and head towards the stairs, deciding for certain that conversation with that kid was pointless.

“Were you not the one who got him clean?” He waits until your feet touch the first step to say it, forcing you to pivot.

“I’m not taking credit for his life choices.”

“Fair enough.” he mimics your tone from earlier with a gentle shrug. 

With that, you leave and retreat back upstairs.

The lukewarm tea slides down your throat with better ease in the bedroom. Tony continues to sleep beside you as the sun greets the sky, until you're drifting off too.. 

When you rise again, the chaotic rumbling of the city drifts up and through the windows in full force. You stretch out slowly, tuning into the sound of Tony’s voice and staticky music from the bathroom. You flip over to the source, seeing Tony at the sink fixing a slender graphite tie to his neck. Quiet as a mouse and far too comfortable to leave the silk sheets, you simply observe through the open door. Unaware to his spectator, he continues half-singing half-muttering  verse after verse of Back in Black . You have to stifle a giggle–not in judgment but in adoration. You didn’t think Tony Stark would belt rock lyrics as he cursed his hair for not blow drying exactly how he wanted. 

Eventually, he spots your watchful eyes, after he secures chrome cufflinks and stoops down to straighten his pants. You smile when you realize you're caught. 

“Hopefully you’re enjoying the show.” he grins, exiting the bathroom as he loops a thick leather belt around his waist. 

“It’s alright, could have better acoustics.” you taunt. 

Tony feigns offense as he kneels on the bed beside you. The soft mattress doesn’t make a sound for his weight to settle over top of you. Suddenly beneath him, cypress aftershave and evergreen shampoo drown out your senses. You know he’s not doing this to turn you on, it’s a byproduct of his nature–but now you just want to ruin the hair you watched him spend five minutes perfecting.

“Anyone else would be appreciative to AC/DC , or is that beyond your generation?” Tony asks, bracing an arm beside your head to fiddle with a free strand of hair. 

“I worked in a dive bar–think I know dad rock when I hear it.”

“Ouch.” he winces, a short chuckle following after. 

“Hey, never said it was bad.” you add, and he gives you a questionable hmm in response.

You’re fixated on the way his body compresses your own–the texture of his thumb on your face.

 “Happy birthday, by the way.” you say after a moment of silence. To this he stiffens, his gentle expression changing in the same way. 

“Hmm, guess that is today.” he muses. 

“I take it you haven’t been downstairs yet, then.” you say, thinking of Harley. Tony groans you curse the loss of his weight as he stands. 

“Nope, and I already know the kid’s down there raiding my refrigerator and getting crumbs everywhere.” There’s a strong disdain in his voice, reminding you of the phone call a few weeks ago.

He disappears back to the bathroom, swiping a watch from the granite sink. You stay silent in the airy cloud of sheets, tongue dancing behind your teeth. Clearly, a moment of silence is too telling for Tony. While you're fixated on the ceiling, he creeps back into the room, startling you when he hits the bed once more.

“You want him gone, say the word.” he declares, playfully. You’re barely listening, or really even bothered to think about Harley. It’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he’s  just hovering over you and not crushing you into the mattress or kissing you or –

Your train of thought is derailed when a hand laces behind your neck, fingers settling at your nape and a thumb below your chin. Tony smirks when your eyes flicker to his, increasing the pressure with his thumb until your lips part for air.

“I believe I asked you a question, doll.” He relents for a moment, only enough for your throat to strain as you answer.

“I don’t mind.” you whisper, letting your legs graze his suit pants. There was a small hope the cool fabric would soothe the warmth breaking out on your skin, but the itch just drives you insane.

“Good.” Tony releases his grip to plant a kiss on your forehead. In the next breath, his feet touch the floor again and you contemplate if the lost pride is worth begging him to touch you. 

You don’t get a chance to decide, as he gives some short winded promise about returning before the afternoon and exits the bedroom.

After a frustrating shower, and against both Harley and Jarvis’ better judgment (and very stern insistences), you decide to do something nice for Tony’s birthday. Well, as nice as you can without spending his own money.

It takes the better half of the day, and you have to ban a persistently nosy frat kid from the studio the entire time. You feel guilty about not knowing sooner. Then, you maybe would’ve pulled off something more his style. And then maybe like the finished product. It feels, and honestly, looks rushed (because it is), but in the end you feel worse about giving him nothing after all he’s done for you. 

It’s a small canvas–easy enough for you to carry down the spiral stairs without breaking an ankle. It’s a quarter to three when you make the final stroke. Once you’ve managed to get the stained ink from your fingers, voices start to flood from downstairs. You manage to do a half-decent job wrapping, which gets you way too excited to gift it. Sure, you’d given art as presents to friends before, but not since you were 10 and those were C-tier cards at best. This wasn’t your best work, though it still gave you the same sense of love. 

You call out Tony’s name as you head downstairs, hearing his and Harley’s voices echo from the living room. The muffled words are sharp and tense. You don’t notice the third voice over theirs, or the thud of the feet. You don’t even see her until you enter the space. 

“Well, who do we have here, Tone’?” Two rows of perfect porcelain teeth gleam at you over Tony’s shoulder.

He turns to you the moment she speaks, brows tighter than a steel drum and fists tight by his side. Harley stifles his chuckle behind the kitchen island. 

Silence pulls new red heat to your cheeks. The living embodiment of every insecurity you’d forgotten stood ten feet away in Louboutin heels. Tony’s stories painted enough of a picture of a flawless woman. Actually seeing her, now that was new territory. Her strawberry blonde locks were meticulously curled, in a mauve dress without a single wrinkle in sight. You felt embarrassed with your undone hair,  in stained clothes and matching ink-ridden hands. 

You start an equally embarrassing stammer of your name, to which Tony interrupts.

“Nope, not a chance.” He meets your eyes with fire before turning back to Pepper. “How the hell did you get up here–Actually, I don’t even want to know. Leave now.” 

Pepper grins like they're old friends catching up. You feel like you shouldn’t be witness to whatever this is, awkwardly holding the canvas.

“Aw, Tony ,” she drags out with a click of her tongue. A slender hand reaches down into a thin leather briefcase, placing an envelope on the island. “Just thought I’d give you your present in person.”

“An email would have sufficed.” He grits.

“Well that wouldn’t be very polite, hm?” She cocks her head like it’s a serious question. 

