#like did you successfully perfectly drive a car or a bike your first time in the seat? no

[twosides--samecoin]

Writers get over the perfect or bust mentality challenge

The manuscript for a published novel was passed back and forth several times between an editing team and author for anywhere between several months to a few years. A fic author you look up to who produces amazing works probably doesn't do it perfectly the first try; they probably draft before they post!

It is. So. Much. Easier. To treat writing as a process. Than it is to self sabotage by treating writing as though it must be perfect the first time. You don't look at a painting in a museum and think, "That must have been done in one go", you probably accept that it began as a sketch and came together over time. You will grow so much faster as an artist of any kind if you stop self limiting with, "It wasn't perfect the first time I tried :(" and start using your perfectionism to your advantage. Draft your work, learn how to edit; develop a relationship with the thing. Start caring about storycraft and improving your skills instead of wallowing because it wasn't "perfect" the first time.

"I have to write something perfect and earth shattering" love that for you. Weaponize your perfectionism, meditate on your ego, do whatever it is you gotta do but you have got to put in the goddamn work and stop approaching writing with this "Either I'm a genius or I'm complete shit" mentality

YOU can write whatever you want whenever however forevrr. i have to write something perfect and earth shattering and i have to do it perfectly the first time or else

[tmsbrainrot]

Daydreamer (Version 1)

Summary: You were perfectly happy to pine after your study buddy, Kim Junmyeon, quietly and without expectation. That was until his roommate, Park Chanyeol, got involved. Appointing himself as your wingman, Chanyeol makes it his mission to get the two of you together. Do you dare get your hopes up? Will Chanyeol’s plan be a success, or will it end in heartbreak?

Genre: College!AU, DrummerYeol!AU, fluff, angst

Word count: 1,879

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | ?

The 20 minute drive to Chanyeol and Junmyeon’s apartment was the most fun you’d had in months. Your nights usually consisted of reading at the park, going home and studying, sleeping, getting woken up by your roommates, yelling at your roommates, then going back to sleep. You were fully aware of how sad that sounded so you didn’t mention it to Chanyeol. Not that you’d had the chance to mention anything to him. He’d talked the entire journey.

First, he’d spent five minutes calling you old for storing your music on CD’s. Apparently you needed to “get with the times” and “stop living in the past”. When he’d accused people like you of destroying iPod and MP3 sales you’d seriously considered pulling over and shoving him out of the car. He had then spent another five minutes lamenting your, quote, “emo 13-year-old” music taste.

“My Chemical Romance broke up in 2013. Get over it already!”

That had been the last straw. You’d exploded and told him to put his music on seeing as though you clearly needed educating on acceptable music. He had completely ignored the sarcasm dripping from your words and had produced a ridiculously tiny MP3 player from his voluminous hoodie pocket. He had also ignored your comment about how the MP3 player looked like a tic tac in his giant hands.

The following ten minutes had consisted of Chanyeol playing a variety of songs and explaining to you in a deadly serious voice that each song held the key to happiness within its melody. He’d explained, in great detail, the meaning of the lyrics for each song. He’d even explained how the instruments came together to produce different sounds and the affect the sounds produced had on the mind and body. It was all very interesting, although you didn’t understand a lot of the jargon he’d used. Still, listening to him speak with such passion was inspiring and left you with a warm feeling deep in your chest.

You’d been strangely saddened when you’d pulled up to his apartment block. The two of you had successfully removed Junmyeon’s bike from where it was crammed in the back seat and Chanyeol had turned to you with a sigh. “I guess this is goodbye.”

You’d laughed. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“Please,” he’d said, covering his eyes with his hand and sniffling, “don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Rolling your eyes, you’d got back into the driver’s seat and rolled down your window. “I’ll see you around, you giant baby,” you’d called out, pulling away.

“Miss you already!” he’d shouted back, waving enthusiastically and smiling that toothy smile that you couldn’t help but copy.

It wasn’t until you’d got to your apartment that you realised he had left his MP3 player in the passenger seat. Probably fell out of the cave that he calls a pocket, you thought wryly. Seriously, why does he wear a hoodie two sizes too big? Someone that tall has no business looking so small. Besides, if he’s going for the soft boyfriend look it’s not like he needs help from oversized clothes. Not with those sparkling eyes or adorable ears. Not to mention his fluffy hair and contagious smile... You felt your lips stretch into a grin as you unlocked the door to your apartment, MP3 player tucked into your jacket pocket.

Despite the fact that you had to be up in five hours for work you were filled with excitement. What had started off as an ordinary week was now a week of possibilities. Thanks to Chanyeol your flame of hope was now a raging fire, demanding that action be taken before it consumed you. Your study session with Junmyeon was scheduled for Sunday, giving you six days to come up with a plan of action. Plenty of time.

