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[monkwrites]

The good news: I'm writing fan fic again

The bad news: it's fucking South Park

[monkwrites]

Every writing advice ever: If you’re having trouble with a scene, skip it and write a different part of the story.

Me: If I don’t write in chronological order, I will die

[monkwrites]

*me writing fic*

me to me: don’t use the word eyes, you just used it in the previous sentence. use something else

my inner me to me: no, don’t call eyes orbs, it’s cringey

my deeper inner me to me: call them face balls

[monkwrites]

very sexy indeed

[monkwrites]

I've finally accepted that I can't start the story where I wanted to. I wanted to skip to the interesting part but it just didn't feel right...so I've been putting together my timeline trying to figure this shit out. Hopefully... it's not as long of a story as I think it might end up being because AHHHHHHHHH

[monkwrites]

I was kinda sad thinking about how my very first fan fiction was lost to the ages........... turns out I printed it out at some point??

Anyway I found it and I'm horrified

[monkwrites]

I think I'm breaking through with this damn fic...4k words in, I'll start posting when I've got 20-30k. I've just been busy with art stuff and sick because outside decided to be cold out of nowhere. But I've got way more figured out for this fic than the other two combined. Truly a miracle 🙏

[monkwrites]

Unlike his other gay friends, he's never been popular with the ladies. But look at him now, drowning in pussy.

Yaku gets a call about an injured stray cat.

[monkwrites]

kibimomo

[monkwrites]

I wasn’t supposed to spend too much time on these but I guess I didn’t get the memo… one day I’ll write this AU because KyouHaba is simply The Best Ship

[monkwrites]

Really nice of past me to make a document titled Original Characters and only include the ones that I've personally developed outside of my writing who I won't forget and not the ones who only exist for me in what's already written who I can't fucking remember

Gotta love that forethought

[monkwrites]

There's a very specific KyouHaba event I want to write about for my Side A shorts but I don't want to have to open The Gambler to figure out the timeline because old works are scary and I'd rather die than face the reality that my first attempt at something wasn't perfect

[monkwrites]

Gonna focus on some shorter stories and shit

[monkwrites]

Even though I don't want to drag it out, I don't want it to be rushed, either. I either continue what I have by going into the next morning (what I'm currently doing but am unsure of) or I jump back in time and cover Akaashi and Yaku's relationship. I just don't know.

[monkwrites]

I think my issue with the BokuAka fic is that I’m not quite happy with where it starts. Like it feels like I should start it earlier, but in an attempt to shorten it and save myself, I wanted it to start at the New Year’s party. idk man writing is hard.

[monkwrites]

For fairness, here’s the beginning of the BokuAka story. Whether or not I can get past chapter one will probably be the deciding factor lol

To think it all started with one oversized little brat, coming in out of nowhere like a tsunami, shoving himself into everyone's life as though he belonged there. Hate is a strong word; there's a lot that Akaashi Keiji dislikes, like a whole fucking lot, but he prefers to think he's a somewhat reasonable man. Still, of all the things that bother him, that shake him to his core and send him teetering on the edge of murder, Haiba Lev is one of the few things he can say he absolutely hates without a shadow of a doubt.

It's not the kid's fault, and he knows that. But still, holy shit. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd have strangled him months ago. What it would feel like to have his hands firmly around that pretty little neck of his…

No, it's not Lev's fault, and he tries to remind himself of that, but it's hard. It's so fucking hard, and the wine doesn't help. A whole bottle all to himself, who the hell let this happen?

The more he drinks, the more he realizes it really isn't Lev’s fault. Not all his fault, at least. That selfish bastard Yaku Morisuke is at fault, too, and the longer the night drones on, the more he thinks about it. He thinks about his past with Yaku, the time they spent together, the love he felt for him...and how that piece of shit just couldn’t love him back. Sure, it was a no strings attached thing, and yeah, maybe that was his idea in the first place, but still. But still.

Fuck, it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad, and he was the only one to feel it.

Just. How fucking dare Yaku do...do...this.

Fuck him.

Fuck, why isn’t he over him yet? He thought his time in Paris would ease the pain, that he could have the love fucked out of him by every hot guy he could get his hands on. Turns out magic dicks don’t exist and sex doesn’t heal deep wounds. And he should know because he slept with a lot of guys in Paris. He came back home to Japan and his feelings were still there, along with the addition of one tall, childish, Russian piece of shit─that fucking bastard Lev.

He takes another swig of wine and watches Yaku disappear from Oikawa’s flat. Bokuto is saying something, but Akaashi can’t be bothered to pay attention. He’s too drunk and jealous. Bokuto doesn’t know to take the wine away, and he likes it like this. He’ll drink and everyone else will be too drunk to stop him, and Bokuto will be too ignorant to do anything about it.

