happy disability pride month to mean cripples, nasty addicts, people with down syndrome who arent nice and talk constant shit, wheelchair users that WILL run you over, autists that dont care and arent about to pretend to, people who lie to their psychiatrists, people that sit on the floor in public places with no benches, amputees that lie profusely about "what happened"; to the "noncompliant", the "drug seeking", the "mean", the "difficult" and the "undeserving", and so on and so forth, i love us all and we deserve the world actually mwah mwah
it's really gross how you can be self aware enough to know what's going on in your head but you can't actually stop it from happening. i need to grab it like a pigeon that got stuck in a house and throw it out the window. be free
The best piece of writing advice I can give is that you should strive to be sincere rather than original.
You can't force originality. Originality will arise as a natural consequence of sincerity. Make the story completely and apologetically yours, and originality will come by virtue of it being your story.
in this new year I want you to be alright. I hope you move out. I hope you have enough money to feel safe. I hope you abandon shame and forgive yourself. I hope you get enough sleep and some good news. I hope you laugh a lot and the heaviness of the world eases a bit. I wish you to be alright.
Half of writing is learning to live with making something that not everyone is going to like. And that "everyone" will end up including your friends and family. And guess what? That still doesn't mean your work is bad.
Furthermore whoever removed the audio jack from phones should be grilled in front of congress. The fact that I need a dongle to listen to music on a modern telephone while 20 years ago I could have simply plugged a universally standardized cord into the audio jack everyone knew how to use is an anti-human move that should be punished.
✧ pairing: Kevin x gn!Reader
✧ warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, implied self-esteem issues, that pretty much sums it up
✧ word count: 1.3k
✧ a/n: Got really emotionally one day and decided to take the idea I've had tucked in my back pocket and spent a day turning it into this. For Kevin ♡
✧ ao3
✦ ─────────────────── ─ －－－ · · · ◦
You roll over in your sleep expecting to find the warmth of your boyfriend lying next to you. Instead, you get a face full of cotton sheets. The momentary disruption of airflow to your lungs wakes you. Reluctantly, you open your eyes to the familiar darkness of your room. Eyesight bleary, but able to recognize the extra bit of light accentuating the folds in the sheets. Turning your head, you see the source of a soft light slipping through underneath the door.
Sitting up, your mind is able to catch up to speed. His side of the bed may be empty, but your boyfriend is somewhere just past that door. The only question is why. Turning to the nightstand beside your bed, the clock reads 1:43 am. It's not unlike him to be still up working on a project. Time and time again he's gone on about how his creative urges have their own time schedule.
You find him far beyond your bedroom off by the kitchen island. The only light being the single bulb recessed in the ceiling giving a soft, warm glow to the room. His attention is fixed on the notebook lying in front of him. The pencil in his hand moves back and forth in the air without touching the page, a habit you noticed he'd do when stressed or anxious.
Anxious? What's going on?
"Kevin?" You call softly across the space just enough to be heard hoping you don't startle him. You take a few steps gliding your hand along the wall to where the light switch is. The light above isn't too dim, but clearly not the best for writing. Of course he would know this, but you figure another source would ease the strain on his eyes.
"Don't."
Your hand freezes. You look over to find him barely turned in your direction. Eyes meeting yours in a way that feels like you're intruding on something. Even with the distance you see something in his eyes, a feeling that's unfamiliar to you. Now that you're aware of it it feels as if it seeps out into the air, slowly changing the feeling of the room.
Before you can try to search his eyes anymore, he drops his gaze. He doesn't quite turn back to the notebook, but with his eyes averted, the tension drops. A stillness hangs in the air. You're almost at a loss, but part of you is still nudging you to go to him. You take a few gentle steps towards him. He grips his pencil tighter. You pause for a moment. A myriad of things swirl in your mind, confusion at the forefront. He could've told you to leave, but he hasn't. That's enough for you to close the remaining distance.
When you're close enough, you peer at the notebook page he has open. There are a few spaced out lines of short phrases in both English and Korean. Some are struck out with a single line, others further down scribbled over enough to obscure whatever's beneath it. His pencil is pressed to the page, but he makes no movement. He's complained about writer's block before, but this feels like something beyond that.
At a closer distance, the air between you feels different. You haven't spoken in minutes, still gauging the situation. You're not sure what you should do, but being here for him feels right.
You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, running your thumb over the small patch of muscle through his shirt. I'm here for you. The words you don't say. Too afraid any sound might shatter the moment. All you have is the hope that the physical link is enough to convey the feeling. As you do, you feel the smallest bit of tension leave his body. The hand gripping the pencil relaxes as it sags between his fingers. A small breath of relief leaves you as you give his shoulder a light squeeze.
It's okay, you're safe, you know.
As if in response, he moves suddenly. Turning in his seat and craning his neck towards you. The overhead light catches his eyes just so it adds brightness to the brown of his irises. Up close, you can see the emotions he'd tried to hold back earlier. His eyes are shining in the low light, tears are brimming on his lower lids but haven't yet reached the point in spilling down his face. There's a turmoil in his face that you're not as familiar with. It's a state you've only witnessed a handful of times, but each time made your heart twist. This time was no different.
No words come out of either of you. Where before the silence felt punishing, it's morphing into something else. Moving your hand from his shoulder, you cup his face gently while repeating the same move with your thumb against his cheekbone.
His eyes close gently as he takes a deep breath. When he opens them, they're visibly more watery. He's fighting to steady his breathing, nostrils flaring with each exhale.
"Promise..." his voice shakes despite his best attempts. He sucks in another breath to try again. "Promise you'll stay."
His words land like a two ton weight on your chest. How could he think you'd leave? That you'd ever want anything else? Before you can think, your body reacts on impulse, wrapping your arms around his head and bringing him tightly to your chest. Droplets dot your front as tears seep into your shirt.
It wasn't the most coordinated move, so you don't object when he writhes within your hold. He's now the one with a face full of fabric and has to shift to restore airflow. In doing so, his ear is now pressed to your chest. The steady beating of your heart aiding to calm him.
"I will." The words vibrate against his temple. You move your arms to allow him to look at you again. His features no longer riddled with the distress from earlier. In their place, you see a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"I promise I will."
Just like earlier, you feel him begin to relax in your hold. His fraught emotional state slowly dissipating. You'd always found yourself better at communicating through touch than speaking. Kevin himself might beg to differ. He isn't as aware of how situational your way with words is. Many times, you feel at a loss in more emotional situations like this. Something about attempting to put the right motivational string of words together felt hollow. All you knew was you wanted to make him feel cared for. So you do the one thing that comes to mind. Leaning down, you plant a kiss on his forehead. A small gesture you both do for each other, though you're more often on the receiving end with your height difference. Kevin always voiced that it felt more special that way. That and when you'd proudly declared you would "climb the greatest heights just to kiss his forehead" he laughed until his stomach hurt. It was the memories of smaller gestures like these he cherished the most.
"Thank you." His voice barely above a whisper, but more stable than the last time. You look down to see him blinking back more tears. A streak trails down his right cheek. You move to swipe it away before placing a chaste kiss to his lips. An echo of the promise you made to him earlier. That you'd stay with him and love him the best way you know how.
It's too soon to say the coast is clear. Raging emotions like that don't disappear in an instant. Not to mention the sudden nature of it. You didn't even know what could've brought this on. Nevertheless, it was a start. He'd let you in after all. When he could've shut you out, he didn't. He allowed you to get close in this vulnerable state. Allowed you to see him, raw and fragile. It was all you could do to be there for him. All you could hope is that your answer would be enough for him. And that he knows he'll always be enough for you.