You’d dreamt up various versions of your confession, however being faced with the opportunity to make those daydreams reality shed light on how outlandish and embarrassing they actually were. You sifted through imagined scenarios as you got ready for bed, discarding the majority of them outright and picking apart the ones you sort of liked until you began to hate them. When you realised you’d been brushing your teeth for a good twenty minutes you decided to give up and tackle the problem again tomorrow.

Junmyeonie ❤ [sent at 10:32am] : morning study buddy! sorry to disturb you when you’re working but my roommate chanyeol told me you helped him out last night with the whole bike thing. can you believe that punk tried to convince me that he bandaged his own hands then rode home by himself? he’s always been a shitty liar. don’t worry, i didn’t beat him up that bad... haha! anyway, i just wanted to say thanks for looking after the kid. if you hadn’t been there he probably would’ve done something stupid and ended up getting seriously hurt. i owe you one!

Junmyeonie ❤ [sent at 10:34am] : btw he keeps asking for your number. says he left something in your car? you mind if i give him your number?

Me [sent at 11:00am] : no worries, i’m on break now anyway :) i couldn’t ignore a person in need. i’m too much of a saint for that. jk lol. you don’t owe me anything. yeah, he left his mp3 player in my car. you can give him my number

Me [sent at 11:01am] : also i didn’t think you were the type to beat up an injured man dr junmyeon! wow, chanyeol was right about you...

Junmyeonie ❤ [sent at 11:02am] : a saint? pfff

Junmyeonie ❤ [sent at 11:02am] : wait, what slander has chanyeol been spreading about me????

Me [sent at 11:03am] : i couldn’t possibly say

Junmyeonie ❤ [sent at 11:03am] : you’ve changed. the daydreamer i know would never keep secrets from their favourite study buddy

Me [sent at 11:04am] :  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Junmyeonie ❤ [sent at 11:06am] : i don’t want to give him your number now. he’s clearly a bad influence

Me [sent at 11:06am] : ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Junmyeonie ❤ [sent at 11:09am] : meanie :(

Unknown [sent at 1:43pm] : y did jun send me a text with this number saying ‘you two deserve each other’???

Me [sent at 3:15pm] : chanyeol?

Unknown [sent at 3:16pm] : doc???

Me [sent at 3:17pm] : yeah lol

Chanyeol [sent at 3:17pm] : oh shit waddup

Me [sent at 3:19pm] : lmao he actually gave you my number

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:20pm] : was he not supposed to??

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:20pm] : y??

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:20pm] : do u not like me??? :’(

Me [sent at 3:21pm] : dude chill. he said he wasn’t going to that’s all

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:22pm] : so u do like me????????

Me [sent at 3:23pm] : you can’t see me right now but i’m rolling my eyes

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:23pm] : i’ll take that as a yes

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:40pm] : what r u doing?

Me [sent at 3:43pm] : i’m at work

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:44pm] : shit, my bad. i’ll stop bothering u

Me [sent at 3:47pm] : it’s cool. i’ll text you when i’m off

Meme boi Chanyeol [sent at 3:47pm] : :)

Once your shift ended you gathered your things from the staff locker, pulling on your jacket and patting the pocket to make sure Chanyeol’s MP3 player was still there, safe and sound. You’d messaged him as soon as you’d clocked out and he’d messaged you back immediately. The speed at which he replied was both endearing and a little worrying. He must be pretty attached to his phone if he can reply so quickly, you thought.

You’d arranged to meet at the park before heading to class so you could return his belonging. When you pulled up to the car park you saw him sitting on the curb, his long legs folded awkwardly and his hands on his knees. He was wearing the same black cap and hoodie, although he had traded the skinny jeans for sweatpants and the sneakers for the ugliest white shoes you’d ever seen. His head snapped up as you parked and he unfolded his limbs with visible difficulty, pushing himself up from his sitting position and loping over to you.

“Hey there,” he said, beaming at you. You grinned back, looking up at him and noticing a dimple had appeared on his left cheek. Your gaze rose to meet his sparkling eyes and you felt a sudden surge of affection. Before you knew it you had wrapped your arms around him in a quick hug. He let out a small gasp, stiffening at your touch.

Stepping back hastily you felt your cheeks begin to heat up. “I, ah, sorry,” you said falteringly. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Chanyeol didn’t answer, he just chuckled and patted your head. “No worries, doc. I was just surprised. Usually I’m the one initiating the hug.”

You laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, I bet. You seem like the touchy feely type.”

