#i will play catchups at some point i think bc i started a bunch more prompts

[whump-captain]

No. 8 - Everything hurts and I'm dying

Stomach pain | Head trauma | Back from the dead

2800 words | OC: Kintsugi

*leans into mic* three thousand words of body horror

no clue if this is coherent but the gist of it is fucked up sentient metal possessing people let's goooooo

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CN: escape, gun use, gunshot, (temporary) character death, gore, body horror, general news horror, broken bones, harmful healing, magical healing, vomiting

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"Come on," Lucy panted. "We'll lose them by the quarry."

The cold air made it difficult to take a full breath, even though she wasn't running anymore. Ethan was two steps behind her, stumbling in the ankle-deep snow but managing to keep up. It seemed the painkillers had whipped him into shape. His face was flushed and he stood a bit straighter now that the makeshift splint did the job of stabilising his arm. He didn't look at Lucy, eyes roaming the frigid landscape with a feverish intensity.

"Quarry?" he asked. His voice was rough for the heavy breaths he was struggling to control - but he pressed on. Lucy appreciated that, even though she had no time to think about voicing it.

"There's a gold mine just behind that hill," she explained with a wave of her hand. The tangled thicket of thin trees made the hill look imposingly tall but Lucy knew the way. They could circle it in no more than fifteen minutes and be in the clear. Assuming the quarry itself wasn't staffed and ready to mow them down the second they emerged from the forest. "There should be cars there, we can use them to get to the coast," she said.

"Why is there a gold mine here?"

"I don't fucking know," she snapped. "Shut up and keep walking."

Fuck's sake, she couldn't believe him. Her own mind was entirely occupied trying to deal with the dozens of armed mercenaries hot on her heels and here he was asking question after question about every stupid thing she said. And that after he'd spent almost a month getting the shit kicked out of him for sticking his nose into Memory's business. It was insufferable. He acted like he had some personal stake in figuring out every pointless detail about this island; like he stood a chance to understand anything the Response Group did.

Lucy asked herself again why she was risking her bloody life for this stranger. Once again, her strung up mind refused to answer logically.

All she could do was to keep walking.

They reached the edge of the wood and Lucy weaved in between the thin, slender trees. The snow was thinner here, too, revealing more of the ground uneven with rocks and ridges. Out of the wind, deceptive heat flooded Lucy's skin and she tightened her grip on her gun. She wished she'd had time to grab her rifle instead of this useless pistol; or to grab anything at all. As far as escape plans went, this one had been shite.

"I can't hear them anymore," Ethan whispered. By the shake in his voice Lucy guessed that they were on the same page: that this wasn't necessarily good.

"No." She scanned the spindly shadows around them, then looked up the slope of the hill. "They might be surrounding us."

She wanted to run. But it would do her no good if Ethan couldn't keep up. So she only picked up the pace slightly and glanced behind her. His face glistened with sweat and his teeth were chattering, but he stayed close. Good.

At the foot of the hill, Lucy took a turn through the denser trees. There was no point climbing; they would only tire out and they'd be exposed on the bare hilltop. If she'd remembered correctly, heading east would bring them out onto a small plain and then straight to the quarry. From there - she would figure it out.

The trees cleared out soon and new strength spread through Lucy's body. The bitter wind whipped her again but there was the quarry, in the distance, reaching up to the sky with black arms of machinery. Only a few hundred meters of snow and bare bushes laid between her and the goal.

They barely took five steps into the clearing when she heard it. A whistle and a tap.

Her mind added the gunshot, muffled and distant.

A sniper.

"Get down!" she yelled.

Whistle, tap. Snow burst out in a cloud where the bullet hit. Lucy sprinted, slid to drop by a bush. No protection.

Another whistle, just as she whipped her head up to look.

Ethan only managed half a turn. Another tap.

The bullet caught him square in the chest and threw him six feet back like a ragdoll. Lucy cried out. She started towards him; more snow exploded out under fire. She stumbled, fell back behind cover.

"Hold fire!" someone shouted. The voice echoed through the plain. "Lucy Richardson, stand up with your hands in the air!"

She ignored it. She pushed herself up, halfway on her knees, she felt her way through the snow with gloved hands. The imaginary gunshot rang in her ears and everything in front of her blurred. She only saw colour. Blinding white marred by bright, biting crimson. A dark shape motionless in the snow. A tunnel stretching infinitely before her, black and suffocating and inescapable.