“Exit is directly behind you.” 

Some quippy remark brews and dies on her tongue. A small glance is spared your way again, before she leaves.

Tony doesn’t move until the whir of the elevator starts. Harley clears his throat and retreats to the back hallway without another word.

“Tony–” you call out as he passes you for the stairs. He grants you a dismissive wave that cuts you short and swells your throat. All but stomping he makes his way up the stairs, leaving you alone with all the tension they left behind.

The white envelope goes unattended. Tony didn’t bother with it, but you do. Setting your gift against the stair railing, you tiptoe over to it. It’s unsealed–a solitary white letter tucked away. The ornate New York State emblem is a pale distraction for the words below. 

ᴜɴᴄᴏɴᴛᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅɪᴠᴏʀᴄᴇ 

An agreement for complete dissolution separation of any and all assets for both parties.

Signed by Pepper Potts in midnight ink.

[milf-harrington]

i dont really know what this is, it was entirely unplanned and written on my phone, but i offer you some light angst inspired by the one second of panic i experienced this morning before realising my brother in law just had his headphones in <3

-----

Steve hated sleeping in, especially when it meant waking up alone.

It was already 8:20am, and the air in his room was brisk, worming its way under the covers to send goosebumps shivering across sleep-warm skin. He groaned quietly to himself, mentally bitching at Eddie for leaving him to brave the winter chill alone, before taking a breath to brace himself.

The covers flew off and took their warmth with them, while Steve reached over the bed to scoop up the dressing gown left on the floor. It was a gift from Robin on the anniversary of their soulmateship and it was a godsend on cold mornings.

His head swum lazily for a second when he stood up, body filled with a vague sense of unwell. He grimaced to himself, another reason he hated sleeping in.

Dressing gown wrapped tight around his torso and socks on his feet, Steve tucked his hands in his pockets and shuffled out of his room. The heating was on in the rest of the house, wafting from downstairs and Steve shivered happily.

The socks muffled his footfalls as he lazily plodded down the stairs, jumping the bottom one like a little kid and rounding the bannister to head down the hallway to the kitchen.

The blinds in the sunroom were pulled open, letting the light spill in through the trees and dance in dappled patterns over the carpet. He swallowed, avoiding looking at the pool, and slipped into the kitchen.

Eddie was there, leaned over the counter in one of Steve's sweaters with a newspaper open in front of him. He was yawning, nose scrunched up and half his teeth showing, and jotted down a couple letters in the crossword through squinted eyes.

A cup of coffee covered in various trout was next to his forearm, no steam becauze he'd probably forgotten it was there. Steve smiled, squeezing his hands happily inside his dressing gown pockets.

"Good morning," He greeted, brushing past to get to the overhead cabinet where they kept the mugs. "I didn't mean to sleep in."

His hands prickled with cold when they were freed from the warmth of his pockets, and he wrinkled his nose. Eddie didn't reply, too wrapped up in his crossword.

Steve yawned, tucking his hands back in, while he waited for the coffee machine to start. It spluttered and coughed its way through the whole process, the way it had since Lucas had accidentally thrown a plastic bowl at it. Steve swayed back and forth while he waited.

Behind him, Eddie sighed through his nose, paper rustling and Steve looked over his shoulder to watch as he closed the newspaper and shoved it across the counter.

"Morning." He tried again, deflating slightly when Eddie still didn't reply. He felt sick again, like he'd turned into one of those weird 3D movies the kids had dragged him to, multiple outlines all layered on top of each other.

The coffee machine went quiet, and he looked back to find it empty. He paused, frowning at the spot where his cup should have been.

He did grab one right? If he hadn't there would be coffee all over the place but- cautiously he reached out to brush his fingers along the side of the machine and frowned at the room-temperature feel. Like it hadn't even been on in the first place.

"Oh shit, I forgot you were there."

Steve spun around, weirdly hopeful, to find that Eddie was apparently talking to his coffee. He sipped it, and immediately spat it back out into the cup, a habit that shouldn't be anywhere close to endearing. And yet.

"Jesus Christ." He muttered, glaring down at it before taking a second tentative sip and spitting that one out too. Steve rolled his eyes on impulse, even as his heart started to pace in his chest. "Nope, can't do it, Buckley is an outlier."

His stomach lurched at the sound of his best friends name, and he opened his mouth to say- something, but then Eddie turned to face him.

"Are you done ignoring me?" Steve tried, hunched in his dressing gown like it could hide him from the panic simmering in his blood. When Eddie didn't react, he wasn't surprised, but he was briefly devastated.

"Eds." He tried again, blinking rapidly when his boyfriend pushed past him like he wasn't even there. "Eddie."

He was humming, tipping his coffee down the sink and putting the mug under the machine. It coughed to life, like it had for Steve, and Eddie stretched his arms over his head.

Checked his watch and wrinkled his nose.

Turned slightly to look down the hallway at the stairs.

"He should be up by now..." He murmured to himself, and Steve went cold.

Cold and panicked like he'd just been pushed into the pool with the heater off.

He couldn't move, worried that his body would just collapse in on itself and watched Eddie reach into the overhead cabinet. Watched him pull out the mug Steve had just grabbed for himself.

He tried again, to get Eddie's attention, growing more frantic when his attempts did nothing. He even tried pulling his hair, but it was like he hadn't even felt it.

"Okay clearly something is really wrong here, we need to call- someone, anyone." Steve decided, backing away as Eddie put the milk back in the fridge and picked up the cup for Steve. His own coffee had been left, abandoned, on the counter again.

"I'm going to call Robin," he said. "And we're going to figure out what's wrong with you, because this is- this is not fun."

It was actually kind of in Steve's top three worst fears, but that wasn't something he was willing to admit to anyone. Instead he took the phone off the hook and dialled for the Buckley house, watching Eddie disappear into the hallway.

It didn't ring. The dial tone droned quietly from a bed of static.

He closed his eyes tightly, and clenched his fist, eyes flying back open when he felt his nails dig into his palm. His hand was empty, the phone back on the hook like he'd never picked it up.

Fuck.

"Eddie..." He started, eyes still on the phone as he followed into the hallway. His boyfriend was already heading up the stairs, tongue poking his top lip as he balanced the probably-too-full cup in his hand.

"Eddie I don't think you should go up there."

