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savventeen · 1 year

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you say the stupidest (sweetest) things

pairing: seungkwan x gn!reader rating: 16+ (for swearing) wc: 4.5k prompt: seungkwan + "things you said at 1am" summary: you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession warnings: insomnia, mental health issues, dissociation mention tags: fluff, friends to lovers, first kiss, reader is a little unhinged but who isn't tbh, they're also highkey allergic to genuine expressions of love/affection but they're working on it, banter, stimming, wrestling like children to try and work through emotions, reader is some flavor of lgbt+ (they make an "i've never done anything straight in my life" joke), reader's pov is dramatic bc they're dramatic oops a/n: this is for @dokyeomin as a part of my emergency commissions (check out the post here) and this was only supposed to be 1k but it 100% got away from me... i hope you still enjoy the fluff and all of the attached nonsense <3

From: Y/n 🔪 [11:47pm]

yo kwannie if i impulsively decide to go to the 24h convenience store how harshly do u think they'll jusdge me for buying every flavor of gummy candy available *judge i wanna see if i can melt them down into one Ultimate Gummy u know for Science

Seungkwan pauses brushing his teeth and stares down at your messages.

To be fair, it's probably not the strangest thing you've ever texted him. He's known you since your second year of college, after all, so he has about half a decade of experience with all of your various y/n-isms under his belt now.

Which is how he knows to trust his gut when it tells him that this probably isn't your usual brand of nonsense.

He spits the toothpaste into the sink and dials your number. You answer on the second ring.

“Before you say anything,” you start, “I was only half-serious about the gummies thing. Like, it's a fun idea, you know? In theory. But in actuality? I do not want to deal with the mess that it would create. Or the smells. Well, the smells might actually be pretty good depending on—“

“Uh-huh,” he interrupts dryly. “Y/n, when's the last time you slept?”

The beat of silence that follows is enough to confirm his suspicions, and the hesitant “Um” that follows is just the icing on the cake, really.

He sighs. “The fact that you have to think about it says enough.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” you argue petulantly. “I just… don’t wanna tell you.”

“Y/n...” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I know, I'm sorry.” And you do sound a little bit sorry, at least. “I'm just. Having an episode. Don't worry about it.”

His shoulders droop as the words sink in. “Episodes” are what you've taken to calling your intermittent bouts of serious insomnia.

Generally speaking, you sleep about as well as the average twenty-something with a caffeine addiction. But every few months or so, it's like your brain completely forgets how to shut off and you end up staying awake for 40+ hours straight.

“Well,” he says, putting his toothbrush away and going back to his bedroom. “You know that ship has sailed, right? You know I'm gonna worry about it.”

Your deep sigh crackles over the line. “Yeah, I know.”

“So. Where're we at this time?”

He mentally braces himself. The two of you have done this enough times now that he knows that you know there's no point in trying to lie or beat around the bush.

“Uhhhhhhh, I'll be hitting the 46-hour mark in about 20 minutes.”

“Aish.”

The fact that you can say that so casually makes his heart hurt. He knows that whenever he doesn't get enough sleep, he makes sure everyone knows it and thus babies him accordingly. But you've always been so intent on hiding anything and everything you struggle with. It's taken years for him to bully himself past the walls you keep hidden behind shit-eating grins and an over-willingness to help.

“Okay,” he says, moving to the dresser to grab an extra set of clothes. “I'll be over in an hour.”

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” He tosses the clothes onto his bed before going to grab one of his duffle bags, firmly asserting, “You've got an hour to mentally prepare yourself for my arrival.”

“Honey, you've got a big storm comin',” you quote at him without hesitating.

“You sure do,” he assures with a snort. “Better get ready to feel the wrath of my friendship.”

“Why do you have to love so aggressively?”

He rolls his eyes while he throws his clothes into the duffle bag with one hand. “Because it's the only way you'll accept it, idiot.”

“No, it isn't.”

Your pout is so audible through the phone that Seungkwan has to stop and glance at the screen in disbelief.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n. Do not stand there and lie to my face like that.”

“I'm not lying!”

“Not—” He gesticulates wildly with one hand like he's going Can you believe this shit? to an invisible TV audience. “Okay, tell me this: what did you do the last time I sincerely monologued at you about how much you mean to me as a friend, hmm? No bits, no bullshit, just me telling you how much I love you and how amazing you are.”

A beat. “I'll hang up on you, Kwannie, don't test me.”

He barely resists the urge to shove his face into the bedspread and scream. “You're literally proving my point right now!”

“Kwannieeee,” you whine, because you know he's right.

“Also, because I'm never letting you live it down, I will remind you exactly what you did."

You say his name again, but it's muffled, and he assumes it's because you're hiding your face in shame.

“I gave you a sincere, heartfelt speech about how much your friendship has changed my life for the better and made me become a better person—” he ignores your wordless pterodactyl screech, “—and how do you respond? By staring at me like a deer caught in the headlights, slowly raising your arms to give me double finger guns, winking, and then slowly backing out of the room like an awkward mannequin!”

“...”

“Well?” He puts his free hand on his hip. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“… I’ve changed a lot since then.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes before moving to continue packing his overnight bag. “It was literally three months ago.”

“Yeah, and? Doesn't change the fact that I've changed,” you assert.

“Into even more of a nuisance? Yes, you're absolutely right.” He smiles when he hears you scoff playfully.

“Listen here, Boo Seungkwan. You know that well-rested Y/n is ready to throw down with you at a moment's notice. What do you think sleep-deprived, zero-impulse-control Y/n is going to do the second you get to their front door?”

“Stop referring to themself in the third person, hopefully,” he mutters, finally zipping up his bag and heading to the door. “And then after that, they're going to let me bully them into resting.”

“Hmm. The council has heard your proposal, briefly pondered it, and deemed it “unnecessary” on the basis of: they're a bad bitch that can't be stopped by neither time nor physics nor any god of your choosing.”

Seungkwan scoffs as he puts the call on speaker and sits to put on his sneakers. “Well, “the council” can go fuck right off.”

“What if the council would like to fuck right on?”

Pausing in the middle of tying his laces, he blinks down at his phone. “I'm— what?”

“Okay, real talk, what do you think it would mean in this case? Like, would this be like a 'hop on' versus 'hop off' situation? Or more like an 'I'm down for this' versus 'I'm up for this' kinda situation? Because it would have very different outcomes depending.”

Seungkwan decides that this is a debate better left for another time. “I think it means that I'm going to be at your house soon and that if you're not in your pajamas with hot Sleepy Time tea and the series Planet Earth ready to go, there will be consequences.”

“Booooooo, you whore.”

He finishes tying his laces and jabs his finger at the phone. “Consequences, Y/n.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“See you soon, love you, bye.” He hangs up before you can get another word in, but doesn't move from his seated position in the entryway.

Slowly, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out, taking a moment to lean back on his hands while he stares at the back of his front door. Specifically, at the large collage of sticky notes and pictures and doodles that have taken up residence there.

A few of the notes are ones he's gotten from other members of your shared friend group over the years (the one from Chan that reads "if u eat my rice i'll eat ur kneecaps xoxo" hangs proudly in the center, right next to a picture of him sleeping that Seungkwan managed to capture from an extremely unflattering angle). But most of them are from you.