She had failed.

Ethan's empty eyes stared up into the sky. He laid with his arms thrown open and his face frozen in a soft expression of surprise. A tiny hole in his jacket bloomed around it a ring of red. Under him was a pool of blood, thick with viscera and studded with white shards of bone. It soaked into his hair and his clothes - Lucy's old jacket, useless now at keeping him warm.

Her shaking hand rested on his neck, but it was formality. Stillness and cold seeped into her body from Ethan's skin and extinguished the last traces of fire that determination and adrenaline had lit under her.

Replacing it, a void opened up in her stomach. She had screwed up again. She'd cost someone their life. Everything that she had spent so long running away from had caught up. There was blood on her hands again and the snow refused to wash it away. All her effort, her doubt, her illogical, infuriating thoughts - it had all been pointless. The final outcome was the same as if she had never gotten involved at all, if she had never abandoned her safe refuge of apathy.

Ethan Lythmer was dead.

All she had gained was the sight of his lifeless face growing grey and rigid in the cold.

=====

Within the ground, notice is taken.

I sense the change above me; it feels like a snap in the stillness that envelops me. The steady rock flinches and I lose focus.

The dead human weeps its heat out into the soil's veins. The warmth is a thrill but it's a fleeting one. I want to keep it. The human wanted that too, in its last moment of sentience and experience.

It was the most exquisite moment.

I want it to last, like I do.

If time is a plane, I am the slice cut out of it and turned on its side. If the future is a sunset, I am the north pole in summer. If the past exists, I hate it.

I take from it, unhindered and joyful. I drown in that single moment of overwhelming emotion and I let it freeze with me into forever.

I embrace the human and I take it with me.

=====

The snow steamed. Bare black earth emerged from under it and then began to crack. A nauseating stench of boiling blood filled the air and then the rock swelled, as if the whole island took in a breath.

The ground drank. The cracks filled and spidered out in a sprawling pattern of veins. They hissed and then, suddenly, they shone.

Pure liquid gold erupted into the veins in a single pulse, turning the soiled earth into a masterpiece.

With a sound like an unsheathed knife, a spike of gold ripped out from the ground and stabbed through Ethan's chest. The force lifted the body off of the ground where it hung impaled with arms splayed like a pinned butterfly. Lucy jerked away, slipping in the snow. Blood poured down the golden stalagmite and swirled as it was absorbed into nothing more than a reddish sheen. The tip of the spike exploded out of the bullet hole into a thousand hair-thin branches like a bare, fractal tree.

Time itself frosted over and from a frozen moment in the past, Ethan's consciousness was thrust back into his body. The peaceful black split open as light exploded, painting the veins in his eyes bright gold.

He had no lungs to gasp with. There was a gaping hole in his back where they should be, framed by teeth of broken ribs and curtains of pouring blood. He saw it. He felt its warmth as the gold eagerly drank and circulated it.

This massacred body wasn't his. He watched it from the outside, through some other eyes. He couldn't feel anything below his neck. The pressure of suffocation was trapped in his skull and it built until he couldn't bear it and his vision dimmed again - but this time there wasn't peace in the dark.

Please, he thought, more feeling than consciousness. I can't breathe. I'm going to die.

Something replied, inside his mind:

Not die, not die.

The voice echoed into infinity and Ethan thought his eardrums would burst.

We live, we live, it said.

Help me, was all he could think.

The darkness sharpened and struck him like a fist. Gold burst out into his vision in infinitely repeating cracks and they formed an undulating shape. A shape that watched him, reached out to him.

A shape that lived.

A skintight grip enveloped him like ice and for a moment, he was whole again. The world cracked in half and fell away, and he emerged back into the light like a metal cast released from a mould.

The gold below him crawled up. Drawn from the veins that scarred the earth, liquid metal flowed up the spike and then further. It found the crushed mess of Ethan's spine and curled around it, pouring into the cracks and bringing the shattered bone back together. It reached through the past, to the split second between the bullet entering the body and the moment it ripped its way out. From that memory and from the tissue it had devoured, the gold spun a delicate wireframe of a ribcage, glinting like jewellery among the slick gore. Shuddering like rock under a seismic wave, new bone grew into it from nothing and formed bare, exposed ribs. In their confines, red, bulbous flesh boiled out of the collapsed lungs and made them swell back into shape.

