#I know christmas doesn't exist in middle earth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

caesium-55 · 2 months

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—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #manager!reader #fluff #formula one #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 #mv33 x reader

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oftidheard · 4 months

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hi! i saw you wanted holiday themed requests so i was wondering if you could write something fluffy about either sejanus or treech where their gf is feeling kind of insecure bc she thinks she doesn't deserve christmas gifts (maybe because she was a victor and she thinks shes a bad person bc she had to kill people in the games) and they reassure her? <3 i love ur writing btw!

thank you!!! ♡♡ i went with treech because about half of my other seasonal requests are for sejanus + this is my first time writing for treech and i'm very excited! warnings: a few mentions of vomit, descriptions of reader's ptsd from the games (dead bodies, murder, gore) this has a bit of a heavy moment, but i promise it's a very happy ending

"just look up, please." treech x reader ↳ 2.7k ↳ angst to fluff ↳ gender neutral

treech's grip on your hand is horribly unwavering as he guides the two of you up the — what would normally be perfectly easy for you to traverse, but in your overtiredness the steepness might as well be perfectly vertical — hill. you aren't exactly playing this game of tug-of-war fairly, with the way you're all but dropping to the ground as dead weight that you hope your boyfriend will finally stop trying to drag along; but in your defence, you don't think it was very fair of him to drag you out of bed on christmas eve the moment the clock struck over to christmas day with no explanation.

he's lucky you feel this innate safeness around him, because if it had been anyone but treech shaking — albeit very gently, he's not entirely horrible — you awake in the assumed safety of your house, in the middle of the night, you would have erupted into screams and stabbed him with the nearest sharp object you could get your hands on.

instead, you'd just stirred and groaned when your eyes had fluttered open to the face of your grinning boyfriend looming over you, and not even had the energy to protest his undisclosed plan.

by the time you'd gained your footing — metaphorically, mentally, absolutely not physically, if your sleepy stumbling is anything to go by — you'd already made footfall on the base of the hill he's leading you up, and he's grown too determined to let you roll down miserably by now.

you've had a pit making home in your stomach since the beginning of december, and though you'd be fooling yourself to think you'd been perfectly alright before then, treech unsubtly trying to find out what gift you might want for the holidays has been the sickening reminder of the month approaching — the one which brings happiness you simply don't deserve.

you'd told him you want nothing, which he'd thought was some sort of joke the first time, and then he had only grown concerned when it remained your answer.

you know you don't deserve something like a christmas present; it's as simple as that. someone like you — a monster, a killer, a murderer, a victor — doesn't deserve neatly wrapped boxes under trees and heartwarming traditions. you deserve to rot in your bed long enough that your persistent boyfriend finally gets the message that you can't be 'saved'.

you fight against whatever treech's plan is — because deep down, you know it's going to be a gift, you don't know how yet, you don't know why he's leading you up a hill you didn't even know existed — but you know at the end of it there'll be something wrapped with a shining bow so pure you can already feel the vomit rising in your throat.

so just like you'd rejected well-wishes and invites to festive events all month, you fight.

you slow your steps and imagine your shoes are coated in heavy mud, weighing you down so deep that the earth opens up to swallow you — which, with how tired you are, the feeling isn't too hard to imagine.

you slump and let your eyes close absently, your tactic really just consisting of forcing treech to try to carry you up the hill on his own — and getting to go back home when he inevitably gives up.

but still, you feel his hand tugging on yours, and a, "come on!" that is way too enthusiastic for someone who woke up in the middle of your night and decided to make it your problem.

you groan when he somehow keeps making — albeit much slower, but still noticeable — progress in dragging you up the hill. the tired ache running through every one of your bones cries out for your warm bed, and you almost audibly tell your sore body to shut up!, because surely your body of all things trudging up this stupid hill, should be well aware that you are also begging to just collapse.

it occurs to you, just as the thought pops into your mind, that it might not be such a bad idea — so, naturally, you don't hesitate to entirely relax your muscles, and relish in the silence of no longer hearing the complaints of your body as you fully flop to the ground.

the sound of a surprised "woah" is just about as important to you as the feeling of your knees impacting with the dirt beneath you; which is to say, almost not at all — as long as the dirt plans to cooperate with you and provide a comfortable bed — until you realise treech had been so clung onto you that when you fell he fell too.

he loses his footing swiftly following you, and tumbles down on top of you with a thud paired with your low whining.

his chest sandwiches you to the ground, and even though the weight of your boyfriend awkwardly on top of you feels like a pretty sure sign that there won't be any more progress on making it up this hill, you're hesitant to just about declare this a win.

you wriggle your hands up to cushion your face against the sparse grass and whatever else you can't see in this light, and mumble a, "goodnight," after a moment of waiting that tells you treech has given up on regaining his footing.

or so you thought.

it's probably your fault, your small victorious declaration is probably what spurred him on to push off of you and dig his shoes back into the hill — and you cry out when he pulls your hands from under your face, and your cheek falls to the dirt.

you're not even sure what you're muttering as he lifts you up with an admirable strength — that which's persistence you'd probably appreciate, as you do most things about your boyfriend, if he weren't currently using it against you. but even once he's picked you up off the ground and beginning to move upwards again, you keep gloomily complaining under your breath.

treech's hand's grip on your own tightens, and the sickness in your stomach coils.

you wish you had the energy to do anything but make a fool of yourself like a toddler who didn't get their way. you wish you could make him understand that this is far more than grumpiness from some sort of lack of beauty sleep, and that the overwhelmingly dark cloud that looms over you is more than just trivial grouchiness.

maybe the worst part is that in some corner of your mind, you know he knows this; you know he even tries to understand how you feel.

and now, he's failing that endeavour, all to push you past your limit for something you could never want — not anymore.

he looks over his shoulder at you, and you can tell he's trying to withhold a smile. whether this is for your sake or because he thinks he's kept his plan a secret and doesn't want to spoil it is anyone's guess — but you're just about ready to tell him to just smile.

he should be happy right now, he should grin and laugh and find joy in holding your hand — because when you reach wherever he's taking you, you'll either blow up in his face, or deflate and suck all the air out of the world. either way, you'll ruin the mood, and he'll realise whatever his hard work led to was for nothing when you shove the gift in his chest and fail to withhold the vomit growing inside you.

"c'mon!" he encourages you, with a softer voice than you'd have expected. helplessly — and ever so weakly — you find yourself pliable to his request, and attempt to catch up to him before you even realise what you're doing.

he's quick to tuck you into his side, his arm finding a secure hold around your shoulder, and letting you drop your head to rest on his own.

you accept the embrace quietly, folding against him with all your weight now his to hold upright, in a silent admission that now that you are so far from home, you'd much rather be as close to him as possible than out in the dark — scared, alone, mind suddenly stuck back in the arena.

you resign yourself to the light-headedness of dissociating from any risk of even a single thought, and letting your muscle memory take the wheel; ghosting up the hill with dreary eyes and yawns gone unheard to your ears so deeply submerged in the miserable inky water you drown in.

after your aching legs get into the rhythm of matching treech's footsteps, you have no idea how long it takes for him to finally stop the both of you.

though your hear the occasional "almost there" echoing through the caverns of your mind, and barely register the feeling of the wind growing colder against your skin not long after, you let yourself slowly fall into the dark pit that awaits your just before you fall asleep every night.

your muscles grow heavy and footsteps fumbled just as the two of you finally still, and lower to sit on something rough and uncomfortable.

you think you might hear treech whispering to you, trying to get your attention, but you refuse to delve out of the darkness to even try to catch his words.