Dumb puns, meme references, bullshit animal facts you made up just to get him to laugh… almost all of them are stupid in that extremely charming way that only you somehow manage to pull off.

But the one he's staring at now is almost completely hidden by other notes and pictures that have been added to the collage. It's a pale blue, the ink starting to fade a bit with time — the first note you ever gave him, back when you two were just people who happened to sit next to each other in an astronomy class.

Even though most of it is hidden, he doesn't need to be able to see all the tiny words you crammed into the small space to already know exactly what it says.

how do u make a space party? u planet :P u looked sad today, hope this makes u feel a little better also if this is 2 forward feel free 2 pretend i don't exist. or punt me in2 the sun idk u'd be doing me a favor tbh

He'd almost skipped class that day because of how bad he'd been feeling, but he'd decided to try and push through. And before that day, neither of you had interacted with more than a polite greeting and the occasional question about the homework.

But then you'd passed him that note, and he'd passed one back that said “that's dumb. but thank you” with a smiley face, and you'd passed another one back that said “do u think lizard people have ever been to space?” and the rest, they say, is history.

Seungkwan shakes his head with a sigh before standing up and grabbing his bag and his keys, striding determinedly out the door. He's got a best friend to take care of.

Seungkwan should be at your place soon, and you're not quite sure what to do in the meantime.

You have your laptop hooked up to the monitor in the living room with Planet Earth queued up, you have the kettle filled with water and ready to go on the stove, and you have mugs and teabags ready on the counter next to it.

The Required Tasks™️ have been completed as much as possible without the arrival of your best friend, and now all that's left to do is wait.

Which, normally, you're not the worst at. You're excellent at entertaining yourself, actually, mostly because there's always something to think about. Whether it be about cute dogs that you've seen over the past week (I wonder if the pomeranian down the street will let me pet him next time), potential plot twists for the new fantasy drama you're a little bit obsessed with (what if Gregothy was cursed the whole time???), or generic ponderings of the human existence as a whole (do souls have the metaphysical equivalent of a fingerprint?), you're pretty much always thinking about something.

Which is totally fine and dandy and cool or whatever when you have the ability to, you know, shut it off. For example, when you need to do something simple and necessary like, oh I don't know, go the fuck to sleep.

You also hate when that manic mental energy somehow translates into kinetic energy as well. It makes you feel like a hamster in a cage, watching yourself running and running and running on that stupid wheel until you exhaust yourself.

Tonight's metaphorical wheel: stimming like wild in the kitchen. Flapping, rocking, (gently) slapping, making weird and fun mouth sounds, the whole shebang.

And again, normally stimming is fun. Stimming is great. But stimming because you feel like if you don't stop moving you're going to literally vibrate out of your skin is, to put it lightly, Not It.

It takes you about ten minutes to work out all of the energy until you no longer feel like your blood was replaced with pop rocks.

With a groan, you lower yourself to the kitchen floor and lay down face first. Because despite how exhausted you feel in every possible way, there's still something like an itch in your conscious, a fucking pea underneath the miles of mattresses that refuse to let you just. Fucking. Sleep.

Your pity party must've lasted longer than you realized (or, more likely, you dissociated for a hot second there) because suddenly someone's knocking at your door at the same time you get a text from Seungkwan.

And you know it's a text from Seungkwan specifically because you got Vernon to help you change your notification settings so that whenever Seungkwan texts you, the "i love you.. bitch" sound clip plays instead of a normal text tone.

For a fraction of a second, you contemplate slowly inching your way to the door like an uncoordinated caterpillar, but you swat the thought aside like you’re swatting a gnat and you awkwardly roll to your feet and make your way to your front door.

Without hesitating, you unlock the door, swinging it open with a flourish and sticking a finger right in Seungkwan's face before he can utter a single syllable, forcing him to cross his eyes.

You open your mouth wide like you're going to say something, pause for a moment, then tap your pointed finger to his nose with a quiet "boop."

He blinks, expression turning deadpan, and sighs. "I should have expected this, honestly."

“Yep!”

You let him into your apartment, and he makes himself right at home, mildly bitching at you as he goes to get the tea ready, and something within you shifts.

The inside of your head is still a bit of a dumpster fire, unfortunately, but inside your chest... something clicks into place that you're not sure that you're ready to name. Whatever it is, though, it's soft and warm and kinda feels like your heart is being hugged.

Smiling to yourself, you follow him into the kitchen.

💤 💤 💤 💤 💤

It was pretty much straight to “business” after that, and it only takes Seungkwan one cup of tea and two episodes listening to David Attenborough's dulcet narrations for him to knock right out, leaning heavily against your shoulder on the couch.

Which means it's now the perfect time to sit there and Admire Your Bro™️.

It's rare to see him so still, you think. He's an active guy, in pretty much every sense of the word, and you always feel a little honored when you get to be witness to his quiet, vulnerable moments like this one.

He looks so serene, face smoothed out and painted in soft twirling shades of blue from the screen of the monitor, though you can't see too much of it from this angle. Mostly you just see his cheeks and stupidly adorable button nose.

And you've seen the same thing a million times before — in all kinds of states and expressions — and despite how much you've tried to ignore it, each and every time you've caught yourself noticing just how cute Seungkwan is, it's caused that thing in your heart to scrunch up, full of the L-word feeling that you've kept unnamed for what feels like forever now.

Except, maybe that thing in your heart is tired of scrunching up. Maybe it's decided that it's tired of forever.

Maybe that thing has finally decided to burrow itself out of the walls you've built up because you find yourself finally allowing yourself to think, Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

You don't realize that Seungkwan has completely stilled against you, but you certainly notice when he suddenly throws himself forward so he can turn around and stare at you incredulously. Only he overshoots a little bit and ends up falling off the couch with a squawk and a dramatic flail.

"Oh my god, Kwannie are you okay?!"

He stares at you from where he fell, wide-eyed like you've grown a second head or like the time you'd tried to convince him that birds weren't real and actually just a government conspiracy.

"Am— am I okay? No??"

Now it's your turn to move off of the couch, coming down to his level to see if maybe he hurt himself when he fell. "Fuck, okay, did you hit something? Do you need an icepack?"

Seungkwan being Not Okay is maybe one of the worst things that could ever happen in the entire universe and you're trying not to panic as you reach out to check for injuries.

"No, no, stop—" he bats away at your hands and you stop in your motions, now kneeling in front of him. "I'm not hurt!"

Your brain does the cartoonish screech thing as it comes to a halt, and you furrow your brows. "But.. you just said you're not okay?"

"I'm not!" His eyes are still wide in shock, but he also looks confused and maybe a little bit like he's about to cry?

Oh no. If he cries and it's somehow your fault (because it has to somehow be your fault) you think the world might actually end.

"Okay, uh. I am— confused,” you start, sure you must look as lost as you feel. “But, um, what can I do to help?"

He swallows, and a part of you realizes that he's looking at you with an expression you've never seen before. "Did you mean it?"

Knowing that it's significant but not yet knowing why, you maintain eye contact. "Mean what?"

"What you just said."

You blink. "...that I'm confused?"

He shakes his head. "No, before that."

You have a hard time remembering what you just said when you're not sleep-deprived and worried you've just somehow accidentally caused irreparable emotional damage to your best friend. "Uh... when I asked if you were okay?"

"No, fuck," and it's a shock for some reason, hearing him cuss right now. You hear him say much worse things all the time, but you think it might be the way he said it — with a kind of desperate vulnerability that you're not sure you've ever heard from him before.