They lurched, pushing air out into the rest of the body. Blood bubbled out of Ethan's mouth, he choked on the breath forced into him. A violent cough contracted his chest. It felt like drowning, like burning liquid rising in his throat with every gurgling gasp.

He felt his body again. Torn nerve endings were welded together with flowing gold and immediately they caught fire. Ethan couldn't even scream. Pain exploded through his chest and burned through his back as new skin emerged on torn muscle in gleaming gold patches until the frayed edges of the exit wound met again and melted shut. Flesh merged with metal and became one with the stalagmite that held the body aloft.

Ethan heaved a desperate gasp, fighting the pain burning between his ribs. All he could manage was a keening groan before fire shot through him again and strangled his voice. He could feel the living gold circulating alongside his blood - a cold, crawling presence pushing its way between the layers of tissue. Wherever it found the skin broken, it burst out of the wounds in crystal-like spikes, spraying blood as the damaged flesh tore further. Ethan finally screamed as gold blades stabbed out of the barely healed cuts on his forehead.

New lines of pain erupted all over his body. He was dying, surely; again. He would bleed out. He could see the blood and his own writhing body and he knew this time that it wasn't hallucination. He looked through the eyes of something else; something that was sentient even though it was heatless metal deep underground. It watched, and drank, and thought - to itself but also to Ethan, straight into his mind:

We live, we live. I help, I help.

It felt his pain. The feeling echoed just like its glittering voice did, reflected into two bodies - human and not. The gold blades softened and smoothed. They melted back into the wounds and spilled, leaving behind raised, exquisitely glistening, golden scars. The pain faded slowly into a biting ache like frostbite. Ethan fought for frantic, wheezing breaths but cold pushed through his body again; spread out from his chest and out into his limbs.

Without an immediate memory, the inhuman, metal being could only guess at the human body's correct shape. Ethan's skin turned black as liquid metal replaced the blood in the bruises on his arm. The pain ripped from his throat, a ragged, barely human howl of agony. A metal grip wrapped around the broken bones and ground them together in an attempt to weld them back into one. Ethan's vision dissolved, burned away. His forearm snapped in half at a right angle and golden spikes erupted from the skin as the bone ripped it open. All other feeling was gone. His body had disconnected from everything but this horrifying, all-consuming pain; the heartlessly clear feeling of muscle tearing away from tendons. Gold leaked into marrow and the bones shattered from the inside out, exploded by sudden pressure.

But then the metal spun into itself and the bone shards gathered back into shape. The gold fused them together and filled in the gaps. A delicate net of cracks and seams caught the light once before new veins and nerves stretched out over it like wet wires, reattaching as they crawled. Ethan's scream hitched. He thought he'd faint. He had to faint, he couldn't bear any more. Silently, he begged for unconsciousness to take him, for any escape from the pain. For death, if that was what it took. But the echoing voice in his head kept singing and it kept him awake - and so Ethan kept screaming, his body convulsing around the destructive force that was trying to save him.

Like a ship in a bottle unfolded by a carefully pulled string, the mangled flesh and bone of his arm twisted back into its natural shape. The last of the regenerating muscle bulged out and was wrapped in skin, growing out from it like a stain of paint. A raised patch of gold blistered the surface where the fracture had been open, settling into a shining, metal-smooth scar.

Ethan's breath came in a strangled wheeze. Trickles of blood ran down from his mouth and eyes, marking crimson lines on his ash grey face. His fingers twitched as the new tendons tested their motions but he didn't feel it. The pain still rang through his body, an afterimage of agony. His chest heaved as his lungs demanded air, even though he had no strength to keep breathing. A groan died in his throat, emerging only as a broken, barely audible whimper.

The voice sang, like wind whistling between the mountains:

You live, you live.

It was the last thing Ethan heard before he was finally allowed to faint.

The golden tree that grew out of his chest slowly withered. The veinlike branches curled in and retracted into the spindly trunk until it became a single, smooth spike. It bent down and held Ethan's body upright, with its feet an inch away from the ground, as if posing it to stand. It hung from the metal impaling it, limp and bloodied - but it was whole, every break and bruise healed.

The golden spike thinned and shortened. In a blink of an eye it became little more than a glistening thread. Then it snapped with a quiet clink and disappeared.

Ethan's body dropped into the snow.

There was silence.

It was broken by the sound of retching. Lucy dropped to her knees and vomited, her shaking arms barely holding her up. Everything was hollow. She felt like she had to scream, but the grip on her throat didn't let any voice out. It felt like metal.