even as he pulls your side flush against his and his arm drifts down to wrap warmly around your waist — you will your eyes to remain screwed shut.

you remind yourself; sleep grants you peace, dreamless nights grant you the warm hug of nothingness that has become a welcome friend after nightmares of corpses and waking days riddled with reminders of the blood on your hands. sleep keeps the sinking feeling at bay, sleep drifts you so far out into the empty void that you can forget, even when you don't deserve to.

treech's body, adorned in a fluffy sweater and wrapped around yours, would be a welcome feeling if it didn't remind you of the hearts that no longer beat on the arena floor, of the bodies no longer warm by your hand.

sleep doesn't make you throw up your blood and guts and very soul until you have paid enough of your organs to all the throats you slit and all those lives lost to deserve forgiveness.

his head gently pushes against yours in an attempt to draw you out. his breath unknowingly brushes against your pulse point.

you think of the scrawny body facedown on the ground and your desperate scramble to check their pulse. you couldn't bring your shaky hands to flip them over, and from the clothes alone you had no chance at figuring out which of your fellow tributes was gone.

in your dreams, it's a different person every time. sometimes it's the district two girl who almost cracked your skull open, sometimes it's the two siblings from six laid side by side. sometimes it's one of the peacekeepers using their last breath to take your own. sometimes it's treech.

and sometimes it's you, your own lifeless eyes inhabiting a cold, dead body.

the tickle of a soft sensation on your face suddenly draws you out, and your eyes involuntarily flutter open to find your boyfriend's face so close to yours that the tips of his curls brush against your skin.

you want to close your eyes again and pretend his efforts hadn't been successful, but his breath along with the strong wind fans across your eyelids just uncomfortably enough that you have to readjust your position and begrudgingly open them.

you shuffle further into treech's hold, and try hide your face in the crook of his neck, but get disrupted by his contrary movements, forcing you to stop hiding.

he whispers your name, and repeats what you realise he's been saying this whole time, "just look up, please."

this makes you frown, and the only thing that gives you enough motivation to finally give into his pleading, is the fact that there's still no wrapped present in your hands — a sign, you desperately hope, that he heeded your wishes — and it makes you more amiable.

you finally lift your head, and meet his gaze, still with questioning downturned brows — but his eyes light up as if you're looking at him with the brightest smile he's ever seen, and he nods his head ahead of the two of you.

you reluctantly follow his gaze towards the night sky, blinking away the blurriness and adjusting to the darkness.

then, as you face more light than you'd expected, your breath hitches.

above you, like a piece of art that any canvas painting hung in the capitol could never even dream to compare to, there dances strokes of greens and pinks lighting up the night sky.

your eyes widen, begging to see the entirety of the sight and wishing to never forget it, even the sudden cold wind blowing through your slack jaw is a distant concern in the face of this.

the bright greens swirl through the deep blue of the sky, trailing from behind distant mountains until it drifts above you, and you feel the urge to jump from your seat and run your fingers through the tendrils.

as your eyes notice the dusts of pink shadowing the strong greens, you realise — further inside your chest — there is a calmness that has overcome you, a deep tranquillity that has slowed down your heartbeat and run something lighter than blood through your veins. if treech weren't holding you down, you're certain you'd float away until you joined the clouds above — and you'd let it happen.

minutes pass as the lights swallow you whole, eyes reflecting the colours and a sparkling joy you haven't felt since long before your life was ruined.

even as centuries pass in silence, the lights continue to dance for you, and you don't even realise you're grinning widely until you turn to your boyfriend, and his own smile only grows stronger at the sight of yours.

you can barely force your question out through inaudible wonder, as you simply ask, "how?"

you recognise the twinkle in his eyes as the same sensation fluttering through your chest and pumping your heart.

"it happens every year," he explains, your gaze back on the sky, but a warmth peering into the side of your face hinting that his eyes may be fixated on something else.

"always past the curfew, so no one's really dumb enough to sneak out to see it."

you're not sure if it's from the slight humour in his comment, or the euphoric feeling that's overcome your entire being, but you find yourself throwing your head back and laughing — something you might as well have forgotten how to do after so long. and it might have even hurt your throat after months of being out of practice, but you don't notice — nor do you very much care.

"but we are?" you joke, and feel your heart swell when his laugh joins yours with an amused nod.

minutes pass again, and still the colours don't fade. you wonder if you've somehow found yourselves trapped in a time capsule where you can never leave this moment — you find yourself hoping so.

you follow a tendril of pink and the softest purple on the outskirts of the lights, and smile when treech's hand finds yours to lead you both closer to the edge of the hill, where you feel even closer to the view.

"do you like it?" he whispers, and you let out a breathy laugh before you can even overthink your every reaction like you've taught yourself to. you don't even have to remind yourself that you're safe here, that while enveloped by love and the same magic that caresses the leaves of trees that reach the clouds, you're free — because you feel it, in every breath and every nerve-ending that comes alive when your boyfriend's face snuggles against the side of yours.

you nod.

you wobble on your feet as you simultaneously try to embrace treech and try to keep your eyes on the sky, and through giddy giggles, you whisper, "merry christmas," and you mean it.

a/n: the lights are specifically aurora borealis/the northern lights! incase anyone might not be familiar with them ♡♡

this also happens much more frequently than once a year in real life, but i imagined either treech simply doesn't really know that, or due to some sort of crisis that happened that might have led to the hunger games universe as we know it, the earth's atmosphere might has been affected, thus maybe making the occurrence a bit different/not as common ♡

#treech x reader #treech tbosas x reader #tbosas treech x reader #treech thg x reader #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #thg x reader #tbosbas x reader #❤︎ — the mockingjay sings

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baronessblixen · 6 months

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Fictober 2023

All the stories in one place. A huge thank you to everyone for their support this month.

Day 1: Secret Spots - This is cotton candy-flavored fluff set after "Millennium": Mulder and Scully go to Mrs. Scully's house and find themselves all alone for a moment...

Day 2: Just in Case - This is angst/hurt/comfort with a dash of hopeful cheesiness. Starts off in Dod Kalm (yes, you read that right). Mulder decides to be brave in what he believes to be his last moments on earth.

Day 3: The Deepest Cut - Diana/IVF angst (with a soft ending): Scully is already upset about a colleague's pregnancy and then Diana shows up and makes things worse.

Day 4: Always Expect The Unexpected - Some soft, fluffy silliness today: Scully and Mulder see her mother out on a date with... A.D. Skinner?

Day 5: If I Were The King of The World - Fluffy-fluff set in Detour: We get to see a bit more of Scully singing to Mulder...

Day 6: In The Blink Of An Eye - Angst/Mulder in peril: Mulder happens to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time...

Day 7: Glimpses of October - Post-IWTB/Pre-Revival vignette: Mulder watches his son play in the fallen leaves. Or is he?

Day 8: A Very Queequeg Morning - Hurt/comfort AND humor after "Pusher": Mulder doesn't mind Scully showing up at his apartment after the case at all. Only problem: she's not alone.

Day 9: Talk Vanilla to Me - Rated M/banter/humor(?): Mulder can't sleep, but luckily, Scully is there to listen… and maybe more.

Day 10: Wishes - Fluff(?) post "Je Souhaite": Mulder wants to know what Scully's wishes would have been.

Day 11: Always Partners - Set in season 6, hurt/comfort, some angst: Kersh puts Scully on another case without Mulder and once again she gets hurt.

Day 12: The Easiest Choice - Fluff, rewrite of the last scene in "Existence": Mulder asks Scully what she's going to name the baby.