He watches Lev disappear through the elevator as well, most likely to rendezvous with Yaku somewhere. He’s not stupid, he’s fully aware those two will finally hook up tonight. It’s New Years and they’ve been hanging off of each other for months. Of course it’s finally happening. It’s happening and Akaashi feels...well, it’s like everything is folding in on him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. All he can do is drink and observe and be bitter and jealous because that’s all he’s fucking good for.

It’s all he’s ever been good for. Maybe that’s why Yaku never loved him?

Fuck.

The lights are dimmed in the living room as it’s just minutes from midnight. Everyone in the flat drunk-whispers in anticipation.

And everything is spinning. Everyone shouts a countdown, fireworks explode across the cityscape just outside, everyone kisses someone, everyone else is screaming about it, and then he’s at the kitchen island with Oikawa and Kuroo. They talk, he listens, but just barely. His head hurts and he doesn’t remember getting this drunk, but he is. Nobody’s taken his wine away, at least. At this point, he’d probably fight them if they tried.

Man, he really hopes he doesn’t end up vomiting on anyone tonight. That'd probably be a little more embarrassment than he's willing to deal with. 

Suddenly, Oikawa is calling someone over. Oh, he’s calling over Yaku, who has a Lev shaped tumor attached to him. Isn’t that nice.

Oikawa teases them about fucking on the roof, or making out, or whatever the fuck they actually did up there. It doesn’t matter at this point, Akaashi was right. They’ve made it official, but knowing what was going to happen does nothing to dull the sting he feels in his heart.

You knew this was coming, Keiji. You’ve known for months, there’s no reason to feel like this, you idiot, you absolute idiot.

And then, he hears Lev say, “I'd like everyone to know, though. You're mine now,” and it’s all fucking over from there. The glass shatters in his hand─when did he grab a glass?─and everyone is looking at him, but he doesn’t fucking care. Fuck all of them, all he can see is red and the shock on Lev’s stupid, handsome face, and FUCK does he HATE this kid.

He isn’t even looking at him, but it’s still all he can see in his mind as his eyes stare at nothing dead ahead of him.

“Holy shit,” Kuroo says. “Are you okay, Akaashi?”

He reaches for Akaashi’s bleeding hand, but Akaashi pushes him away. He tries again, and this time Akaashi punches him in the chest with all the strength of a heartbroken twink...it’s also with his left hand, which is probably the only reason why Kuroo doesn’t die instantly by the force of his rage. Kuroo leans back, raising his hands in defeat.

Yes, leave me the fuck alone, asshole.

Oikawa looks like he’s about to stand up. “Kei-chan…”

“Don’t,” Akaashi warns him.

“What the fuck, Akaashi?” Iwaizumi steps forward, but he stops when Akaashi points at him with his good hand.

“Don’t,” he warns again. He realizes his hand is shaking. Fuck, his whole body is shaking and he feels like he’s on fire, from the alcohol or the burning rage, he can’t be sure. Who fucking cares at this point? He feels red hot from his cheeks all the way to the bottom of the soul he’s sure plenty of people don’t believe he has. But of course he does, and it’s in just as much pain as the rest of him.

Then Yaku speaks, and Akaashi wants to cry. “Keiji, what’s wrong?”

You, us, this, he thinks. If only he hadn’t left Japan, maybe he could have done something, anything, to make Yaku love him. There had to have been something, he just missed it, he fucking missed it because the only thing he knows how to do is run away from his problems. He fucked up and there’s no going back and it just...everything hurts so, so bad.

Yaku makes to step around the island, and Akaashi’s body moves on its own; he’s on his feet in an instant, so quick it must startle Yaku, because he stops before he gets any closer.

Before he knows it, he's screaming at the man, laying every insecurity he’s ever had out for everyone to see, letting all of their friends know just how pathetic and weak he actually is behind his stoic exterior. He screams at Yaku, then he screams at Lev, and it feels like it’ll never end, like he could go forever on a drunken rampage until he’s ruined every single thing he’s ever cared about in this world. That's not a lot, so it’s perfectly feasible. And maybe he should burn everything down right here and right now so that he can fuck back off to Paris and pretend like his life in Tokyo never existed. He likes to think it would be easier. God, something has to be easier than all of this shit.

He thinks he might throw up. If he does, he hopes it hits Lev.