That thing in your chest twinges and you think maybe you're the one who's gonna start crying.

He says your name like a plea, and then he's on his knees right in front of where you're kneeling on the floor, reaching forward to cup your face in his palms. "You said— Y/n, you said "holy shit I think I'm in love with you.””

Oh.

You're pretty sure your heart falls right out of your ass and bounces across the rug, judging from the way it comes to a dead stop. You blink at him. Full of new and sinking kind of dread, you whisper, "...I said that out loud?"

He laughs, but it's tinged with incredulity and sounds a little too close to a sob for comfort. "Yes! You did!"

And wait, no, your heart is still stuck in your chest, because you can feel it start pounding against your ribcage in double, triple, quadruple time. He must see the fear in your expression, because suddenly his eyes are narrowed in a determined scowl and he growls, "Oh no you don't."

Then you find yourself going down with a yelp as Seungkwan octopuses himself around you, trapping you within the confines of his surprisingly strong arms and legs as he basically tackles you to the floor.

You try and wiggle away even as you know it's useless, and he grits, "Y/n dammit, answer my question."

"Why were you even awake?” You deflect, getting an arm free and trying to give him a wedgie. “You were supposed to be asleep!"

"I was supposed to be asleep?!” He screeches, easily evading your reach and poking your ribs to get you to reflexively pull back your arm. “You're the one who hasn't slept in literal days! And stop avoiding my question!"

"No!" He has you trapped once again, and you resort to licking his arm.

"Oh my god!"

He muffles his scream into your shoulder, long and frustrated, and then he just... goes limp. He loosens his hold and just lets his full body weight kinda crush the parts of you he's ended up lying on and just... lays there.

This is your chance, you know — to wiggle free and escape and run away from your feelings just like you always have.

But, for some reason, you don't — that scrunched-up thing in your chest holds you back. You stay there, lying beneath Seungkwan on the floor of your living room at one-something in the morning, and the two of you just breathe.

"It's okay, you know," he murmurs after a moment, so quiet you barely hear him over David Attenborough still narrating softly in the background. "If you didn't mean it. It's okay."

Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

And you realize how easy it would be to play it off, to blame it on the sleep deprivation, the way you blurted it out like that — to say (to lie) you meant it completely platonically, like the way you propose to Mingyu at least once a month when he cooks you all dinner.

And you also realize, quite shockingly, that despite how a part of you still desperately wants to run away, the larger part of you wants to stay. Doesn't want to run. Doesn't want to lie anymore.

You swallow heavily, briefly close your eyes, and take in a deep breath. "And if I did? Mean it?"

This time, you do notice when Seungkwan goes still. Slowly, he lifts his head so he can look you in the eyes.

When he doesn't say anything, just continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, you try to continue.

"Would you— would that— would it be okay? If I meant it? When I— when I said that I'm in love with you? Is— because um, like you said, it's okay if it's not, and uh—"

Your nervous rambling comes to a stop when he once again cups your face, but it's gentler than before, closer to a caress. The whole time you'd been talking he'd been slowly sitting up, and now he's on his knees next to where you're still lying down on the floor, looking down at you like all the hope in the world is somewhere to be found in your expression.

"Y/n." he says your name like it's something precious, and you feel the absurd urge to burst into tears. "It would be very okay." His thumbs make gentle arcs across your cheeks. "And just to be clear: you mean it in a non-platonic sense, right?” He chews on his lip. “Hopefully, in a very much romantic sense?"

Staring at him staring at you, eyes bright with hope and a little bit of wonder... you can only imagine you must be looking at him the same way. Your chest feels like it's full of helium but also like something warm and gooey is sloshing around in there. And all that hope and wonder and holy shit is this actually happening? is causing your tongue to stick to the roof of your mouth, and all you're able to get past your lips is a breathless, "Hopefully?"

"Oh my god," he groans in frustration, but it's light and airy and makes you think of amusement park rides and fairy lights and how you want to annoy the shit out of this man for the rest of his life, if he'll let you. He's shaking his head, smiling, beaming, and he asks, "Why can you never give me any kind of a straight answer, huh?"

"Because it's my life's purpose to be the bane of your existence until the day we die," you say, reaching up to hold his face too. "Also because I've never done anything straight ever in my life."

And then your body is moving before your brain can think it though, dragging him down until you can press your lips to his and finally, finally know what it's like to kiss Boo Seungkwan.

He makes a little noise of surprise, one that you can feel buzz against your lips before he melts into you. And oh, any thoughts you might have had are forcefully ejected from your brain because all you can focus on are his lips pressed to yours, the way they move slowly, gently, turning this chaste kiss into the most scorching experience of your life. His nose bumps against yours and the heat of his warm breath sends tingles throughout your body, and his hands, fuck, his hands are still holding you gently but also with a firmness that feels like he doesn't want to let you go.

And then he's pulling away, and you whine at him because this may be the cruelest thing he's ever done to you ever in your entire life. "Noooooo, why'd you stop?"

"Because, as much as I'd love to continue to make out with you on your floor while an old British man narrates about life on the Serengeti—” he mercifully ignores the way you choke on your spit at the way he talks about making out with you so nonchalantly "—it's past someone's bedtime."

Your mouth drops open in offended shock. Was he actually going to put you to bed like a child? Like you both hadn't just declared your romantic love for each other? "Are you fucking serious?"

He just stands up and crosses his arms, looking down at you with a single raised eyebrow. You take the part of you that finds it annoyingly attractive and promptly smother it, crossing your own arms from your position on the floor.

"I'm not a baby," you definitely don't pout.

"Hmmm...” And then the bastard fucking pouts at you. “But you're my baby."

You blink at him.

"Welp, that was nice while it lasted,” you grunt, rolling to your feet, “but I suddenly need to relocate to Antarctica and become a penguin herder.”

He pulls you into his arms with a laugh, and you let him, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“You know,” he starts after he's held you for a few moments. “This isn't how I ever imagined how us confessing to each other would go.”

You snort.

“But also,” he continues, “it feels very 'us' doesn't it?”

"Yeah,” you murmur, not bothering to lift your head from his shoulder.

“Mmm, is someone finally sleepy?” he teases, starting to waddle you both towards your bedroom. “Did all the emotions finally wear you out?”

Instead of nodding, you lightly kick him in the shin and the sappy part of your brain that is currently in charge of everything thinks that his indignant squawk is one of your most favorite sounds.

The sappy part of your brain is right, of course, and when you wake up in your bed 15 hours later and accidentally smack him in the face, the urge to run is a little bit smaller than it was before. And the way he flushes bright red after you sleepily kiss him on the cheek is an image you're going to cherish until the day you die.

#svtsource #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan fic #seungkwan x y/n #seungkwan x you #seungkwan x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #savv writes #savv fics #in my queue world

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icyowl · 2 years

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Phantom Limb Pain

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x reader

Synopsis: Self-explanatory. Helping Vash deal with phantom limb pain. 1k

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

In many ways Vash was both the luckiest and unluckiest person alive. He was lucky because, well, he was still alive, firstly, but also because he was (mostly) healthy, fed, sheltered from the blistering wind, with you, and nestled away in the back of a tavern largely out of sight of the rest of the patrons. He was, however, unlucky in that he didn't have a place to stay for the night, hadn't had one in about two weeks, couldn't convince you to stay away from him to stay safe, and his own body had begun to betray him. . . again.