Day 13: Don't Forget The Cake - Fluff-ish, season 6: Diana throws Mulder a surprise birthday party. Chaos ensues.

Day 14: Preparation is Everything - Fluff, set after "Alone": With Mulder being unemployed, and Scully on maternity leave, they spend their time thinking about furniture, baby names, and all the ways their lives will change.

Day 15: Temporary Insanity - Angsty first kiss fill-in for "Paper Clip": What happened on that elevator ride?

Day 16: Mothers Always Know - Post-ep (sort of) for "Chimera", fluff: It's the Sunday morning after Mulder stayed over at Scully's and he has a somewhat awkward run-in with her mother.

Day 17: In Sickness And in Health - Hurt/comfort post-"Arcadia": They're on their way back home from The Falls at Arcadia when Scully gets sick.

Day 18: Beautiful In My Eyes - UST-filled post-ep fic: Mulder thinks Scully is the most beautiful person wherever she goes. She doesn't believe him so he tries to make her see it his way.

Day 19: It's Us Against The World - Angst, canon divergence for "Nothing Important Happened Today": No matter what Kersh said, Scully doesn't want Mulder to leave her and the baby. But what choice do they have?

Day 20: Shooting Stars - Mulder and Scully sharing a bed during two nights in The Rain King. After a first awkard night, what happens during the second one after the party ?

Day 21: No Longer Stuck In The Past - A different kind of post-episode fic for "The Unnatural": After his and Scully's baseball date, Mulder runs into Diana.

Day 22: Cookie Theft and Other Crimes - How the Ghosts Stole Christmas post-ep, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff - all the fixings: Bill Jr. runs into Mulder in the middle of the night and it goes as well as you might expect.

Day 23: You're Not Welcome Here - AU in which Diana didn't die and Mulder didn't leave after "Existence": Scully and William are waiting for Mulder when no other than Diana Fowley walks into the basement office.

Day 24: Rules Are Rules - Set in season 7, fluff: They're not supposed to share a room while on assignment. But aren't rules meant to be broken anyway?

Day 25: Another Banner Year - Set after "Our Town", before "Anasazi": Melissa shows up at her sister's apartment, demanding a few answers.

Day 26: I Saw Your Face In A Dream - AU where Mulder and Scully meet on karaoke night at a bar.

Day 27: Christmas With You By My Side - Sequel to day 22 "Cookie Theft And Other Crimes" but can be read as a stand-alone: What happens when Mulder wakes up with Scully in his arms?

Day 28: The Truth Is (Not) Found In A Glass of Whiskey - All Mulder wanted to do was drop off a report. Now he has to deal with a drunk Skinner.

Day 29: Glass Half Full - Sequel to "The Truth Is (Not) Found In A Glass of Whiskey": It's the morning after and Skinner wakes up with a hangover - and remembers way too much from the previous night.

Day 30: Feelings You Can't Hide - A post-ep for "Bad Blood" obviously. A jealous Mulder, an attempt at humor and the hint of angst may be found here.

Day 31: Trick or Treat - IVF arc, angsty fluff: They're supposed to go to the Gunmen's Halloween party, but there's something they need to make sure of first.

#fictober23 #my writing #my fic #xf fanfic #msr

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moonlitcomet · 7 months

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Are there any holidays in the various regions of SRC?

Yup, lots of them. I'm going to focus mainly on stickfigure holidays because there's tons of different cultures and species, and stickmen are the most prominent.

As it stands, zero holidays exist as we know them on earth. There are several that are analogous to Earth holidays, but since so many Earth holidays are formed from religion, I can't exactly go around calling something Christmas in a world where Christ does not exist, yknow?

In the earlier months of the year, they of course have a new year celebration. However, instead of it being in the middle of winter, SRC new year is at the start of winter. In some cultures, usually eastern ones, they celebrate a new year at the end of winter when the first plants begin to sprout.

Western new year celebrations typically involve huge feasts, derived from the pre-industrial cultural necessities of hunting and preserving meat and harvesting grains so they can survive the winter. Nowadays, this typically involves cake and pastries, as well as meat-and-grain dishes like pot pies or curry rice.

In the south, where there is no winter, new year typically lines up with the start of the dry season which is usually celebrated the same way. In the east and further north, new year celebrations typically involve festivals, dressing in the colors of the spring flowers and singing colorful songs. Tons and tons of parties! Especially because it leads right into-

Spring, which is an absolute menace of a "holiday". You know how obnoxious and invasive Valentine's day can be in the USA? Imagine that, cranked up to 11, spread across the course of three or so weeks. This is the time of year when stickmen are most lovey, since their favorite flowers- the Sanor Lilies- are in bloom during this time.

Sanor lilies are a white and pink species of lily that smell very good, like warm vanilla and chocolate. They have a mild aphrodisiac effect on stickmen and some other closely related species like certain bears. Since sanor lilies are fucking everywhere in spring and are cultivated in some places for beauty products, you can't really go anywhere in stickman society without hearing about them or seeing them. It's like if dandelions made you horny. Imagine that!

Spring, which is sometimes called Elroudon in certain cultures, otherwise doesn't really have a "holiday name" and is called many different things across Cier. It's a nightmare for Sorcerers because sorcerers are mildly allergic to sanor lily pollen. Most other species like Digidevils and fauns and dragons think it's an irritating and bombastic holiday, what with it being over some lame flowers.

While SRC does not have Halloween, it does have Gourdlight, also known in other cultures by different names. Gourdlight is the most common name used in the southwest. It's a week-long holiday that shares some aspects with Halloween, Dia De Los Muertos, and Oktoberfest, among others.

Gourdlight as a holiday was coined several centuries ago, being dedicated to fear angels, which are giant mothman-like anurognathids that feed on the dark energy from nightmares. In the past, people didn't understand that fear angels are gentle creatures that help people, and coined the name "fear angel" to describe them as omens of the dead and of the dark.

As such, stickmen would put up candles and mage lights to attempt to ward off the fear angels. This evolved into putting them inside gourds, believing that a terrifying face on a gourd would ward off the fear angels, giving them the impression that the home was already haunted by one much more eerie.

Gourdlight has costumes, just like Halloween! Unlike Halloween, these costumes are brilliant and colorful, which was derived from a superstition that it would confuse the terrifying fear angels into believing that there are no nightmares to be found. The costumes were mostly taken from Raiteran culture, and adopted into southern and eastern versions of the holiday.

One tradition that is relatively recent [within the past couple centuries] is that of the gourd hunt, where one of these fellas:

is enchanted with an animation spell and allowed to run around. Kids love chasing these things! Whoever catches it, stabs it to kill the "monster", and dons it as a hat will win the hunt and get a special savory pastry.

The last one I'll talk about for today since this post is getting long will be the Winter Festival. It is a holiday only present in southwest Cier, primarily centered in Andorough City, which is surrounded by tropical regions. Several decades ago, an elder dragon by the name of Quelexeo flew over the skies of Andorough and was enticed in by the smell of food and sound of laughter. See, Andorough used to be a solely tropical region, and everywhere Quelexeo flies brings winter weather and snow with him. There's a thin strip of land across the south where it snows every year, but not for much longer than a day.

The first year that Quelexeo showed up, the entire city of Andorough was buried in a blanket of snow nearly four feet deep for the entire year. Many people died that year, having frozen to death in a new hell that they weren't prepared to endure. Quelexeo loved the food and the laughter of children that he witnessed in the city, but he noticed that his weather-affecting magic was bringing despair to the city around him.

