#i was going to make a significantly more bitter post if that tells you anything about my mental state rn

[mingtinys]

Soggy Cereal

pairing : choi san x gn!reader

college roommates!au , friends to lovers , fluff , valentines day fic !!

warnings : language

word count : 2.8 k

requested ? no

a/n : this was horribly rushed , barely proof read , and i kind of hate the ending , but i do want to post something for valentines !

You really should've just turned off your phone for the day. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling so bitter. But after being bombarded by post after post of your friends being surprised by their significant others with vibrant bouquets, fancy brunches, expensive jewelry, and fluffy stuffed animals, it's a little hard to not feel so sour. Perhaps it's a bit unfair to hate an entire day, but February fourteenth just sucks, and you're ready for it to be tomorrow. 

"What's wrong with you?" San asks, genuine concern gracing his features at the way you've been scowling at your phone for the past hour. You'd nearly forgotten he was even in the room with you. Too caught up wallowing in your own misery to appreciate the bowl of cereal he'd so kindly made you. He digs into his own, spilling milk on the counter in the process.

"Nothing's wrong."

The look on his face tells you that excuse isn't going to do you any justice. He chews as he speaks, pointing his spoon at you from across the kitchen island. "You're a shit liar. You've been glaring at your phone all morning, something’s up."

"It's stupid." Your response is short, clicking off your phone and placing it facedown so you won't be tempted to glance at it any further.

"No, it's not. C'mon, just tell me."

San slips from his spot across the island, bowl in hand as he takes up the stool next to you. "Please," he drawls, putting on the most god-awful puppy eyes you've ever seen him muster up. You've lived with Choi San long enough to know, unfortunately, he's not just going to give up.

". . . I've never had a valentine. And I know it's cheesy but it'd be nice to have someone confess their undying love with some stupid rose bouquet or overzealous box of chocolates. Just once, ya know?" You sink in your seat, elbows propped up on the counter to rest your chin in your hands. You refuse to look at San.

"What do you mean?" San's voice is a little too optimistic for your mood. "We get each other gifts every year!" By his terms, he's not wrong. While the cheap boxes of gimmicky drugstore chocolates are a nice gesture, they're far from romantic. Not that you've ever expected such from San, but it's just not the point.

"No, San, like a real valentine."

He blinks at you for a moment, the frown on his lips only stays for a millisecond. "I'm gonna pretend like you didn't just call me a fake valentine."

"You know what I mean. We only get each other gifts because we're friends and no one else will." You plop down from your stool, sliding your bowl of soggy fruity pebbles over for San to finish. You've always found it weird that he actually prefers his cereal mushy. He'll even wait a good ten minutes after making a bowl before he eats it so it'll absorb as much milk as possible. But as nauseating as you find the mannerism to be, it is quite convenient. It's basically become tradition for him to finish off what you don't eat once the texture becomes too soft.

But it's the first time he's ever declined your leftovers. Instead of immediately polishing off your bowl like usual, he sticks to you like a shadow. San follows you down the narrow hall and to your room, making himself comfortable on your bed while you begin sorting through your closet for your work uniform. "I thought you liked getting each other gifts."

There's a certain dejected undertone to his words that make you pause and rethink how you're wording things. You aren't upset with him. If anything, he makes days like Valentine's significantly more bearable. If it weren't for the small box of chocolates and singular rose waiting outside your door this morning, you'd probably be having a lot bigger crisis over being alone on days like today. But your point still stands, nothing about the gesture is romantically inclined.

Your eyes finally land on your uniform, crumpled up in the laundry basket that sits next to your dresser from the last time you washed clothes yet never put them away. "That didn't come out right," you sigh, watching the way San's frown deepens as you lay the articles on the bed next to him. "I really do appreciate the gesture, San. It's incredibly sweet. I just meant it'd be nice to receive something from someone who likes me more than just platonically."

The last thing you want is for San to feel like you don't appreciate him. In fact, you probably do a little more than a friend or roommate should. "Please tell me you get what I'm saying. It's not you, I promise, I'm just feeling a little . . ." You search for the proper word. "Lonely."

San looks like he's about to say something but pulls his lips into a thin line before any words come out. He thinks, then says "I get it." But the frown is still there. You know he's the one who asked, but there's a bit of guilt that gnaws at your insides for dumping all of this on him so suddenly. So you pad across the room to your desk and pull a small pink gift bag from the bottom drawer in hopes to remedy the sad look on his face. Confusion pulls at his brows when you extend the bag to him. 

"I was gonna wait until after work to give this to you, but seeing as how you already gave me mine . . ." His face lights up at the realization. He's quick to snatch the present from your hands, His excitement tugs at the corners of your lips. "And be gentle with the bag, I wanna reuse it for your birthday in a few months."

You're not sure he even hears you, already tossing the tissue paper to the side and digging inside the bag. You'd love to watch his expression as he opens each component of your gift, but you're a few minutes shy of running late to the only thing that pays your half of the rent. So you begin slipping out of your pajamas and into uniform, not caring that San's just a few feet in front of you. You've learned to be pretty comfortable around him, given his bad habit of never knocking and the broken lock on your door that the landlord never got around to fixing. It was cause for him catching you in quite a few awkward situations for the first few months.

Though eventually, as the two of you grew more comfortable with one another, you were both willing to drop your guard around the other. Even to the point of just leaving your door open for him to come and go as he pleases. No one but San can say they've truly seen you at your worst and vice versa. Besides, San doesn't pay you much mind anyways, too engrossed in his gift to notice you changing.

You've just finished pulling your shirt on when you catch him eyeing you with one eyebrow raised. "What?"

He clears his throat theatrically, holding up the glittery pink card you bought for no more than two dollars. "'I think you're out of this world,'" He reads, turning the card to reveal a picture of a cheesy cartoon alien once he's done. "Really?"

"What? It's cute and it was on sale!" You giggle. The smile that breaks his playfully judgemental expression is enough to light the room. "Just keep going, there's more."

San neatly tucks the card back into its envelope. You take a seat beside him, watching while you tie your sneakers. At the bottom of the bag, underneath his favorite candy and snacks, sits a little box wrapped in shiny red paper. He holds it up, looking at you with an expression that reads what is this?

"Open it," you encourage.

He's gentle as he peels back the tape sealing what's inside, mumbling something about being able to use the wrapping paper for your next birthday gift as well.

While what's hidden inside the paper is no surprise to you, anticipation still grips your insides. The last of the paper falls away, revealing a hinged black box with a silver logo that sparks recognition in San's wide eyes. He looks at you, then the box, and to you once more before settling back on the box.

"This is . . ." He starts.

"I hope it's the right one, I went back to get that bracelet you pointed out a few weeks ago when we passed by the antique shop."

San opens the box and inside sits a silver chain bracelet, adorned with a singular little mountain charm. "I can't believe you remembered that," he whispers, delicately lifting the bracelet to examine it further. He then slips it onto his wrist, turning it this way and that to watch how it catches the light.

It was by no means some huge expensive gift, the owner of the old shop was more than happy for it to finally find a new home. But the way San's eyes lit up when he spotted it through the window was enough for you to know it was priceless. Though you knew he likely would never go back to get it for himself, and Valentine's seemed like a good enough excuse to get it for him.

"Thank you, Y/N. Seriously, I love it so much."

"I'm glad," you give him a smile, though it's nothing compared to his. "Now enough sappy shit, I have work soon." You snatch your keys from your bedside table and gesture for him to get up. He stands, though not without a groan of annoyance, "It's so stupid you have to work on a holiday."

"Like I have anything better to do today."

San follows you back out to the kitchen, spotting the long-forgotten remnants of your cereal still sitting on the counter. He lets out a soft "Oh!" and picks it up, taking a heaping spoonful into his mouth. It makes you cringe, the flakes so swelled up and half dissolved from how long it has been sitting there. It might as well be illegal to consume.

"You're seriously disgusting."

"And you're seriously wasteful. Besides I thought you were late, do you really have time to be heckling me?" He glares.

"I am and I’m blaming you." You state, glancing at the time once more.

You're halfway out the door when San calls out for you again. "Text me when you get off, I'll order takeout and we can watch shitty romcoms until you feel better."

While you're not sure watching movies about people finding their true love will necessarily make you feel better, San always does. So you don't think about it much and give quick confirmation before rushing out the front door and down the steps of your building.

To say work was horrible would be an understatement. As if watching your friends post their Valentine's gifts and significant others online wasn't already bad enough, serving table after table of happy couples was worse. Throughout the night, you were constantly subjected to copious amounts of PDA and extravagant confessions of love. Even witnessing a proposal at the end of your shift. Not to mention tonight's dinner rush was particularly bad at tipping.

But the cherry on top came when a customer, in a horrible attempt to impress his date, decided to nitpick at every tiny aspect of your service. Not refilling their wine fast enough, not checking on them enough, not being cheery enough, anything and everything he could think of.

The relentless critiques while being surrounded by the one thing you wished to avoid today stirred up every unresolved emotion from earlier. Turning your tastebuds sour once more. When your shift was up, you drove home as fast as you possibly could, completely forgetting your promise to let San know when you'd be back. The thought didn't even register until you pulled into your apartment's parking lot. That's right, San wanted to watch movies.

There's a part of you that wants to cancel on him. You're so tired and beaten down from the day that you honestly want nothing more than to tuck yourself away in bed and sleep for days. San would understand. He'd be disappointed, but understanding. Just as he always is. But when you open the door, the apology speech you'd been planning to let him down with dies out on the tip of your tongue at the sight before you.

Your usually messy and rather bland apartment is lined wall to wall with twinkling fairy lights. Their soft yellow glow illuminate the otherwise dim room. The scent of warm chocolate lingers in their air, mixing with the cinnamon-scented candle San always keeps lit. It's all very magical, yet confusing. You rack your brain as to why San chose today of all day to decorate.

Dropping your keys and bag by the door you venture further into the space. Peaking around the living room for San, you find the area to be completely vacant. You check the kitchen next, but there's still no sign of your roommate. However, what you do find is quite the arrangement of items set up on the kitchen island.

A bouquet of six tulips sit nicely in an ornate glass vase, vibrant in their color. Next to them, a tray of messily crafted chocolate-covered strawberries. Judging by the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, they're homemade. One of San's university sweatshirts is folded up neatly on the other side of the tulips. The one you've always told him you keep one eye on at all times because the design is your favorite and they sold out before you could get one. In the middle of it all sits a small, fuzzy teddy bear. It’s leaned up against a new box of fruity pebbles with a folded-up note in its lap. The writing on it is messy, but unmistakably spells out your name. You instinctively reach for it, flipping it open to reveal two scraggly sentences surrounded by pink and purple hearts.

"Not to be "mushy," but I am "cereal-sly" in love with you. Be my Valentine?"

"You're not supposed to be home yet!" San's startled voice breaks you from your thoughts. You nearly drop the note at his outburst. "I– did I miss your text? I thought I'd have more time, shit– um . . ." San looks frantically between the array of gifts and you. Then says, very unsure of himself, "Surprise."

For the first time in your life, you are truly at a loss for words. Because it's pretty obvious why San set all of this up, but your brain seems to lag at the thought of it. You feel like you need him to confirm before you can believe any of it. "Is this for me?"

He nods. "I know it's not exactly perfect, but after what you said this morning about not having a Valentine, I just thought . . . Well, I thought now might be a good time to tell you I sort of, kind of, maybe like you. Like a lot."

He gets antsy in your silence.

"And I know you said you wanted roses but everywhere was sold out. So that nice lady next door– you know Mrs. Kim– lent me some tulips she picked from her friend's garden. Oh, and everywhere was also sold out of boxed chocolate, but Yunho had some chocolate chips he let me borrow and I picked up some strawberries from that market down the street—"

It's pretty obvious San doesn't plan on ending his rambling any time soon. Words continue to waterfall from his lips, but they're all lost on you. Too overwhelmed by the thoughtful gesture and all the work he put into it to register the details of his story. You struggle to find the words to properly convey how much San, and all of this, mean to you. So you discard any semblance of a simple thank you from your tongue and instead take the opportunity to do something you've thought about time and time before.

You waste little time in closing the gap between you and San. Note still clutched in your fingers as you throw your arms around his neck and pull his lips in to meet your own. He reacts impressively fast, holding on to your waist and kissing you back eagerly. The rush of warmth that courses through your veins is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It leaves your mind with no thoughts but those of Choi San.

In your opinion, the moment ends too quickly with San pulling back to look at you. But how can you complain when his eyes hold that much love within them? "You didn't have to do all of this," you whisper after a minute.

San just shrugs, letting his thumb graze over the skin of your cheek. "No, but I wanted to.”

