#realizing writing drabbles is so much easier when i tell myself i don't have to love the product

[venalier]

💙          »        name    3    things    your    character    is    grateful    for    .

       　´ ✱ ‾‾‾‾   thoughtful prompts.

with the onset of the rain's pelting rush against the glass came the thunder of speeding feet on lightwood. a streak of red, she tore the corners at a sprint, clutching at the decorative wing feathers adorning her head. "father, father! the storm's here again!" inevitably, her strident alarm would precede the grey sky's malefic rumble by seconds only, sending forth a yelp as she tumbled headfirst into waiting arms and an indulgent laugh, rich with warmth.

he came with the spring, always. in later years, she would wonder why this was when the thought occurred to her to revisit such things. it was months too early for her birthday, and months too late for his. the holidays weren't fit to be celebrated in the deeprealms, where both the means and the people to enjoy it were few and far between. but, like a blossoming bough in concert with the season, he would appear — splendidly, fragrantly, and often without warning; to be woken up to some clear and unexpected morning, instilling the certain energy about the house that came only with the cyclical advent of something wonderful and fleeting.

and for a few, ephemeral days, he would hear her fear of the thunder and the rain, as endemic to her little capsule of reality as her books and her solitude. she did not go to her guardian and his family in the same way; the man would often shake his head to the lord retainer that his daughter didn't seem to care about the rain when he wasn't there. and indeed, for a little while longer in later years, she would continue this pattern of running to his tall and secure embrace shouting of storms long after the fear had turned from real into something of a charade, something of a remembrance, a holding on to warm and sweet things — if it had ever been anything but a charade in the first place.

she thinks, she must have been permitted to be a child once.

"oh, the storm's going to set in soon."

she carried a load of new shipments in her arms, and her red had lightened to a red that was different from his. she carried herself straight, no longer sped from place to place on feet that flew.

"caeldori, you're not going to cry and run to me again?" he would ask, smiling. and perhaps within the teasing inquiry was something of the entreaty that only a father who had lived too little of the best years could make of his child, but she was now of the age that was uniquely blind to such things.

"that's so embarrassing! i haven't been afraid of the rain for years, father. i wish you'd stop bringing that up."

he came with the spring, and by the time the rains had petered into the first warm and dry days of early summer, he had departed — gently, quietly, with the precise opposite tenor to the unannounced exhibition of his arrival; he was plucked away one by one, lingering here, there perhaps: a final parting trinket, a promise to be well-behaved, to be stronger for the next time, until the last of the petals had stripped from the wood, leaving the perfume of camellia lingering for days after.

on the march, the rain was often a reason to complain. it slowed progress, wiped away tracks, sogged through tents and supplies. she was not immune to such grievances herself of mud-caked clothes and the damp, laden thickness of breathing. but who was it then, a soldier who once had wiped his brow and said, "oh, don't be so hard on it. anyway, it always smells nicer after it rains."

and she drew up short and thought — well, yes, it does, doesn't it. it does smell nicer after it rains. like something nowhere else. a certain kind of sadness; a certain kind of hope.

[angelmichelangelo]

i was in a pretty long writing slump for months & realized i need to rework my surroundings! i had some other issues but when i changed surroundings, cleaned my tumblr following, and overall just did some online housekeeping---it got easier. it still took me a while, but i think it's wise to always do a little housekeeping every few months to let out the old & welcome the new, yanno?

another thing that helped me was that i allowed myself a break & didn't beat myself up over rit anymore. i am currently on a mini-break just to let my brain rest, but i'm still formatting content to write (so not really a break, but a break by my standards!) & that helps me to! even if i don't have the energy to truly write---if i format drafts it keeps that itch going!

i hope you get back in your groove again, but don't beat yourself up over it, okay? you may just need a break--that's what happened to me & once i willingly took that break i came back much happier! maybe find things to do in the meantime (for me it's photo editing)? rewatch whatever media you're writing for & see if that sparks anything or even just----allow yourself to write smaller pieces like drabbles/headcanons if full fics seem all too daunting!! there's nothing wrong with needing a break & i know writer's block fucking such but it'll pass!

i'm sorry this is long-winded & rambly, but i hope it helped at least a little! my dms are always open if you just wanna yell about it because i know how annoying it is to want to do something, but everything in your body is telling you no.

ahhhh i appreciate this so so much ;___; thank you!!!

and i love that terminology: online housekeeping. that is so very true. i’m pretty happy where i am within whom i follow and the tags i keep up to date with but going forward i’m 100% keeping that in mind. that’s so interestingly powerful and i love it :,)

but yes. sometimes i do need to step back. reset my brain a little. i need to give my mind a little more self care. maybe rewatching moon knight can kill two birds with one stone if it helps respark my need to write again, as well as something that i genuinely enjoy. because rewatching moon knight is a plus either way lol

and as for scratching the itch!! i didn’t write any fic today but i started something in my google docs. just a little something of nothing but gosh, it really does work!! made me feel confident in my capabilities again and even if it was brief, gave me that spark again.

thank you so very much for this lovely message. it means a lot to me. truly. thank you ❤️

[mybiasisexo]

Chanyeol-drabble-anon here 🙈🙈 I actually don't want to bother you but you said it is okay to request more and you're writing is so cute 🙈 so if it is okay for you I'd ask for 28 with Lay since he is my total bias wrecker and looked sooo damn fine in the Tempo video and Lay in leather jacket is sooo ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ my heart explodes ❤️❤️❤️ Thanks for being awesome and making me happy!!

