Br1ghteyed - Brighteyed

me as a writer

dear lord, please take all life problems and responsibilities away from fanfic writers but also make them financially stable and happy with nothing to worry about so they can happily focus on writing and posting fanfiction. amen

➜ fandom: genshin impact ➜ content: kaeya x reader, mutual yearning, childhood/old friends, alcohol, nsfw implied, friends with benefits, the one that got away, oneshot, pyro!reader, mild jealousy, banter, intentional lowercase ➜ words: 1k

  ↪ 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚.

       you had started making specialty drinks for angelshare on tuesday nights. you moved back to mondstadt and spent most of your time arranging the furniture in the apartment above lisa’s. If you weren't settling in, you would read on the balcony or have preparatory meetings with jean.

        grandmaster jean had recently appointed you as her medical advisor. years ago, you had been a knight. that was before you went off to sumeru with lisa, a childhood friend, to study.

        you studied field medicine and honed your pyro vision. you did groundbreaking research. you created pyro-infused potions that became long-term solutions for trauma survivors, pioneered sutures that saved hundreds of lives and limbs on the battlefield.

        after the last few years of horrific injuries and tragic deaths, you liked mixing drinks.

you appreciated the simplicity of drunkards like nimrod. you liked to talk to charles, another one of the bartenders, about the weather in the evenings.

        you accepted the gig as a favor to diluc. you owed him a few from years ago, but you considered it a favor to you as well. you liked that your workplace this night wasn’t stained with blood.

        “i’m headed out to clean the tables,” charles said.

        “okay,” you said, not paying much mind.

you reached up onto one of the higher shelves to put back a skinny green bottle of elixir.

        on tuesdays, it was usually the regulars at the tavern. you had come to learn this even in the few weeks you had been back in mondstadt.

        you also learned that could take a breath here. with the impending stress as the new medical advisor for the city, you welcomed a few sips on the tavern's dime.

        you took a small glass vial from her bag, tipping it bottom up into your liquor concoction behind the bar. the vial was a shot of your own creation, one that helped with hangovers too. as you went in for another sip, you heard the movement of a chair as a patron sat down at the counter.

        “what can I get you?” you asked, swallowing and feeling the warmth settle into your chest.

        “what do you recommend these days? i trust you haven’t come all the way from sumeru to not impress your patrons.”

        the familiar, forever-taunting voice made the fire in your chest turn ice.

        “yes,” she said. your tone was still grasping at who was sitting in front of you as you turned to face him. “i do hope i can impress you.”

        “well, that depends. are you free to take a hike to starsnatch cliff?” kaeya asked.

        you felt her face turn red. you remembered being teenagers again, new recruits for the knights together. those days, you would dream up elaborate dares for each other.

        you two always had a case of your beginner potions and kaeya's flask in hand. you would get into trouble all night long and be at training in the morning.

        you had made it to a bed of flowers on starsnatch cliff once, the summer before they never saw each other again. kaeya brought strong tavern wine. you brought your latest experimental enchanted berries. your friendship changed forever that night.

        “when hell freezes over, kaeya,” she said, as calm as you could.

you hardly stifled her embarrassment. you were unsure if the heat in your face was from the liquor settling into your cheeks or your attempts to keep your memories at bay.

        you knew how much he lived to get a reaction from people. once upon a time, you had a foot in front of him in that race.

        “i’m sure with your help, i could make that happen,” he said with a smile.

        “right,” you said.

you reached up onto her tiptoes to grab a goblet from one of the higher shelves in the glassware cabinet.

        “you haven’t grown much,” kaeya said with a laugh.

you could tell from the sing-song of his laugh that he’d been drinking too. you could feel his eyes shamelessly tumble over your body as you reached up.

“would you like some help?”

         “that’s okay,” you said, stubborn as usual.

you set the goblet on the counter in front of him.

“i don’t think master diluc would like you behind the bar.”

        kaeya scoffed, not bothering to hide the roll of his eyes.

        “master?” he drew out. “fancy that. you’re keen on him again.”

        you all but laughed in his face.

        “again,” you repeated. “that was over a decade ago. besides, master diluc is my boss now. i don’t think that would be appropriate.”

        “huh," he said.

he paused for a moment, taking you in your face now too, as if he was tracing over a sketch from his memory with his eyes. you were stricken with the sight of him again too. you couldn't meet his gaze, though. you lingered on the smaller things: the dip in his chin, the long front of his hair that fell over his face.

"you must’ve had a change of heart since i’ve spoken to you last,” kaeya said, tempting your gaze upward to his.