"I love you too, ya know?" You refer to his note. "Even if you like gross soggy cereal."

#ateez #san #choi san #ateez san #ateez choi san #san x reader #choi san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez valentine #san fluff #choi san fluff #san imagine #choi san imagine #san x you #choi san x you #ateez x you #ateez fanfic #choi san fanfic #san fanfic #san imagines #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #choi san imagines #ateez fic #san fic #choi san fic

[gibbearish]

something kind of. bitter. abt tons of posts from about a month ago being like "anyone daring to even consider the words 'compassion fatigue/burnout' is a piece of shit for trying to assuage their own guilt over not paying as much attention as they should, much less telling OTHER people that it's ok to look away when it's not your place to say that because you're not the victims. 'wah wah my mental health' well at least you're not being bombed so you'd better be thankful you're not in their position. if you're not constantly tortured with graphic visions of genocide then you aren't actually doing your part" vs posts now being like "psa, if you're constantly being haunted by images you've seen and it's affecting your mood significantly, that's not normal and there's a word for that!" like. wow yeah damn if only someone had tried to warn people that this was a thing before it started to set in. such a shame no one did, oh well. and i know it's probably not the same people making those posts, but it still. Feels. and i know i've already made a post to this time before but idc the shift has put it back in my head so i guess take 2 on why i found this so annoying in the first place

it was always with a vibe of like, "this event is so horrible that the regular precautions to avoid compassion fatigue shouldn't apply, fixing it is more important." which. /is/ true in a sense, however those two things aren't actually related in the way that framing that way implies, paying attention doesn't actually /do/ anything concrete that would be lost by taking breaks from consuming news about this. there's the implication that the more people that pay attention, the more people in power will be forced to behave knowing that the world's eyes are on them. but like. this far in, they know everyone's eyes are on them by now, and have decided to proceed anyways. just kind of... looking at them harder isn't going to change anything. and also like.... "when the event is this horrible, why would you be thinking about that instead of putting them first"? because. the more horrible the event. the more. likely learning a lot about it will fuck you up? thats. that seems pretty obvious to me? like. there's more Shit For Your Brain To Torment You With 24/7 if more shit is being done and reported on. the worse something is, the worse it'll make you feel to spend all your time thinking about. yes, some people will be ignoring it because they genuinely don't care, but that doesn't automatically mean the ONLY way to care is to Pay Constant Attention No Matter What.

and like. yes, we should do all we can to help palestinians, but some people act like because we're not being killed and they are, we owe it to them to take on as much of that trauma as we can by proxy? like since we aren't having to go through the actual thing, any negative affects we go through can never compare and are therefore irrelevant, and we should instead only be thankful it's not happening to us. i've said this before but it feels very much like the old "finish your vegetables, there's kids starving in africa" thing parents would say, where it's like. ok, i get that the sentiment behind what youre expressing here is "you should take care to be thankful for things you take for granted, because there are people out there suffering without this," but theres always an implicit "and if you don't use yours right, you're hurting those people by wasting what they could've used" when that just !! doesn't actually follow after the first part, that is not the conclusion you should draw there!!! i would obviously give my leftover vegetables to someone else sooner than throw them away but until warp technology is cracked i am limited by things like distance and expiration dates and stable temperature zones, and i would obviously give my leftover Not Being Bombed to every palestinian if i could but until The Way Reality Works is cracked i am limited by. yknow. the way reality works. abstract concepts like that just arent transferrable without a LOT more direct involvement than just. looking at some posts or not.

and i think that's the crucial thing that bugs me abt both of these is not just that the conclusions they offer are wrong and manipulative, but that the /premise themselves/ are, and they take something HUGE for granted, which is "the thing i want you to do is Right and will Work, therefore i'm justified in forcing you to do it, regardless of any discomfort this causes as it will still have a net positive impact." eating your vegetables is Good for you, so forcing you to eat more when you don't want them is justified, and your reasons for not wanting them don't matter. palestinians have asked us to keep reading and sharing their posts because it helps them, so shaming people for not wanting to is justified, and their reasons for not wanting to don't matter. nevermind that overeating can be bad for you and children are indeed capable of telling when they're full or of having slightly smaller stomachs than the serving sizes their parents dish up, nevermind that they can have food sensitivities or even just /dislike the flavor of something/ and we don't force adults to finish foods they know they dislike, nevermind that compassion fatigue was already an existing concept long before this, nevermind that this is The Mental Illness Website, nevermind that reblogging a bunch of posts with graphic videos that will keep you up all night and be filtered by half your followers anyways doesn't stop fucking BOMBS. it's all we can do, nevermind that it's largely symbolic, therefore if you're not doing it for ANY reason, you are Bad. so do what i say in order to be Good even if it hurts you. it's just such a manipulative, PATRONIZING way of going about things that it just grates at me every time.

#long post #origibberish #idk if any of this makes sense or if its just random nonsense

[aelaer]

I'm probably clogging your inbox with this but, ✨💘🎈 for the ask game? :))

Never clogging! I wouldn't do the ask game stuff if I didn't enjoy replying to it :)

✨ What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

I've bemoaned in the past about how IronStrange fics get significantly more views/kudos compared to gen fics with the same characters, and that's the same story for my fics. The two fics marked "IronStrange" are at the top of my kudos/hits list (with the two crossovers rounding up the top 4), and I used to be a little bitter about that. I accept it better these days, though I do think folks who enjoy IronStrange should also toss more bones to writers who use the Stephen Strange & Tony Stark tag alone, and should rec gen fics in those collections, even if it's a separate category.

But because of this trend, it means that the work I'm most proud of, my Earth-197320 series, gets a lot less traffic than my IronStrange pieces. At this point, though, I am happy that there are still some out there who read gen fic. It'd be super awesome if it was more of a 50/50 split with Stephen fans, but that I have anything resembling an audience does make me luckier than some newer writers because the MCU is not as popular as it was in 2019, when I published a significant amount of my work and got my name out there. (I myself haven't read fanfic since February, so I need to get back into it. Part of why I haven't is that trying to find new gen fic starring Stephen is so difficult and discouraging).

💘 Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

Yes, but not in the MCU! I have a large collection of ollllld one-shots that I did as a teenager surrounding book!Aragorn from LOTR. They're still up on older archives, but rewriting them would be fun. I did a couple that are up on AO3, but my LOTR muse simply hasn't returned. And there are fics I'd like to get done for the MCU first.

🎈 Describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? Does it change?

This is a pretty difficult question if you really think about it. I ended up going down a rabbit hole and read this fascinating article about creative writing and style and tried to see where I fit into it.

I know I don't follow all the rules of concise writing, especially with use of adverbs, because I think "said wryly" is a justified use of an adverb if it can be read as straight-forward *or* wry. I'm not sure what an editor would do with my work if I presented it to them, but considering that Ready Player One and 50 Shades of Grey's terrible prose was published without issue, I'm not too fussed about my use of adverbs.

I really enjoy deep dives into the character's psyche, but I always write from a limited POV of usually one or two characters, so we get a limited view of the psyche in general, at least in one chapter. I'm not terribly fond of the omnipotent POV and only wrote it in a comedy, which used it quite well.

I will say it can change depending on the needs of the story, at least a bit. For instance, I usually have a limited third person POV, but I have written in first person and I've written third person omnipotent. I have some description to help set a scene, but scenery is not my forte and it's something I actively have to put my brain power towards to get it done. My most descriptive piece by far was the one from Sherlock's POV due to his very observant mind, and that was a pretty challenging piece.

The narrative of telling the story is a huge part of my writing, but I like to see character growth throughout it, if possible. It depends on the length of the piece.

I think that's enough rambling on this subject, hah.

#darkkitty1208 #ask #answered #my writing #long post

[labyrinthofsnow]

Feminism within A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

 A Court of Thorns and Roses was not only an excellent read, it also allowed room for literary criticism. By analyzing the book through a feminist lens this allowed a way for a new perspective to be seen through the book. For those unfamiliar with the book, I’ll be analyzing the first 104 pages of the book in this post. The world it takes place in has been separated due to war, the mortals on the most southern point and the fae on the rest of the world. The story begins when Feyre the protagonist is hunting in the woods and stumbles upon a wolf, she kills the wolf not knowing he came from the fae lands. For the death of the fae she demanded retribution for his death. She is then dragged into the world of the fae where the only thing she knows about the lands is through legends. 

In the first couple of chapters Feyre is established as being the breadwinner and nutruer of the house this is due to her father being incapable of mostly doing anything due to a knee injury. She not only takes care of her father but her two sisters who do not assist her unless they want something in return. Feyre makes sure there is enough food on the table for everyone by hunting, she's the one to step up and tell her sisters what to do and how to do it, her goal was to never be married off instead she dreamt of a world where it was just her and her father in the little cottage where she could have more time for herself. When she eventually killed the Fae who was disguised as a wolf she stood up strong and admited she was the one who did it, even wielding a knife in her defence. 

“Somehow, I wound up infront of my sisters, even as the creature reared onto its hind legs and bellowed through a maw full of fangs” (33, Maas). By stepping up she showed bravery, and willing to put up a fight for her family when majority of the time the man is the one to do so.

Women within the book itself are to live a life society now would consider out-dated. The women are to be raised lady-like and married off. A dowry also exists within the world. Meaning that for a woman to be married off she would have to have something of value, whether it be currency, good, or an estate to give to the husband or his family once they’re married. The women within the book are treated significantly lesser than to the male counterparts however, as stated above Feyre and a couple of other characters dotted throughout the book are noted for going against societal norms. “We have nothing to offer them-no dowry; no livestock, even. While Thomas might want to marry you…you’re a burden.” (19, Maas). The dowry stood out the most when analyzing from the fact of dowryies now being illegal in some countries, and not practiced often in a large portion of the world. This indicates the book taking place in a world where women are viewed as lesser than the men and as objects when they in return for the hand in marriage give them material goods.

The author Sarah J. Maas is a female author. This affects the portrayal of women within the books because, for the majority of the female characters in the book they are written to be quick witted, smart, strong, independent, and overall empowering. This contrasts the way some men would write women to be weak, dainty, a housewife, and a damsel in distress. “-any word from our father resulted in her ridicule as well” (11, Maas). “Most days I couldn’t tell which of us was the most wretched and bitter” (12, Maas). The main sisters who are seen to be the strongest out of the three is Feyre and Nesta who are noted and seen without the whole book being much stronger than the damsel in distress women commonly written in fantasy books.

The book A Court of Thorns and Roses is a great potrayl of women. Allowing female characters strength throughout the whole book, and allowing moulds inforced by society to be broken. On ocassion it does weild toward the stereotypical portrayal of women however, Sarah J. Maas does an excellent job at smashing it the moment it happens.

Referances

Frostbitestudio. N/A. "Archeron Sisters- A Court of Thorns and Roses Sticker". https://www.redbubble.com/i/sticker/Archeron-Sisters-A-Court-of-Thorns-and-Roses-by-frostbitestudio/67041708.EJUG5. Redbubble. November 10, 2022.

Maas, Sarah. "A Court of Thorns and Roses." New York, Bloomsbury, May 05, 2015. Paperback copy. November 10, 2022.

Rz, Maryam. August 01, 2020. https://www.goodreads.com/user_status/show/301891915. Goodreads. November 10, 2022.

#a court of thorns and roses #archeron sisters #feminisim #book blog

[emptymanuscript]

You know, as the Democratic Party fundraiser texts are getting into the 1 text per 1 hour range, 1 tph, I have to wonder about the ratio of investment, effort, infrastructure, engagement, and return.

I can’t help but feel that if the Democrats fiddled with those first three - say putting 9/10’s of even that relatively low amount of energy that went into messaging me at 1 tph - they would actually get a much better result on the last two.

If they did something BIG, a progressive accomplishment which everyone could easily see, I suspect that they would get more money at even a significantly reduced tph.

I dare say they might get more dollars $ at .001 tph as a reward for a job well done than they get at 1 tph as a plea to keep trying to stop people from stopping them from doing their job.

That’s just me though.

AND I admit that I am locked in. With my understanding of the world, I can’t, in good conscience, vote for or support anyone but a Democratic candidate for a given post. But this is because I am essentially voting my conscience against the Republican candidate come general election time.

I’m not really voting Blue as much as I am voting anti-Red.

So every text feels like preaching to the choir. I’ve already been sold on the idea that Republicans are dangerous and have to be stopped. I literally changed my party affiliation in 2015 because I realized I had hit the point of anti-Redness that I would Vote Blue No Matter Who, whatever the letter next to my name was, so I might as well leverage that letter instead of maintaining the illusion that I was actually independent.