As a way to try and give back to those who had lost so much, he would lay down in the center of the city, on top of the highest point, and announce to all of Andorough that if they were to work together and clear the snow, and bring it to him, he would give them gifts beyond their imagination. Tens of thousands of people heard his call, and those who had already been working to help their communities were the first to rush to the job.

They brought him the snow, he transformed it into outrageous amounts of food and tools to help clear it. The warmth radiating from the center of the city, with exponentially more of the community working together to restore it, eventually cleared all of the snow and left everyone with hundreds of thousands of gifts as thanks and as apologies for the dragon's wrongdoings.

However, many people thanked Quelexeo for what he did, as he brought a withering and sad city to its knees only to help them come together and help each other. Before he left, many of those who were helped and moved during the disaster asked for him to return again sometime, just for not as long and with not as much snow.

Now, Quelexeo visits once a year during his winter migration, and stays in Andorough in the same spot where he initially perched - which has since been cleared to create a park for him to rest in. During this time, people bring him snow, baked goods, and other gifts in return for his own gifts. Many of them are clothing, special food, enchanted dragon feathers, Cierites, or rarely enchanted RICE. It's the one time of year where all of Andorough slows to a crawl, as a reminder of the disaster that befelled them several decades ago.

#questions #soul rune cier #long post

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automatismoateo · 4 months

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The absurd notion that Christians are/were forbidden to say "Merry Christmas" is a microcosm of all the shit they know is a lie but claim to believe anyway via /r/atheism

The absurd notion that Christians are/were forbidden to say "Merry Christmas" is a microcosm of all the shit they know is a lie but claim to believe anyway A commenter on my last post said they spoke to a MAGA woman from Florida who claimed that Trump made it legal to say "Merry Christmas" again. The commenter asked this woman if anyone had ever tried to stop her from saying it, and she refused to answer. I hadn't thought about this concept in a while, but I've heard people say that, too. In fact, Trump himself has said it. They know it's a fucking lie, but they say it anyway, because they think it scores imaginary points for their team. And that's really the reason we'll never be able to communicate with them. Because to them, the purpose of communication is not the transmission of accurate information, but to win an imaginary football game. They'll say whatever it takes to score imaginary points in the imaginary football game at this particular moment, and if that contradicts what they said five seconds ago, who cares? Fuck everything! Things are not things, reality isn't real, facts don't exist, there's no such thing as truth, whatever it takes to trigger your snowflake feelings, LOL. The notion that something should be true before you express it, or express belief in it, is as nonsensical and incomprehensible to Christians as saying that two plus two equals potato. This is why they can casually and mechanically say things that they are fully and completely aware are not true without hesitation or remorse. This is why they can deny that Covid exists while sick with Covid. This is why they can say the Earth is flat. This is why they can say that separation of church and state is not in the Constitution. This is why they can say their religion is growing at an astronomic rate. This is why they can say their religion is not a religion. This is why they can say January 6th was simultaneously a false flag operation and an exercise of true patriotism. This is why they can say they are not racists in the middle of a massive stream of N-words. This is why they can promise you that God is 100% guaranteed to show himself if you just ask him to, then explicitly tell you they never promised you that when it doesn't happen. This is why they make all kinds of wild claims of supernatural things they have seen or done and deny that they have any obligation to prove it. And this is why they pretend that Christmas is or ever was banned. They know absolutely, 100% damn well that they are lying. They just don't give a fuck. Submitted December 21, 2023 at 10:58AM by gatorboymike7 (From Reddit https://ift.tt/WCvzmoS)

#reddit

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uozlulu · 5 months

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Thinking about this post because I was like "It could have a GO feel" and my brain was like "Say no more."

Unfortunately I really do not have the time but I do need to empty my brain, so...

Aziraphale is a professional decorating consultant. This involves him telling if your ideas are good or bad. He has an entire warehouse dedicated to Christmas decorations (but only the ones he likes) and no one is allowed to use them. Somehow he makes money doing this. Probably because celebrities like to say he judged their decor as a status thing.

Crowley is the Anti-Christ, a being that's been around since God created Christ. He and Jesus kind of function like God and Santan but on Earth. Christ is also out there somewhere but last Crowley heard he was chilling with the Buddha in Japan

Crowley took the name Crowley because everyone thinks his eyes look like a snake's eyes and he likes the name more than just being called his job description all the time

It is Aziraphale's favorite time of year. His warehouse is decorated splendidly. Magazines come by to do stories but he doesn't really do interviews but they can take pictures of his latest decor. Sometimes Muriel comes by to help but Aziraphale would prefer if she just did not touch ANYTHING. Precious Moments have been banned ages ago.

Crowley comes to Aziraphale's small corner of the world because he always meets up with Christ somewhere out of the way each Christmas to maybe catch a glimpse of Santa and those reindeer (Crowley knows they don't actually exist but if that's what the day means to Christ, so be it).

Aziraphale and Crolwey meet

Crowley just sees the decor as an ad exec tool. He's been doing advertising for centuries because it's the easiest way to manipulate people into becoming his followers and supporting Hell

Aziraphale maybe takes this personally? Like he's glad Crowley doesn't want to touch his stuff but how dare how dare

Something something they get to know each other, Aziraphale discovers who Crowley truly is, they learn to meet somewhere in the middle, etc... Crowley gets Aziraphale a little angelic Precious Moments figurine as a joke. Aziraphale is like >___>

The end of the story is something like Crowley still works in advertising in London. Aziraphale still has his little Christmas warehouse. People still consult with Aziraphale but now he can split his time using a demonic portal to the warehouse Crowley gifted him. Crowley is less lonely.

#things to write #but not really #adventures in fic writing

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eclipsenoir · 2 years

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Idiot's guide on how to get engaged. Part two: Effect.

(refs x, x) featuring @anthropocentrik & @nicadanis

It's saturday evening, and suspended between pale, late february skies and the humming earth below, was a momentary sprinkle of snow.

Taeil has been standing in the middle of his bedroom for as long as he can't bother to remember, statued on long legs as though the weather has frozen him in time. A steaming mug of tea silently counts the minutes–hours instead, and weighs his palms as flickering thoughts do his mind.

On the window frame, snow gathers into a soft ensemble. And through the thick glass, arms of moonshine lay outstretched in a chase after his bare back. He feels his nape flush and tingle at the feeling. But if he even registers that strange, brittle touch stroking icicles along his spine, he doesn't show it. He just clutches around the drink, blinks at the suit laid out on his bed and thinks.

Stuck on a page written since four years ago, Taeil wonders about his age and the expectations written between the lines of it. He counts with a dull nail rapping against the base of his mug, how many of the umpteenth times his mother had tried to coax from him any existence of a girl he could remember off the top of his head. I'm getting old, she would say gently, I want to brag about my son's beautiful wedding someday soon. Though he told it with his own mouth, the voice that always lied to her never sounded like his own. Like it rose from someone else's chest, whispered off in the far distance. I'm too busy for that.

He gulps down tea every time a thought passes, as though they were the wispy clouds chasing each other at witness of the moon slashed in the sky outside.

An unfair timeline, posing as an ideal no one human could possibly abide to. Love and it's complexities; of what they personally mean to him. The temperature of his tea drops a bit more, but that incredible degree of sureness Hansol might've felt as he proposed the idea of forever back then starts to bleed into the back of his lids. If he'd ever come across it with a lover himself, or missed the opportunity entirely, Taeil couldn't tell. Is it even as real as we make it?

Hansol had asked him to prepare a speech when they'd met some weeks back. Talk about us, he'd said, expectant. How so? Taeil asked. About their friendship, in relation to the way his friend loves was the final agreement. Taeil had agreed to it, while knowing that by the time he'd run out of words, part of his soul would be left agape. Torn from his roots by his own bare hands, laid out in exposure for the world to grasp at how it pleases. But for a friend as good as this, he'd always endure it.