“Is that a compliment?” he asked, head tilting to the side and smirk clear on his face.

“Sure,” you said, his laid-back attitude easing your awkwardness. “It’s cute. You’re like a golden retriever.”

He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “You know, I feel like you’re making fun of me, but at the same time you’re saying things that make me all warm and fuzzy inside. It’s confusing.”

“My apologies,” you said, grinning. “I’ll try to speak plainly so you can understand.”

“Ah,” he said, raising a finger, “now I know you’re making fun of me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed and the ghost of a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Daydreamer.”

You shrugged airily. “Yeah yeah. Do you want your portable music device or not. I got a class to go to.”

“Portable music device? Are you trying to hurt me?” Drama queen Chanyeol had returned.

Rolling your eyes you pulled the MP3 out of your pocket and held it out to him. As he reached out to take it you notice his hands. “I see you changed the bandages. Do they hurt?”

He shook his head. “Junmyeon helped me. He said you did a really good job of fixing them up. Very professional.”

Your heartbeat quickened and once again a blush spread to your cheeks. “Oh,” was all you managed to reply.

A strange look passed over Chanyeol’s face, too quickly for you to make out the meaning behind it before it was replaced with his usual half-grin.

You cleared your throat meaningfully. “Well then, I’ve got to go. Don’t want to be late to immunology.” You turned to leave, opening the driver’s side door.

“Wait,” Chanyeol said, grabbing your arm. He seemed to be debating something. He kept opening his mouth to speak then closing it, frowning.

“What is it?” you asked, becoming increasingly nervous.

Chanyeol huffed, pulled his cap off, ran his fingers through his hair, placed the cap back on his head, then nodded to himself.

“Are you in love with Junmyeon?”

[jaeminlore]

Remember the Saints » Dong Sicheng

-

summary: you think back to times with your best friend, and how they shaped him into being the love of your life. words: 2579 category: racecar driver!sicheng, fluff a/n: i have no idea abt racing at all but i looked up a crap ton of stuff so pls don’t come at me if i got anything wrong. just kindly correct me and i’ll edit as soon as i can. thx. also this came out a lot messier than i intended so ignore that pls.

-

Streamwood, Illinois was quite possibly the most boring place on the map. At least in your opinion, that is. Everything was boring, a quaint suburbia filled with people who didn’t move, like hands on a broken clock.

You were five—if you can remember correctly—when you met Sicheng. His name was peculiar to you, and his hair was dark and nearly as wild as his eyes. He was the only boy in class, so it was simply natural that every girl wanted to be his friend. Having a male friend was essential in preschool, for it placed you on an entirely different social scale. One strategic friendship and suddenly the No Girls Allowed rule didn’t apply to you. Soon you’d be counted as one of the guys, a turncoat to figure out their secrets and hand them over to your original side: the girls. That’s how children think, you could remember quite clearly how every recess was a battlefield of trying for Sicheng’s attention. He was, however, like a sniper, shooting down everyone’s hopes from a distance.

There wasn’t much Sicheng liked, you had noticed. He liked the cookie part of the oreo, but never the cream. He wouldn’t drink milk with his food either, unless it was chocolate, because white milk was too plain. (White milk was almost as boring as Streamwood.) He didn’t like legos, because they were hard to separate and he always hurt his fingernails. He didn’t like lollipops either, because he couldn’t chew on them.

One thing Sicheng definitely liked were cars. This was certain by the race car prints on his lunchbox, and the faux Nascar pit crew jacket he wore every day to school. He loved matchbox cars and if anyone asked, the quiet five-year-old could go on an entire spiel about how he and his father were fixing up their very own sprint car right in his backyard.

With this information, you had successfully mapped your way into Sicheng’s good graces. You gathered all of your dolls during recess and skipped over to the sandbox Sicheng was playing in. He was rolling a large, yellow dumpster back and forth, piling sand in only to pour it out two seconds later. You quickly realized his matchbox cars were in the sand, and he was creating his own wild race to see which car could escape the sandstorm.

“Can I play?” your voice made Sicheng jump, and he shook his head quickly, not wanting anything to do with you or anyone else in your class. You tried again. “We can play cars. I can dump the sand while you make them race away.”

At this suggestion, Sicheng’s eyes had lit up, and he quickly handed you his trusted plastic shovel. You dropped the dolls, long forgotten as you built your new friendship with Sicheng.

-

Unfortunately, you never reached your goal of gaining intel from the male population. Sicheng didn’t have any other friends besides you, so there were no No Girls Allowed signs to trespass upon. Sicheng didn’t care about any of that stuff. It was just him and his cars.