And anyone who hasn’t seen CCP Grey’s videos on Politics in the Animal Kingdom should really check them out for a fantastic and easy explanation for why that’s a problem. I believe Minority Rule is the first video in the series: https://youtu.be/s7tWHJfhiyo?si=Pykn9h6PkkzorMKK

Or I guess you could just insert it, that’s fine too, tumblr.

The problem is that unless there’s a viable alternative in the Democratic Primary for a given position, I’m probably not voting FOR anybody.

Because, yeah, I’m voting Blue strategically. Anti-Red. Because I am so far to the left of the Democrats that me voting for them is just… yeah, no.

So, whatever, I guess.

I am really kinda feeling the EMOTIONAL appeal of the give up crowd this year. EMOTIONALLY, I hate everybody. I don’t want to vote for or support anyone. Or at least not anyone that I am actually able to vote for.

So it’s become pure LOGICAL calculation. I know I have to support and vote for the Democrat. Or I will get something much worse. LOGICALLY, there’s no contest, it’s downright simple. The debate IS stupid.

That just doesn’t make me FEEL good. It isn’t good for engagement. It is in the category of take your meds to survive.

I will Vote Blue No Matter Who. I will give them time, energy, and money. I will encourage everyone else to do the same. Because that’s what will keep us alive.

I would just appreciate a little bit more sugar to make that bitter pill go down.

And I would like to have a better argument for why we deserve to live than simply because we exist. Like, yeah, that’s enough. But existing, living, and thriving are three very different things. I am really tired of feeling like I’m entirely in that first category.

Hmmph. Depression sucks. And Politics really doesn’t help it. :/ nothing helps that much really :/ but Politics makes it worse, I think. We’re so far down the wrong path that I feel like it’s hard not to feel a little like maybe cutting off life support would be a mercy. I just know that’s my depression talking. I know Imperius (my part X, the part of me that wants to be sick). I know that motherfucker lies. He lies especially when he tells the truth because he is a goddamn expert on quoting the exact facts that will lead me back to him and obscuring those truths that might lead me away. He’s a liar because he is Trumplike - he’ll say whatever, anything, he doesn’t care, he’ll even tell the truth on occasion, as long it serves him. Truth and falsehood and lies are tools for him to manipulate me. He literally doesn’t care. All he cares about is keeping me doing what he wants. The ends justify the means.

And he just loves pointing out that I am making the same calculation when I do anything for Biden just because I am Anti-Trump.

Fuck off, Imperius.

#politics #depression #I think I am talking to myself #Youtube

[unohanadaydreams]

This was originally an ask I answered quite a while ago that I’ve gone back and edited. It went from 1k to 1.6k words so it’s been significantly reworked, so much so that if you’ve read it before, it’s enough of a new piece that you’ll hopefully enjoy reading it again! I’ve edited the original ask to reflect all changes, but believe me--it’s been through a transformation.

But, yeah, I’ve gotten quite a few asks for hurt/comfort Ukitake so this is an offering for all of you!! He only suffers a lil bit. <3

so close and yet so far from death [1.6k]

Jushiro Ukitake x Reader:

Falling to her knees, Kiyone pressed her blubbering face against the thin door. “He won’t tell us! Not a thing,” she said, like she was struggling to contain a sob.

Sentaro’s arms circling around her waist, he tugged her to a stand.

“We tried our best.” Despite his eyes holding yours, it seemed more a reassurance for the down trodden Kiyone leaning against him.

Your smile was soft when it lifted.

When had they ever failed at keeping their captain first in their hearts and minds?

“Of course, you did,” you said, trying to infuse your thanks into a tender tone. “Thank you for your efforts.”

Relieving them from their post with a squeeze to Sentaro’s shoulder and a ruffle of Kiyone’s hair, you pressed on.

And immediately crouched to the floor, your fingers smoothing over the warm knit blanket tossed in the entry way, your heart squeezing.

Oh, Jushiro.

You smothered your face in the blanket. Breathed in his scent. Desperate to collect yourself with arms full of buttery soft yarn. You waited, crouched and tense, for the knot of tears that pricked at your throat to loosen and dissolve away.

The growing sadness only made the tears spill. How hypocritical of you--wishing  Jushiro would see more than pity in your actions, while you paused here…pitying you both.

With a soft determination, you nodded, brushed tears from warm cheeks.

“Right!” Using the momentum of your renewed hope, you hoisted yourself up, wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, and toed off both your sandals. Your thoughts of ‘poor Jushiro’ left in the doorway with them.

The blanket hugged you, warm and comfortable as you padded across the tatami mat to the backyard. You might have paused longer without the yarn-spun shield--near dead, with Fall smoothly moving to embrace Winter, the garden looked unwelcoming.

The chill of stepping outside slapped at your exposed face in uneven bursts of wind, but you persisted, fingers foisted in the blanket.

You seemed to spot him all at once, as though the slump of his frame had camouflaged him. His bleak mood folding him into the similarly blanched surroundings.

He was without his captain’s coat. The thin, faded kimono he often wore to bed was all that shielded him from the wind’s bite. Strands of his long, bone white hair lifted, like the wind was a mouth, tugging.

You kept your feet steady despite the worry, unsure if the deep concern you felt would cause him to flee; a deer bolting at the first crunch of underbrush.

“Jushiro,” you said. Your voice tensed his shoulders, caused his head to jump as though roused from thought.

Your arms de-tangled from the wool and draped it over his shoulders before you sank beside him. “Your lieutenants are sulking like puppies, you know.”

“Hm. They should be used to it by now,” he said in a melancholy tone that you struggled to hear. Jushiro never spoke about the silly tag team who constantly trailed him like that.

‘Patience be damned,’ you thought. Groaning loud and forceful you smacked your cold hands against your equally frost licked cheeks. “I can’t do it!”

Jushiro finally turned to you, eyebrows raised.

“I can’t stand seeing you so down on yourself,” you carried on, the steam of your outrage warming you, causing your breath to puff in white clouds. “And I’m not leaving until you talk to me!”

He winced, a bitter twist raising his lips at the sight of your hand grabbing for his. “I couldn’t get through the proposal.”

“It was just bad timing.”

His gaze retreated, moving to track flashing scales of sluggish, well-fed koi instead.

“Yes, exactly,” Jushiro croaked. “What if it’s always bad timing? Will you be so understanding when it’s our wedding day that I’m coughing up blood at?”

Your hand tightened around his, rubbing at his pale, thin fingers. “Of course,” you said, trying to contain your frustration. “Jushiro, I love you. I love all of you. Not just when you’re healthy or when life is easy.”

His dark brown eyes met yours for a breathless moment before his hand squeezed back and he laced your fingers together. “You deserve someone like that, -chan. Someone healthy. Who makes life easy.”

You couldn’t have shaken your head with anymore force, wishing you could smash your forehead against his and force every ounce of your feelings through his thick skull. Jushiro’s determination to upend your point tightened your throat.

“No,” you said, voice quivering in frustration. “I deserve the man who proposed to me because he loves me so much he wants to spend his life with me!! I--”

His arms were tugging at your back before you could speak further. Your deep, shuddering breath sucked the cotton fabric against his chest to your lips as you began to cry in earnest.

There was nothing to do but say it once more--”I love you, Jushiro. I do.”

“Oh,” he said, so mournful in his regret. “My dear.”

“Am I?,” you sobbed. “Then why can’t I be your wife, too?”

His hair tickled at your ears as it cascaded over you, his chin sharp against your scalp. “You are--oh, you are.”

He called your name, then again, and again, each utterance more bare than the last. “It’s just like me to forget how far pride forces you from others, isn’t it.”

Jushiro’s lips pressed to the top of your head, the chill of his own tears pooling between the kiss. The proof of his hurt did nothing to satisfy you. But your crying slowed, your arms hugging him, hands meeting behind his shaking back.

“Yes, but you understand now, don’t you? You’re not a sickness I need shielded from.”

Arms almost crushing, he held you tightly, for long minutes that were marked only by soft crying and whistling wind. “Thank you,” he managed after his body had grown steady.

Your tears wet his kimono in a warm pool of relief as he rubbed firm circles against your back. Your hands clutch at his sides, pressing to feel the warm of his body.

“Forgive me, please. I’m just so used to...”--Jushiro grappled for words and you waited for him to wrestle the correct ones down--”keeping it hidden. Only being sick behind closed doors, away from everyone, and coming back when it’s through. There doesn’t seem to be any room for that kind of separation in marriage.”

“No,” you agreed. “I wouldn’t want there to be.”

Tentative, almost too low for you to hear anything but the vibration of his chest, he said, “I don’t want it to be that way either.”

“So, if you understand” you sniffle, muffled by fabric and skin and salty tears, failing at light-hearted. “Are we still getting married?”

Jushiro pushed at your shoulders until you felt the wind drying your tears in a cruel chill. His thin hands cupped your face, thumbs swiping at the damp tracks trailing your cheeks. You did the same for him. “-chan,” he sighed, tender and reassuring. “Would you marry a silly man like me? Through all my sickness and little bits of health?”

Puffs of visible warmth formed between your faces as you chuckled in pathetic, wet hiccups. “Yes. For the second time, yes.”

Jushiro relaxed fully in one large breath as he leaned forward to kiss you, both of you unbothered by the mingling tears wetting your faces or the briny taste of them shared between your tongues.

His hands cradled your back and pressed you fully against him as he deepened the kiss, his head canting to the side. The blanket fell from his shoulders. Tumbling from your reach as you locked your arms around his neck.

Your lips detached from Jushiro’s as a thump sounded from the porch, Shunsui’s voice registering seconds after.

“Well, what did I say, you two?”

Quick enough to bring spots to your eyes, you turned to see Sentaro’s body lying prone against the wood, his fingers shielding a blushed face. Both he and Kiyone looked mortified, yet unable to look away as Shunsui glided toward you.

“C-captain we-we just,” Kiyone said, her teeth chattering in anxiety as she squashed her face with clutching hands, fingers wide enough to allow her eyes an unobstructed view.

“We came to celebrate the newlyweds,” Shunsui interrupted, smoothly raising a large, elegantly decorated bottle of unopened sake. “But don’t let us interrupt you just yet. Sake’s always sweeter with a view, after all. And something tells me it was just getting good.”

Jushiro inhaled deeply as he hugged you close again, but his brown eyes were light, twinkling with humor. “I should thank you to keep that particular gaze away from my future wife.”

Freeing your head with a twist, you eyed Shunsui with a dramatized sniff, your own arms tight around Jushiro’s body. “Sorry, but that was the end of whatever show you were hoping for!”

Shunsui flopped boneless to the porch. With a wink, he began pouring booze into large drinking saucers and you couldn’t help but grin. “Maaa. Just my luck.”

“We’ll be going now, captain!” Kiyone bowed dramatically, tugging at Sentaro’s uniform with enough force to tug it loose from his obi, as she backed away. “We’re so happy for you!”

“Congratulations, captain! I’m the happiest I’ve ever BEEN for you!”

“Everyone’s going to be so excited!!”

“Kiyone! How dare you?! I would NEVER spread this information without our captain’s permission!”

“Wha--no! Captain, I meant when they find out! I would hate even MORE to spread your private information around.”

Your laughter warmed everything inside you. Jushiro’s arms holding you helping just as much.

Thanking them, you and he dismissed them with fond smiles that they took with them, their bickering explosive with relief.

As Jushiro pressed his lips to your cheek and led you to the porch, you were glad for both his and Shunsui’s hand helping you to kneel. Your soul felt so light, without them, you’d surely float away.

#jushiro ukitake #jushiro ukitake x reader #bleach x reader #bleach imagines #bleach fanfic #i may go back and do this for a few other of my longer pieces #but this one i've had in mind for a while because i SUPER rushed the original

[mercy-burning]

Wine Drunk - BLURB

@subspencer / @wheelsup and I briefly discussed this concept Thursday night and I... I just had to. I’m obsessed. I was going to post it later tonight, but I got impatient, so enjoy 😂😘

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: SPICY FLUFF Warnings: alcohol consumption, drunk/tipsy making out, second base Word Count: 1.3k

MASTERLIST

Spencer rarely drank, so you were actually quite surprised to see him take you up on your offer to 'watch movies and get drunk'.

Work that week had been rather headache-inducing, more so than usual, so you'd only said it as a joke to emphasize how draining the week had been. And surprisingly, Spencer agreed. In all honesty you had been prepared for him to just laugh and offer lots of snacks instead, movie nights actually pretty common for the both of you after a long work week. But his long sigh followed by agreement and how he could actually really use a drink or two made you happy.