With his last sip, Taeil finally settles at the foot of his bed, joints grinding in a crackle-pop. Comfort slips back under the bed as the mug falls cold and empty. Hansol and his fiancé had made him this mug for Christmas last year, in a pottery class somewhere in Yeonnam-dong. Hansol says you collect these without knowing you do. Taeil remembers tearing through the snowman flecked wrapping. We thought we'd make you another one for that collection. Thank you, Taeil had murmured. The girl smiled, plump with delight.

It's a heavy thing, the mug, since they made it large and thick to fit and protect the hands it were made for. It'd easily become a monthly favourite.

Taeil's eyebrows knit together at the charming memory, then slant downward as a hostile upwelling of what feels dangerously close to resentment surfaces from the depths. They're hardly in his life anymore, yet reminders like this still linger. Why is that? Were they solely a product of his imagination, or were they as tangible as a scalding mug? Dulcet as a lover's kiss?

Impulsively, he releases the dense cup from his fingers and hopes it does what he needs it to. It hangs in the air for an excruciating interval, though like sensing Taeil's intentions and how regret would wreck him later on, it disappoints with a soft thud as it hits the polished floor between his feet. A far cry from shattering.

As innocent as an object could get, it rolls clumsily until interrupted by the handle, stopping where the moon kisses a silver sliver on the floor. His puppy, who'd been lounging nearby, draws near on all fours for a sniff.

Anticlimactic, and a balm to his bitterness. It brings him back to earth, where he sighs with sudden exhaustion. Loneliness weighs his bed with its knees and pulls him back into his pillows, and Taeil simply obliges–settles for a dreamless sleep. But as rarely as they come, tonight, he dreams: of plunging his fingers into the earth and gripping an earthquake in his palms. Of never letting go.

—---—

Taeil never minded a freezing cold morning. He liked watching his breath smoke through the air, and tasting pinpricks on his tongue every time he spoke in and out of turn. The breeze catches in your lashes, flaps at the bill of a hat and ices tears across the cheeks of weeping children. It also intertwines between fingers like a lover not wanting to stray too far, and hides with coy intent underneath long, quivering coats and padded jackets. Coming along with it, illness. Or worse–that relentless sense of inner solace that can be bandaged only after the passing of snow.

Most, it drives where warmth can defrost the creeping numbness in their limbs, soothe the ache in their hearts; usually where the fragrant scent of grinded coffee beans and baked bread stirs harmoniously in the air, if not tucked further under the covers.

For today in particular, the cold morning brings with it love. Unconditionally, and forevermore.

The ceremony unravels around them like a peacock fluffing out its iridescent tail. Nothing short of ethereal, suave and composed. Taeil witnesses the beginning of a beautiful journey within the featherweight steps of a pianist as she graces her tiny side-stage, sweeps her black satin dress to the side with confidence and sits with her hands braced, ever so gently, over the polished keys.

The world withholds a breath, and a second of suspense shivers across the entirety of the wedding hall before the pianist begins to play. The band bracketed along the edge of the stage follows her lead shortly after, an elegant chorus of cellos and violins unraveling into a sonata Taeil can't name, but appreciates nonetheless.

Flanking the centered aisle are two elongated tables, stretching as far as the eyes can see, black tablecloth neatly draped over them for the obvious purpose of blending in with the meticulously lighted venue. Reserved for an explosion of brass candelabra that are flocked by fresh arrangements of flowers each. Parallel across the ceiling hang long strings of fairy lights that remind Taeil of the wispy arms of a wisteria tree. The air conditioned breeze pushes so subtly against them that their swaying goes easily unnoticed–as though rain had come to a pause in time overhead, curious of what becomes of the world before the initial splatter.

A brief introduction from the host delicately plucks the groom from backstage. Hansol ascends the back end of the aisle, achilles heels chased by a spotlight. As if purely drawn to him by nature, radiance accentuates his refined beauty and opulence of the tux enveloping his broadness, as smooth and black as a starless evening sky. The entire venue greets him with a vibrant, deafening tide of a round of applause, and with the regality only a prince could muster, Hansol drops into a humble bow.

Taeil claps his hands so hard he's almost surprised they don't kindle fire by the time he's finished cheering for the bride, who appears a few heartbeats later. More beautiful than Taeil ever could've admitted of her before, she's fitted in a dress that embodies the polar opposite of Hansol's suit. Taeil marvels in awe at how it shudders and pleats around itself as she clears the stage to her husband to-be; equivalent to a whirlwind of shimmering stars, or a condensed supernova. Rested on the stiff volume of her crown, a delicate tiara skewers the air, perfectly compatible and present as her star-dress.

Together, they're the beginning of an end, and the end of a beginning. A dark knight who'd swallowed an erupting star in his arms.

A searing kiss seals the enchanting promise of forever between the young lovers, and simultaneously deepens the fresh gap arching in Taeil's soul. Like twisting a knife in a fresh stab wound, it deepens and weeps. When the time to congratulate comes again, Taeil claps with every ounce of bittersweet bliss he'd gathered at home and brought with him within the reserve in his heart.

In his head, he pretends his hands are mallets and his pain hovers between them, and with each thunderous strike, he's being forged whole again. Even if he knows it's not so simple.

Ten minutes, the announcer says. He has ten minutes before reception to somehow turn the bitter film on his tongue around and stitch away the pit. To find a silver lining.

So ten minutes before reception officially begins, Taeil harrows a waiter for a shot of whiskey he thinks he desperately needs. I'm afraid we don't have whiskey, sir, the young man says politely, likely trying to avoid trouble for premature labour. What kind of wedding doesn't come with at least a single bottle of Jack Daniels, Taeil says with a quiet ferocity that wins him the discussion. The waiter folds himself in a curt, yet apologetic bow, and returns two minutes later with a proper whiskey on the rocks.

Unhesitating, Taeil downs it with his eyes hard-pressed on wisteria lights he'd been staring at for almost two hours. He blames the tears that cling to his lashes on the agonizing, knife-cut burning sliding down to the bottom of his throat.

Immediately after reception officially begins, Taeil briefly excuses himself from the table for three and goes to find Byeol. Framed in a barstool and the midst of gulping down free rosé wine, Byeol looks the same as he always did since Taeil had first met him in high school; clad in a sharp poise, his shoulders squared and his hair a stylish sprawl on his head. He's blonde now, but somehow, Taeil swears he could recognize that small head anywhere.

A pang of overwhelming nostalgia seizes Taeil's bleeding heart in a joyful interlude.

He goes for the shoulder, dropping a sudden, firm clap on the stern shaping of it. Squeezing hard. Startling, the hyung almost chokes around his next sip, if he doesn't spill it first. A humourless smirk climbs his plain, youthful features once recognition visibly settles in his consciousness–in those brown, tiger eyes of his. With a fox's mischief, Taeil responds with a cheeky smile.

"Doing drugs I see."

"Really?" Byeol starts, a rapid-fire string of blinking fanning out his blatant incredulity, "That's the first thing that comes to mind when you get to see me for the first time in almost two years?"

"For what reasons would you dye your hair blonde other than all that's suspicious?" Taeil considers him for a moment longer, then says, obnoxiously, "Even your fucking eyebrows. It suits you, though."

This earns him a flat grin, which dusts off another shelved memory in Taeil's head. Byeol's smiles, no matter the volume, always crescented his eyes. Taeil could never figure out if it were because of the swell in his rounded cheeks, or the broad grins he always had to offer. Like unsheathing a secret weapon from his sleeve, his boyish joy could slice a heart tender.