It felt like it would come for her next.

Somebody else's gagging coughs broke through the haze. There was shouting. There were footsteps. Someone was yelling her name, screaming at her to raise her arms. She did, sitting back on her heels. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the body in front of her. She could see brilliant gold among the ruined clothes.

Movement erupted around her. Two men pointed rifles at her, shouting, but she couldn't understand them. Another one was talking into a radio; cracks of static rang out like gunshots in Lucy's ears.

"We need medical evac and a full containment team to seven-west slash-" The words blurred together in her ears. Someone told her to stand up, so she did.

There was fog over her eyes, melting everything into the muted white of stained snow. Like afterimages from the blinding sun, shadows of golden veins remained in her vision.

No matter how many times she blinked, they wouldn't fade away.

[in-tua-deep]

concept: the others deciding Five needs to play pop culture catchup and forces him into marathons. I can't imagine his reaction to some of the super popular things that have come out since 2002.

If you put Five in the modern day then i 100% absolutely agree - tua seems to take place in a sort of weird alternate world without cellphones and those boxy ass computers and tvs but I choose to ignore thatso oh my GOODNESS you’re so right, I mean just to start with there’s all the disney movies he missed? I mean he went missing in November 2002 right so, given that old Reggie allowed them to watch movies at all (which I almost doubt since that would give them Ideas on what a real family is like and give fodder for rebellion and shit but I digress) he would have barely seen Lilo and Stitch (the greatest masterpiece of our time)He missed Treasure Planet! Brother Bear! Finding Nemo! The Princess and the Frog! How to Train Your Dragon! Parks n Rec! So many other very important cultural artifacts! He hasn’t seen Mad Max Fury Road. He hasn’t seen Black Panther. Or the new Spiderman!! HE MISSED MAMMA MIA. I JUST REALIZED HE MISSED MAMMA MIA. I’M SO SAD FOR HIM.Let ALONE the technology update?? Look I was born in ‘97, I grew up through this tech period. I remember having a ‘Computer room’ that I fought with my siblings over who got to play games. I sat on a stool backseat playing Zoo Tycoon with my sister. We lived through all iterations of the Sims (and I still maintain that the medieval sims where you could hatch dragons that burned down your house was objectively the best one). The updates to phones since 2002? I had a flip phone in Junior High and an iPhone in Highschool. Partially because my mother didn’t believe in phone internet access until we were responsible enough for it but my POINT is that this boy has exactly 0 idea about any apps or games or fads. He missed out on the flappy bird craze. He’s so lucky.Memes? Vines? He missed the creation of YOUTUBE of course he missed out on so much shit. He never watched Charlie the Unicorn. The old AMVs. Books! The Harry Potter series! This one I’ll make allowances of bc he could find books in the apocalypse to read but there was no electricity for access to the internet.MUSIC? Someone tell me the exact date Five left because I think he might have missed Brittney Spears’ Baby One More Time and Oops I Did It Again by mere days since it was released November 26th 2002. I am not a music buff by any means but just think about ALL HE MISSED. Mr. Brightside came out in 2004. He would have never listened to Mr. Brightside. I’m so fucking sad for him.There are at least two vaccinations that were only added to the recommended list in 2005 and another one was added in 2010. I know I got the chickenpox as a kid because I didn’t have that vaccination. I actually got it TWICE because my immune system was apparently shit. And now I’m just picturing a bunch of pox ridden itchy children. He was born in like 1989 and that vaccination wasn’t available in the US until 1995.BUT I WENT OFF TOPIC.The point is that there is so much material to work with! So much has happened in the world! So many improvements have been made! So many new things have been discovered or researched further! People are constantly forging ahead at reckless speeds because life is short and we want to see our mark on the world! Pop culture catch up would be a fucking DELIGHT and also HILARIOUS and just trying to figure out exactly what he missed is a headache and a half. This is why I headcanon that Five listens to podcasts that help him catch up on the modern day.