It gave you an excuse to break out the new bottle of blackberry merlot you'd been dying to try since getting it as a Christmas gift from your sister a few months back. It was currently sitting in the fridge, waiting to be cracked open and enjoyed, and honestly you couldn't think of a better time to use it.

You went into the bedroom to change as Spencer made his way to your bathroom, using clothes from his go-bag to change as well. By the time you walked out in green and black plaid pajama bottoms and a loose grey tee shirt, hair thrown up in a ponytail, he was already on the couch, adorning a similar look— minus the ponytail. You laughed at the thought, reminiscing over when his hair was way longer, when you'd ask constantly to braid his hair.

You grabbed the wine from the fridge and two wine glasses from the cupboard before meeting him in the living room as he turned the TV on and scrolled through the channels until he found the Old Western movie channel.

"Why Westerns?" you asked, popping the wine open and starting to pour the first glass.

"Eh, it's something different. Besides, I think our focus will stray more towards getting drunk than actually paying attention, so..."

You laughed, handing him the first glass and pouring another for yourself. "Good assumption." Then you set the bottle back on the coffee table, leaned back, and held up your glass. "To... John Wayne."

Spencer smirked, amused, raising his glass all the same. "I don't think John Wayne is in this movie..."

"I don't care."

The two of you clinked glasses and took the first sips, settling back to your respective sides of the couch. It wasn't a long couch, so even though you were on opposite sides you could greatly feel body warmth radiating from one another. It was something you both became hyper-aware of the more you drank, which led to more drinking— something to do to keep your hands and mouths busy in an attempt to prevent any confessions or accidental touches.

The obvious sexual attraction you and Spencer felt towards one another only ever came out in the rare occasions where you were alone like that, close enough to touch and uninterrupted by any outside forces. But you'd repressed all of it, nervous for one thing due to your close friendship and fear of dismantling what you'd built from it. And for another, the both of you were so extremely bad at verbalizing romantic feelings in general that you didn't want to take any chances.

As the movie droned on, your wine glasses kept emptying, then re-filling until the entire bottle was gone, and every time you reached over to put it back on the table, you came back closer to Spencer. And now, your relaxed, wine-drunk brain was swimming as you leaned your body into his, curling up at his side and slowly resting your head on his shoulder.

You couldn't help but notice how good he smelled. You couldn't place what it was, some type of cologne maybe, or just his laundry soap, but it smelled so incredibly like him that you found yourself breathing him in, taking deep breaths and trying to inhale as much of it as possible.

But the more your nose searched for his smell, the closer it got to his skin, until it gently nudged the underside of his jaw, and you could slightly feel his throat as he swallowed. The movement didn't deter you, however, from dreaming about what it would be like to kiss the source of movement... To feel his Adams apple move as you traced it with your tongue, tasting the saltiness of his skin and feeling the vibrations as he moaned.

In your wine-drunk state, that thought is what spurred you forward, softly dragging your nose up his jawline as your eyes flicked up to catch him staring down at you. God, he was pretty...

But he seemed to be just as intrigued with the idea of tasting you as you were with him, because the moment your eyes locked, his flicked down to your lips before lingering there. You both moved closer and closer until your eyes were both inevitably closed, patiently waiting for something that was sure to feel like a dream.

The second Spencer's lips grazed yours, you sighed, letting him take as much of you as he wanted. The kiss was sweet, sure, but it wasn't until his lips parted and came back a little stronger, giving you more to taste, that you realized it wasn't actually a dream. He tasted of wine, and you knew you did, too. It was sweet and wet and bitter all at the same time, and it only got stronger the longer you reciprocated his actions.

The first time your tongues glided over each other, you both slumped forward, letting the feeling take over. Your kisses became long and drawn out, and a little uncoordinated due to your drunken haze, but that made it all the better— You didn't have the time to think or care about the imperfections of your first kiss. Rather, you lost yourself in the moment, glad to be this close to someone you loved and longed for all these years.

And that's why you didn't care that you were getting sloppy. If anything, the wetness of your kisses only added to the intensity of it all. You gave each other everything you had, offering yourselves to one another through kisses like you'd never been able to with words.

When his hand came up to cradle your face, butterflies swarmed your belly and up through your chest. You both adjusted a little, giving him the clearance to tilt his head and allow you access to deeper kisses. This in turn, of course, made you feral for more, a long sigh escaping as you pushed yourself into him and longed to get closer.

Spencer opened his mouth to you, and the opportunity couldn't have been more clear. So you took his tongue between your lips and sucked on it, eliciting a loud, throaty groan from him that sent another wave of heat through your body. You let his tongue go with a soft pop and smiled against his lips, pecking him a few times before resting your hands on his chest. "You liked that, huh?"

"Mhm," he offered in return, right before kissing you again.

You didn't want to stop.

And for hours, you didn't. After twenty more minutes of just making out, his thumb found its way into your mouth, and you whimpered around it as you looked him in the eyes and sucked on it for another two minutes.

And then eventually, his hand found its way up your shirt. He breathily explained that he didn't want to take advantage of you, and you laughed, taking his wrist and sliding his hand higher until it cupped your breast, telling him through slurred syllables, "It's okay. You can touch me... I want you to..."

You cycled through another movie and a half, his hands kneading your breasts gently while yours tugged at his hair, before you finally tired, your kisses slowing significantly until, finally, you rested with your foreheads pressed together.

Still a little hazy from the wine, though, you smiled, hearing him whisper, "I love you," before dozing off, John Wayne in a shootout on the screen in front of you.

PERMANENT TAGLIST: 

@elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @g0lden-cth @emilyprentisslittlewhore

TAGS NOT WORKING: @takeyourleap-of-faith

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get to it!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff

[earnestly-endlessly]

Cherik angst!

Ooooh the angst!! The cherik fandom has an abundance of angst fics and I could probably make a list of hundred fics to recommend, but these are some of my favourite angsty cherik fics. I should warn you though, some of these require tissues.

Cherik Angst

Everyday Love in Stockholm – tahariel

Summary: Magneto is the ruler of the posthuman world.

His only secret? Charles Xavier, the human he's kept locked in his bedroom ever since his right-hand woman, Mystique, came to him pleading for mercy for her stepbrother, who accepted her mutant form and protected her as a child. The human he started fucking after Mystique was killed in battle, despite the guilt he feels at contaminating even this last promise to the woman who was integral to his life's work and happiness.

Boden’s Mate – kaydeefalls

Summary: "Shaw has information that we need, and we need him alive to extract it," Moira says, and there it is: the job is on the table. Extraction.

XMFC/Inception fusion AU. Erik is an extractor, Alex is his point man. They're assembling a team to go after the most dangerous mind in dreamsharing: Sebastian Shaw. But unless Alex and the team can keep him in check, Erik's desire for vengeance might just rip the whole job apart around them -- and then there's the shade that haunts his dreams...

Ritual Self-Torture – TurtleTotem

Summary: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love.

The Winter of Banked Fires – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles Xavier has returned from the dead -- but is lost within his own mind. Rogue has cast aside her own power and doesn't know where she fits in the world any longer. The production of synthetic Cure means mutantkind itself is newly at risk. And Magneto, turned human against his will, is in despair until the day he feels a familiar consciousness tugging at his own

Us – Pangea

Summary: “Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”

It takes several longer moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe. He’s shaking, entire body trembling.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”

Enigma – Yahtzee

Summary: Erik dies, or finds a reversey-time mutant, or a magical time travelling device, and wakes up in the past. This time, though, it's before he ever met Charles - in fact, it's before his mother died.

He can save his mother that one time (thanks to his mastery over powers carrying back), but what does Erik do after that? Does he stick around, or escape and run to find Charles again (and hope everything doesn't go wrong)?

By Faint Indirections – kianspo

Summary: Erik is in his ~50s, and lonely and bitter. He survived the Holocaust and was only ~14 when the war ended; and even ~40 years later, living in a country that helped to end WW2 and the Third Reich, homosexuality is still a taboo topic. Then one day, he stumbles over Charles, who is young(early 20s) and bright and smart and cheeky and full of energy and beautiful. And moving in the same street where Erik lives.

Lonesome on the Shelf – ikeracity

Summary: After three years of marriage, Charles has to admit that his relationship with Erik has significantly cooled off. These days, they're barely ever home at the same time and it seems like every conversation they have turns into an argument. Charles misses the way they used to be, misses the spontaneous dinner parties and the surprise morning sex and the wake up calls in the early mornings to catch the sunrise. But it's going to take two of them to fix this marriage, and some days, it seems as if all Erik wants is to be rid of him.

A fic about rekindling marriage.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary:(Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

The Attempt – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles knows everything about Erik, knows how obsessive and self-destructive he is, how Erik would do anything, give anything, in his quest for vengeance against Shaw. But he also knows that Erik loves him in ways that aren't exactly platonic.

I'd like to see a completely straight!Charles, out of pure love and care of Erik, initiate a romantic relationship with him. It can be because he wishes to give Erik something positive in his life or because he thinks it might help change Erik's mind about Shaw, the reason is up to author. Also, while Charles finds intimacy with Erik strange and awkward, he does enjoy the new, non-romantic layers that have developed in their relationship.

Apple Seeds – pprfaith

Summary: Charles, Erik, apple seeds and Shakespearean love affairs.

Ashes, Ashes – winterhill

Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU — When the bombs fall, and mutually assured destruction occurs, it turns out that Shaw was right and radiation does enhance mutant powers. Snapshots of the XMFC main ensemble in the time after the bombs: Erik decides to stay, Moira thinks she might be the only human left, Raven is having trouble sleeping, and Charles is losing his mind.

Warnings: nuclear holocaust: death (death in general, not a specific character), cancer, burns, medical procedure, mutant powers gone awry

Five Bullet Points – Sperare

Summary: It was supposed to be Erik locked away in a prison one hundred stories below the ground.

Charles was never supposed to be there with him.

Tequila on a spaceship – faerie_ground

Summary: In 2014, Charles Xavier gets brutally murdered and Erik Lehnsherr spends the rest of his life mourning his death.

In 3014, Captain Lehnsherr and CMO Dr Xavier are colleagues, best friends and maybe a little more besides that aboard the Magneto I.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary: Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

Simple and Uncomplicated – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik and Charles had been fuck buddies for some, but when Charles is in an accident he figured their relationship would be over. Erik's visit to his bedside in the hospital changes his assumptions even as he has trouble believing Erik is sincere.

Lazarus – Clocks 

Summary: Erik is 19 when he says ‘I love you’ for the first time.

It would take five long years before Charles says it back.

Broken Eternity – CractasticDispatches

Sumnmary: It starts with being alone. It shouldn’t, perhaps, but it does because, of course, alone is what no one ever wishes to be.

Shout it Out Loud – dreamlittleyo

Summary: (Movie-Concurrent AU.) When Charles forges a telepathic link between himself and Erik, the two men find themselves bound together by more than just destiny. With the world on the brink of war, Charles and Erik struggle to cope with a psychic connection that may well be permanent.

Call Me By His Name – sinuous_curve

Summary: Charles wakes from the absence of noise.

There is an empty space in his room, beside his bed. Not quiet as in an abandoned room, but utterly, featurelessly blank. Like a box made of unblemished, impenetrable metal and Charles knows before he opens his eyes.

The Longest Word – septicwheelbarrow

Summary: "I'm Charles Xavier," he says, smiling from ear to ear. Then he gestures to his wheelchair. "Terminal spinal osteoblastoma, reaper due to collect in a year."

After some time, the man gestures at himself with a sardonic smile. "Same, one year. Lung." And then, reluctant, as if trying to keep his name to himself, "Erik."

I reject your reality and substitute my own. Doesn't really work that way, both ways.

Copy – chantefable

Summary: Charles wakes up without his memory. His sole caretaker, Erik, claims to be his husband, and tells him he's recovering from a car accident on their honeymoon.

Slowly falling for Erik again, Charles begins to regain his memories. He starts to notice strange things about his body, Erik, and their secluded mansion.

Myosotis – SomeCoolName

Summary: When Charles got back from Cuba, he lost the two things which made him stand: his legs and the love of his life, Erik Lehnsherr. Charles can get used to the wheelchair but he won't ever be able to get pass the loss of Erik.

"I wish I never met him" is something Charles says one night, maybe a bit drunk, absolutely wrecked for sure. It's a bit silly but Charles figures out his only solution is to use his own powers to erase Erik from his mind, progressively.

Except one day Erik comes back to the Xavier mansion to win him back. And even if Charles doesn't want to stop forgetting about him, Erik will do anything he can to convince him otherwise.