“Vash?” You said to lift his head from where it rested on the tabletop. His posture looked very different from what it was when you'd left to get drinks. Hunched, visibly taught even with his coat, flesh-hand discretely fisted under the shadow of the table. He didn't bother to move even when he knew you were there.

“Is it hurting again?” You asked. He nodded as much as he could. When it truly drove him mad, he became eerily silent. You couldn't have this — Vash immobilized to the point of turning mute, afraid to show you and resigning to a silent suffering. “What kind of hurting?” You tried.

Quiet, breathless, he finally replied: “Like someone's got it in a grinder.”

His tone just about broke you. Out of all the outlaws, vagabonds, and backstabbers, he deserved this the least. “Tell me how I can help.”

At last he looked up. There was a little more water in his eyes than normal; and if a man of much suffering had been pushed this far? It had to be bad. Vash's eyes were especially round with sorrow — perhaps as much to have to ask you for help as to endure the pain — and his voice was almost consumed by the raucous of the tavern. “Rub the other one? The way you like to do it?”

You pulled your stool right in front of his until your knees were overlapping. His glasses slipped off easily when you pulled them from his ears and put them on the table.

“What if people see?”

“They're too drunk to talk, Vash, don't worry about them seeing us.”

He was always scared to attract unwanted attention. Any person could be the wrong person; they could hurt you, cast both of you out into the desert, bristling with nighttime cold, or hail a swat of police to chase you for days. Vash had just gotten you out of the elements and into this tavern even if for just a few hours.

You grabbed his human hand wordlessly and stretched it out. One of your hands held onto his wrist while the other began to squeeze and massage the bicep and tricep. Anything to distract from the pain. “This doesn't usually happen unless you're stressed. What's up?”

“I'm alright, I—”

“Vash.” You cut off with a sudden, grating edge to your voice, still moving down his bicep with rhythmic pulls. “We've talked about this. Don't make me force you to do your affirmations in the back of a bar.” He knows you mean it, remembers the time you had him do it in a bathroom through his tears, another time after waking up with a breathless jolt in the deep of the night, again when he'd barely managed to get you out of a hostage situation with your life.

“Seriously, it—”

“Say 'it's nothing' and I won't let you cuddle me for a week.”

A whole week? Vash knew you were serious, too. Open up, or. . . for a week? Bare his problems to you, allow himself a moment of empathy, share just one of the demons usually hidden behind his large glasses. . . or no cuddles. Why did you have to be so adamant?

His head dipped, a bit ashamed, but still he let those sinful hands of yours hit every knot in his forearm. “I've been worrying over this sleeping situation. It's not good for you — so cold every night.”

The heartfelt statement made your eyes sting. To be so kind as to incur physical ramifications at the pain of others — he really was something beyond the average human. His kindness, above all his struggles, had become his greatest curse.

Whether to hide or to be close to you, his head plopped down unceremoniously onto your shoulder, the disheveled mop of hair atop his head vaguely tickling your neck and cheek. Your fingers moved carefully to the back of his neck. There was a fine line before his boundaries were crossed; if you overstepped, he'd completely clam up. It was hard to get him to do this in the privacy of a tent in the middle of the dunes, let alone in a bar full of inebriated patrons. Thankfully Vash didn't shy away when you touched the taught muscles and continued up into the soft hair of his undercut. Not even when you pushed into the pressure points there did he pull away.

Oh no. If anything, your stampede opened himself even more. A subtle puff of air, a faint groan, a slouching of his shoulders, and suddenly it felt like he was trying to get under your very skin.

“I can't stop you from worrying,” you said, “no one can. I can't make you care about yourself, eat enough, or stop you from trying to save everyone. Only you can do that, Vash. What I can do is say this isn't good for you. How can you expect to do the things you want when you won't take care of yourself? If the phantom pains are getting this bad. . .”

He knew exactly what you were doing. Sometimes he hated your reverse psychology, but it was working.

You continued: “I want to help you in whatever way I can, so you can keep doing all these crazy, stupid, amazing things. So trust me. Trust me to be your stampede.”

A hefty pause broke when he burrowed his forehead deeper into your shoulder. “I hate when you're like this.”

You laughed. “I know you do, now, how is it?”

“. . . better.”

You pulled his head off your shoulder and, before your thoughts got the better of you, caressed his jaw in your palms and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. Vash seemed to glitch out for only a second or two this time. His prosthetic hand, previously too uncomfortable to move, lifted to rest on your thigh.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun stampede #trigun stampede x reader #io has ideas

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rockitmans · 2 years

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Ellipsis

A/N: This one is for @jazziergin who stumped me in the fic line game. She helpfully asked for Soulmate AU with a twist, obviously an easy thing to embody in a drabble 😛