Obviously, he didn't listen, whispering a quiet fuck to himself when he spilled coffee over his fingers and stopped to lick it off.

Steve jogged up the stairs behind him, trying to ignore the way his feet weren't making any sound.

"Baby I really don't think-" He froze at the top of the stairs. There was a mirror built into the wall at the end of the hallway, an empty side-table underneath it. Once upon a time it might have held flowers or books but that was years ago. And not what he was focused on.

He could see Eddie's reflection, hair frizzy with post-sleep tangles because he always forgot to plait it before bed. He could see dark eyes and a pale fingers wrapped around a steaming coffee mug.

He could see the rest of the hallway stretch out behind him until it hit the opposite end, where the spare bed and bath were.

He couldn't see himself. He waved a hand, heart sinking when nothing appeared in the mirror.

Eddie opened the door to his bedroom, wrinkling his nose immediately. "Jesus, it's cold in here."

Steve couldn't move again, still staring at the empty spaces he should've been taking up. He could hear Eddie talking.

"Hey sleepyhead, time to get up."

A soft thunk, like he was setting the mug down on the bedside table. A huffed laugh.

"Sorry sweetheart, but if you sleep any later you're gonna be all sore and grumpy."

Steve felt sick. He couldn't bring himself to move.

"Stevie?"

Eddie swore and a second later came flying out of the bedroom, running down the stairs. Steve swallowed, and stayed on the landing, listening to him fumble with the phone and punch in three numbers.

"Hi, I need an ambulance- the Harrington residence. Yes. Eddie Munson- Steve Harrington. Ye- no, I did not drug him. Look he's got a history of head trauma and he's not waking up. Of course I checked for a fucking pulse! Sorry, I'm just- yeah. Thank you, how long? Okay, okay, thank you. No I have- I have to call his family. Yes. Thank you, bye."

By the end of the call Steve had lowered himself yo the floor, leggs crossed underneath him with his back against the balcony railing. He could hear Eddies shaky breathing, the rough sniffle before he dialled a longer number.

"Good morning Mrs Buckley, can I please talk to Robin? Thank you." He sniffled again and Steve's chest ached, throat tight and burning.

"Robin-" Eddie's voice broke and Steve could picture her so clearly, the white of her knuckles gripping the phone, the steel in her eyes in the face of Eddie's fear. The bob of her throat, swallowing around the lump of her own fear.

She'd know immediately, he knew. Had probably woken up feeling queasy, stomach dropping every time the phone rang like she knew bad news was coming.

"Yeah, he-" a shuddery inhale, wet and nasally. "He's not waking up. I don't know if it's, if it's permanent or- he just wouldnt wake up, Rob."

[pygmi-says-hi]

writing tips - editing!

my favorite circle of hell.

I think for me personally, the moment I learned how to edit productively, I felt my writing skills improve as a whole. The idea around editing is that it's getting rid of 'all the bad stuff' which I don't like for a number of reasons.

Firstly, editing is just making it look the way you want it. You mixed all the paints, you prepped the canvas, you sketched the outline, and you're adding the finishing touches.

And...it doesn't have to be scary!

Firstly - I wanna talk about Microsoft Editor, Grammarly, etc

They suck. Sorry those of you that love trying to get a perfect writing score on grammarly, but the AI just sucks. It doesn't understand tone, artistic influence, social context, or anything that makes your writing unique and interesting.

If you are in the habit of blindly accepting any 'suggestions' your software throws at you, stop. get some help.

Not only is this not helpful (because truthfully some of the suggestions are wrong) but it doesn't teach you how to analyze and critique your own writing for improvement. If grammarly says 'change this sentence to blah blah blah instead of beep beep boop' and you don't actually look at it...you could erase something that was fine to begin with! maybe I wanted beep boop vibes instead of blah blah vibes.

The computer doesn't know that. It also doesn't know that you intentionally made that a run on sentence to convey building tension. Or that milque toast is actually how you spell it, not 'milk toast'.

You need to build your editing skills. Think critically about why that sentence should change, if reasonable. Read your paragraphs and think "does this convey the tone, message, and have a reasonable length? Great! next paragraph."

if this process seems way too big and long and intimidating, let's figure out a plan.

there are a billion ways to edit successfully. As you work, you'll find a rhythm.

First - don't do too many steps at the same time.

Writing and editing at the same time doesn't work. If you do that, you'll get an uneven draft (aka half of it is polished for publishing and the other half is steaming garbage) and you'll slow your roll. Write first, edit later.

Word vomit is not always the way to go.

There is such a thing as bad brainstorming. I think the term 'brainstorming' is misconstrued as being something like 'put every idea on the page' when really it's about throwing down all the ideas and then weeding out the bad ones.

Mountains before molehills.

Get the big editing out of the way first. This means the umbrella stuff. is the plot sensible? does that dialogue need to be shifted? Is this chapter too short or too long? Do I like the general voice/tone? then, start with the pretty sentences and formatting.

If you get too attached to a paragraph because you spent so long on the symbolic subtext, you'll be less willing to potentially delete it, even if it's useless.

Get some friends to help!

Share it with peers or beta readers. These people will read it from an audience perspective and give you advice from their experience. Sometimes the writer brain gets in the way of the reader brain and you can't tell the difference.

hope this helps!!

[topazadine]

How to Write Faster (And, Hopefully, Better Too)

Estimated Reading Time: 7 minutes

I've shared some tools before to help improve your speed and motivation, which include:

Using a word count spreadsheet

Working on only one WIP at a time

Leverage StimuWrite and Cold Turkey

.... but I still have a few more tricks, which I'll share now.

Why should you listen to me? I've written over 2 million words of fiction since 2021. That's a lot, more than many people write in a lifetime.

This is despite the fact that I also write 22,000 words every week for my day job. I do around 10k of creative fiction a week. And there's also the time I spend writing these articles for you, the lovely people of Tumblr, which is around 4-5k per week.

So, all told, I probably do around 37,000 words (creative, informative, and otherwise) every single week.

I did that by following these tips.

Separate the work into stages.

First, let's outline the stages of work (or at least the stages I use). You may have a different setup, and that's fine - if you do have a system that works for you, then you probably don't need my post at all. Keep doing what you're doing and ignore my advice.

But if you do not have a system, consider mentally separating things into these parts.