“i didn’t know it bothered you to fraternize with your coworkers.”

        you bit your lip down. whether to keep herself from giggling or snapping at him, you didn’t know. you reasoned it was the wine-mix you'd been drinking that made you end up with a smile, but this denial was familiar to you. to you when every time you were with him.

        “what am I making you?” you asked.

you slid the goblet down to the other end of the bar. you had tall corked bottles lined between the two of you.

        “quite happy,” kaeya said.

his smile looked a little dizzy. his face looked as pink as yours felt, and he leaned into his elbows toward you.

if charles had returned to the bar, you hadn't noticed. the world beyond the space between you didn't seem to exist anymore. like it had always been with kaeya.

        “sure,” kara quipped, a beat late from being lost in the feeling of your reunion. “i can make you a ‘quite happy’.”

        a few pours and shakes later, your new bestselling drink was born. it tasted snappy, and the aftertaste was sweet. indigo glitter danced around in the stillest of glasses.

        when kaeya brought the cup to his mouth for the first time, you felt the warmth in your chest again—like you'd taken a shot from the vial. the drink matched his eyes just right.

— notes from stephen king's "on writing".

I read Stephen King's "On Writing" (well, listened to it) so you don't have to. Whether you need creative inspiration, want some quick writing advice from the book, or didn't read it for an assignment, here you go.

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These notes are only from the "On Writing" portion of the book which comes after the memoir-heavy portion and a section called "Toolbox" which emphasizes the importance of grammar and knowing your craft. The end also has a section called "On Life" which discusses how he was hospitalized after an accident and writing helped him find him way back to himself. Two essays from his sons (one's an interview transcript) about writing and their life with their father are also featured at the end.

[ 𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 ]

- If you don’t want to work your ass off don’t bother - If you want to be a writer you have to read a lot and write a lot - Reading - "you cannot wish to sweep someone else away by the force if your writing unless it has been done to you" - If you don’t have time to read you don’t have the time or tools to write - Constant reading brings you to a mindset to write more freely, and to know what’s been done before - King talks about 4-6 hours of reading and writing per day - Writing is best when it’s "an inspired plague", writing feeling like work is the kiss of death - King does about 10 pages/2000 words a day - Attributes his success in part to staying active/a healthy body and a healthy relationship - Recommends 1000 words per day as a starting point for writing daily, allowing even one day per week off - Most important part of a writing space is a door to close that says you mean business - You want to get rid of the world around you because you’re creating your own world - Ensure “the muse” knows where you’ll be everyday and when do it will start showing up - He says to not just feel limited to write what you “know”, but what you know includes imagination and feeling too

[ PLOT ]

- King doesn’t plot he believes in giving the story a place to grow - Not just the novels creator but but it’s first reader - The idea of plot wheels when you're stuck, apparently used a lot in the 1920s - Strong situations for writing can be asked as a what if question ( ex what if vampires invaded New York City? ) - An exercise: write 5-6 unplotted pages from a situation - "Description begins in the writers imagination but should be in the readers" - It’s as easy to over describe as it is to under describe - Fresh images, simple vocabulary

[ DIALOUGE ]

- Never tell if you can show us - Dialogue is usually done best by people who like to speak and listen to people (( Don’t love how he just read two slurs out loud in the audiobook version !!?? )) - Talk should be true on the page, no matter ugly or profane, it shows character - If I have to tell you I lose as the writer if you can figure it out yourself I win - If you do your job your characters will come to life and start to do things on their own - Try everything if it works it works if it doesn’t delete it - Hemingway’s “kill your darlings”

[ SYMBOLISM ]

- Symbolism and theme in second draft as things arise … I agree with this I tend to look back and double down on the motifs and patterns that naturally arise in the first draft instead of trying to insert or plan it - Symbolism and the other adornments are bells and whistles, the story is still the most important part

[ THEME ]

- On theme - every book is about something, look at the forest of the book after staring at all the branches closely - Boredom is good for creative jams - Thinking above the curve - Asking yourself what are you writing about/why are you spending the time on this specific story (what’s worth it) - Most writers seem to have the same themes or obsessions in their works.. the same things will likely re-arise throughout your works - Don’t START with theme.. the story idea tends to come first. Once the story is on paper, then ask what it means and work with it

[ REVISION & IDEAL READER ]