Fuck, when did he start crying? His tears are just as hot as the rest of him, so hot they have to be leaving blisters where they fall down his cheeks. He’s bracing himself on the counter, he can’t even stand up anymore, and then Kuroo is there, and he thinks he’s screaming at him, too. It’s hard to tell what’s happening, and it feels like all he can do is scream. And then there’s Bokuto putting himself between him and Lev. For some reason, it just makes him angrier. Akaashi lashes out at him, too, because at this point, why the fuck not? He screams and flails against him, hitting whatever he can of Bokuto’s stupid, rock-hard body. It hurts, but Bokuto takes it, so Akaashi keeps doing it. He gets blood on the man’s shirt, but he can’t be bothered to care. Fuck him for getting in the way, anyway. Fuck him, fuck them, fuck everyone, fuck everything.

When did Bokuto start talking to him? How can he be so quiet and calm at a time like this? Who the fuck does he think he is?

“Let’s get you out of here, Akaashi,” he says in that voice that’s too quiet and serious to belong to Bokoto, but it comes from his mouth all the same.

He’s not sure when or how, but a few of them manage to drag him to the sink to clean his wound while he does everything in his power to make it as difficult as possible, but he’s suddenly so tired and super lightheaded and they're just too shit-faced to properly appreciate his ferocity.

They manage to drag him into the elevator, and then he’s out in the freezing cold of the night. Standing is hard, so he relies heavily on Bokuto to keep him from eating shit on the pavement. Bokuto helps him get his coat on, not even stopping when Akaashi tries to fight that, too. When did Bokuto become so patient and caring?

He doesn't notice he’d stopped crying until tears are streaming down his face again.

“Fuck. Off,” he sobs. Despite popular demand, Bokuto does not fuck off.

“Nah, man. We need to get you home...or. I dunno.” He looks around. “Your place is kinda far from here, isn’t it? C’mon, you can crash at my place tonight. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Just leave me to die in the streets, I don’t want to do...anything else right now, okay?”

“Nah, I can’t do that.” Bokuto puts one of his thick arms around Akaashi’s shoulder, gently edging him forward. He tries to fight him, but all the fight left him as soon as the bitter winter air hit his skin. So, he reluctantly lets Bokuto walk him. “You’ll be okay, you just gotta sober up and sleep it off.”

“I’d rather...drink myself to death than sober up and face any of this later,” he admits with a bitterness to rival the winter chill.

Bokuto continues to reassure him in that uncharacteristically calm, even tone. Akaashi assumes that’s what he was doing at least, because the rest of the night is a blur. He remembers Bokuto carrying him up a few flights of stairs, stumbling into a door and tripping over something, and being caught by the elbow before he could knock his teeth out on the hardwood floor. He remembers falling into a mess of blankets and unfolded laundry, and having his shoes taken off for him. He doesn’t remember taking his jacket off, but it was gone at some point, and then Bokuto was there with water and pajama pants, and it was kind of nice until Akaashi couldn’t hold it in anymore. The last thing he remembers is instinctively leaning forward and throwing up an entire bottle of wine and his dinner right in Bokuto’s lap.

[monkwrites]

I can't decide what long fic to write next so I've been working on a couple things, a little at a time. A long time ago I shared the beginning of a KyouHaba fantasy AU, and a few months ago I decided to revisit it. I didn't like what I had so I started from scratch, and here's the new beginning.

He really, really hoped it could be so.

______________________________

The moon shone bright that night, bathing the garden in an ethereal light. The joyous shouts of intoxicated party guests could be heard all the way from the banquet hall, but did little to break the serenity of the garden. He wasn’t supposed to be out there, especially not this late at night, but without anyone keeping watch to deter him, it was the only place young Shigeru wanted to be. He sat happily in the old, worn gazebo where it sat prominently in the middle of the pond, watching the breeze blow ripples across the water like folds of fine silk flowing off an elegant gown. The pond lilies had always been his favorite flower, not just in the garden, but of all the flowers he had ever seen. Sometimes he wished he could be as tiny as a frog so that he, too, could rest on their broad leaves. It was a foolish idea, he knew, and he knew because his mother had told him as much. A stupid idea from a stupid child. Perhaps if he were to grow up and become a learned young man, he’d have better thoughts and his mother wouldn’t be as cross with him? One day, he was sure it would be so. And then they could sit in the gazebo together and talk and play and she would be happy like his chambermaid was.

A particularly hostile gust cut through the air, disrupting the water and shaking the bushes around him. From the gust, petals fell around him, small and pale blue, resting gently at his knees. He clenched his tiny fists in the fabric of his robes. Oh no, he’s done it again.