Das Haus am See – sareyen

Summary: The Lake House AU:

Erik is an estate planning lawyer who takes some time off to get away from the big city after his marriage fell apart. He lives in a picturesque lake house by Chautauqua Lake for almost two years, before moving back to New York City. This is in 2019.

Charles is a famous but very private author stuck in a creative rut, and moves to his lakeside estate for a short while to try and find a reason to write again. This is in 2017.

By magic or fate, Charles and Erik discover that the letter box at the lake house has the ability to send letters through time, between Charles in 2017 and Erik in 2019. Through letters that transcend the barriers of time, Charles and Erik fall in love. Charles vows to find Erik two years in his future, and Erik promises to wait for him. Two years - just two, meagre years.

But, fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Appropriate Boundaries – Yahtzee 

Summary: Charles has been having serious problems with back cramps in the year and a half since he's been in a wheelchair. His doctor prescribes massage therapy. But when Charles meets his masseur, Erik, in some ways they begin to heal each other. So how do you cross the boundaries between professional touch -- and the personal?

Unbound – Cesare, helens78

Summary: Thousands of miles apart, Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier form a soulbond. But when that bond is severed five years later, they have to spend the next ten years trying to rebuild their lives alone.

Do You Love Me – cgf_kat

Summary: Charles and Erik have been married for 25 years, thrown together by a mandatory post-apocalyptic pairing system attempting to increase and strengthen the population. They have seven children. They have never spoken of love, but change is on the horizon.

A Quiet Riot – cloudstroke (aQuired)

Summary: Erik can't stand the fact that his father has brought home a boy less than half his age.

But mostly because he's madly in love with Charles Xavier himself.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #angst #asks #earnestly answers

[officialscaramouche]

Yellow

pairing: Albedo x reader

summary: Albedo noticed a change in your behavior lately and he’s going to figure out why.

warnings: nonne

word count: 1,118

The sequel to green! Have a nice fluffy comfort fic. Also posted on ao3

EDIT: can’t believe i posted only HALF of the story. i fixed it

Your behavior had changed these past few days. He wasn’t sure if he was reading into things that weren’t there, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something had happened and you didn’t tell him about it. Was it a bad day at work? Were you not feeling well? Perhaps that creep at the bar had bothered you again? Did he say something wrong?

Whatever it was, Albedo loved that you came to him for comfort. He loved to hear you complain because you’d ask for his love afterward. He listened to you whenever you needed and he loved to do it because he loved you. That isn’t to say he got off on your misfortune, but rather he felt special knowing you trusted him at your most vulnerable. 

When the two of you would fight he never raised his voice or said things he didn’t mean. He let you speak your part, even if your part was the whole fight. He’d let you yell and say terrible things. He did so because he wanted to understand your pain, feel your pain. He never fought back because if you were upset, you usually were reasonably so. Be it that he spends more time in the lab than with you, or he missed your planned dinner date because he got caught up painting the night sky, or maybe that something he said simply came off rude. He’d always hear you out and he’d always understand. But this time you didn’t come to him and he didn’t understand why.

The sun was beginning to set and the sky was filled with warm yellows and pinks and blues and he couldn’t help but to think of you. He looked at his unfinished research sprawled out before him and made a decision. He recorded all of the current statuses of his concoctions and ripped a page out of the notebook. He walked over to Sucrose who was dusting the shelves and tapped her on the shoulder. “Here,” he said, pulling her wrist to place the note in her hand. “Please watch over my table, I’m going home.”

Sucrose pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and peeked at the notes. “Oh, okay. Something come up?” Sucrose adored you and sometimes she felt like you were too good for Albedo. She felt like she didn’t have the right to feel this way due to her lack of experience, but she sees how patient you are with him and how doting you can be sometimes, and frankly, she wished she could receive the same treatment. 

Albedo remained as deadpan as always. But Sucrose could tell that he was feeling some type of way. “I think so. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

Sucrose nudged him on towards the door. “I’ll be okay. If I need anything I’ll come to the city. Go!”

Albedo wasn’t a big fan of the Windblume festival. There were too many people out and about, the music was too loud, and too many drunkards walking around during the day. But you liked the festival. You liked meeting travelers, dancing in the streets with your friends, and often times you were found stumbling out of the bar with an overly-friendly bard that paid for all of your drinks. That’s why he found it odd that you weren’t begging him to go play booth games, eat street food, and having drunken sex every night.

Instead, when you last spoke, you weren’t reluctant to send him off back to the mountains. In fact, you seemed to be rather unbothered about his leave and that bothered him. He promised he’d be back in less than two weeks and you told him not to worry and that he shouldn’t rush back. In your letters, you sent a significantly less amount of papers, remaining vague and monotonous about your excursions and almost avoiding telling him you missed him altogether. He loved you through and through. He loved hearing how much you missed him. So when your last three letters failed to mention that, he had to come back to see what was going on. 

You greeted him like normal. You jumped into his arms and you screamed with delight. “Welcome home! You’re so early!”

Albedo wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close, nuzzling his face into your neck and breathing in your skin. “Something told me I needed to come home,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “I missed you.”

“What do you mean? Did you think I was in trouble?” There you go again, avoiding voicing your affections. He couldn’t lie to himself. It really bothered him.

“No, not in trouble. I’m just worried that you’re upset with me.”

You pull away and look at him dumbfounded. “Upset with you? What gave you that idea?”

Albedo pulls out your three letters. Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “Here, you greet me plainly, just ‘Albedo,’ but you normally say ‘my love, my dearest, light of my life,’ and then in this letter, you said you’ve been feeling down but you didn’t tell me why, and then here you didn’t tell me what you thought of my sketch like you always do, and then in this one--”

You quickly put a hand to his mouth and chuckle. “Oh, honey I didn’t know you looked so deeply into my letters.”

Albedo dropped his shoulders and pulled your hand away from his mouth. “I know you, you’re predictable. These things bother me.”

Albedo looked pathetic. You felt a little bad for showing your bitterness in your letters, but you didn’t know he was so sensitive to the slight changes. It still bothered you that such a beautiful, unique, and special flower brought him to think of another woman. You admit that it’s a little silly, but Windblume was all about flowers and lovers and if he should be reminded of anyone it should’ve been you.

“Well,” you begin, looking away from his staring eyes. “I guess...there is something.”

Albedo cups your face with his hands and watches you closely. “Did I do something? Please tell me.”

You take a deep breath and sigh. “It’s stupid.”

Albedo shakes his head and thumbs your cheeks. “Nothing that upsets you is stupid. Now spit it out.”

You avert your gaze once more and pout, fighting with yourself. “...The other day...when…” Albedo nods, pulling you close and caressing your shoulders tenderly. “When we made the sweet flower…” His ears perk up with the newfound context and observes your expressions. Your eyebrows are furrowed and your cheeks are flush with nerves...or was it embarrassment? “You said it reminded you of...Sucrose...and not me.”

Albedo stares at you blankly for a moment, recalling the day’s events. He hardly remembers any of it besides being pleasantly surprised to see you. He remembers being pulled out of his focus, paint on his face and hands, to you sweetly calling his name. You shivered in the cold, not fully prepared to face the mountain but you were expecting him to be in the camp, not on the mountain trail. He rushed over to you, leaving his easel and brushes behind to give you his coat and gloves. You handed him a book and explained the situation. Then, he was teaching you how to combine elements in a certain order to conjure the beautiful ancient sweet flower.

He remembers telling Sucrose it reminded him of her, but did he notice your uncomfortability? Did he fail to recognize the neglect? He looks at you ashamed, his eyes glassy with regret. “I’m sorry,” he finally answers. “I didn’t know that my words hurt you like this. I’m sorry, my love.”

Albedo kisses your forehead sweetly, rubbing your hands nervously. Albedo felt an uncomfortable tingling in the tips of his fingers, his body warm with sorrow. You smile weakly and assure him that you accept his apology. “But…” you whine, getting Albedo’s attention once more. “The festival is all about flowers and lovers…”

Albedo pinches your cheek. “Want to know what flower reminds me of you?” You look at him expectantly. “Your smile brings me much warmth, like laying in the sun after being cold for so long and it makes my skin tingle a little, but the warmth envelops me and holds me tight. Your laugh is sweeter than any sweet flower nectar and can turn the worst days into the best. Your predictability is comforting, in the sense that you’re right where I need you, when I need you. And you’re never hard to find, because you’re always right by my side.”

You roll your eyes impatiently. “So what flower am I?”

Albedo laughs at your impatience and kisses you gently, lovingly. “Y/N, when I’m out in the fields and I have a desperate longing for you and I’m missing you with all of my heart, I turn to look to where you would be and at my feet, with me along every journey, you are there in the cecilias.” He peppers your cheeks with kisses, holding you tighter. “I can’t make a cecilia in the lab. If I want to find one, I have to go where the sun shines the brightest, where the wind is the sweetest, and the grass is the greenest. And I will gladly cross Teyvat for you, [Y/N].”

You were right. Green wasn’t your color. The rays of the sun, the life in the flowers, and the light in the day were your colors. You were yellow.

#albedo #albedo genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact #albedo x reader #writing #yellow

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: lots of emotions, feelings, slightly cynical and bitter reader- she’s honestly just being a realist, we are chugging forward, did not check for typos, format could be fucked up bc i’m posting from my phone quite literally minutes before i clock in- PATHETIC LMAO

word count: 2.7k

this is a short chapter by my standards, but it felt long to me because of the things in it??? this is part five! all other parts can be found on my masterlist, it’s my pinned post!

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Wanda asked while she tied your corset, not even needing to ask whether it was too tight or loose. You looked up in your vanity and immediately tried to wipe your smile away, but it was too late. She knew you better than anyone, and she had yet to see a thoughtful smile on your face, ever. Pietro, who had caught you going back inside the previous night, caught on to the fact that you looked more carefree, and that you just seemed to look like you were carrying around less. 

“Nothing.” 

“Hmm,” Wanda hummed, an entertained look on her face. Something told you that she already had an idea of what was going on, even though there was no way she could have. Besides, you hardly even knew what was going on. “I’ll ask again later.” She looked you in the eyes through the mirror, a slightly mischievous smile on her face. “Maybe then you’ll tell the truth,” she said, flicking you on the side of the head, and then letting it rest.

§§

Natasha was out in the village doing whatever it was the knights did one night, and she was planning on spending the night at a bed and breakfast before coming back in the morning. As disheartened as you were about not being able to see her for your stargazing, you were partly glad for it. You missed being with the twins. 

You had dinner with them alone, sitting and laughing about old memories and scheduling times to make new ones together. You loved the way you could be with them. Your laughter was allowed to go over the volume of a giggle without them looking at you like you had grown seven heads, your silverware were allowed to take a tumble onto your plate with a clatter without a second glance, and you were allowed to use whatever language you pleased. You missed the comfort that you felt with them, the comfort that your brain and the part of you that would always be the farm girl felt with them. 

“And Pietro chased him all the way off, you should have seen how terrified he was,” Wanda recapped, and you couldn't help but grin at Pietro, who was sipping wine with his charming grin. “That boy will never lift another skirt, I can assure you of that.” 

“I’m glad,” you mused, shooting Pietro a look that made him laugh. 

“Enough about me,” he said after swallowing a sip of his wine that was much more like a gulp. “We’re not going to talk about how you’ve been walking on the clouds for weeks now?” 

You nearly dropped your fork again. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve both realized,” Pietro said, motioning with his buttered knife towards his sister, who had a soft smile on her face as she observed your reaction. “That you have been significantly happier. Even with the circumstances-”

“Pietro,” Wanda hissed, but you just snorted and shook your head. 

“It’s like you found your own little pocket of happiness. We were worried about you, but, you’re doing alright.” Ever the blatant one out of the three of you, he leaned forward with his trademark smirk, eyes full of curiosity. “What do you know that we don't?” 

You hesitated for a second, mouth opening and closing twice as you grappled for anything to say, even a lie. And then, you settled on just shrugging your shoulders with a grin, shaking your head. “Honestly, Pietro, I know nothing. I don’t know anything.”

§§

Your heart was beating faster than normal as you looked at the woman next to you, your hand subconsciously itching closer to hers as you sat on the ground, ass on the blanket that you had brought out.  “I would like to… show you something.” 

It was probably the twentieth time that you and Natasha had met with each other, and still, you were entranced by her and everything that she did.  And you were entranced while you stared at her and waited for her answer, just a little nervous as to what she would say. 

As if she would ever say no to something you said. 

“Show me anything you’d like me to see,” Natasha urged on, and you fought back a smile. You stood up, and she did the same, and then you were picking up the blanket and walking side by side with her. It was quiet the entire way there as you walked in step with her, hand brushing against her every few steps and sending tingles down your arm every time it happened. 