But here we go, at least it's less than 1k this time. Hope you enjoy, love! Not convinced this counts as a twist but hopefully this is something different.

~~~~~~~

An ellipsis. That's what Kurt has tattooed across his wrist in the place that is meant to display the first words your soulmate says to you. A classic dot dot dot. The most mocking collection of punctuation ever conceived of.

He has theories. But most of those theories all kind of point firmly in the same direction. He's probably destined to die alone. Even if the ellipsis is meant to indicate something, how is Kurt ever going to find the person that is embodied by something as abstract as a pause?

He determinedly doesn't think about it when he gets to college. Either he'll find his soulmate or he won't. All he can do is keep an open mind and give himself the best possible chance of finding The One. He even signs up for an English Lit class with the absolute mammoth leap of logic that Lit students are much more likely to use an ellipsis in everyday speech than your average person. Like that’s something that’s likely or even possible to achieve.

He may be losing his mind.

He regrets the decision immediately when he finds out the lecture is at eight am. He slumps in clutching his coffee and thinking fondly of his bed. He should drop this stupid class. It's way too early and he signed up for dubious reasons and they're reading Lolita for God's sake. He doesn't need that kind of toxicity in his life.

The bad mood lasts until the exact second an incredibly cute guy slips into the seat next to Kurt. Dark curls and warm eyes and a tiny waist that Kurt kind of wants to wrap his hands around. Cute Guy tosses an absent smile of greeting in Kurt's direction and it's the most radiant thing Kurt has ever seen. Holy fuck. He thinks he's halfway in love already.

Kurt wants to say something, but is not caffeinated enough to manage witty repartee and this guy is hot enough to make him feel speechless on a good day. Instead, he goes to nod and then tries to change it to a wave. The result is that he just kind of twitches violently. Fuck. He’s lost it. A guy smiles at him and he’s completely lost it. He quickly grabs his coffee to try and cover for whatever the hell that just was and tries to pretend he’s anywhere else.

The guy touches his arm, three gentle taps with his finger, and Kurt's eyes snap up, only to be surprised when a notepad is slipped in front of him with a single line of text.

I'm Blaine. I'm not ignoring you, I just can't talk.

Kurt blinks, frowning. And then he watches Blaine get his phone out and start up a text to speech app and it clicks. Oh. He gives Blaine a thumbs up and Blaine smiles slightly and touches his ear. Right. Blaine can hear. Which means that Kurt doesn’t have to resort to gestures as well. But he’s an idiot. So of course he did. He genuinely can’t wait for this hour to be over so he can go and walk into a deep fog never to be seen again.

He does his best to focus on the lecture for the simple fact that the professor seems to be the sort to pick on people at random and he’s already suffered enough humiliation for the day without being caught not paying attention. It’s hard though. He can’t stop stealing glances at Blaine. He feels like he can’t breathe. His pulse is racing. He seriously wonders if he might be coming down with the flu or something.

He’s only dragged back into the moment by the most garbage take he’s ever heard a human being utter so confidently in a room full of total strangers. People usually save that shit for twitter.

"Humbert Humbert being a misunderstood genius is not the hot take I expected to be subjected to today," Kurt mutters before he can stop himself.

He hears the intake of breath. He practically feels the way Blaine stills beside him. And then Blaine moves in a flurry, tugging up his sleeve to expose his wrist, shoving it under Kurt’s nose. Humbert Humbert being a misunderstood genius is not the hot take I expected to be subjected to today, it says in slanting script.

Kurt's mouth drops open. Blaine gestures, pointing at Kurt's wrist, a question in his eyes. Kurt slowly turns his hand over to show the three dots neatly pressed against his pulse. Blaine frowns and starts to sign something out before remembering. He grabs his notebook instead, scrawling out some quick sentences.

Disappointed but not surprised to learn the soulmate system is so ableist. It can't even be bothered to have the first words I write to you? Unbelievable.

Kurt laughs. Mostly out of shock and relief and the feeling of a heavy weight being lifted so suddenly it's like he could float away. All this time he assumed that the dots meant his soulmate would never speak to him for the worst of reasons. But his soulmate is right here. Blaine is here. Blaine is his. He’s literally won the soulmate lottery.

"I thought you didn't exist," he whispers. "Because of this."

Blaine's eyes soften and he lightly brushes his fingers over the offending dots. But I found you, he writes.

"You found me," Kurt repeats shakily. And maybe that's where he was going wrong this whole time. Years spent fretting over what the dots meant and doubting that he was ever going to find his soulmate.

It just turned out that all along his soulmate was meant to find him.

#glee #my fic #klaine fanfic #klaine #i literally tag different every time #anway I tried!#jazziergin

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drivestraight · 2 months

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im curious! how long does it usually take to write a fic? like if we’re talking per 1k

my general answer is that it really, really depends.

like if it’s something porny where i dont have to think about plot or anything over-arching, like something contained to itself, i can lock in and maybe write like 1k an hour on average?

but for my other sorts of fics where i need to think a bit more it might take a couple hours or even a couple days. really depends on the fic, the scene, etc. and sometimes i’m just not rly into the writing mood so i don’t get much done. like i don’t write every day or anything i just try to finish things in bursts

tldr for 1k usually anywhere from like an hour to a few days

#for me the thing is i can write fast but it doesnt mean i’ll keep all of it OR that i’ll be incentivized to write #if i don’t want to #like the motivation is the bigger issue… i get bored of wips all the time if they dont click…#asks #writing asks

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preciousbarnes · 2 years

Text

I Bet You Think About Me (Tony's Version)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word count: 1k-ish

Tags: Angst

Inspiration: I Bet You Think About Me (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift, lyrics bolded and italicized belong to Taylor Swift

3 a.m. and I'm still awake, I'll bet you're just fine Fast asleep in your city that's better than mine

You laid in bed next to Tony, as he lightly snored, the noise filling the room of his bedroom in the penthouse he had just moved you into. You had been comfortable in your own place in Brooklyn, but it wasn't up to Tony's standards. At first, when the move-in talk began, his reasonings were "you deserve better", and "its not safe there, there was a mugging down the street!" But those remarks, after your refusal, turned into "honey, its embarrassing to me that you live there" and "you really want Happy driving all the way there and back almost every day for you?"

His shame hurt the most.

Brooklyn wasn't good enough for Tony Stark. He wanted someone from Manhattan or New York proper.

So here you were, all moved in and items put away. Living right in downtown New York City was a big change. It was brighter, louder, faster than your little corner of Brooklyn.

You curled to your side, bringing your legs to your chest and curling your arms around them to be in a position reminiscent of a fetal position. You allowed yourself to focus on Tony's breathing, thinking it would calm you. Instead, it made you more aware of the juxtaposition of Tony's comfort and your weight of shame and sadness.

But reality crept in, you said we're too different You laughed at my dreams, rolled your eyes at my jokes

"I want to go back to school, and try to start my own business", you told him one night over dinner. He choked on his expensive wine you didn't even know how to pronounce the name of, which at first you thought was an accident until the choking sounds morphed into laughter. He was laughing at your goal. It was funny to him.

Your heartbreak must have began to show on your face before you could school your expression into indifference. His cold hand reached across the table and grabbed yours, sending a chill up your arm from the temperature difference.

"Sweetheart, there's no reason for you to work. And business starting doesn't usually work out for people like you," he said as he sipped his wine once more.

"People like me?" You asked, not understanding and laughing awkwardly, trying to get rid of the tenseness that had begun enveloping the room.

In response, he rolled his eyes a bit and gave a condescending smile before chuckling and saying "Average people, darling. Business starting only works out for people with a way in, with some ingenious ideas."

Mr. Superior-Thinkin' Do you have all the space that you need?

"Hey Tony, where are my things?" You asked upon his arrival back to his penthouse after spending the last few hours trying to find where your things had been moved. You assumed that maybe a cleaner had gathered things up to clean and must have moved them to a spare room or something. Nothing prepared you for what was about to happen.