Active Writing. When I am busy doing the draft. It is both the most precarious and productive time; everything else related to books goes on the backburner. I am doing nothing writing-related but writing. No discussing the work unless I'm stuck somewhere, no making moodboards, NOTHING. This is my sacred time when I am in the thick of things and I put Writing Blinders on.

Percolation. I am done with the first draft. I set the piece aside and do other things like reading other novels, outlining another story, answering tag games, playing with moodboards, or putting everything aside and focusing on other hobbies. This is so I can come back to revisions with a fresh set of eyes. It keeps the story in my mind and can even help me discover new things I want to add.

Revision. After I have had a beta reader check things out, I go back and start fixing things. Then it percolates again. I repeat percolating and revising as many times as I feel necessary. Many times, I will have one beta reader look at it, then revise, and then have another beta reader look at it, each one getting a slightly different version of the story so I can compare what they liked or disliked.

Prepublishing. Most authors' least favorite part: marketing and telling people about your book so that they want to read it when it is ready. That includes stuff like making mood boards, doing tag games, sending out ARCs, setting up adds, posting on social media, and so on.

Again, ONE STEP AT A TIME. Do not blend all of these into a slurry.

I will say that this time around, with Pride Before a Fall, I ordered the cover before I was done with the book because I had a very clear vision of what I wanted.

Talk less, write more.

This is similar to the problem I highlighted in my Double Outlining post; the more you talk about your story, the more you trick your brain into thinking that you've done the work when you categorically have not.

Plus, the time you spend talking about your book is time you spend not writing your book. We can't do both simultaneously.

I don't really talk about my stories while I'm doing them, not even with my family. I may post a line or two, and I may tell people the basic plot, but I'm not spending hours discussing them with anyone unless I need advice on what to do next. Even then, it's more like "hey what do you think about this? Good? Cool, off I go."

Please get out of the habit of exhaustively picking apart your work with other people during the Active Writing stage. That can come during the Percolating and Revising stages.

Devote all your love and attention to one story.

Yes, I've mentioned this in a whole entire post, but I need to emphasize just how important it is to write stories one at a time. Working on a million things at once is not efficient; it's scatterbrained.

Force yourself to do ONE story. Just one. Not two or three or five. ONE.

Again, I've written 132 stories on AO3 (two of which are 100k+, multiple of which are 50k+), published one book, and written 5 of the upcoming manuscripts for the 10-part Eirenic Verses series. I am a very productive writer, and that is because I do everything one at a time.

Don't tell yourself "oh, I can get more done if I do a little bit on this one and that one and that one."

Can a chess player win three games of chess if they play all of them simultaneously? Uh, probably not. Each of their opponents is devoting everything to one game while their concentration is split between three different boards.

And you're not going to win either if you're playing twenty games of Write the Book simultaneously.

Do not mess around with moodboards, tag games, character questionnaires, playlists, etc, during Active Writing.

I discussed this in my Extremely Controversial Writing Opinions, but it bears repeating.

Do all of that stuff later, after you are done, as a marketing tool. It's procrastination, plain and simple.

Any time I get sucked into tag games or moodboards while writing, I get less done because I'm devoting time and energy to something that doesn't actually enhance my book.

It's one thing to do character questionnaires while you're figuring out a character, but quite another to stop what you're doing and tell everyone what your character's favorite food is.

Is that helping you get the project done? No, it is not. Log out of Canva. Turn on Cold Turkey to block Tumblr or Twitter. Leave that stuff alone.

Read short stories.

You know you need to read to become a good writer, but taking hours out of your day to read a novel while you're drafting your own novel can take away from your writing process.

That's not to say you shouldn't ever read novels, of course, but you can do that while you're in between projects.

During my active writing phase, I like to read a short story before I get started on working. This gives me inspiration and primes my creative pump so I'm excited to do my best.

Reading short stories also helps me focus on brevity rather than long-winded diatribes, which lets me pack more into a story.

Don't reread your work during Active Writing.

It's easy to get sucked into rereading and then not get anything new done; plus, this makes you want to revise, which should come later.

Reread only as much as you need to fix plot holes or remind yourself of where you're going. Refusing to reread also lets you look at your work with fresh eyes during revisions.

Make a writing ritual.

You need to tell your brain that it is writing time. This could be anything, like brushing your teeth right before you sit down to write, or drinking coffee out of one specific coffee cup when you are in writing mode, or putting on a playlist that you only use when writing.

For me, I light incense and ring a bell, then ask my muses to help me. When I take a break, I'll light a new incense stick (it's Japanese incense so very light scent) and ring the bell again.

That's about it, though I may write another post with more tips. I hope these are helpful to you, even if you don't like them. Sit on them, think about it, and give it a try. You might find yourself spending more time writing and less time just thinking about writing.

I've created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

The posts I write can sometimes take me hours - they're always intricate, always thoughtful. This one took me about 1 hour to write.

I do this as a labor of love for the writing community, sharing what I have learned from almost 15 years of creative writing.

However, if you'd like to support me, maybe you'll consider buying my book?

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution.

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

[lyonnerileyauthor]

hitting your writing goals

I've been getting a lot of asks lately about how I write, so I wanted to put it all in one post.

this was my writing history for Five Gifts for the Blacksmith's Wife.

it helps IMMENSELY when I go into a book with a Tumblr short to use as my outline. it gives me a sense of the mood, the characters, the central conflict, everything I need.

I rarely use outlines because most of the time, I have that base to work with. the other thing I do is WRITE A BLURB. write out what it would sound like if you were pitching someone your book.

here's the blurb for Five Gifts:

When her village faces a winter of starvation, Sita draws the shortest straw. Now she’s to be given to the orcs across the river in exchange for food and supplies so her family can survive. Given the chance to choose her own husband from among the eligible orc bachelors, she selects Gurrek, the reluctant blacksmith, who clearly doesn’t want her. He’s the safest option. Gurrek has always wanted a wife of his own, but not like this. Now he’s saddled with a human woman who needs new shoes, new clothes, and can’t even speak his language. He wants nothing to do with her, and yet her sweet, strong personality draws him in closer with every passing day. As Sita and Gurrek try to find a place to fit within each other’s lives, attraction begins to bloom between them. But Gurrek refuses to touch a woman who never wanted to be his in the first place. Can Sita break through the blacksmith’s high walls to become his true wife, mind, body, and soul?

boom! you know where it starts, what the central conflict is, and the question leading into the second half of the book. then I usually have a separate doc called "third act" where I work out what the climax and resolution will look like. this is sometimes when I'll write another little short to capture the tone and vibe of the climax.

okay so the writing part.

you can't wait for your muse to come to you. the more you wait, the less she visits. you have to go out there and chase that bitch down.