DRABBLE GAME 👁

MASTERLIST

(Hello! Love all your requests and hope this one holds up to your expectations! Also, dont ever apologize for interacting with me~)

“I’m so tired of this shit,” you muttered as you haphazardly parked your car on the curb in front of the club you were told he would be in. Frustration caused you to slam the door harder than planned, but you disregarded it as you stomped in. The security guard merely nodded in acknowledgement, so used to your presence by now he knew the drill.

You could hear him before your eyes could adjust to the dim lighting of the nightclub. Near the bar, your client, Zhang Yixing, was in the middle of starting a fight. He didn’t disappoint. As soon as you found him, he swung at the bulky guy that had been standing too close to his face.

You grudgingly jumped into action, rushing in and taking his opponent by the arm, twisting it painfully behind his back. The guy yelped in pain and you used the distraction to kick him away, into two other men who were about to jump in to his defense, the group tumbled to the ground.

They hadn’t given up yet, and as they got to their feet, you leapt over the bar table, grabbing a random empty bottle that held weight before coming back, standing in front of Yixing protectively, holding your makeshift weapon like a baseball bat.

“Move, Bitch,” one of the men snarled at you, eyes seeing red as they stayed pinned to the man behind you.

“Well, that’s a derogatory name for a female werewolf, don’t you think?” You lifted an eyebrow quizzically at the men. Letting them know what you were was risky, but maybe they would back down once they realized you were more powerful than the group of lesser Fae.

But just in case it didn’t, you flipped the bottle over and over in your hand threateningly.

Behind you, Yixing merely watched.

Your impromptu plan worked. The men slowly retreated, sending death stares at the human you shielded. Once they left, you spun around, facing the man you were sworn to protect, fighting the urge to smack him for being an idiot.

He could read all of that on your face. Wordlessly, he led you to a bathroom, taking off his leather jacket and tattered white shirt he was wearing, leaving himself in only his black ripped skinny jeans and boots.

You took in the forming bruises on his toned body with a whistle. “Took quite a beating, huh?”

Avoiding his dark eyes, you turned on the faucet, grabbing a couple paper towels and drenching them. He came behind you, hands latched onto your hips as he dug his nose deep into your hair. “You know you want it, Sweetheart.”

“And what if I do?” You asked, finally locking eyes with him in the mirror. His were filled with obvious lust as he tilted your head to the side, sweeping hair out of his way so that he could leave a tender kiss onto your warm skin.

“Then I’ll leave willingly.” He said. “And we can continue this at my place.”

“Oh, no. You’re going home, Yixing.”

“It’s Lay.” He pulled away, frowning as you turned off the water before checking his response. His hands were curled into fists as he hissed, “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“About as many times as I have to come here to rescue you after starting some fight with a monster you know damn well could kill you.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you just changed me….” He murmured, eyes pleading.

This was an argument you both kept finding yourselves having lately. You were a werewolf, a part of a powerful pact that your father was alpha of. Yixing’s father was an influential political figure, but he was human. The two of you came from different worlds, yet bounded over the stark similarities. You’ve known Yixing most of your life, as soon as your fathers became good friends.

Growing up, Yixing was the perfect child, the perfect student, the perfect best friend. But, that all changed after you graduated high school. He started hanging out at the grungier parts of the city, wearing dark leather and driving motorcycles. His personality changed with it. He was colder. Refused to let anyone in and was constantly starting fights with anyone who would take the bait—his father in particular.

You were the only person Yixing confided in, which was why his father secretly hired you to be his guardian. Whenever he was in trouble, you were to report to the scene and get him out as unscathed as possible.

You would have done it regardless of the pay. You loved Yixing. It hurt you to see him lose himself like this. And to think it was all because he felt he was born to the wrong family.

He wanted to be a part of yours. He wanted to be a part of a pack.

For the last year, he had been begging you to turn him, to make him one of you. It was tough, because you knew without a single doubt that he was your mate. You also thought he had a hunch of your true connection. If he were a werewolf, everything would be so much easier. But you couldn’t do that to his father, who was like a father to you also.

“Yixing….”

He huffed, knowing what that meant. Instead he took the wet towels still tightly in your grip, whipping the blood off his torso. “You don’t have to come to my rescue. I can defend myself.”

“I know,” you admitted. “But, it’s good to have some backup. I heal faster than you.”

He threw you a look before slipping his jacket back on his shoulders, discarding his shredded shirt in the trash. “You can take me back to my prison now.”

He took his leave, but you quickly grab his arm, stopping him before he could touch the door. He stilled, not daring to even breathe as you pressed yourself against his back as he did to you earlier.

“One day,” you promised lowly, savoring the hitch of his breath. “When you finally get your head out of your ass, I’ll do it. I’ll change you.”

He’s facing you with a werewolf-like quickness, face lit with excitement. “You will?”

Your hands scaled up his exposed chest, higher still to wrap around his neck and bring his face lower, closer to yours. He met you in the middle, kissing you deeply.

Once you separated, you lied to both him and yourself with a smile. “I will.”