- King does 2 drafts and a polish .. rewriting varies by writing - Write the first draft without input from others.. like laying fresh snow without tracks from others yet - When you let someone into the draft don’t let them talk to you about it until you talk to them about it - Take some time off to let your book rest, he suggests about 6 weeks - Waiting makes it feel like someone else’s… it’s easier to kill someone’s else’s darlings rather than your own - Character motivation is something you’ll see better (why did a character do X or Y if it seems they never would, etc) - He focuses on “big questions” (resonance— what’s it all about and how do I make it clearer without spoon feeding it) mostly in the first read through alongside things like glaring spelling errors, needing clarifying sentences in places - Every novel has an ideal reader in the back of their mind - You can’t let the whole world into your story but you can let in the ones that matter most - Envisioning your ideal reader helps you get outside yourself - Nothing wrong with fast paced novels but you do risk losing the reader or wearing them out, despite modern day publishers sometimes encouraging quick pace - Every story should unfold at its own pace--too slow is a risk too - Look back to "ideal reader" and how they would feel reading the book/the pace (ask: is it over/underexplained to them, etc) - Pacing = “just take out the boring parts” -- kill your darlings, even when it breaks your ego - KILL YOUR DARLINGS !!! - Second draft: first draft-10% !! - In general, reader more interested in what’s going to happen than what already happened (re: clunky backstory) - A) everyone has a history, b) most of it isn’t very interesting.. stick to the parts that are - Research should be as far in the background as you can get it -- remember you're writing a novel, not a research paper

[ WRITING CLASSES ]

- I have a lot of my own ideas about these since my degree is in writing, but I agree with some of the points King made that they're beneficial in ways but also put your writing on the spot a bit too much, expose your writing to empty critiques, and can end up giving you some writers block by making you feel you need to write something "important" or within a certain topic, etc.... - You learn the most by writing and reading more... you don't really NEED any writing classes. (My personal favorite part was engaging with other writers) - Intellectually stimulating and fun but often lack the "nuts and bolts" of writing

[ PUBLISHING ]

- Publishers are mostly looking for hot new writers who can write and sell a lot of books - Not all agents are good agents - "The most important thing you can do is read the market" - Get smaller magazines and stories published (being able to supply a list, even short, of reputable publications) - "You cant make them like their story, but you can make it easier for them to try to like it" -- go in looking like a professional, word counts and correct paper and staples and cover letters, etc (small cover letter example in the book) - Being a new writer you need to remember that anyone can publish an ad as a literary agent or claiming to be one

King says a lot of his writing knowledge feels more like instinct .. and he has written because it fulfills him for the buzz and the joy ("if you can do it for the joy, you can do it forever"). "Writing isn't life, but it can be a way back to life".

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The notes are largely unedited because they were originally just for me, but I hope someone gleans something from them!

BRIG FELL FIRST HANA FELL HARDER

sailor song cause hello??? Hello????

brig fell first hana fell harder

— 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩. chapter one

series content reminder. alcohol, drugs, & partying · angst · light nsfw/suggestive · college setting · exes · love triangles · swearing & inappropriate language · hazing mentioned · greek life · hookup culture · slow burn · friends to lovers · found family · childhood friends

masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

chapter one. words: 2.1k

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It was the dead of winter in New England. At their college that was just classified as "medium" in student population, there were two camps of people on a Saturday night.

The first, Brennan assumed, were the type of people that stayed in. They bundled up and couldn't be dragged out of their apartment. He didn't know much about this mindset except that his sister had it for the past month. Well, she claimed to have it these days.

His sister was said to be somewhere across campus with lit candles and a movie playing. Her nine minutes on Earth before he had come along made her "immune to the temptations of youth". That's what Maisy had told him last week, when he asked about her sudden reform from any sort of fun.

Brennan, however, belonged to the second camp. When he told his friends who went to school in the south that he was fifteen minutes from the Canadian border, most of them pictured parkas. The hot basement he frequented beneath the snow, however, had most girls in tube tops and strappy heels. Here on this particular night, he wore a t-shirt with no jacket.

He sat on the high ledge that lined the room. The ex-fraternity property owner had built a wrap-around elevated surface specifically for secret parties hosted by his student renters. The landlord never said this, of course, but the soccer team that lived upstairs happily took the hint during last summer's construction.

People loved to sit on it and look over the party, and Brennan had been perched there for the last few songs. He pulled up a trio of girls who wanted help, and they took selfies beside him. Then, a few with him for their Snapchat stories. He didn't know their names, but they looked as familiar as anyone he saw on the weekends.