I show up almost every day to write. (I do take off days, usually to do admin or make videos.) I just eke out what words I can, even if it sucks ass. eventually, if you really just muscle it, let yourself get EXCITED about the characters and the story you want to tell, the words will start coming. but you can't do it if you don't show up.

I've also trained my brain in some very specific ways. making coffee is my "start" button. when I make coffee and sit down at the desk, I've trained my brain to say "okay writing time." I always make the coffee, then open the doc and write. no exceptions. it took a while to build the habit but now it's like pavlovian. sit down with coffee, write book. I've also adapted this to having a bubbly water or tea at night.

rolling the ball downhill

the goal is to get the ball rolling so the book starts writing itself. you know that feeling, the ZONE, where you know what's going to happen and it just streams out of you.

I use something I call the but-therefore method. stg learned it from a video by the South Park guys.

if you're reading your outline aloud to yourself and you say, "and then this happens," I often find myself running into that and being like "but what?"

every step in the outline should be a but or a therefore. the blacksmith wants a wife, but not this one (a human wife). therefore, he's mean to her because he wanted an orc wife. but, he finds himself growing fond of her because she tries so hard. therefore, he wants to court her. etc etc

this gets me out of all KINDS of pickles. when I run into a roadblock I just try to think of 1) what could get in the way of where they're headed or what they want, 2) what consequences it could have. good time to think about what your character's buttons are and what would push them.

setting goals

goals really help me push through when it's hard. I know it CAN be easy so it's like, how do I find the stream that I can get swept off in? you gotta hunt and hunt around for it sometimes and there are days when I never get into the zone.

I set a range for my daily goal, like 2500-5000. if I do 2500, that's fine, I can set it aside for the day. if I do 5000, keep pushing if I want but that's a good place to stop. I find that by 2000 words is when I know whether it's going to be a good writing day or a bad writing day. bad writing day, i can stop at 2500 and be happy. good writing day (especially toward the end of a book when the dominoes are falling over) I can get up to 8k, but I try not to do that anymore because it turns my brain to mush.

ok that's all for now I hope this was helpful :)

[knightyoomyoui]

The 1% Of Chances | TWICE Jeongyeon x Male Reader Fanfic: CHAPTER 9

Hellooo! Damn, it's been almost 8 months now since I haven't updated this book, and I almost forgot where I left off, which required me to re-read this book and the plot outline I made. Sorry for those who waited, but what's important now is that IT'S BACK, and I'm finally going to finish this to lessen the worklist I have on my drafts. We are now down to 3 chapters left, and so far, I'm also applying some little changes to the ending because I just thought of something better than the originally planned one.

Actually, there's nothing much going on here in the entirety of this chapter, but it serves as a short "calm before the storm" moment that will finally set us up for the climax down to the conclusion of the story.

Since Jeongyeon doesn't have a schedule for today—which includes you as her personal manager—you've both agreed to go somewhere more fun with your spare time rather than just spending it in the dorm.

She offered to drive you home in Jeongyeon's own vehicle, taking the wheel as soon as you were done loading. You were taken aback at first, but because it was her initiating the task, you didn't mind objecting and allowing her to proceed so as not to ruin her fun.

You sat at the passenger's seat next to Jeongyeon and laughed together before she started the engine and operated the vehicle, stepping on the accelerator to get you both to your first destination.

"Do you want me to play some music while you drive?" You asked her, aware at the fact that although you can find yourselves some topic to talk about throughout the ride, it might die down and make the atmosphere a bit boring and quiet.

"Sure." She quickly replied to you, agreeing to listen too. "Hey, wanna do some carpool karaoke?"

"Was that like doing a karaoke while in a car?"

"Nice catch, genius…?" Jeongyeon looked at you in a deadpan manner which caused you to be slightly embarrassed. "Ofcourse silly, you just reversed the name. And yeah, it's simply singing along while we're on a ride."

"Hmm sure, I'll take the male vocals."

"Nope, I want you to sing with me even if it's female." Jeongyeon shook her head.

"I can't sing that well, my voice isn't low pitch." You declined. "And… it's making me shy."

"What? Why? It's just the two of us come on." Jeongyeon whined as she bounced at her seat to express her disappointment. "I wanna see you sing along to some female led-songs."

"I don't sing one, I'm mostly into male-leds."

"You sure?" She side-eyed you. "Hmm then what about when I saw you having that Sabrina Carpenter song on your Spot-"

"Okay okay stop!" You became flushed as you didn't expect Jeongyeon would use this as a retort card to capture you on the corner. "Ugh, fine. But I was just curious about it because I've been hearing it a lot on my Insta feed so… I tried to give it a listen."

"It was a vibe actually." She agreed.

"Yeah it sounds so good. Don't know her that much but that's probably one of my songs I could use to cheer myself up."

"Should we listen to it?"

"Okay…" You were about to search for it on your playlist until you paused. "Wait, we're gonna sing too right?"

"Mmhmm.."

"But her voice was smooth there, I might ruin the song with my monstrous voice."

"Hey, who told you that?!" Jeongyeon knitted her brows in disapproval at the self-deprecating term you chose. "I always thought you'd be a great voice actor or something, and you probably had such a great deep voice. It doesn't even matter if you can't match the notes; all I want is for us to have fun. Just go with the vibe of the song, that's all."

Also, don't you want your partner to be happy?" She was teasing you, pouting her lips and making fun at you with her sulky attitude. You've noticed her habit, and it was too irresistable to ignore without being continuously obstinate.

"Okay, fine, I'm going to play it. Damn it, Jeong, you really know how my weak spot is." You clicked your tongue as you pinched her cheeks, which made her giggle like a little girl. As you played the music, both you and her sang along together. She did laugh at you, but not because of how horrible you sound as what you think of yourself. You were pretty average, and she was just reacting this way because she was obviously impressed by you.