[delineative]

writing year in review: 2018

total number of completed stories: 9

total word count:

ao3: 43 879

(+ ~5k on socks)

fandoms written in:

dorohedoro

we both chose each other - noi/shin

houseki no kuni

growing without rest - phos/phos

idol producer / nine percent

counting flower petals all day long - xukun/zhengting

leaving nothing behind - xukun/zhengting

when we see each other again - jun/zhengting, ziyi/zhengting, yanjun/zhangjing/zhengting, xukun/zhengting, justin/chengcheng/zhengting

take one step closer - xukun/yanjun/zhengting

nct

from first principles - 00line

produce 101 china / rocket girls

coincidence makes sense - yamy/meiqi/xuanyi

seventeen

the earth in its turning stopped (last 2 chapters) - seungcheol/jeonghan/joshua

reaching for you from the endless dream - wonwoo/jun

wips:

out of the wips i’m currently working on:

dirtmix assignment (will be revealed very shortly!)

nahyuck pacific rim au

markrenmin enemies to lovers fantasy au

looking back, did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

around what i expected... i was aiming for 1 fic a month and didn’t quite manage to hit that but i feel like each fic was longer than usual (i’m a terminal shortfic writer so anything over 3k is long for me). like i kept going 1-4k over my projected wordcount which was extremely panic-inducing when i was trying to write to deadlines lmao so overall i’m okay with the quantity of words i produced this year!

what pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

fandom-wise probably the survival show spiral and moving into ncity... if 2017 was the year of yugioh then 2018 was the year of rpf. some of the stuff i posted to socks was very uncharacteristic of my usual m.o but i think everything i put on main was very true to brand i.e ambiguous relationships + vague pining + emo conversations in the dark

did you take any writing risks this year? what did you learn from them?

i signed up for svtbb and had to drop out due to exam pressure, which was sad bc it’s the first exchange/fest i’ve ever defaulted on, but then i went and did lordeventeen and yuletide even though they partly ran through exam seasons too so i guess i learned nothing?!?

actually i think i probably could have afforded to take a few more risks genre-wise, i feel like everything i wrote in 2018 recycled the exact same themes but also at the same time those themes are the only thing i can write. terrible taste i will never change i will never improve that is a promise etc etc

what’s your own favorite story of the year?

reaching for you from the endless dream had me tearing my hair out while i was writing it but ultimately i feel like it paid off! i’ve always wanted to try canon compliant + magic and this ended up with some of the best writing i’ve ever done, plus i’m happy i was finally able to write something for one of my favourite svt ships <3 honourable mention to the concept behind when we see each other again, my post-disbandment allzzt ship manifesto titled after csc_uri_dasi_bol_ttae.mp3 

best story of the year?

also reaching for you from the endless dream! i’m really proud of how this one turned out both in terms of technical quality (.... *repeats the same phrase 300 times* Is This Thematic Consistency?) and emotional beats, and it got so many lovely comments. i think this is probably one of my best fics ever, and i’m glad it struck a chord with other people too!

most popular story of the year?

not counting teiits since most of that was posted in 2017, it’s counting flower petals all day long, which really surprised me when i checked my ao3 stats? i must have hit the sweet spot of fandom growth + burgeoning ship popularity bc literally nothing happens in the fic other than one (1) kiss, but thank you for giving it so much love 💖

story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

omg i think everything i wrote this year was WAY over-appreciated but coincidence makes sense, which features a f/f/f rarepair (raretrio?) in a fandom with very little western fan presence, so i’m not surprised by its stats but i’m still pretty fond of this one and consider it one of the better fics i wrote in 2018, and one of the best idolverse fics i’ve ever written

most fun story to write:

from first principles, the debate au fic i’ve wanted to write for like 6 years, my beloved pet project through the month of august, and i think it shows? i tripled my projected word count and in the process of writing fully converted to dreamyism(/renjunism), so a lot of love went into it, even though there are places you can tell i definitely rushed the execution. one day i’ll do justice to a proper nct sports anime fic... 

story with the single sexiest moment:

all the rated content i wrote this year was posted to socks other than the brief dance studio 3some scene in take one step closer, but i genuinely have no idea if that was even sxc since i wrote it on my phone in a feverish last-minute sprint on a plane while blasting twice bdz and haven’t reread it at all jhfgdfjdfh

most sweet story:

the general tone of everything i wrote in 2018 was much less depressing than 2017 but i guess the sweetest story was we both chose each other... what’s more romantic than dismembering a bunch of thugs with your beloved partner and then jumping off a cliff together!!