Other than that, he was having a moment alone next to one of the speakers. Nothing depressing. He was thinking about his sister, actually, all curled up in her bed as he assumed. And for some reason, he was thinking about her roommate too.

Hardly remembering unlocking the screen, he looked down to the phone in his lap. He had been looking at their texts together, then clicking into the contact picture to try to make it bigger. He didn't think about why, just zooming in. Trying to. It was a picture they'd taken before some high school dance, with only half of Maisy's curls cropped out.

Apparently zooming in didn't work on contact pictures. That, or his phone held a grudge about the can of seltzer someone had poured on it earlier that evening. Brennan had spent a meticulous fifteen minutes with a lysol wipe, but he stuck it in his pocket after it seemed clean.

He was calling her. It was 2 in the morning, and he was calling a girl who was probably volunteering in the morning. While Maisy was a party girl in reform, her best friend Joanna was hardly one at all.

He dove for the "end call" button a few times with his thumb. After his second missed attempt, he brought the phone to his ear and covered the other side of his head with his hand.

"Oh my god, Aaron. How many times do I have to say it...? We're on a break. Stop calling me!"

Joana shouted, before throwing her phone across the bed. She began to scream gibberish into one of the many oddly-shaped throw pillows decorating her friend's bed. The captive this time was jellyfish-shaped. The sheer drama of it all pulled said friend's attention away from her PC screen.

Maisy turned back to see Joana face-planted to her bed, surrounded in various stacks of books, homework, writing utensils, her laptop, and a criminal amount of starburst wrappers. Worst of all, she seemed to be picking up calls from her ex again.

Jo's head rose from the plush jellyfish when her phone buzzed. Before Maisy could say anything, she picked up. But, Joana's eyes were different now, shining a little.

"Thank god, it's you," she said, her tone evening out. "Sorry! I thought you were Aaron."

He didn't know why he called. That's how his brain was working after his night out, at least. He was sure he could find a reason, but alcohol allowed him to care less.

Jo frowned as the phone's speaker picked up on his ambiance. "Where are you? He's not there, is he? "

"Huh?" Brennan said, barely able to hear them. "Aaron's not here."

Brennan hoped that Aaron wasn't calling Jo. Not only because Brennan would be in trouble for calling if they were back together again. Aaron was not supposed to have his phone.

In the class below him, Aaron had been Brennan's soccer teammate since middle school. Brennan didn't mind him, even when he could have a temper on the field. A few times on their travel team in high school, Brennan had defended him in the locker room over an incident.

As far as he knew, Aaron had calmed down since he came to college, at least on the team. He was on the B team as a rookie. Aaron was somewhere in a basement doing pushups, chugging beers, and chanting nonsense as initiation for his promotion to the A team. Jo shouldn't have known all of that, though.

Maisy turned back to her desk upon hearing her brother's voice come through. She shouted over her shoulder: "Call Mom back!"

He hadn't answered Maisy or his mom's texts all day. He had been busy at class and then cleaning and then practice and then the pregame and then being on aux.

"What color are you two wearing tomorrow?" he asked.

By the time he asked this, he had jumped from the perch and made his way outside. He stood near a row of kegs near the fenceline of the house's yard. String lights gave a warm glow in the night, and girls danced atop one of the makeshift stages.

At one of the handmade bars, he saw Aaron serving from behind one of them. If there were rookies, it was their job to serve the parties.

Brennan played around with the taps on the kegs, making sure they were working. Some of his personal responsibilities for the parties were alcohol, music, and general vibes throughout the night.

One of his teammates elbowed him, taunting and asking who he was on the phone with. He mouthed "my sister" and the kid, obviously drunk, started screaming something like "Breannan's sister is a fucking smokeshow".

"You're coming, right Maisy?" he said, louder now than when he was inside.

Two weeks ago, he had asked Maisy to come with him to his team's date party. It was the biggest one of the year because all of the new guys were finally deemed full members of the team's social scene. He told her to bring Jo too if it made her come. Brennan was one of the few guys on the team that could get away with bringing two dates to the event. He organized most of it anyway.

"Yeah, yeah, okay!" his sister called back unenthusiastically. Her eyes were still glued to her computer screen.

Brennan knew this, but Maisy was "so bored" of parties. She had prescribed herself for this semester, but it wasn't a total lie.

One of her first memories was hiding in the pantry during one of the Coffays' almost-weekly get-togethers. Brennan had come to find her and bring her back, but ended up staying in there with her upon seeing his sister distraught. Still, Maisy couldn't ever say no to him.

"Mom came by with dresses for us," she added, "She was thinking emerald."