After going through your third song, you noticed in the GPS tracker that you're shortly meters away from reaching the place where you are heading both. You've decided to share something that popped into your mind.

"This is honestly my second time of going here." You recalled. "I remember when me and my family used to come here way before I was young."

"How old were you back then?"

"Hmm… 17 I guess?" You said. "It was a celebration for my brother being an honor awardee in his school. I kinda missed going here, well I wanted to bit you know, time passes and we grow old enough and some interests don't stay with us forever. My brother is already at the right age and he doesn't feel to visit these sort of place anymore like he used to be. Well even if he does, we still wouldn't be able to do so anyway."

"Why so?"

"Broken family." You bitterly smiled. "It won't feel the same as before anymore."

Jeongyeon looked at you concerned and gripped your hand. "Sorry to hear that. Hey, let's stop talking about it if it'll make you comfortable. We're now here, let's not kill the mood alright?"

"Yeah, sorry Jeong. It's my fault."

"No, don't mind it. You just want to recollect some memories you had, and you know I'm willing to listen to your stories anytime you want. I'll be here if you need something to release within yourself okay?" She lightly punched you in the chest then ruffled your hair.

"Okay." You smiled nicely at her. She gave you a quick kiss on the lips after that, increasing your energy back at its full capacity for today.

"Let me park this big boy right here first." She said as she paid for the parking fee at the guard before proceeding to enter the vacant lot.

You and Jeongyeon got out of your car and took your stuff after finding a spot to park for a while. You take her hand obediently as she shows the tickets to gain entry into Lotte Park, your first of three destinations to have some alone time together. You strolled across the park's entrance afterwards.

She put on her mask to reduce the attention she might get from individuals who might recognize her as a member of TWICE and a K-Pop idol. Even if it means that she will have to give up her freedom to display her bare face in public, she doesn't want anyone to disrupt this moment with you. She doesn't care because, at this point, all that matters to her is to be with you today.

"Where should we head on first?" Jeongyeon said as she viewed the entire interior of the amusement park, the different rides, attractions, arcades and many more all visible in your eyes to choose.

"Hmm… I want to… I want to eat first."

"Yah, seriously?" She chuckled at you. "We just ate before going out of the dorm and now you're hungry again?"

"I love eating, you can't blame me."

"You're also unfair and unbelievable, you know? You eat this much and yet you don't get fat." Jeongyeon elbowed you on the stomach. "Alright, you male counterpart of Momo, what fast-food chain you want?"

"Some hotdog station will do."

"I'm easy to talk with, so let's go." She grabbed your wrist and pulled it with her like you're a child being dragged along by your mother.

Reaching the 2nd floor where the food section is at, both of you stepped in front of the hotdog station where you wanted to eat. She lets you choose the order first since you're the one who requested this, and you kindly obliged to it.

Minutes later, you have received your foods altogether and ate it while watching the visitors around the place, having fun in their own ways. Even at sightseeing was fun to do so with your carefree and adventurous girlfriend, there won't be an instance where she wouldn’t try to find something hilarious for both of you to share laughters with.

For instance, she was telling you how much the other members enjoyed hotdogs when she just broke out into laughter. She mentioned that she had just witnessed a dad stumble in front of the playhouse while chasing his child when you asked her why. Even though you may not have witnessed it directly, Jeongyeon's laughter is contagious enough to make you get along with her easily.

After emptying your hotdogs, Jeongyeon brought yourselves back onto the main business of going here in the park. You immediately said your first preference to try.

The couple has attempted almost the entire selection of rides, attractions, and arcades all around the main lobby of the park, leading to yourself being highly exhausted from the adrenaline, enthusiasm, and laughter you have both spent playing like crazy.

You two rest on a bench first to conserve your energy for the next destination. You volunteered to wipe Jeongyeon's sweat across her back and arms and also bought some cotton candy for you and her. Another brief conversation has passed through, and after making yourselves satisfied, you exit and ride the car again with her to head to the following location.

You took the wheel this time as you let Jeongyeon sleep for a while after she shared that she's feeling sleepy. It was a silent ride, so you reopened your playlist and played it at a minimal volume to avoid disrupting your girlfriend's peaceful sleep.

It took like 45 minutes to get to the Seoul Museum of History, which was your suggestion to visit with her since you have to learn the history of everything, from its origin to how it evolved and what it left for the next generations to either adapt or innovate with respect to the progress of time in our world.

You woke up, Jeongyeon, after successfully reaching the designatedplace. She nodded in response, and she did some adjustment of her look to prevent looking haggard outside from her sleep. Bringing your camera with you, she walked with you again with arms clasped on each other, accompanying you towards the entrance of the museum.

You happen to roam around and snap pictures of the items, people, and events that transpired or existed in South Korea with Jeongyeon as a keepsake of your time spent with her, and these areas are organized into categories via each floor. Additionally, Jeongyeon was amazed and intrigued by several fascinating informations you learnt about Seoul and South Korea as a whole.

Once you've finished looking over all of the artifacts, antiques, statues, and other items on exhibit inside, you tell Jeongyeon that your time is up and you may go on to your final destination and finish the day with her.

Driving under the sky of Korea, about to greet the nightfall with the gradual emergence of the bright moon and the soft transition of the clarity of the clouds to the darkness of the aerial perspective, you and Jeongyeon calmly watched the surroundings you two were passing while on the way there.

Sighting the familiar spot from the distance, it brought relief for the both of you that you have made through all of these safely and successfully, bringing much joy to each other. Parking the car again for the third time, you joined Jeongyeon to stroll with you around Seokcheon Lake Park, your final place to spend the remaining time available tonight with her.

Apart from the rows of cherry blossoms that surrounding them, both of them were thrilled to capture the stunning scenery that would be perfect for a lovely pair like you and Jeongyeon.

You have spotted a tteobokki cart and without hesitation, you bought each for yourselves and claimed an available bench in front of the lake as you take a break along with her.

"Oh… mhmm… wow. Tteobokki will always remain one of the greatest foods I've ever tasted." You complimented after chewing the rice cake and sipping its sweet and spicy sauce.

"I'm with you on that." She also took a bit again and hummed at how satisfying delicious it is. "We did shaped this day better as what we expected, right?"

"And we deserve this too, after such hectic schedule that we had from you. I just hope the girls are doing well too on their own." You replied.