Finally, Byeol chastely elbows the younger in the ribs. "You were always such a pain in the ass."

"So were you... But I missed you, hyung. It's nice to finally see you again."

"Likewise. And great speech, man." Byeol says, "Didn't know you could talk like you have a girlfriend trapped some thousand miles away from you, and can only express your debilitating pining through writing her letters."

"Thanks." Fondness uncoils inside Taeil, tender as a bruise. As though following a sort of instinct, he slots an arm around Byeol's shoulders, "You were my inspiration, since that really does sound like us."

"Please, you might be huge but if anything, you'd be the girlfriend."

"I agree, actually. So tell me, boyfriend, about the kinda' drugs you've been doing."

This time when Byeol elbows him, he really makes it count.

Five more shots of hard whiskey and a glass of champagne are enough to introduce blinding disorientation. Byeol made drinking in excess dangerously easy, and Taeil was sure that if the hyung hadn't the need to drive himself home without an accident, they would've galloped into a rate that likely could result in them passing out at the bar. Or tag teaming the bartender if he were to start refusing them any more drinks.

With a feline's politesse, the latter eyeballs Taeil from below his curved eyelashes as he fills one last glass goblet with champagne, which Taeil had demanded be expensive. Emboldened by Byeol's splitting, Taeil saw the ten percent chance of his ability to carry six—one for each shot of whiskey he'd taken so far—by himself with an extra zero, poorly drawn at the end. So he'd ordered six of them for no one in particular, just to prove a point.

He sprawls out lengthy fingers and fits delicately carved stem necks up to the crevices and, with a considerable amount of faith in himself, lifts them off the bar counter. Gravity betrays him as they immediately stagger and spill some, costing the exasperated bartender his sanity, surely. But without a single care left to give, Taeil squares his shoulders and walks away with champagne a haphazard spill down his suit sleeve.

Like this he circles the guest area twice with an infinitesimal slowness that spares his head a spin, before he names himself confidently lost. With so much whiskey thickening his blood and the wetness now sticking to his arms, he would rather sit with a stranger anyway. One of them in particular, actually.

After having passed him once with a stunning girl hooked to his left, the second time Taeil circles back on burning heels, he finds him alone. Another blonde boy, jagged hair a shade darker than Byeol's and showing signs of overgrowth at the roots. In his head, Taeil convinces himself that this was fate's handiwork, if only to grant himself more courage to approach. Plus his wrists are starting to tire.

"Hey. Do you need some company? I do."

Sporting a coquettish grin, Taeil greets with the tone of a man who's already known the other for many years before. The champagne spills a lick one last time as he dismounts them on the table's surface. "Pardon my Italian, but if I don't drink all these, the bartender will probably find my address and come beat my ass. Help me out?"

Haru, he calls himself. And successfully pushes Taeil further into the clutch of his confusion about what it is with modern day musicians and dyeing their hairs in fifty shades of pasta.

They fall into each other with the ease of a biscuit being buttered, even if the conversation initially ranges on the typical side. Inevitably, Taeil understands, as there was no other way to break the ice between two strangers at a wedding but to introduce themselves, and talk about the tedious. But he's also well acquainted with the virtues of giving volume to flat things.

Haru smiles warmly, and soon after, Taeil discovers he has an equally rich laugh. In his blurry drunkenness, he reminds Taeil of pleasant summer days. The blazing sun baking his cheeks tan, pronouncing the freckles on his face and back. The smear of a soft-serve melting faster across his knuckles than he can eat it. Squeezing clammy palms together in midst of trapping a sunset within a kiss.

Most of these pleasantries would be lost by morning to plot holes in his memory, full pages torn in the middle of a long journal entry. Taeil almost considers mourning this fact as their absorption wears on in between pauses for breath, an excess of champagne and him meeting the lovely girl Haru had brought with him. Dani, a stunning young woman who makes a lot more sense at Haru's side than he ever would.

But then, spending the fraction of a second staring at Haru's hand with his jaded eyes, a brilliance occurs to Taeil. Epiphany wholly encouraged by intoxication alone, as he abandons all logic under-fire of alcohol. If the casuals will only be but a speck tomorrow, why not attach some extravagance to it, and while at that, a name? So it would be more memorable. Tangible, even.

After all, this was a wedding. Glorious and formal at every angle anyone could peer at it from. An event fit for the celebration of love, which was something to be found at any given second, if the illusion of free will ever allowed it to be. And just like Hansol and his wife invited them to share this moment, every other one of them should count as well.

In his chest, his heart begins to gallop as a mad horse at mercy of swelling adrenaline. While the world flocks and flails around them with indistinct chatter–less than a blot caused by spilled ink to Taeil, he turns his entirety to Haru and pins Haru's palm against the table with his own. Their pulses intertwine, and it sends the soft, fleeting hairs at the back of his neck into a bristling frenzy–a flash of lightning cutting through his veins.

Sitting straight, the corners of his mouth curl towards heaven. "I have a fine idea."

The chair almost flips over from him standing, and he wobbles on the way down to the knee that doesn't mysteriously ache every evening. All throughout, he awkwardly brings Haru's hand along, even when he rummages through the manpurse strapped across his chest for a sharpie.

"Earlier I circled this room twice, but every time I came back around, I could only look at you. I think that means something special, right? Sorry, Dani." Taeil's tongue lulls around his pronunciation, lisp thicker than usual, but his eyes hold a sort of obscure sincerity in them that he won't be able to explain by breakfast. He uncaps the sharpie, spits the cap itself at Haru's feet and draws a shaky circle around the circumference of his ring finger.

"For what it's worth, I'm asking your date to marry me. Will you, Haru?"

After Haru's earnest acceptance, the world starts to spin and transition much too quickly than he can keep up with, from a serene stillness to a jarring haste, like a running scene filmed handheld. The beautiful venue spirals out of his grasp, until Haru is the only thing left. The waxing moon their witness.

Next thing he knows, he wakes with morning knocking on his eyelids, a skull-splitting hangover that renders him completely useless, and a blanket hogger for a fiancé. If it weren't for him being right there, Taeil would've thought that the sun had hopped out of the sky and plummeted all the way into his bed.

For the first time since his first shot from yesterday, Taeil searches for the gap in his soul and finds it there still. Except no longer does it weep, or throb as much. Probably this guy's doing, he thinks, as he watches him wake with remnants of their night still whole on him.

Might this be sort of forever his good friend Hansol was talking about?

#scribed.#anthropocentrik #nicadanis #long post tw #[ i suppose his impulse stems from his admiration for the friend but simultaneously the jealousy he can't admit to #yet still feels #also an unwanted existential crisis #he wants happiness too though he's so overwhelmed by it that he can't realize that it's already there #just not in the way he envisions it should be #and thus blindly chases after #lol my baby #this is how long my dick is btw #if u read all this including these tags i'm in love with u

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robin-the-enby · 3 years

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I've been wanting to request a Marvel one for a while now, but have just finally thought of something that I agreed on—

A oneshot with the avengers and the genderless reader celebrating their first birthday. Like where they came from, birthdays don't exist, the actual celebration and having a date of being born doesn't exist for them.

I'm also only familiar with the movies so I don't know what actually happened after Endgame— So spoilers outside that would be very appreciated if that's alright—

True meaning behind birthdays

Pairing: Avengers x gn!reader (platonic)

Summary: Reader comes from a planet where birthdays don't exist. The others decide to throw the best first birthday party ever for them.