"Oh, I was hoping to avoid this. I thought you'd get the hint and JARVIS could just inform you if you asked anything. Well, this isnt working out. Having you live here with me, its too crowded, too much. We're too different, its better to end things now." He told you, avoiding eye contact as he hung his suit jacket in the coat closet and took off his tie from the day of meetings he had.

"Its better to end things? You knew how different we were. I gave up everything for you. I gave you everything I had. Everything." You cried, eyes blurring with tears. At this, he snorted with a small laugh.

Everything? He asked with a chuckle, pouring some scotch into a glass. What have you possibly given me? It's been me doing the giving, dollface.

This broke your heart even more. He didn't even remember?

"Tony, I gave you my first, I gave you my heart and soul and body and you don't even remember?" You ask, in sobs.

"Listen, you were bound to lose it sometime, and we don't live in fairytales, it doesn't always work out" he said crassly.

You sobbed openly at his callousness. He was unaffected. He turned to walk to the bedroom you once called yours too, calling to you over his shoulder.

"I was able to get your old apartment back for you, I paid the security deposit and three months rent to give you some time to find a job again and as thanks for our time together. I'll see you around, maybe," he said loud enough for you to hear as he walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

A thanks for your time together? Some kind of thank you, you thought to yourself as you wiped the tears off your face and gathered your coat and purse to return to the apartment in Brooklyn that was once your home before this disaster.

The voices so loud sayin', "Why did you let her go?" Does it make you feel sad That the love that you're lookin' for Is the love that you had?

It took months for Tony to see his mistakes. He went out, partied, playboyed it up. It wasn't the same as coming home to you. Someone who was so different. Something he once thought was bad. Turns out, it was so much better than being around people like him.

The next time you saw Tony was in the same little coffee shop that you had first met in. He was sitting across from a young woman with long, shiny blonde hair. She was talking, gesturing with her hands along with her words, but he looked overwhelmingly bored. He slowly blinked, picking up his coffee you had no doubt was straight black as it always was, as his eyes met yours over the mug as he took a sip.

You gave a small smile, and ordered your coffee to go, thinking to yourself that not too long ago, that girl had been you. The only difference was for a short time you kept Tony's interest. You just weren't what he thought he wanted for himself.

I bet you think about me.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #angst #songfic #i bet you think about me #preciousbarnes fics

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giggly-squiggily · 1 year

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i have a question

how long does it take you to write 1 fic (like roughly) cuz i dont want u to overwork urself

idk im just curious rhehheheheh

Hey friend! Thank you for asking!

So it really depends on the day, my writer mojo, the planets and if they align, what phase the moon is in, did Kokushibou see his shadow, etc. kljakjrajejare

On a really good day: Around 2-3 hours. If I have the ability to just sit and write and the inspiration/motivation; I can easily get a 1k fic done in that time. (Depending on how long the fic it the hours might expand but we're going with average word counts) Usually I write on the weekend cause I've got time, and I like to start multiple WIPs at once so when I do have time on the weekend, I can knock them all out and get them queued! :D

On an average/normal day: About half a day to a full day. This is usually when I have the idea in mind/motivation but not so much the time. I like to write on the Google Docs app on my phone if I'm out and about and have time between errands/work/class; then edit the format when I can get to my laptop. If I'm really lucky I can get in a good chunk of the fic before I'm whisked away doing stuff once more :)

On a bad day: 2-3 days to sometimes weeks. This is- like recently- when things get stupid busy and writer's block decides to knock on my door ala Taylor Swift's Anti Hero. "It's me! Hi! I'm the problem, it's me! :D" Normally when this happens I do Sentence starters/Headcanons to dabbles to help fight off the block, but I'm still fairly burnt out after the Candy Hearts (which was so freaking fun, so I can't say it wasn't worth it) so that probably won't happen anytime soon. If I can shake it (which is happening recently now that class is almost over) then I can speed up some, but it really just comes down to my mood and when I have time.

Thanks for asking!

#squiggily speaks #ask #yellowelectroslime #friend :3 #chatting with friends #fic writing process

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

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🤩&⌛ please!

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Right now, it's gotta be Steve. He has wormed his way into my brain and become my muse. I can't explain it. I just like writing about him.

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

On average, it takes me about an hour and some change to write a chapter. My chapters aren't that long, usually about 1k. My low efforts ones are even shorter than that so they take even less time

#thanks for the ask!#<3 #note: i don't edit my fics either #unless later on i see a glaring mistake #however it is it goes up

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how-masterful · 2 years

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POWER OF THE DOCTOR PART 1 DIRECTOR'S CUT

PLEASE

Omfg your writing is just so incredible and I would KILL to see you write a little scene of them in Russia together just having a great little time

TYSM

Thank you so much! Here’s a slightly longer comment on it than i’d anticipated:

This was the fic that I knew I was going to remaster before it even came out on screen. The way I usually plan my fics is by watching an episode and finding my favourite scene- like in nightmare in silver, which was just the chess game and the trigger destruction. I don't ever intend to fully rewrite the episode, but to just expand on the scenes I loved and maybe do some context dumps that show how different the world has been shaped by it just being the master and the reader- removing side characters etc, and just focusing on the pair at hand.

In my fics i like to keep to a certain storyline: reader and the master knew each other post missy/before 13, and you were an undercover companion for series 11, leaving the team during spyfall part 2. From there it gets a bit tricky. Did you stay for the dalek revolution and the flux, meaning power was a reunion? Or did you leave with the Master in the finale of series 12?

At first, this was fine. I’d decide what idea to use once i’d picked a scene, and add in that context. But then the episode came out, and became so special to me, that I couldn’t pick a favourite. This presented two problems.

The first problem was, out of context, I had ideas for scenes. Like you being present at the volcano lecture, or you seeing the master again for the first time on the screen and him telling thirteen to bring you along. That leans in to a whole ‘you tried to turn me good because you failed with missy’ thing, but that’s a whole other can of worms. When I settled on a concept I liked, I wrote each scene in isolation, but in order- the corridor ‘roast’ is by far my favourite. However I didn't want to write the connective tissue such as Vinders arrival or the dalek drama, but I needed something to connect the scenes. So that's where the Russian scenes came from! Originally I had no intention on writing them, but they worked well as little intercuts. Also, I felt like I could skip the TARDIS scene as it would have gone on for longer than i’d liked, plus i’d already given the extra lore tidbits earlier. It’s a shame, as I love that scene, but I feel like any detours the dialogue could have taken would’ve made it worse. Also, I was just so tired.

As I write, i watch the episode over and over, sometimes watching the same few seconds about 20 times- especially if there’s certain moments where i want to really emphasise a gesture, or I want to get the surroundings just right. This takes up some time, as those few seconds can sometimes be 100′s of words long. @plethora-of-imagines can attest to just how much of a struggle this first part was- i think i spent a solid 8 hours trying to write it, averaging about 1k an hour. The entire thing ended up clocking in at nearly 28k by the end- so by that logic, I had about 10 hours to write something that would take me 28. That was problem number two.

By the end, my brain was mush. But perhaps this was a happy accident- it meant i could take a months break to recombobulate, think about the next parts, and end up writing more than I thought I could. It also meant I could include the masters version of the guardians of the edge.

Finally, here’s three (and a half) fun facts:

Fact 1, The detail I spent the most time on was your companion parody outfit. If I remember right, it was Marthas jacket, Claras shirt, Jo’s denim dress and red tie, Rose’s tights, Amy’s cowboy boots, Romanas white version of 4′s scarf, and Nyssa’s tiara. Reader almost wore Romanas purple outfit, or Rose’s union jack shirt, or Jo’s fluffy blue jacket. That one was the hardest to let go of, but I needed something that was even slightly cohesive.

Fact 2, absolutely shamelessly, the two possible bodies that the guardian masters were suggesting were Oscar Isaac and Gwendoline Christie. Moon Knight and Wednesday really did a number on me.