When he was ten, his mother brought him over to your house for an impromptu playdate. This was exciting for you, especially because Sicheng and his father were almost finished with their racecar, and they planned to race it in the annual contest.

Part of you wondered why it took them so long to build, but Sicheng never elaborated, so you thought you wouldn’t ask.

Your mom set the two of you to work, playing with playdough and creating your own little worlds. Despite your mother’s warnings, the two of you mixed the colors as you played, ultimately creating the biggest ball of brown dough the two of you had ever seen. Your mother didn’t chide you like you thought she would. Instead, she gave the two of you a look of something close to pity, and left the room.

That night, you stood outside of your parent’s room, listening to your mother’s conversation with Sicheng’s own mom. “He was a perfect saint. I would love to have him over more often. It might be nice for him, considering the circumstances … yes … oh, sweetie I don’t know why he left. Perhaps he’ll come back … Sicheng does need his father. I know … perhaps we can help him finish the car? Oh … yes I do believe he’s too smart to believe in a business trip … "

The call went on for hours, in bits and fragments that you couldn’t quite comprehend. Even when your mother began crying, you couldn’t understand why she was so upset.

In the same manner, Sicheng sat at the bottom of the stairs, listening as his mother paced the kitchen floor, a cell phone between the junction of her neck, and a tired gaze in her eyes. He had been waiting for his father to return. He promised he would, with blueprints to amp up their car. With the smile that always cheered Sicheng up.

"Your child is a saint … honestly I think Sicheng would be lost without Y/n … these next few months are going to be hard one him … I just don’t know how to tell him that his father left. How do you tell your child something like that?"

Sicheng picked up the fragments of his mother’s phone call and pieced them together perfectly. That’s why he got sent to your house out of the blue. That’s why his mother had been babying him lately. That’s why his dad was so late coming home.

He wasn’t coming home.

-

You remembered being thirteen, with Sicheng by your side. The two of you road bikes a lot in those days. Sicheng still loved speed, but he swore off race cars for life. Ever since he father left, Sicheng only saw racing as a bitter reminder of the relationship he used to have.

It wasn’t just a father Sicheng lost that night. It was a passion. A shared passion that brought him and his father closer with every grease stain and oil change. There was a bond between the two of them because of racing. Because of Nascar. Because of the loud hum of a racer and the smell of gasoline.

You tried to subtly bring racing back into his life. Sicheng just wasn’t the same without it. He wasn’t bright and alive and sarcastic with only the most playful intentions. Instead, he was more quiet, solemn, already talking about part-time jobs to help his mother pay the bills.

"I’m the man of the house now, Y/n. It’s not about racing. I’ve got to take care of my mom,” he would always say. However, it was hard to believe him. It was hard not to notice his lingering glances as fast cars zoomed by like lightning. It was hard to pretend he hadn’t been tinkering with the sprint car he and his father had been putting together when it’s all his mother seemed to talk to yours about.

For all of you, it was a beacon of hope; a sign that maybe Sicheng was ready to get back into the game and start working towards the big leagues. Maybe Sicheng was ready to separate his past from his passion.

Maybe Sicheng was ready to race again.

-

Cut to fifteen-years-old, and Sicheng got his first job at a mechanic’s shop two miles from your home. You always walked with him after school, sitting on the uncomfortable floor as Sicheng worked on cars.

It was amazing, all the things he knew. Of course it wasn’t surprising, since Sicheng was a nerd who liked to read automobile manuals and watch races day in and day out.

He was healing. Healing meant talking about racing, and getting excited over the races he got to see on television. Healing was not, however, taking out the old sprint car and driving down abandoned dirt tracks, pushing the gas as far as it could go, as he used to so desperately want to do.

You wanted to remind him that Joliet was an hour away. The Chicagoland Speedway was there, calling his name if he would only get back in the game, learn the ropes of a sprint car and win championships. You believed he could get to the top, if he would just press his foot to the pedal and go.

So you asked him why he hadn’t taken a spin in the sprint car. “I know you finished the paint job. Can’t we just go see how it races?”

Sicheng chuckled from under the hood of the car. Your gaze was settled on the white bandana hanging out of his pocket as he answered. “I don’t even have my license. I’ll get caught and arrested.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “When you do get your license, and whatever else you need to drive a car that fast, you better take it to the nearest track as soon as you can.”

“Yes, Mom,” he replied with a mirthful grin.

-

Soon he was seventeen, with a certified license and an unafraid bend in his brows. You stood behind the safety rail, watching as Sicheng zoomed around and around the track. Dirt flew around everywhere, the small particles landing in your hair. You kept your mouth closed and your eyes squinted in the hopes of not tasting any of the dust.