The feeling that you got when she touched you made you feel both alive and scared to death. You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were steadily collecting more than friendly feelings for her, and that she may have been on the same page you were on. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, the risk threatening to swallow up the reward more and more by the day. 

You had known that being with her by yourself was bad judgement, ever since the first time you did it. Hell, the look you gave her the first time you met her was far from appropriate. Every single conversation that you had with her was a risk, and both of you knew it. And now that your soon-to-be husband was approaching, it was even more scandalous. No one knew and you hoped no one would ever find out, but hiding forever wasn’t a choice. But what would you be hiding if there were no true feelings? 

You hated yourself for falling for her and her pretty words. 

“I used to come here to escape,” you started, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, voice low as you passed the tree line to get into the thick of the woods. You narrowly missed stepping in a particularly muddy spot on the ground. “This was my spot, before I got the garden of course.”

“The woods?” 

“No, Nat,” you said, slightly amused as you stepped over a fallen branch. You smiled a bit when the sound of running water hit your ears.  “The stream.” 

You knew the exact second that she saw it, because her eyes widened and her breath hitched.  “That’s not a stream, that’s a river.”

“It’s the forgotten part of the main river,” you explained. “It’s much skinnier and more shallow, and it doesn't have nearly as much fish coming through, so people forget about it.” You looked towards her and saw how intrigued she was by it, so you judged her armor free body with a slight smirk. “What? Never seen running water?”

“I lived in the capital, all they had was the ocean. And even then I was never allowed on the harbor if I wasn’t selling clams, and I didn’t sell clams much.”

You felt silence start to grow between the two of you, so you said the first thing that you thought of. “You don’t look like a clam seller.” 

He looked away from the river and to you, a slight grin on her face even as she talked again. “And you don’t look like a petal kisser, blossom, but look where we are today.”

Your heart raced in your chest. “Blossom? Is that what you’re calling me now?” 

“It’s only payback for calling me ‘cherry’,” she said, and you stifled a laugh at the retired name, glancing up at the red hair that you had gotten inspiration from.  

“You didn’t actually mind it,” you said, looking off into the distance, only looking back at her when a warm hand slotted over yours. You blinked and looked down at your hands, which she had intertwined, and then back up at her again, only to see that she was staring straight ahead in the dark at the way the moonlight hit the water. 

“How could I?” She asked softly, a subtle breeze picking up.”You were the one saying it.” She looked at you, and in the dim lighting, you could have sworn that her eyes were saying, you can call me anything in the book, and I will own it proudly. And then, the look changed to something else, something less devoting, and something more passionate. It took you a few seconds to understand what the look meant, and before you could fully register it, she was leaning forward. 

A few seconds came and went where you could feel your heartbeat all over, and you tried to look somewhere other than in her eyes. You couldn't. “Don’t look at me like that.” When all Natasha did was tilt her head to the side and give you an even more intense version of the look, you let out a small sigh. “Please.”

“Why not?” 

She knew why. She knew why probably better than you did after living in the capital. She saw what happened firsthand to people who committed crimes, and those who committed second degree adultery. If you two did what you were wanting to do with your entire heart, you would fall right into that category. “I know where this is going,” you said softly, “and this won’t end well.” 

“Why not?” She asked again, and you turned your head to the side, shaking it slightly and closing your eyes. 

“Because, I’m about to get married,” you hissed, and though you didn’t mean to sound so angry, you did. Natasha was hardly affected. 

She lifted her arms and let them fall against her clothing with a soft slap that still echoed in the night. “You’re not married right now.” 

“But I will be, Natasha,” you said, gripping her hands and squeezing  them softly, begging for her to understand you. “What’s going to happen when I get married to a man who already has a streak for murdering his wives, and he finds out that I have feelings for you? He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t, we’ll both be hung for adultery, after being put into torture camps for being… together as women.” 

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Y/N, you know that.” The fervency in her tone nearly shocked you as she took a bold step forward, nearly surrounding you in her scent and energy. “I would never let anything happen to you.” 

“You’re too important for me to condemn to death and dishonor just because I have feelings for you. It was selfish of me to meet with you in the first place, but I can’t let myself do this. It’s a bad idea,” You said, voice hushed even though no one would have followed you. You were trembling, hand shaking more than anything else as you tried to understand how fast everything was moving; forward and backwards, sewing together and ripping apart all the same. If you were any more attentive to her expression, you would have seen the grin that lit up her face as your confession. “We were just about to cross a line. We’ve crossed quite a few dotted ones, but this one? It is bold and blaring.” 

“Blossom,” Natasha started, and you just shook your head and kept going. 

“And-and what we were just about to do? That crosses the line. We cannot.” 

“Do you really think my feelings for you are going to change depending on whether or not we kiss?” She asked, her voice slightly deeper than usual, almost sounding insulted. “You’re telling me to close my heart off from you, not to not kiss you. And you know that.”  

“What if I am?” You asked, eyes starting to burn with tears. “I’m doing it for the right reasons, Nat. I’m trying to save us from a world of hurt when reality finally sinks in.”

“That isn’t today.” She took another step forward and this time, you couldn't find the strength in you to step back. “And it isn’t tomorrow, and not even within the fortnight. You and I have something, and I know that you know it’s different. It’s special. We would be so stupid to ignore it, so stupid.” 

“I know, I know,” you said, voice tapering off into a whine as you slowly felt your resolve come apart, even though you thought it was stronger. “I’m sorry.”

 “You don’t have to apologize,” Natasha said after a few minutes of pure silence, and you found yourself exhaling. “I just wish things were different.” 

  “I know,” she said, and you turned to look up at the sky, tears threatening to come down on your cheeks. The stars seemed to twinkle and wink at you, talking amongst themselves about a future you had no idea about just yet. 

“Guess they’re never gonna line up,” you murmured to yourself, and then you heard Natasha grumble something from your side, and then she was coming closer, a barreling energy force full of passion and intent, and you knew exactly what she was coming for. For less than a split second, you thought about it. And then you turned your head and met her halfway. 

You would have been surprised by the passion in it if you weren’t just as desperate for the contact. You twisted in her arms, already wrapped around you as she drew you in close, closer than you had ever been with her, and the tears that were welling up before were now escaping for a different reason. Your lips were pressing into hers, moving fluidly and with an air of fervor that she matched equally. You felt wanted, and needed, and you felt loved. You felt the tenderness of the moment with every brush of her fingers on the back of your neck and with every rub of your back over the thin material of your night dress. 

Your legs were shaking, and she noticed before you did that you were getting weak in the knees. She held you up and pulled back slightly, just enough for you to feel her lips brush against yours while she asked if you were okay, like she wasn’t willing to take herself from you just yet. And honestly, you weren’t ready for her to leave you, either. You nodded, and she leaned in again, much slower, and then you had time to think. 

Her eyes weren’t the same shade they were when the sun hit them, they were almost an eerie pale blue, but they were still just as gorgeous to you, especially now that they were slanted with desire. Her hair wasn’t perfect like she somehow always managed or it to be, and you realized that it was because you had gotten a hand to run through it despite the way that she had previously held you like a lifeline. Her lashes were long, and you swore that she was close enough that you could count them. Her cheekbones were accentuated in the lighting, making her look like something straight out of a fairy tale, like a floating fae creature that led people to safety. In that moment, you could have sworn that she was the answer to every prayer you had ever whispered, to every question you had ever asked your etiquette teachers. In that moment, and in every moment to come, she was your ending and beginning, your creation and destruction, your sunrise and sunset. She was Natasha Romanoff, and in that moment, no wedding or murderous man even held a candle to the way you felt about her.

  What a beautiful person. 

“Now you’re looking at me strangely,” Natasha said, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it as the both of you treated over the moment carefully, trying not to break it and leave it in shambles. “What are you thinking about?” 

“How I’m going to have to pretend like this never happened in a few weeks,” you said softly, and part of you hated yourself for bringing up the bad part of the future so soon after you both had just lost all ties to reality. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, stroking your hair. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, sneaking off in the night and coming back in the morning before anyone realizes. Nothing really has to change, I just want you to know that I… that we can be whatever you want us to be.” 

“As long as we’re in the confines of the garden walls.” 

“And now the woods,” Natasha said, and you couldn’t help but laugh in her arms. 

“And now the woods."

****

this is short, but i couldn’t see anything being tacked on to this. we’re at an important part, and from here it’s gonna be fun!! thank y’all for reading; if you liked it please drop a like and a reblog bc it makes my day!! comments also make me ascend y’all

tags!! : tags! : @teenwonder @saamwilscn @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife​ @shycucumbersandwich @dailyavengering @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @chickenhavewisdom

so sorry if i forgot anyone!!!!!

#natasha romanov x reader #natasha x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #lgbt marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #my fics #natasha x reader #knight!natasha #knight au #lesbian!natasha #natasha romanoff x female reader

[bubbleteaimagines]

Meant to Be

Chris Evans Oneshot

Summary: In which you and Chris are meant to be, in one life or the other

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of an age gap, angst, mentions of death, this is so sad but listen to this song while reading to have your heart ripped out

you glared at the back of chris’ head, or rather the back of his plane seat.

you were mad, and you were mad because you didn’t even have the right to be mad.

he hadn’t done anything wrong, technically. if you subtracted the fact that he had broken up with you months ago and had started dating a new woman shorty after then yes, chris evans had been perfectly innocent.

but no, instead it had been you that messed up. it had been you that couldn’t keep her fat mouth shut, word vomiting all over chris just before the plane ride.

you still cringed as you remember the moment.

you were standing outside of the airport, all cast members of the avengers headed to tokyo for press and interviews.

chris had been standing alone and for some reason, you had decided to take your final shot. you walked straight up to him, puffed out your chest, and blurred out how you were still in love with him like an idiot.

honestly, if you could have picked a time for an asteroid to suddenly destroy the earth then that would have been it.

there were no words to explain the awkwardness of your words, and how chris’ face looked as he gently explained to you that he was with someone now.

someone that wasn’t you. someone that wasn’t twenty years younger than him, someone more mature and most importantly, someone that wanted all the things he wanted.

you had to admit, it stung.

it stung bad that the only reason he broke up with you was because of your age.

“we’re too different,” he had said, “you’re only twenty and i’m almost forty. we just don’t want the same things anymore.”

what he meant to say was that he just didn’t want you anymore. and it killed you, it tore you apart everyday that you had lost the love of your life over a damn number.

what was a couple years when you had a romance like yours and chris’? you were so happy together. you had so much fun. there was never a dull moment and you loved each other so passionately, so deeply, that everybody you met would comment on it.

or, at least that’s what you thought.

but months later you were still left with a bitter taste in your mouth when you remembered that wasn’t your reality anymore.

he wasn’t yours anymore.

“you okay kid?” rdj looked at you worriedly as you bit the inside of your cheeks to keep from crying.

“no,” you whispered lowly so that chris or anyone else couldn’t hear you. “i did a stupid thing today. before we got on the plane, i...”

“ah. that,” robert winced as he reminisced the moment, and the awkward silence that followed.

“yes, that,” you sniffled, still staring at chris’ head. “i-i can’t believe i did that. i’m so stupid. chris was right — how would he ever want me back when i keep acting like a child?”

“hey,” rdj frowned and shook his head. “you’re not stupid. you were emotional. it happens to the best of us.”

“does it really?” you wonder, not believing it. “because right now, it seems like i’m the only one suffering.”

it was true — chris seemed absolutely fine. you never saw him crying in the tabloids after the breakup. you never saw him posting sad quotes on social media or shutting down completely.

in fact, it was the opposite. he seemed happier without your relationship. happier without you.

a sob bubbled up in your throat. you quickly ran for the bathroom.

chris and rdj both frowned at your disappearing figure, but chris also felt a pang of sadness.

he couldn’t help it, — how could he? you were once upon a time the absolute light of his life. for two years, you were his anchor. his rock. his pride and joy, the reason he wanted to come home every night.

chris had loved you with everything in his being. more than any woman he had ever before. you were the love of his life, but you were also someone he had let go.

to this day, he still didn’t know why he did it.

he didn’t know why he left you in hysterics that faithful day, begging him for an explanation. begging him not leave.

it still hurt when he thought about it. it still haunted his dreams, still caused him to twist his face in pain.

he hated hurting you. he always did.

but in a way, letting you go was to help you more than hurt you.

he knew that you were significantly younger than him. but still, he had tried to fool himself into thinking you could both work when it was clear you wanted different things.

chris wanted a family. he was ready to settle down, ready for you to get married and have children.

but you weren’t.

like any twenty year old, you wanted to party and see the world and maybe adopt a dog. but kids? marriage? you had barely experienced anything. you wanted more time, you had begged him to give you more time, but time wasn’t something chris had.

he wasn’t getting any younger.

but you were. you still had a young and fighting spirit and chris didn’t want to dampen it by forcing you into a life you weren’t ready for.

so he ended it.

he met another woman. they talked, they wanted the same things.

chris was happy. or at least, he tried to tell himself that. he tried to tell himself that he loved his girlfriend, loved that she wanted everything he wanted. he loved that he could finally have the life he’d always wanted.

only...it wasn’t.

because you weren’t in it.