story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

kind of a weird question to apply to rpf... characterisation perceptions are constantly shifting based on current meta and au role needs, though i feel like i’m always struggling to play catchup and by the time i publish anything the general image has shifted ;__; 

most unintentionally telling story:

from first principles draws heavily on my own experiences with high school debating... lots of 3rd speaker related anxieties and hangups projection all over the place in there lmao

hardest story to write:

every time i’m working on something, especially when i’m close to finishing, it is the hardest thing i have ever written... i can’t remember if writing has always been this difficult for me or if it’s an rpf thing. probably i struggled the most with reaching for you from the endless dream bc i’m deeply intimidated by writing jun (light of my life) due to the fear of not doing him justice, and also the deadline pressure nearly killed me. also at one point i called writing from first principles the worst experience of my life but looking back it wasn’t even that bad... mostly it was just that it kept getting longer and longer and eventually i was like Please God Let It End Already

biggest disappointment:

not finishing my svtbb fic... i am literally twitter user juncheolsoo i owe them SOMETHING!! not writing more fic. mediocre execution of decent concepts bc i got too impatient and rushed to finish things before i got bored of them

biggest surprise:

all of my fics about idol boys except one have over 100 kudos, which is just a ridiculous amount?! idol rpf fandoms have been so kind to me... i will work hard to become a better content creator in 2019!!

favourite opening line(s):

from leaving nothing behind:

“Are you looking for Justin?”

Xukun rears back, knuckles still poised to knock on the doorframe. “I—what?”

“Are you looking for Justin?” Zhengting repeats. He’s sprawled across the bottom bunk, leg dangling inelegantly off the edge. The phone in his hand casts an unsteady ellipse of light over his collarbone.

favourite closing line(s):

from growing without rest:

Beyond the arches the world is silent. The gem Phosphophyllite will become returns their gaze steadily, evenly. The shadows lengthen. In the distance behind them, a flicker of white, like light needling off somebody’s back, or the gleam of a pearl eye.

favourite 5 line(s) from anywhere:

from first principles:

“If only Mark-hyung was still here,” Renjun said, only half-jokingly. There was a brief moment of solemn silence as the three of them paused to consider their ex-captain, who had passed on last year to the realm of university debating.

when we see each other again:

So maybe they weren’t friends, but they were something. You couldn’t inhabit the same space for two years and come out the other side as strangers. Sometimes Zhengting thought that might have been easier than whatever this intimacy limbo was supposed to be, knowing somebody in the minutest details, what they looked like at the height of their intensity or the moments before they fell asleep, without really knowing them at all. Looking, and not having the gesture returned, or at least not equally.

coincidence makes sense:

The song ends, starts over. Meiqi doesn’t, though, pivoting to face them, and that’s all the invitation Xuanyi needs to unfold from her position beside Guo Ying and cross the floor. Like two halves of a single movement Meiqi reaches out to Xuanyi and Xuanyi presses their palms together, interlacing their fingers. The tilt of their heads towards each other like it’s something irresistible.

reaching for you from the endless dream:

Junhui was practically raised by the industry. The stage lying close enough to the bone it would be indistinguishable from it. He leaves his intensity on the stage but glimpses of it show through in odd moments, seamlessness without ease. It’s hard for Wonwoo to understand, but most things about Junhui are.

take one step closer:

You want to look into somebody, of course you have to let them look back. This is why he kept away in the first place, the terror of vulnerability when it could be staved off indefinitely instead, though he’d wanted to be seen, hoped for it, even, despite himself, something in the marrow singing out to be known.

It’s like an infection, a second heart in his ribs. A kind of longing that bites right through his hand. Strikes down to the quick. Severs the whole thing clean off. He ran so far from himself he landed in somebody else’s body, and here he is, still trying to escape.

top 5 scenes from anywhere you would choose to have illustrated:

jun lifting zzt up and spinning him around, from when we see each other again (;___; #junting_agenda_seeding)

wonwoo and jun in the kitchen with nectarines spilling out of the open fridge, from reaching for you from the endless dream

cxkzzt conversation in the dark while zzt is wearing a facemask, from leaving nothing behind

00z sports shounen hug, from from first principles

phos getting crushed by their future self’s gold arms, from growing without rest

honourable mention to noishin leaping off a cliff from we both chose each other, which actually did get illustrated in dorohedorozine <3

do you have any fanfic or profit goals for the new year?

cut down my wip list... please i have 25+ wips on my spreadsheet i just want to FINISH something for once in my life instead of constantly starting new wips and letting them rot in the graveyard of my gdocs

practise writing actual shipfic and not poorly disguised gen. i WILL get better at writing kiss scenes

try to write something over 10k again

relearn what figurative language is and how to use it. rpf boosted my productivity stats but at what cost...