"I'm most certain they are. They aren't choosy or like timid to try something to entertain themselves through their day off. They're basically easy to explore things as long as they develop interest to it." She said.

You finished your food and threw it at the nearby trash bin before returning beside your girlfriend and cuddle with her. While watching the reflection of the nightsky through the crystal clear water of the lake, you inserted a topic that suddenly crossed your mind.

"Jeongyeon, do you think we'll last long?"

She looks at you before returning her gaze back at the scenery in front of you two. You felt her shoulders shrug, but the way her arms clenched yours tighter is enough to confirm her answer.

"I don't know, but I really hope we do. We just have to commit ourselves to do anything that won't break our trust for each other."

"Yeah, and for me… I don't even think it's possible for neither one of us to fell out of love someday. Especially me, I really do love you a lot, Jeongyeon. So much that I think even after everything that may happen to us for better or for worse, my heart would always bring me back to you."

"Can tell the same as mine." Jeongyeon smiled and made her head more comfortable laying atop on your shoulder. "We'll either just leave the fate on us… or we create a fate of our own where no matter what happens, from the start until the end, it will still remain to be you and I forever."

"I really can't wait for our wedding in the future." You chuckled as you caress her hand, especially the finger that you would love to insert your engagement and wedding ring for her. "But about that… I still have something to accomplish first before we get through there."

Jeongyeon may have caught what you meant by that. "Are you sure about that, YN?"

"They definitely knew about our relationship now anyway, it's all around the news and internet. I say we must not take them too long waiting for us to confirm it ourselves."

"So you're ready now."

"Almost… but I can handle it. I-I'm a bit nervous still at what your parents are going to react."

"They have no problem with it when they confronted me about it. They're nice, YN. I'm sure you'll easily win their approval, I mean… you fit the qualities of what they like the most for a guy that will take their daughter to marry." Jeongyeon giggled and and blushed at that fact.

"So you mean they're not also against on you loving a non-celebrity guy like me?"

"Tsk, as if they give a damn about it." She rolled her eyes and stared at you a bit intensely. "Them and even I don't need somebody who is also popular to be told as my perfect match. I take love seriously, and what I need in return is somebody who can give me that pure and sincere. I'm not someone who prefers bragging a relationship because of our social status, I just want a man who is willing to love me for who I am inside and outside, and I found it from you, YN. Because of that, you have stolen my heart and gave me the feels."

She tried to be serious after admitting it all to you until she slowly cracks a laughter after she saw your expression noticing something suspcious.

"Wait a minute…" You also began to cackle with her. "Did you really just included a reference to The Feels?"

"Yah! I thought I was too slick for that." She conceded defeat. "But I said what I said, and you know I mean what I mean, YN."

You pulled her head against you and kissed her directly on the lips, which took some time for yourselves to separate as you encouraged her to move your mouths deeper to make your intimacy more passionate, just as you wanted it.

You leaned away for a second and stared deeply at Jeongyeon's sparkling eyes while brushing her pink tinted cheeks. "I know, Jeongyeon, and I'll always have it on my mind while I feel your love for me."

"Great, then get back here and let me give you more." She pulled your collar through her, forcefully inviting you back into another heated kiss of affection.

As they arrived on the dorm, you both tried to continue making out with each other when suddenly it got interrupted again when you felt a stinging pain again in your head returned from yesterday.

"YN what's happening to you?" Your girlfriend checks up on you as she observes you loose the hem of her shirt from your grip while you groan and crunch your face.

"It's hurting again…"

"What? Where is it?"

"My head." You said as you hold your skull to endure the kicking pain that causes you severe discomfort.

It made Jeongyeon alerted at your condition. She went through the first aid kit and looked for some painkiller pills and filled a glass of water before going back to you and instructed you to take it.

You followed her advice and she let you lay your head beside her neck as she cuddled you. She slowly laid you down on the bed with her and gently stroked your hair.

"Calm down, YN. It will be gone shortly. I think you're tired of everything we did today, so rest up for now okay?"

"Okay."

"There you go. Goodnight and love you." She kissed you on the forehead before she continues taking care of you.

"Love you too, Jeong. Goodnight."

Both of you went calm that it disappeared and the medicine worked atleast… although only for a while.

Two days later while you are currently helping the stylists who are applying make ups to Jeongyeon and cleaning all the managers' leftover food containers, another episode of pain attacked your head again. It became confusing and quite frightening to you that the more you're suffering from this, the more painful it gets compared to last time .

What's surprising was that it didn't also occur at night which was way earlier today, pointing that it also happens now at a random period of time.

“Unnie, he’s been like this since few days ago. I don’t know what to do.”

"Jeongyeon, join YN. I'll call emergency and JYP for a while." Sadness said as she hurriedly reported your condition to both of these important people that can hold responsibility for your currently worrying state.

She returned to the dressing room, passing through staffs and the other TWICE members who are heavily scared and worried for both of their friends. "The ambulance are on their way now. JYP also agreed and mentioned that he will pay some visit for YN afterwards."

"Thank you unnie." Jeongyeon nodded before she returned her gaze at you who is still clenching your body like a ball while gripping your head furiously in pain.

"Hold on for a while, YN. Okay? Help is coming. Please, I hope nothing bad must happen to you," she said as she started to get teary-eyed seeing the love of her life suffering in her arms.

The medical team arrived at the place a few minutes later and immediately rescued the poor YN, putting him on a stretcher while Jeongyeon insisted on joining her boyfriend's side on the way to the hospital.

She guarded you intently, watching you barely opening your eyes and weakly breathing, while the thoughts and feelings disturbing her were filled with fear and anxiety regarding your health.

[zippidi-dooda]

"Alucard?" You said softly, looking up from your charcoal detail paper.

The man hummed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You glance back down at the drawing you'd finished of him.

It looked great, he was a marvelous subject for a portrait. He was perfectly still and silent in any pose you positioned him, unmoving until you said you had finished. You loved to gaze at him with each drawing, tracing the outline of his well defined features, like the curve of his jaw or sharp shape of his nose, the soft curls of his golden hair that fell in waves around his shoulders, the length of his lashes that cast shadows over his amber eyes, the prominent arch of his brows, and swell of his plump lips onto the thick sheet of paper you carried around with a pen of charcoal, shading his features to match the lighting in a way you knew best.