-

the plane rocked vicicously as you stumbled back to your seat, eyes red.

thankfully, nobody decided to comment on it but you could see the frown on scarlet’s face and the concern on jermey’s. you could feel anthony wanting to say something, but he was right by chris and he didn’t wanna risk any drama.

not now. you all were supposed to be happy — you were promoting the biggest movie of your lives!

but excitement hardly reached you at all. hardly touched you at all, sadness blocking away any positive emotions.

“you okay?” robert asked again as you sat back down.

you stared at the floor for a moment before letting out a small nod. “i will be,” you said, not bothering to hide your voice this time.

chris frowned at this. he gripped the seat a little tight as the plane shook again.

“why don’t you relax?” rdj suggested, “have some water. try to get some sleep. we’ll be in tokyo soon.”

“where are we now?” you asked, trying to distract your mind.

“i think maybe...somewhere over indonesia? i dunno, the pilot didn’t specify. she just said—”

“ah!”

robert was cut off by the plane shaking again, but this time, it was more deadly.

you jolted to the left, a scream escaping your lips as you went flying out of your seat.

it had seemed you had forgotten to put your seat belt back on once you got back to your seat, and you tumbled into the aisle as the plane tilted in a deadly position.

“y/n!” oxygen masks were quickly administered to everybody on the plane. anthony had to fight chris to put on his, stopping him from taking off his seat belt and helping you.

“chris, no! you need this!”

“like hell! y/n needs me!” chris panicked as he saw your frame go flying.

scarlet screamed as the plane began to twist, the terrified voice of pilot administering the worst news possible.

“the engines have failed! the plane can no longer support itself! we’re going down!”

robert tried his best to reach out for you; to grab you and pull you to safety.

but it was as no use. the plane hit something hard and in a split second your body disappeared as the plane was literally torn apart.

the last thing he remembered was chris screaming for you before it all went black.

-

chris didn’t know how long it was before he finally woke again.

all he knew was that when he did, everything hurt like hell.

he groaned as the aches began to spread in his body, slowly peeling his eyes open to face the bright sunlight.

“h-hello?” his voice was horse. weak. “i-is anybody there?”

he cried out as he tried to move and felt pain emitting from his side. but as painful as it was, he knew he had to get up.

“chris?!”

several frantic voices called out his name, gasps echoing throughout the air. he moaned as someone dropped down beside him, the embrace that they pulled him into causing pain to shoot all over his body.

“oh my god, he’s alive!”

the voice belonged to scarlet. he could vaguely make out her blonde hair, and her figure as she stood over him.

“chris?”

anthony sooned joined her. “is that you buddy? can you hear us?”

“loud and clear,” chris moaned out. “w-what happened? why does everything...hurt?”

the only thing he remembered was seeing you run to the bathroom. and then, it all just went blank as if someone had erased his memories.

anthony’s face was as serious as he had ever seen it. but even more than that, it was grim. full of worry and hurt.

scarlet was the same. she had tears in her eyes and dirt on her expensive clothes that didn’t belong there. chris furrowed his eyebrows.

“we...” anthony swallowed thickly. “we were in a...crash. the engines — they stopped working. we barely had time to prepare before the plane...”

“oh my god,” chris was suddenly alert, panic filling very inch of him as he sat up.

he remembered now. he remembered seeing your figure flying all over the plane because you didn’t have a seat belt on. he remembered reaching for you, yelling your name and screaming for you.

he remembered begging any god that would listen to spare you before he blacked out.

“y/n!”

his eyes widened in horror. where were you?! he searched the premise quickly.

you weren’t anywhere sight. along with robert, jeremy, and hemsworth you were missing.

chris felt a feeling of absolute dread wash over him.

“no,” he whispered, quickly standing up. he ignored every pain in his body. he ignored scarlet and anthony’s warnings to take it easy.

he didn’t care. he didn’t care about himself anymore. his focus is was on you, and where the hell you were at the moment.

“y/n!” he yelled again, shaking his head frantically. “where is she? WHERE IS SHE?!”

both scarlet and anthony flinched at his tone. never, and they meant never, had chris yelled at them before.

“she’s alive,” scarlet answered immediately, trying to calm a frantic chris. “she’s alive, but...”

“it’s not looking good, pal,” anthony’s voice cracked, causing chris’ stomach to sink. “we found her but...she wasn’t wearing a seat belt. and when the plane crashed...she got stuck under some rubble.”

“oh god,” chris felt he was gonna be sick. “can i see her? where are the others? are they helping her? take me to her!”

“robert, jeremy and chris are all alive,” scarlet said. “they’re trying their best...”

scarlet’s voice fell on deaf ears as chris decided to just go see for himself. he was tired of them dancing around it. he wanted to see you. he wanted to know that you were okay, that you were alive.

“y/n!”

scarlet and anthony yelled after him but he paid them no mind, running through the rubble to find you.

the entire plane that they rented for you guys was in pieces. the wings had been ripped off, the cockpit was miles away, and the back of the plane, where you were sitting, was scattered everywhere.

“y/n!” chris tried again, his voice nearly going hoarse from yelling so loud.

but then this time, he did get a response.

he whipped around as someone called out his name, but disappointment filled his veins as he saw that it was only jermey.

“chris, buddy...” rdj and chris hemsworth ran up to him, holding him back.

“chris, you don’t need to see this,” hemsworth told him grimly.

so that meant you were nearby. but where?

scarlet said you had been trapped under some rubble. but what chris expected time was maybe a seat, or a small piece of metal.

a strangled cry left his throat as he saw that you were trapped under one of the plane wings.

“y-y/n,” nobody could stop him as he fell to his knees by your head, the only visible part of your body.

you didn’t even know what to say as the love of your life came into view.

you wanted to say everything — so much — but your body was on fire.

if chris thought he had it bad, then you were ten times worse.

not only were your legs pinned, but also your ribs and your left arm. the only thing that hadn’t been trapped was your right arm, which was completely numb, and your head.

you were still conscious, but not by much.

you could feel it.

the sensation everyone always talked about. the tingling in your brain. the white light behind your eyes.

you were close.

“c-chris,” so help you god, you were not gonna leave this earth without speaking to him one last time. you had said your goodbyes to everybody else. as soon as they realized that they couldn’t get the metal off of you — that they weren’t strong enough, and that help wasn’t coming — you had decided to make peace with your remaining breath.

but not with chris. with chris, you didn’t want peace. you wanted love and the happiness of seeing his eyes one last time.

“y/n...” the strangled sob that left his lips wasn’t human. it was gutural, animalistic. chris was crying out for you, he was in pain. “no!”

“i don’t...have much time,” you sputtered out pathetically, blood spilling out of your mouth. “i-i’m dying.”

the revelation was clear to see, but chris still refused to accept it.

“no!” he repeated the word once again. “no, you’re not dying! y/n, you can’t die!”

“c-chris please,” black spots began to cloud your vision. but chris didn’t give up.

“what are you all just standing there for?!” he glared angrily at his friends. “help me! help me get this shit off of her!”

everyone stared at chris with a gutted look in their eyes. they turned away as he tried to lift the wing, as he tried to accomplish what they already failed at hours ago.

“mate, we tried...” hemsworth sniffed. “it’s not coming up.”

“no!” chris turned to him with such fury, such denial that it actually made hemsworth stumble back. “no, you don’t get to decide that! you don’t get to just stand there while she’s dying!”

“we didn’t!” rdj quickly stepped in. “we tried to help.”

“well then try again!” chris snapped again, pushing against the metal. scarlet sobbed as it stayed in the same place.

“t-they know it w-won’t help,” your sad voice whispered out, causing chris to pause. “t-they know i-i’m a goner anyways.”

“don’t say that,” chris sobbed as he dropped to your side again, hands reaching out to stoke your numb cheek. “don’t say that you’re dying. you’re gonna be fine...you’re gonna be f-fine.”

you could tell that even he didn’t believe it. the damage was too extensive. there was no way you were getting out of there alive.

“t-tell my family that i l-love them,” you mumbled, coughing up blood. “and sebastian a-and tom and—”

“don’t,” chris cut you off. “don’t do this.”

he wore the expression of a man being burned alive. he was in pure agony, pain clawing at every inch of him. consuming him faster than it was taking you.

“r-remember that,” you ignored him, the ringing in your ears getting louder. “remember that i love...you.”

there it was.

chris finally broke upon hearing these words. so painful for you to spit out, but yet they were important enough to waste your last breaths on. he was important enough.

“i love you too,” chris broke down, sobs racking his body as he held your hand. “i love you, so much. more than you’ll ever know. i love you for everything that you are. you’re the love of my life. i can’t live w-without you baby.”

“y-you don’t have to...s-say it back...” you gave him a pained smile. “just because i-i’m dying...i know you love h-her now. s-she’s your f-future. i-i’m just sorry we never h-had a chance,” your eyes began to flutter.

“no, no, no, no!” chris whimpered. “it was never her, baby. i don’t love her. it was always you. you’re my future. p-please y/n, you’re the mother of my kids. you’re my wife. it was always gonna be you, no matter what,” he shook his head. “always and forever, we’re meant to be.”

“m-meant to be,” you stuttered out, a ghost of a smile on your face. if you had to die again, you’d happily go out with those words being the last thing you ever heard.

chris bawled as he watched the light finally leave your eyes and your body slump. you almost looked peaceful, as if you were smiling in your sleep, but he knew better.

the love of his life was gone.

“chris? chris? look at me!” robert grabbed chris by the shoulders as he started hyperventilating, pounding at the soil with his fists. “look at me, buddy!”

“she’s gone,” chris cried as robert held him in his arms, “s-she,”

his eyes began to flutter close as he struggled to get the words out. suddenly, it became harder to breathe. black spots clouded his visions and chris’ body began shutting down with every breath, unable to cope with your death.

“what’s happening?!” anthony yelled as chris painfully slumped over, his body going limp in robert’s arms.

shakily, the older man held two fingers to his neck and prayed that he wasn’t gone, too. he prayed that the universe didn’t take chris and you, all in one day.

but they knew.

they knew the minute he pulled his hand back, dropping his head lowly in defeat. they knew before he even opened his mouth. they knew as he pulled away, resting chris’ body gently next to yours.

“he’s gone.”

#chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans angst

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There:  4.1

Author’s Note:  So I’m thinking of updating every other day or every two days? I tend to write compulsively and neglect my schoolwork lol.  Juggling this with work and school will be difficult if I post every day (I can’t help it though, I love updating every day!) So yeah.  Also if anyone has chapter filler ideas or prompts they want me to write out, message me or comment below! Back to the story!

..........................................

Xiao had just cleared a band of hilichurls when he came across the small stuffed bunny lying on the ground.  It was tattered and worn, but still held its original color.  He picked it up and dusted it off, glancing in the direction of the crying girl at the top of the hill. She had been crying over her stolen toy so Xiao took it upon himself to return it to her.  

He may or may not have destroyed a portion of the rice crop in doing so...but no matter! The girl was happy now.

"Thank you Mr. Adeptus!"  She gave him a toothy grin and hugged her bunny close.  "Thank you so much!"

"It was no trouble."  Xiao didn't return her smile and began to walk across the bridge that oversaw most of the rice crop.  What was it with mortal children and material possessions? Was it like him with his yaksha mask and spear?

"Mr. Adeptus sir, would you like something to eat?"

"Mortal food is not to my liking."  He continued to walk away despite hearing her disappointed 'oh.'  His eyes landed at the top of another hill, where the hall of Quince Village sat.  I should check on her Granny while I'm here.

"Welcome to my humble home!  How may I--" Granny's eyes widened significantly when she caught sight of Xiao.  "Oh my, it's been some time.  Is she alright? Has something happened?"

"Mm."  Xiao flicked his gaze around the building before he closed the distance.  "She's fine.  The Fatui will pose a significant problem.  They may come to you first."

"Oh," Granny rolled her eyes.  "Don't worry about me then, dear.  Just make sure she's safe.  I can handle the Fatui's interrogations just fine."

"There's no telling what tactics they may use or what they're after.  Make no mention of my interactions with you, nor how you found her.  It is for your own safety."