Fact 3, i think i spent a good hour trying to find an insert character for Rasputin Mater. I’ve no clue of the historical accuracy of the role the reader takes on, but then again I don’t think the whole thing is priding itself on being true to life. It was fun to google though!

Fact 3.5, i’m absolutely convinced it takes about 3-5 days for the fics to show up in the tags. Wild!

Overall, this fic killed me, bit I absolutely adored writing it. I’m sure I could say more, but then it would be as long as the fic. Thank you so much for the support, and I hope you enjoy what’s to come in the future!

#doctor who #bbc doctor who #the master #bbc #sacha dhawan #dhawan!master #sacha!master #spymaster #fanfiction #x reader #dhawan!master x reader #remastered

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ladyryukyo · 2 years

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chris/jack, 1k words

fluff, sappy, domestic, established relationship

i did it. i wrote cheeseshipping fic. even worse, i enjoyed writing it. i'm posting this now so i can wash my hands of it and never use the term cheeseshipping ever again.

Chris usually prides himself on being a pretty diligent kind of guy, conscientious and hardworking, putting in extra hours, more sweat and time than the average person. When the WBBA headquarters get too busy and the office is too noisy for him to get a lot done, he often takes his reports home with him and fills them out at the kitchen table while his dinner is slowly getting cold next to him, untouched and forgotten.

This had been his plan for today as well... but.

But Jack has set up his canvas and painting supplies in the living room, in full view of Chris' seat at the kitchen table. The radio is playing lowly, a slow and melodious song that Chris hasn't heard before. The sun is beginning to set and Jack, sat in front of his canvas, elegantly swinging his paint brush in patterns that only make sense to him, is gorgeous, face bare from makeup, with golden light setting his red hair aflame, lips slightly pursed, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. He looks like a statue, fine-boned cheeks and the graceful arch of his eyebrows made from the finest marble, like someone with exceptional talent took the time to carve out every detail of his face with painstaking precision. He himself looks like a painting.

Not for the first time, Chris wishes he had an ounce of artistic talent in his fingers, to be able to capture this image forever, but since he only has this moment, he tries to commit every detail to memory, greedily soaking in every twitch of Jack's fingers, every half-smile that graces his lips when he adds something to his painting that pleases him.

With an inaudible sigh, Chris gives up on getting any more work done and pushes his reports to the side. His half-eaten soup is definitely cold now, so he grabs it and stands to make his way to the kitchen and heat it up again. As soon as he stands, Jack calls out to him.

"No, wait!"

Confused, Chris pauses mid-movement, chair pressing against the back of his knees. "Jack? What is it?"

Jack throws him an exasperated glance, fondness smoothing the stern wrinkle on his forehead. He gestures towards the painting.

"Please sit back down, exactly as you've been before, love. I promise it won't take long but I really want to finish this before the light vanishes entirely."

Chris blinks. "You were drawing me?" he asks, perplexed. Absently, self-consciously, he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it, then immediately petting it down when he realizes what he did. "Can I see it?"

Jack smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that makes Chris' heart flutter in his chest. "When I'm done," he promises.

Chris smiles back automatically, helplessly, and slowly sits back down, trying not to let his discomfort show on his face. Jack is so lovely, radiant and bold and bright, with or without makeup. He already is a piece of art by himself, his charisma, his whole presence, the way he holds himself. Chris is more than content to fade to the background at Jack's side, to let Jack shine all the brighter, bask in the attention and awe from everyone around him as he deserves.

This. This is way out of Chris' comfort zone.

He sits stiffly and tries not to move or think about what his face is doing for what feels like half an eternity, until Jack eventually sets his paintbrush aside. It is considerably darker than before, the sun having set almost completely now, the sky streaked with dark pinks and purples. It has probably not been an eternity, or a half of it, but Chris' ass is a little numb when he squirms slightly in his seat. Jack turns towards him and holds out his hand, beckoning him to come over.

"Come. You wanted to see it, right?"

Chris doesn't want to admit it but he is a little apprehensive. Jack's work is always beautiful, no doubt. Chris has done his best to be worthy of the time and affection Jack gifts him with but he doesn't know if he can be worthy of his talent, his art, the very thing he is most passionate about in the entire world. Still, when Jack wiggles his fingers in his direction, even this silly motion somehow full of grace and purpose, Chris follows the request without hesitation.

When he sees the painting, Chris sucks in an audible gasp of air. Jack shoots him a curious glance but doesn't say anything. Chris can feel his eyes on his face, scrutinizing his every reaction. He doesn't know what to say.

The painting is gorgeous but that doesn't surprise Chris and it is not what made his heart skip a beat in - wonder? Awe? Plain old shock? It depicts their dining room bathed in golden light from the setting sun, dust particles swirling through the air looking like burning sparks or tiny stars blinking in and out of existence. The shadows of their furniture in the painting are longer and the warm lighting makes it seem the way Chris imagines a dream might look in the waking world. In the middle of the picture, there is a figure with messy hair and tired eyes slumped over a table. The figure's visible exhaustion does nothing to diminish its handsome features or its expression, which is pleased or fond or maybe even amused, affection sparking in its warm eyes, lips faintly tugging upwards as if by an invisible string.

It is so obvious, through the painting and through the way Jack is watching him taking it all in, how much Jack loves the figure in the painting, him, Chris. It is so obvious how much he loves Chris.

This is what has Chris' heart hammering loudly in his ears. The realization that Jack has been seeing him the same way he has been seeing Jack. Beautiful, ethereal, mesmerizing. Gazing at him with such overwhelming affection and love, just like Chris has been doing to him all this time.

He startles out of his thoughts when Jack takes his hand in his.

"Do you like it?" he asks, smiling almost shyly.

"It's amazing. You're amazing," Chris breathes and presses a kiss to Jack's temple, who allows it for a moment before cupping Chris' face and angling his lips towards his own.

#there #are you happy now #god i hope all this sappy stuff has made this ship leave my mind now #i dont know how much more of this i can take #mfb #metal fight beyblade #i wrote this #chris beyblade #jack beyblade #mfb fic #cheeseshipping

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raybyanothername · 2 years

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Is Fear in his eyes the longest chapter/section of a fic/oneshot you've written? Because its like 3000 words but its such a good fic it doesnt seem that long because its so interesting. Btw I believe I've added about 104 more rereads since 2 days ago? Anyway this is a very long winded way of asking how your writing is going for FIHE and ur other WIPS. Plus now Im curious, how long do you spend writing these?

Fear is definitely one of the fics with the longest chapters. There's a few chapters of RAMD and CBK that have broke 3k, but I'd say most of my chapters hover in the 1.5-2k range. Like Mother, Like Son is my other fic with those big chapters. Both of these fics have a lot happen each chapter though, so it makes sense.

They're also the fics that take me the longest to write... ^^' Keeping Up and Targaryen Solution are on the other end of that spectrum, they're usually shorter chapters and when I'm writing them I can usually knock a few out in one sitting (I can and have done that with all my fics though to be fair). It really just depends on how much time I have to write and whether the muse is cooperating.

I've been working on these fics rather than my book as late so... that's why they're being updated regularly. I think I average an hour or two of writing a day. Spread across various fics and projects, probably around 2kish a day? Fear is special in that it gets written in a notebook and then I have to type it up when I finish the chapter. That's also how I'm writing my current book, which is why it's so easy to procrastinate on them. ^^'

I'm just like: I could write a bit more... then I don't have to type... oh, look, here's something I can write on my phone, no typing required! *takes a nap instead* What was I working on?

I am a rather chaotic writer. That's why I have a day job. Which I can fortunately write at sometimes. I think I've written half of Keeping Up during my office hours. XD

As for actual progress:

Fear has 1 of... 3? major scenes written.

LMLS is the same, and at 1k, so Fear is probably the same size.

I actually started The Beast, which is my big modern omegaverse AU. I have almost 600 words and it feels amazing to finally have something written for it!