A/N: I made this story so that it doesn't contain any spoilers. I really hope you like this, I tried my best.

Y/BD - your birthdate

Earth didn't have the best reputation among the other planets. Everyone you knew always told you it's a place not worth visiting. But that didn't stop you.

And oh wrong they all were. Sure, Earth didn't have the most impressive technology, but it compensated for it with many rich and diverse cultures. So many nationalities and religions, each celebrating their own holidays and traditions. Sure, some might say that it was impractical for so many cultures to live alongside each other, but you thought it was fascinating.

You've been on Earth for over half a year now and you already knew about many human customs, yet there was still so much more to learn, since they mingled with each other constantly, for example holidays typically celebrated in the U.S. migrated all the way to middle Europe.

However, there were some events that were celebrated by everyone. Like New Years Eve, when humans celebrated their planet's complete rotation around the Sun. Silly creatures. And the biggest catch? Different people celebrated New Years on different days!

You chuckled at the memory, focusing on your previous activity. You were relaxing in the compound's living room, since there weren't any missions that regular S.H.I.E.L.D. agents couldn't handle on their own.

You were soon joined by Tony, a very extravagant and bold man, but still a very friendly colleague of yours. He scooted over until he was sitting next to you and asked "So, how did you enjoy Nat's birthday party?"

Ah, birthdays, of course. Celebrating one's day of birth every year was something all humans did as well. The concept was very foreign to you, I mean, why would anyone celebrate being one year closer to death? Still, you could not deny that you enjoyed yourself very much.

"Are you asking just because you organized the thing?" you asked back with an arched brow. Tony looked at you as if you grew a second head "Y/N! You know I'm better than that!"

"But...did you like it?" he asked after a few moments of quiet. You laughed "Yes Tony, I really enjoyed the party." You could practically see his face light up like a Christmas tree (another thing you discovered during your time here) "Awesome! Say, when can we celebrate your birthday?"

Oh... "Uhm, well, I don't really have one..." you explained. Tony's eyes widened "What do you mean? Everybody has a birthdate!" he chuckled, but his tone was mainly confused. "Well, yes, of course I have a birthdate, but where I come from, birthdays aren't really a thing. We don't celebrate them or even really acknowledge them." you shrugged.

"Well, when is your birthday?" Tony asked. You thought for a moment, before replying "Well, we don't really divide our days the same way you humans do. You would describe someone's date of birth with the day, month and year, whereas we just describe it with the position a certain set of constellations has in the sky at that moment. You'd be surprised how accurate it is." Tony blinked a few times "Yeah, that doesn't clear it up much." You laughed again.

For the next couple of minutes you tried to explain to Tony how it all worked, using "your" constellation as an example, not knowing about the plan the genius playboy had in mind all along.

After he told you he finally understood what you meant, he promptly excused himself, saying he was actually just taking a break from something he and Bruce were working on. You said your "see you later"s and parted ways.

As Tony entered the lab, Bruce, who has been working on their project when Tony had his break, looked up to see who came in, before turning back to the machine set on the working table in front of him. "Hi Tony." he muttered "Did you enjoy your break?"

Tony walked over to his friend and leaned on the table he was working on "Yea yeah. Listen, I have an interesting idea..."

It took a lot of math and research, but after a few days, the two geniuses finally had it. They managed to convert your birthdate from your people's system to theirs and it was supposed to be on Y/BD.

Which was gonna be pretty pretty damn soon.

So they did the most logical thing. They called a secret Avengers meeting to get everyone in on the plan.

"Are you sure they even want a birthday party?" Steve asked, because the last thing he would want to is to make you uncomfortable.

"Of course, you know they like to be involved in everything." Wanda reassured him with a wave of her hand. "Still, I think we shouldn't throw a big party." Steve muttered. "I agree, it's their first birthday, we wouldn't want to overwhelm them." Vision nodded. Tony sighed and slumped in his chair dramatically "Ugh, okay then. You guys are no fun, I swear..." straightening up once again, he eyed everyone seriously "Okay, here's the plan..."

And what a plan it was. Wanda and Vision were in charge of making a birthday cake, Tony and Nat were in charge of the alcohol and your favourite drink. Thor was in charge of getting your favourite snacks, Bruce and Sam were in charge of decorating and that left Steve in charge of taking you somewhere nice until the others had everything ready.

It wouldn't have been that odd for someone from the team to ask you to hang out, but you couldn't help but notice Steve's eyes darting around almost as if in fear. He must've thought he was being sneaky, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

But once you were out of the compound, you could feel Steve relax as he took you to a restaurant that quickly became your favourite after a few weeks of staying with the Avengers.

You two had so much fun, talking about anything and everything. One thing you had in common with the captain was your love for exploring. Of course, he knew much more about Earth than you, but he still missed nearly seventy years. You two would often share your favourite music or artists you discovered, as well as movies or literature.

"What do you think about birthdays Y/N?" he asked you out of the blue. It caught you off guard a little. Just a few moments ago you were discussing if Disney was a good brand or not and now this...Especially when you discussed birthdays with Tony just a few weeks ago. Strange...

"I think it's fascinating how you humans find so many things worth celebrating. I mean, birthdays are a little hard for me to understand, why would you want to celebrate getting older? I thought that humans wanted to avoid that?"

This answer seemed to throw Steve off his rhythm for a bit. "Well, it's not really about that-" he wanted to explain, but was cut off by a buzzing sound. Steve quickly reached into his pocket, taking out his phone, the culprit guilty of disrupting your conversation, checking the text message he recieved, before putting it back and looking at you again "Sorry, Fury needs me for something. Do you mind if I drop you off and then go?"

You were a little sad that your good time had to end so soon, since you both were having so much fun, but you knew it couldn't be helped, so you just shook your head and smiled.

As you made your way back, you turned to Steve again "So, what did you want to tell me, back at the restaurant?" you tilted your head to the side.

Steve almost started talking again, but before any sound could escape his mouth, it seemed like he changed his mind "Would you believe me if I told you I really don't remember?" he chuckled awkwardly. You couldn't help but squint at him. He was acting very suspiciously... "Yeah..." you answered absentmindedly. Just what was going on?

You spent the whole journey back to the compound mulling it over in your head. Was it somebody's birthday? No, surely they would've told you if that was the case. Was it your birthday? But, nobody knew when that was. So what on Earth was going on??

You decided you were gonna confront Steve if he wasn't going o explain anything by himself. So as soon as you were about to pass the compound's living room, you quickly tugged him in, telling him you needed to talk to him before he had to go.

The room was darkened, somebody must've drawn down the blinds. That didn't matter to you in that moment, you wanted answers. Steve became a silhouette in front of you, so you couldn't see his exact expression. You looked into what you imagined were his eyes, and with the most serious look you could muster you said "Alright Steve, quit joking around. What is happening?"

But before your interrogation could progress, the blinds were drawn up and the room was suddenly bathed in light as people yelled "Happy birthday!!!"

You whirled around and saw everyone gathered in the living room, standing around the coffee table, upon which were various snacks that you grew to love during your stay here, complete with your favourite drink, and in the middle of it all sat a beautiful cake. The room was decorated with ornaments in your favourite colours and everyone had a big smile plastered in their face.

Well, you certainly did not expect that. After carefully looking around at everything, you couldn't help but laugh "So it's my birthday??" you asked, surprised.

"Wait, what did cap told you?" Tony asked, alarmed. "Well, nothing specific, but he wasn't subtle either." you smiled and looked at the now blushing Steve from the corner of your eye.

The rest of the day was great, possibly the best one you've had here. Good food, drinks and laughter all around. It warmed your heart to receive so many beautiful gifts, words couldn't express just how grateful you were. One thing still nagged in your brain though...