Jo rolled over so that she was flat on her back. She hadn't even seen the dresses.

As excited as she wanted to be, the anxious cocktail brewing in her stomach was relentless. Despite the fact that she had more work piling up at her sides than she could fathom, her mind was consumed by only one source of stress: Aaron hadn't called yet this week. The thoughts came to her all at once and she let out an audible groan.

Maisy sighed, finally turning around, and picking up Jo's phone.

"Brennan, please, I think it's actually time for a fucking intervention. I really don't think I can take another 3am meltdown--"

Joana snatched the phone back and glared at her friend.

"I'm fine. No meltdown here! I was actually right on my way out!"

She stood up, marched out of Maisy's room, shut the door, and then stood there, unsure where to go. She didn't want to go back to bed -- she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. A waste of time. Jo needed something, anything, to break the thick trance that school had her in at the moment. She was tired of being tired all of the time: tired and bored.

"Hey Brennan, I'm back. Sorry... about that..." Joana laughed, feeling nervous now, as if the two of them were alone in a room together now.

"Your sister's a jerk," she said.

But they both knew, Maisy meant a lot to Jo. She wasn't sure how she'd get by without her. Childhood friends, and practically sisters, they were in each other's lives for good.

"Can I come by? Or, do you want to come over? Or... I don't know. It's late. It's okay if you're tired."

Before responding, Brennan flicked his eyes up at Aaron who was pouring liquor into the shot glasses superglued to an old ski. Four girls huddled around the bar, excited to take them.

One thing no one needed right now was Jo in the same room as a drunk, freshly traumatized Aaron. He didn't know if he would scream at her or fall back into her arms from the stress, but he wasn't a fan of either option. Maisy and him had discussed this.

There was one problem with being Social Chair for the team; he couldn't leave until the party closed down. Especially not with the drunk rookies running around, threatening to get everyone in trouble.

"I'm surprised you're awake," Brennan said.

For the first year of college, when Jo and Maisy were shoved into a dorm, Brennan saw her more often asleep than not. Every time he went to see Maisy, Jo was napping midday or asleep for the night by six.

"Are you gonna make it tomorrow? It starts at 8," he said. He gave a laugh, gentler than the one that the boys usually got. "I know that's past your bedtime."

Jo said something that became inaudible to him under the noise of the chaos he strolled toward. He rounded the corner of the building to the narrow strip of yard where the rookies were letting people in. As one of the new guys caught his eye, Brennan knew he would be roped in.

"Gotta go. Get some sleep. Text me what you like to drink," he said into the phone before shoving it in his pocket.

Next thing he knew, he was pulling an outrageously tall man off of one of his teammates.

"Bro, he was touching my girl," the teammate said, still trying to swing at him.

"He's fucking twenty-six," one of the rookies yelled. "Who let this guy in?"

They couldn't call the cops, like, ever. Not with a bunch of drunk 19-year-olds filling their basement. In situations like this, the team tended to look toward their captains, even off the field. Brennan was a junior captain and social chair. Close enough.

Before Jo could feel her heart sink, the call had ended, and she was alone in the dark hallway. She considered going back into Maisy's room, but she also wanted to give her friend a break.

These days, she could only sleep in Maisy's room or out in the living room. Something about her own room made her feel lonely, as if the door to her bedroom might lock her in permanently.

Joana was sad she didn't have some excuse to spirit her night away, especially with Brennan, but also relieved she might be able to wake up tomorrow somewhat well-rested.

She figured Brennan had better things to do than see her in the middle of the night. He could be talking to one of the gorgeous girls that surrounded him, or getting wasted (though she knew deep down that wasn't his style). She could name a million things that were more fun than spending an evening witnessing her awkwardness.

In an effort to distract herself from thinking too much about it, Jo texted Aaron. She watched for the bubbles to pop up that indicated he was typing, or some sign he had even read her message. But, nothing.

She sighed, threw herself onto the couch, and shut her eyes.

Joana woke up hours later, and it was already morning. Her phone buzzed.

Aaron had replied. 

This is the magic lucky word count. Reblog for creativity juice. It might even work, who knows.

i might be cooking on an idea for The mekamechanic slow burn fanfiction of all time.

i dont remember where i read this but this note i took from a book is a good mini think piece for writing, for character relationship studies & emotional arcs: "beauty being mostly a matter of attention, the river is only beautiful because you are looking at it"

"be the change you want to see in the world," i say as i write the most ultra-indulgent and specific fic possible because anyone else is going to write it wrong