Each pose, angle, and lighting was different. But there was one thing every drawing of him had in common.

"Why don't I ever see you smile?"

The man stiffened and proceeded to ignore your inquiry. "Are you almost done? I believe it's nearly time for our evening meal."

You looked back up at him and nodded slowly.

"I couldn't be more grateful that you allow me to draw you, Alucard. But, I am noticing a pattern in your ... habits. The way you present yourself."

Alucard stood and proceeded to walk in the direction of the kitchen, hoping to escape your conversation.

You followed after him.

"You are less grumpy looking than when we first met. But I have never seen you laugh or smile or give any other expression than this numb, blank look."

"My apologies, I am just not an expressive person like you're used to. There's no need to follow me, I'll finish up quickly and call for you when the food is done."

For a moment you didn't reply, simply staring at him from behind as he took long strides in front of you.

Like the castle walls surrounding you, he was so cold and sheltered, with walls thick enough to withstand many heavy attacks from the outside. So distant. Hiding in his own mind as he was hiding in this crumbling structure so deep into the woods.

You hoped one day you could even hear a snippet of what he was thinking of, get accepted into his inner fortress like you had been able to be accepted to stay within this fortified home of his.

You just, didn't know how.

Hesitantly, you reached out to him, pausing your actions for a moment before finally grabbing onto the sleeve of his coat, prompting him to stop and look over at you.

You gave him a warm smile and said, "if you ever have anything you need to get off your chest, I'll always be here to listen."

Alucard blinked slowly at you and after a minute you continued to walk in front of him, babbling about what he should make for this evening.

It went in one ear and out the other.

Alucard, now following behind you, furrowed his brow and pursed his lips further as he ran your words back in his mind over and over again.

Such compassionate words. From a seemingly harmless person. He truly wanted to believe you and tell you all that has been persistently wearing him down. But he just couldn't.

He had met one too many who gave him the same impression of harmlessness. And they had no remorse in trying to take advantage of his trust and vulnerability. That cut deeper than any sword or claw ever had and he couldn't handle the thought of experiencing that again with you.

He may have been a fool to let you in to live with him in the first place. But he would not make the mistake of blindly trusting you because he was lonely. He would not allow it.

'You'll always be here?'

Unlikely.

Alucard shook his head to clear his thoughts, and jumped into the conversation of dinner plans instead.

Maybe one day, he'd be able to meet someone he could actually trust. Maybe that person was you. He really hoped so. But as of now, it was too soon to tell.

He'd skirt any further questions you had in correspondence to this until much further in the future, when all doubts about your intentions were washed away from his mind.

An issue that would be much harder to fix than simply wishing it to go away.

[iztea]

hello iz ik it's such a cliche question and idk if you've already answered that but- how do you learnt drawing humans??? like everyone says practice but i don't know how and i struggle so much :( thanks already for answering!! i really really love your art

hi!

the very regulated, academic, objectively correct bs answer: learn the fundamentals, study and practice!

the unhinged, off-the-counter, cool uncle from your dad's side of the family answer:

Imo, the best way to learn how to draw on your own is to reference and study other people's art. There is no need for you to reinvent the wheel, and if you are a beginner and have no idea what you're doing, tackling multiple fundamentals at once can overwhelm and demotivate you quite a lot. So, for your morale and motivation, I think it is totally okay to just observe multiple artworks from multiple artists and engage with them critically ( * N.B. : artistS - plural; by referencing multiple works, you lower the risk of accidentally becoming a copycat or locking yourself into an art style that will never be as good as the original because it was not yours)

What I mean by critically engaging with an artwork is to analyze how they're tackling difficult body parts that you struggle with. For example, let's say you can't/don't know how to draw legs. Look at a picture of a real human leg, observe how someone else has simplified that leg form and anatomy, and then try to recreate it. Don't just copy their linework 1 to 1. That is not the point. Do it your own way, incorporate aspects of others' art that you like, and make them yours. You should have 5++ references of that leg from 5++ different artists. There are maany people out there who post their studies online, raw sketches or structural drawings (TB Choi comes to mind for example). Look for people like them, and if you can't find someone, then Pinterest is your bff. When learning how to draw, hunting the internet for how people sketch >>> rendered art. If speedpaints are more your thing, then youtube has you covered. Personally, I've learned more from a 20 min speedpaint with nightcore bgm and zero annotations from some guy that doesnt even speak english that has 300 views than I've learned from 10 min long art tutorials from fluent english speakers with 1 mil views. At the end of the day, we can yap and theorise as much as we want, but it's the act of drawing that brings results and seeing how other people draw is sometimes worth a thousand words.

> References in general also help a lot. I can't tell you how many times I was too lazy to look something up and spent 14235 hours trying to draw it off the top of my head only to have it done in 10 minutes once I finally gave in and pulled up a reference. So yeah, always use references. Don't be like me this is actually a bad habit

Okay, but how to /use/ that reference if you're a beginner? Very simple: draw on top of it ( *Do Not trace the outlines, that's pointless if you actually want to learn something). Draw guidelines over the body parts, deconstruct and simplify the ref into just boxes and lines ( always think in 3D ). This will help a lot with keeping the proportions in check. You can start by drawing those guidelines first and then get into details. Kinda like in sculpture: you start with a big block of a rock, and then you slowly carve and build form and then detail. The more you draw, the less you will need those guidelines as you get a feeling for the proportions yourself and will no longer need this step.

Once you become more confident in your skills or have a "sense" for drawing and you are in too deep to just give up after hitting your first wall, then you can tackle the scary intimidating stuff that is art fundamentals ( or you can do them simultaneously, all I'm trying to say is to never forget that you are not the only drawer in the world; looking in your neighbor's yard is totally okay within the reasons of common sense ). You don't have to raise and milk a cow it to make butter, you can just buy it from the store. If you want to bake a cake, a beginner chef will use store-bought cake mix because they have no idea how to cook. Once they learn the science behind baking (because it really is a science) they will buy their own ingredients and then improve or personalize the cake with better, well-researched ingredients, they will add their own twist, flavours, adjust the macros, perfect the technique and so on.

This is how I've personally learned how to draw by myself bc I'm self-taught and didn't care for formalities as it's just a hobby of mine that I do for fun. If you want proper advice you should probably listen to more qualified people but I can only preach what I practice.. Anywayssss hope it helped!!