Shigeru reached up to shake the rest of the unwanted flowers from his hair, hoping to every God in the Six Kingdoms that there truly was nobody around who could tell his mother. If she didn’t know, then she wouldn’t punish him. He only wanted to make her happy, but it was so difficult with—

A board creaked behind him. Shigeru turned around with a start, fully expecting a guard or a maid to have found him. Instead, it was another little boy that looked about his age. He’d never met him, but he still recognized him after spending the past five days watching him from afar. Prince Kentarou stared at him, his body completely still like an animal on the hunt. His golden eyes almost glowed in the dim light. Scary.

Neither child dared speak. It wasn’t until more flowers were shaken from Shigeru’s hair that either child moved again. Kentarou stepped tentatively under the gazebo, looking from the golden lotus base up to the exposed wooden rafters. He took a seat at the far end, sitting in a way Shigeru found scandalous for a crowned prince. Surely even animals like the Kyoutani family had manners? Kentarou didn’t seem to care, he simply sat there casually, slouching like a peasant. Shigeru had been so dumbstruck that he had almost forgotten his manners.

He scooted himself around until he was facing the crowned prince. He held out his hands in a respectful bow, but received none in return.

“Prince Kentarou.”

Kentarou didn’t answer. He pulled his knees up to his chest and turned his bright eyes to the pond, as though Shigeru weren’t even there. He couldn’t believe it. How rude.

He moved again until he, too, was facing the pond. The garden no longer held the same peaceful tranquility as it had just moments prior, but if the crowned prince kept to himself, it couldn’t be helped. At least he seemed to be calm and quiet, unlike many other children their age.

Still, he was curious, as he seldom had the opportunity to meet someone like prince Kentarou. Shigeru looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see golden eyes staring at him. Kentarou looked away, his face warping into a mess of angry lines. Shigeru, too, looked away. Of course a Kyoutani would be so rude, but it still made him clench his fists with irritation.

Yet another gust swept through the warm summer air, and yet more petals fell. Letting out a small gasp, Shigeru did his best to discreetly pull the flowers from his hair, but it was as though they were never ending. He realized that perhaps they were; if they grew from his head then they would surely always grow, but sometimes they were more persistent than others.

The more he pulled, the quicker they seemed to grow. Shigeru stole another glance over his shoulder, once again to those glowing golden eyes. The crowned prince didn’t look away.

“What?!” Shigeru snapped. He regretted it as soon as he said it, but the prince didn’t seem to care. He simply kept staring. “Did your mother not teach you manners?”

“What if she didn’t…” Kentarou mumbled.

“Oh, so you can talk?”

Kentarou narrowed his eyes. “‘Course I can. Just don’t wanna talk to an Oikawa…”

Shigeru’s stomach dropped. “Well, I’m not an Oikawa.”

“Huh?" The prince cocked his head to one side. "You’re the King’s son, ain’t you? Then you’re an Oikawa.”

“Don’t you know anything?” Shigeru asked. It was all he could do not to shout at the idiot before him. “I’m a bastard, and bastards can’t be Oikawas.” They shouldn’t shout at princes, either.

Kentarou tilted his head, his face warped with confusion. “That’s dumb. What are you, then?”

“I’m...I’m Yahaba Shigeru...your highness.”

“Now you’re polite…” Kentarou grumbled. “Whatever.”

Turning away, Shigeru silently scolded himself. What had he been thinking, speaking to a crowned prince in such a way? Even a prince from a family of wild savages was well above himself in the social hierarchy. If Prince Kentarou were to tell anyone, surely Shigeru would be severely punished. He sat in silence, staring down at the worn wooden panels that made up the gazebo floor.

Why did the Prince have to come here in the first place, he wondered.

A board creaked behind him for a second time that night. Shigeru turned around once more, this time to the Prince on his hands and knees, frozen in place crawling towards him. One of his hands was outstretched towards…

“What are you doing?!” Shigeru demanded. They were only flower petals, so small and so pale, but being as they grew from his own person...it felt odd to think another might touch them.

The Prince recoiled. “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’...they’re just flowers, right?” Leaning back to sit on his rear, the Prince crossed his arms with an irritated grunt. “Was just curious…”

Shigeru looked from the Prince to the flowers and back again. He hesitated, but he plucked a flower from his head and held it out to the other boy. “Here. You can have one if you don’t tell anybody I was rude to you, okay?”

Kentarou’s eyebrows had come together as he pouted. He seemed irritated by the offer, and for a moment Shigeru worried he’d be found out, that his mother would know he came to the gardens without permission, and that his father would know he forgot his place with royalty. To his surprise, Kentarou scooted forward and accepted the single, pale little flower. Neither boy spoke the rest of the night as they sat and enjoyed the cool breeze and chirping of crickets. At one point Shigeru turned around and the Prince was just...gone, as though he’d never been there in the first place.