It was nearly dark when Sicheng finally slowed to a stop. He got out with wobbly legs and an excited grin. “Did you see that, Y/n?”

“I did!” You opened the gate and ran across the track to see him. Overwhelmed with excitement, you wrapped your arms around his slender waist and pressed yourself against him. “I’m so proud of you for getting back out there!”

Sicheng tensed under your touch, but soon he was wrapping his arms around your torso, his nose nuzzling your temple. “If you hadn’t pushed me day in and day out to do it, I don’t know if I would’ve.”

You could hear the gratefulness in his voice. All the years he dreamed of driving over the speed limit on a dirt track. All the years he dreamed of making it to the big leagues, with his own pit crew. Throughout the years his father left his family, and it was hard to keep going. Even when he swore off racing and vowed that he would never look at that sprint car again, you had been there. You had been there through all of it, and for that Sicheng was grateful.

“You’re my best friend, Y/n. Did you know that?”

You giggled at his cheesiness, and brought your hand up to wipe some of the dirt off of his forehead. “Of course, you dork. It’s always been us. You, the fantastic mechanic and racer, and me, the loser with a job at the local gas station.”

“Ah, don’t say that.” Sicheng pinched your nose. “You’ll be in university soon. Then you’ll get your degree and forget all about me.”

“How could I forget about Dong Sicheng? You’ll be on the news soon, as the youngest Nascar driver in history.”

“I’d have to win this year to get that title,” Sicheng said. “I need to win a bunch of local races first. I need to build my credit.”

“Well, let me know when you have a race. I’ll come to each one, no matter where it is.”

“You got it,” Sicheng smiled. Then, he suddenly turned serious, “I’m glad you’re always with me.”

“You’ll never get rid of me,” you smirked, moving your hands up around his neck and pulling him down to meet your gaze.

“Woah,” Sicheng breathed shakily, his eyes searching yours, “We’ve never been this close before.”

“Is it bad that I like it?” You asked in return, eyes fluttering every time you felt his hot breath on your lips.

“No, because I like it too,” and suddenly, the two of you were kissing. Not passionately, or awkwardly, or anything of the sort. It was different, because his lips felt familiar and exciting all at once, and the buzz you got off of them was anything but boring.

“Wow,” you managed to get out, still quite surprised that you had actually gotten to kiss him. “We should do that more often.”

“Yeah, we should.”

-

He was then twenty-one, where entered local races, state championships, and mentors only a few years above Sicheng. He worked hard every day, working to become that fastest and smartest driver. He also kept up his job at the garage, earning enough money to get himself a studio apartment a few blocks down. You visited often, and it was almost sure that you slept over at Sicheng’s more than you slept at your own place.

That was how to the two of you liked it. Especially at night, when the both of you could whisper your fears about the future; about how Sicheng wasn’t sure he’d ever have enough money to launch a true racing career. About how scared you were that he would get famous and leave you for better, richer friends.

“You know I would never do that,” Sicheng mumbled.

Your tired eyes trained themselves on his lips, watching the way they shifted and moved whenever he spoke. “I know, but sometimes I can’t help but imagine the worst.”

“I don’t even know if I want to become famous. I really like sprint cars. Maybe I could just stay at the tracks here and make money off of local races and betting.”

“You could,” you agreed. A sly grin crept onto your face. “Then you’d have to stay here with me.”

Sicheng squeezed your waist tiredly, his eyes drifting closed as he answered, “I think staying with you is better than winning any race.”

As sweet as his words were, both of you knew that he needed more. Sicheng was bred for the races. He was bred for speed. Settling down wasn’t something he could do just yet.

-

You went off to university, in search of your own path, which was never really clear. You only saw Sicheng on holidays now, or during long winded skype calls that lasted well into the mornings.

He was miles away, and you were in a dorm watching the race on your phone, cheering every time number one-twenty-seven was in the lead.

That was Sicheng following his dream. He had made it. He had his own car and put crew. He had his name on trophies and plaques. He was praised for his technique with cars and some announcers even called him a “car whisperer”.

To you, however, he was still Sicheng, the boy you approached so strategically on the playground. He was still the boy you comforted when his father left. He was still the boy you bothered while he was working his first job. He was still the boy who always had dirt on his face, replaced by a blush when you wiped it off for him.

He was still the boy who turned your world upside down and inside out just like the cars he always worked on.

He was your first and your last, through thick and thin. No matter what, you would always think of him and hope he would do the same for you. The two of you were inseparable, and nothing could break you apart. Not a racetrack. Not a university. Nothing.

»the end«