My other fics all have, like, maybe 2 sentences each in progress? I've been trying to finish up some of one-shot WIPs so I'll have fewer untitled documents. ^^' I'll probably try to dive back in to Keeping Up this weekend though, because I have *plans* for the wedding night...

My plan for tonight is to finish the brim of a hat I'm knitting and actually type up some scenes from my book. I'm finally gonna get to write about my own dragons instead of GRRM's! Maybe... if I can wrangle my attention span...

Either that or I'll reread LMLS so I can channel Jace's attitude for the Daemyra wedding properly.

I've actually been struggingly to decide what to focus on the last few days, and that ends with me working on nothing or (maybe) on something new rather than current projects. My brain is very annoying like that sometimes. I wish I could put up a poll asking people to tell me what I should write some days. Just take that decision out of my hands so I can *start* when my brain is being frustrating.

If I'm close to the end of a chapter or fic (like, within 500-1k words) I'll sometimes try to wrap them up when I get asks about them. That's why both my A/B/O one-shots for HotD got posted in the last 24 hours. ^^'

I'm definitely rambling now... Oh well, enjoy what I'm sure was a very convoluted answer to your question! XD

#ray rambles #ray writes #writer life #house of the dragon #hotd #fanfiction #ray answers

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years

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HOLD ON you write 6k+ words in two days??? How????

Magic ✨

Nah, I just get hyper focussed lmaoo, I can usually average about 1k an hour when I really get going, sometimes 1.5k. It’s not much, but it’s honest work lmaoo

#ask

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nuggeteri · 7 months

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Sleep deprived ramblings because i had the silly thought to open commission (i haven't and wont for a while butt)

Okay so i just put myself to work and i got 100 words in 2 minutes.. Which is not a lot But when you think about it, the more you write the more it takes. The first few words might take a while just like they could flow. Then continuing on they could flow even better or slowly fade out into scrolling mindlessly through an app.

I find that the best average for 100 words is 5 minutes. It can get you time to think and etc

now going over to 500 words, that's a different story. 500 words is usually when i loose my flow- (if i didnt loose it at 300.) Which takes up to 30 minutes.

I find that i should write 1k words a day, so the balance i could give myself is 500 words in the morning, and 500 in the evening. Because then in the morning, you wake up and you get your mind set on something to wake you up. And at the end of the day, ideas fuel your brain from everything that's happened.

So, basically-- i had settled on 1€ the 100 words, and i think that now i've thought about it it makes sense-? Like, minimum wage workers get paid 10€ the hour. So, half an hour in the morning and in the night would be 5€ each.

I think thats quite fair. If i were to open up commissions, i'd open them up to like, 5k max. Because like 5K would be 2 weeks of work (excluding the weekends) (yes 2 weeks bcz i wont only be working on commissions)

this rambling should really be in my notebook now that i think abt it

#writing commissions #ramblings #sleep deprivation

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http-tokki · 2 years

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｡ₓcharacters: Levi ackerman x reader ｡ₓcontent: modern-day AU! mental health mention! Age gap! (Legal, reader is in her mid/late 20's) ｡ₓsummary: just a few scenarios about Levi and you, the average university student supermarket worker ｡ₓword count: 1k ｡ₓa/n: NOT PROOFREAD! This is 100000% self-indulgent and tailored to a very niche market like everything I do here.

♡ Set in modern-day, you're in your final year of university, your PhD just a few months away, and to make ends meet, you have been employed at your local supermarket, which hasn't been too bad; there are certainly worse jobs, but there have been a few awkward encounters when it came to your partner.

The first was the first time Levi had come in to pick you up. Having just finished work and dressed in his usual business attire (suit pants and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Rolex glinting in the low light, silver band around his ring finger to match the one you had on a chain around your neck. Dark hair falling over his forehead despite Levi running his finger through it to tame it back. There he stood, in all his gorgeous glory, phone between his fingers as he dialed you once more only to get voicemail; again. The bright green shopping basket dangled off his arm, the small array of groceries shifting as he swapped legs. He needed to know if you needed or wanted anything, not seeing any point in hanging around doing nothing when you only had ten minutes left on your shift. After no contact yet again, Levi decided to flag down an employee in hopes they would fetch you for him. And they did just that, except without any idea about Levi's relationship with you; there was a bit of confusion as they called out to you.

"Your uncle is here looking for you." They called to you over the loud hum of the refrigerator fans.

Huh? Stepping out of the noisy room, you double-checked with your co-worker, repeating the word uncle, only for them to nod their head in confirmation. "Uhh, I don't think so. My uncle lives in another state" You shook your head. "Can you come out with me, in case it's some creep?"

They followed you as you exited the back dock, babbling about how "even if he is a creep, he's suuuuuuper attractive, so if you don't want to get in his van, I will."

"I don't think that being attractive makes it any less creepy. I mean, would you really want- Ohh, Levi."

As your boyfriend came into sight, all your worries disappeared, and instead, second-hand embarrassment filled your cheeks.

"Levi?" Your co-worker parroted, stopping even as you continued to walk.

Levi reached a hand out to you as you crossed the space, ring glinting and squeezing your heart. "Hi, sweetheart," he let a small smile slip. "I tried calling you, but you didn't answer."

You slipped your hand into his, fingers twinning as you stepped into his embrace. "I was in the freezer; I don't get reception" looking down and clocking the basket, you raised a brow. "Shopping?"

"I needed shampoo and milk."

You pressed on your toes to give him a quick kiss hello before stepping back though your hands were entwined. "I've got ten more minutes, but I think we also need something for dinner and coffee pods."

"I already ordered Thai, but I'll get the coffee" Levi nodded his head towards the aisle and squeezed your hand before letting go.

"I'm guessing you're not her uncle," your co-worker spoke up from behind you. Their cheeks blazing red. "I'm so sorry."

"Uncle?" Levi laughed. "Most definitely not."

And so that is how word of your uber attractive older boyfriend made its way around the store.

♡ Work had been made aware of your mental health diagnosis and ongoing treatment and had been very accommodating until you needed a mental health day or two (though you rarely took them, always just showing up and crying in the bathroom every hour or so). Still, when you call in sick, unable to get out of bed to even eat, Levi always calls in for you. He's professional and direct, letting your boss know what's going on and how long you would be out (Levi honestly loves being able to do this, giving him pride in taking care of you and making your life easier on days when it isn't). Most of the time, work is somewhat understanding, passing on well wishes to you, but during your next shift with your boss, you notice some tension and hostility directed towards you. You had every right to take a day off, you had given them ample time to cover your shift, but it was as you were leaving for the day, having clocked off and almost walked out the door, that your boss stopped you.

"So, are you going to be here tomorrow?"

You stop, turning on your heels to face your boss. "Pardon?"

They shrug, folding their hands over their chest. "I'm just wondering since you called in sick yesterday and the day before. I need to know if I need to replace you."

You're floored. It wasn't as if you had done anything wrong. You had followed the procedure. "Ohh, no. I'll be here. I just needed a few days off to sort some stuff out."

"So you weren't actually sick?"

"No, I was. It was my mental health that needed sorting out. I-"

They cut you off. "Do you need time off because I can't have you doing this over and over again? It's very unprofessional. I need you to be reliable and having your boy-"

"Is there an issue?" Levi's smooth and calm voice interrupts your boss.

You jump a bit at the sudden interjection but calm as you feel Levi slide up behind you, hand coming to rest on the small of your back.

"And you are?" Your boss flicks their eyes over Levi before settling back on you.

"I'm the boyfriend that calls in for her the three times she has been sick" there is calm anger in his tone, one you had only seen him use in business meetings. "So, is there an issue?"

Your boss backs down, arms unfolding at the apparent shift in power. "None at all" They turn on their heels before throwing out an annoyed "see you tomorrow, 7am."

Levi makes sure to drop you off and pick you up the next day, offering to come in and deal with your asshole of a boss, but you know that his form of deal with would be very different from yours, so you decline your loving, but every so scary boyfriend's offer.

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