All of you were seated on the various sofas and armchairs around the coffee table, calmly chatting about beloved memories, exchanging funny stories and everything was heavenly peacful.

"I still can't wrap my head around why you would go throuh all the trouble for me." you shook your head, the disbelief still lingering in your mind.

"Well, that's simple. We like having you around." Tony shrugged. The others nodded. "Yeah, we appreciate having you with us. You're a great friend." Wanda added. "Celebrating birthdays is like showing gratefulness that the celebrated person is still with you." Bruce explained.

Their confessions were so heartwarming, you couldn't help but to shed a few tears. Sam, who was sitting next to you, put his arm around your shoulders, rubbing your arm comfortingly. So that's what birthdays were really about...

It was great to have friends.

#marvel #mcu #oneshot #fluff #requests open #avengers #avenger x reader #avengers x y/n #reader insert #platonic x reader

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yibo-wang · 3 years

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ahh yeah, tolkien himself didn't really use the language inside the silm but for names etc. and i believe also a couple of cultural things are listed at the end of the book!! it's also partly a guide on how to pronounce the names etc. tolkien likes to reference characters through names and give characters from a family similair names. like the finwëans (the sons of finwë and their children etc.) have in their quenya father name often "finwë" (nelyafinwë, curufinwë, morifinwë, arafinwë etc. "finwë" itself doesn't have a known meaning but we think it might have to do with hair? the word "fin" means hair if i remember correctly) - ant anon

uhh btw for tolkien's book canon doesn't exist. canon is more guide lines than anything else. there are things that are rules regarding cultures etc. but the events that take place are, except for a few, only those version where christoper tolkien (j.r.r. tolkien's son) thought they fitted best with the version and development his father made. tolkien often had multiple versions of characters and plot points alike, some of them more developed than others. like, there are these two twins, in one version they live until a certain battle (i think the battle of doriath where most of their siblings die) or one of them dies at the burning of the ships, where his father (and his father's men) set the boats on fire they came with to middle earth from Valinor and they didn't know he was still there. (uhh yeah there is a reason why they burn the boats but it's not a good one 👀)

oh idk when i started following you but it could've been around the time you made this darker blue-ish wangxian set of the cold pond cave scene? i'm not completely sure but i think i was already following you then or followed you a bit after that maybe? i don't really remember tbh? also i keep forgetting to sign of asks ajdksks so yeah this is ant anon!!! (it could've been, i think... i'm not sure.... that i followed you a bit before wwx's birthday or a bit after it??? i really don't know) anyways i might rewatch a really good show since it's winter break now and ajdksk i'm just staring at my computer and watching the opening credits for each season AND THEY'RE SO FUCKING GORGEOUS BUT SLIGHTLY TERRIFYING WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW WTF IS GOING ON - ant anon

ahh so is the family name like the surname or is it part of the first name? also maybe the finwe had a legacy of having good hair lol.

fr?? there are two versions jsjjdj you opened a whole new world of tolkien for me,, the brief knowledge i have is from the movies and the book i partially read back in middle school,, maybe someday i’ll give it a go again

ahh as for the account guessing i’m still very clueless,, im really gonna wait for christmas this time or wait and see if you forget to go on anon ajhajshjha

ooh which show are you watching (hope it’s not horror sjsjsj)

#🐜 anon!!!#ahh i saved this in my drafts and then forgot to send it 😫#let's chat!

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grilljazzbone-blog · 7 years

Text

Why Climate Change Doesn't Exist

June 10th, 2017 Science-y types are always going on about how hot the earth is getting and how the climate's changing and there's empirical evidence to prove it, but I'm pretty sure we don't belong the the empire anymore, so I'm gonna keep this journal to show everyone what a load of hooey this climate "change" is. June 11th, 2017 Still no fires or extinct animals or plagues of frogs or whatever the hell. Plus my air conditioner kept me a little bit chilly. Say, why don't those science geeks just build a big one of those if they're so worried? February 21st, 2018 Still hella cold. I drilled through the ice to see if it was boiling underneath or something and it was hella cold too! In fact, it was bristling with life! That water was thick with algae! July 15th, 2018 Went fishing today and caught nothing. Definitely has nothing to do with global warming though. They're probably just too full for my bait because they've been eating all that algae. January 18th, 2019 So apparently every species of fish in that lake is endangered. Makes sense, They're a lot easier to spot when they've fattened up on all that algae. August 13th, 2019 Still no global warming, although it looks like my beachfront property has slid towards the water like, 10 feet. June 18th, 2020 So apparently all life is gone from that lake. it's probably liberal lies though. There's still tons of algae. June 19th, 2020 No, the algae's dead too. Not global warming though. Probably an inside job. September 17th, 2021 The government must be spending a lot of money on all these hoaxes. Just the price alone of moving my beachfront property another 10 feet towards the water must be staggering. April 14th, 2022 I heard The Maldives sunk today. Isn't that a type of fruit? August 22nd, 2030 Went on a round trip of Italy, where everything was perfectly global-warming free. It was great, but I couldn't find Venice. October 12th, 2031 I thought maybe Southeast Asia would be better, but whoever makes these maps should be fired because I went to where Thailand's supposed to be and it was just a stupid ocean. July 23rd, 2033 Looks like the government stole my beachfront property. I tried to call the news but they hung up on me. December 25th, 2035 Really would have appreciated some snow for christmas, but the corrupt government's been cutting it off with chemtrails. August 19th, 2040 Honestly, I don't even miss Hawaii. September 25th, 2044 Honestly, I don't even miss the bees. Or polar bears, for that matter. Total ripoff of grizzlies. March 16th, 2045 The economy's in a bit of a recession, nothing major and certainly nothing to do with climate change. Only several oil executives jumped out of windows, but I've seen The Wolf of Wall Street, I know how dramatic they get. May 16th, 2045 I don't know what's up with fashion trends as of late, but for some reason everyone's covered in dirt and wearing leather and spiky helmets. I think they're all armed too. Still not global warming though, I bet some celebrity started it. February 20th, 2047 I remember the scientists were going on about how the rising sea levels would kill the fish, but if you expand the ocean you can fit more fish. It's ridiculous. Haven't seen a fish in days, but that's probably the liberal media. August 15th, 2050 Okay, so the map looks a little different. Whatever! That happens all the time! Prussia used to be a country! Who cares if Africa is now two continents, half of Europe is gone, and island nations don't exist anymore? Things change, get over it! December 23rd, 2055 Okay, all of Europe is gone. My point still stands. I would go out to preach to the people about how they need to chill out, because that's what the earth is doing, but lately I've been getting terrible sunburns. No global warming of course. It's just a bit warm out, and I have sensitive skin. It's my Irish heritage. At least I think it was called Irish, before it sunk... July 19th, 2060 I was showing some guy my air conditioner to prove the earth was still cold, and he damn near stabbed me for it. I understand though, the economy's still in a recession, people have started using beach glass as currency because you have to dive so deep to get it. I don't know why they don't just wait for the tide to go out. January 5th, 2066 Well it looks like the liberal media has failed, because I finally found a fish! Sure, it was a jellyfish, an absurdly sized jellyfish that was dragging a man kicking and screaming into the water, but a fish nonetheless! June 10th, 2070 This may be my last entry. Today the government played us all and moved our houses into the middle of the ocean, which seems to be covered in steam and bubbling a lot. Must be a lot of fish. The rest is to water damaged to read.

#climate change #thefuture #fiction #shortstory #comedy #this-is-a-cry-for-help

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