"Consider it done!  Now, would you like a cup of tea?"

...........................

"Wait, what?" You and the rest of the adventure team had returned to Quince Village on your request.  

Well...when you say 'the rest of the adventure team,' it was just you and Aether.  Diluc and Bennett had returned to Mondstat on your way here from Liyue Harbor.  After your little confrontation with Childe, he claimed there was unfinished business with the Fatui in the harbor and had to remain there.  You didn't believe it one bit.

"Yeah! Do you think he doesn't like me?" Lil Luo's shoulders drooped in sadness.  She held her tattered bunny tight against her chest.

"'An adeptus that doesn't smile," Aether met your eyes.  "That sounds like Xiao."

"W-well, when was he here?  When did this happen?"  You had to refrain from shaking her little shoulders for answers.

"U-um, maybe a week ago?  I saw him a couple more times after that, but he never smiled back at me..."

"Xiao," you whispered to yourself and scanned the fields for any sign of him.  "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Four days ago, I think."

"You want to look for him, don't you?"  Aether raised a smug brow.

"Can we?"  You pleaded.

"We're here on your request.  Might as well stay a bit, right?"

"Thank you so much!"

"You can just repay us with food," Paimon popped up and was practically drooling at her own imagination.  Aether nodded in agreement.

The three of you--correction, two of you-- climbed the hill to the village center while Paimon floated carefree alongside Aether.  The second you reached the top, you were greeted with a disturbing sight.

Fatui agents.

"W-what the hell?"  You instinctually grabbed the hilt of your sword, as did Aether.  "What are Fatui doing in Quince Village?"

"Paimon has no idea.  Let's get them!"

"Doesn't your Granny live here?" Aether sent you a worried look.

"Yes, she does."  You marched right up to the nearest agent and puffed out your chest.  "Excuse me, what's going on here? Why are you morons moving my Granny's stuff out of the house?"

"Who're you callin' morons?" The agent scoffed through his mask.  "Shouldn't you be in school or somethin'?  Scram.  Get out of here.  Damn kids."

"This is MY house," your blade pressed against his neck in a flash.  "Get off of my property."  Aether followed your lead and drew his weapon too.

"I'm afraid it isn't your home anymore," an all-too familiar deep voice flowed through the air. Zhongli shot the agent a look that caused him to leave the situation to the consultant.  "I sincerely apologize for not being in touch recently.  The funeral parlor has been quite backed-up lately thanks to Hu Tao's mismanagement."

"What are you doing here?" Paimon asked the question that was on all your minds.  "The funeral parlor is so far south of here."

"The Wangsheng Funeral Parlor serves all of Liyue," answered Zhongli.  His piercing eyes turned their attention to you and Aether.  "As you know, the parlor is partnered with the Fatui."

"And? That doesn't explain why you're here," you snarled.  Don't get anything mixed up; you were happy to see him.  But the Fatui at your house? Not as much.  

Zhongli released a short sigh and closed his eyes.  "We received a call from one of your neighbors.  It appears your grandmother died last night of a heart attack."

Something hard panged within your chest and it was suddenly difficult to breath.  "That's not...possible."

"Hey," Aether wrapped an arm around your shoulders as the world seemed to sway beneath your feet.  He slowly led you to the ground.

"That's horrible," Paimon muttered.  "Was it...painful?"

"Paimon!" Aether hushed.

"No.  It was rather quick.  She had not suffered long."  Zhongli knelt so that he was eye level with you.  "I had sent someone to meet up with you in Dihua Marsh, but it appears as though the messenger never met you.  My apologies for the oversight, dear friend."

"Then," you gulped, "why are the Fatui here?"

"Your grandmother had signed the house over to them a day or so before she passed."

"What? Why would she do that? She loves this house!"  Your tears dried before they had the chance to fall.  Your fists tightened as you struggled to determine who the enemy was.  Was it Zhongli?  He was technically Fatui if he worked with them.  Xiao could have been wrong about him.  "Who's in charge here?"

Zhongli almost appeared hesitant to answer.  Xiao managed to reach the grandmother in time, but it appears she still had to make some sort of arrangement to guarantee everyone's safety.  To think that Childe had somehow known to come here--

"Tch."  You stood up and brushed past Aether, heading directly toward the Fatui agent that had the audacity to tell a twenty year old to go back to school.  "Hey, dumbass!"  You gripped the collar of his coat and yanked him close.  "Tell me who's in charge here."

"Heh, want to fight your way out of a contract, eh?  Don't you worship the God of Contracts?  You're not gettin' your stupid house back."

"Tell me who sent you."

"A certain Harbinger," the agent taunted.

"Give me the name!"  You back-handed the masked agent hard enough to hurt him and split your knuckles wide open.  The blood splattered onto the wooden floor and soaked into his jacket.

"Hey, wait!"  Aether grabbed your shoulder.  Zhongli watched him do so.

"You're in luck, sweetheart.  You'd give quite the show badmouthing Childe."

"Wha--"  You stumbled backwards and knocked into Aether.  The two of you shared a look of shock, concern, and betrayal.  "This is all under Childe's jurisdiction?"

"Uh-huh," the agent lifted his mask slightly and wiped at his busted lip.  "He should be on his way back to Liyue Harbor by now, if you wanna try and take it up with him.  But I'm tellin' you he ain't gonna budge."

..........................

You stood alone in the rain.  Zhongli had arranged for a proper funeral and had refused to charge you for the provided services.  He had even managed to retrieve one of Granny's necklaces from the Fatui's grasp, and gave it to you.  He and Aether were alongside you, what...twenty minutes ago?  They decided to leave you alone in front of the new gravestone to grieve.  The funeral was simple, per your request to hold true to Granny's wishes.  The entire village had grieved with you.

"I'm sorry I came too late for a visit, Granny." The words came out robotic and emotionless.  The look on your face was blank.  You placed a small bouquet of glaze lilies on top of the stone; Zhongli had you sing to them before picking them.  "Things got busy, and Childe...well, I'm sure you met him, didn't you?"  You let out a dry bitter laugh that blended with the sound of raindrops.  "I love you.  Thank you for taking care of me even if I was a brat sometimes."

Could it be that you had been the cause of her death just like you had caused your parents'?  Just how much blood was on your hands?

You felt nothing yet everything at the same time.  Your eyes were dry.  After the initial shock, you hadn't shed a single tear.  Thus was your usual reaction to death; you were usually at peace with the idea of it.  If it was their time, it was their time.  But you were not convinced her death was caused by her heart.  

Childe.  Could he have resorted to such extremes to get the house? Or was it for something more?  Perhaps he was the true danger Xiao had warned you about.

Your chest ached, desperate to release the pent up storm of emotions whirling through you.  The wind picked up for a moment.  "Xiao?"  Your hoarse greeting was met with a grim-looking yaksha.  It was possible you were just imagining him in a time of need.  You hadn't seen him in a month now.

Xiao blinked and gave you a once-over as he stood beside you.  He had heard your sorrow like it was blaring in his ears.  His eyes fell to the gravestone, and his expression saddened further.  "She's dead." His question of disbelief sounded more like a tactless statement of fact.

"Yeah," you half-winced, half-scoffed at his remark.  "She's dead."  You knew all too well that he didn't mean any harm.  "Why're you standing in the rain?"

"I don't concern myself with the weather, but you should be inside.  Mortals are fragile."

"I don't particularly care at the moment." Your words cut through the rain like a blade of ice.  

She has lost all of her family now, Xiao realized.  He watched you with admiration at how strong you were acting even though it was clear you were trying not to break.

"I came back to visit and check in on her," you opened up after a few minutes of silence.  His glance towards you prompted you to continue.  "And then a little girl told me an adeptus had saved her toy bunny.  That was you, wasn't it?"

"Mm."

"Did you...see her?  My Granny?"

"I have spoken with her several times over the course of several years.  I did not think it would be the last time.  What happened?"

"Heart attack."  You swallowed.  "When I reached the house, the Fatui were clearing it out."  You caught the color draining from Xiao's face.  "What? Do you know something?"

"So my suspicions were correct," Xiao muttered distastefully.  He looked around the graveyard.  "You're sure they all left?"

"Yes.  Zhongli said that before she died she had signed a contract to hand the house over.  But she wouldn't do that so easily."

Satisfied with his scan of their surroundings, Xiao folded his arms across his chest.  "I told you I would inform you of our predicament when the time is right.  The time is now."

"After my Granny just died?"  Your undirected anger manifested at his words.  

"The Fatui are after the two of us."

"Why?"

"Our guess is they wish to create adepti soldiers or yakshas using the technique I used on you when you were a child."  Your eyes raised at 'our.'  Xiao's gaze flicked to you briefly.  "Zhongli."

"Wait, why would Zhongli be involved with this in the first place?"

"He is the former Lord of Geo, Rex Lapis--"

"Wait wait wait, he's what?!  But that's not possible, Rex Lapis is--"

"--Only a select few know his identity.  Do not go around telling."  You nodded, head spinning from all this new information.  "Childe was tasked with identifying and obtaining us.  If anyone gets their hands on an adeptus or your blood, it could spell the downfall of humankind."

"What exactly is my blood?  Why would they want me?"

"My blood runs through your veins."

"U-um...?"  You shifted uncomfortably at the thought.

"That is how I saved you," Xiao uncrossed his arms and faced you fully.  "It allows you to withstand more adeptal energy than the ordinary human, which is why I can be so close to you.  It also increases your body's healing capabilities.  It is the only reason you survived that day.  It is also the only reason you survived your lawachurl wound."

"...Why didn't you tell me this before?" You mumbled beneath your breath.  The rain hitting the earth nearly overtook the sound of your voice.  "We...We could have saved her."  Your anger leaked through your voice.  It wanted something to blame, something to lash out at.  You caught yourself before you could say or think something you didn't mean.  It was a heart attack.  Xiao is not to blame for this.  Childe is the enemy.

"Childe was listening in on our conversations.  I could not disclose this information to you so we would have the advantage to work in the dark against the him."  He stared down at the gravestone.  "I am...sorry.  I did not recognize the stress it would put her through. She was optimistic and happy when I last saw her."

You shook your head.  "I doubt it caused the heart attack.  I just want to know what they did to make her sell the house," your hands curled into fists.  "Childe will pay for this."

The two of you silently stood in the rain for some time before Xiao held his hand out to you.  "You will get sick if you stay out here longer.  Let us meet with the rest of the team."  You placed your injured hand in his, having forgot that it was aching the entire time.  Xiao's eyes narrowed at this, but he did not question you.  With your blood, it would heal by tomorrow morning.

#genshin impact #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #xiao fanfiction #xiao one shot #genshin one shot #genshin fanfiction

[itsclydebitches]

Hey there! Admittedly I'm a little bit nervous since this is my first ask, but I'll try to not be too rambly.

So, recently the main subreddit, r/RWBY, made a ban on active users of the r/RWBYcritics subreddit. As a result there's been discussion around bad-faith criticism in the latter subreddit. What are your takes on bad-faith criticism?

For me personally, I think a bunch of people are misusing the term "bad-faith" and using it as a way to shut down criticism, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it.

Hey there, everyone! We woke up to some drama this morning, huh? And hello to you too, Tortoise! I'm so glad you decided to send in an ask, even if it's following some pretty tumultuous events...

Right, I'd like to start with a story. The story of how I personally don't spend time on Reddit, but I have plenty of friends who will occasionally cross-post something for me to see. Yesterday (or the day before? Idk time is meaningless) a friend told me about a post — which, significantly, I'm now having trouble finding — that covers RWBY's inconsistent writing and the fandom's tendency to try and explain away those missteps. They'd thought I'd be interested because I'd just had a conversation here on tumblr where I made that exact point to someone who, also significantly, vehemently disagreed with me, but in a very civil fashion. Given everything going on, I feel like this side point needs emphasis: we debated, we did so in a sometimes heated, but nevertheless respectful manner, it was clear neither of us was going to sway the other, and the conversation ended. The two "sides" of the community interacted without Armageddon coming about.

But back to the purpose of this tale. I went to take a look at this point and found that it no longer exists. There's just some vague message about it not obeying the subreddit's rules. "What happened?" I asked. "Why'd they take the post down?" "People were getting too heated in the comments," my friend replies. So, given that the comments were still visible, I proceeded to read through them, expecting personal attacks, slurs, harassment, etc. Any number of things that would justify deleting the post itself to put an end to such behavior. Instead, I found a thread of people having a conversation. Was the conversation heated at times? Sure. Did one or two individual posters edge into the realm of petulant, "No. You're wrong and stupid" responses? Yes. Was any of this remotely what I was expecting given the post's removal? NOPE.

"This isn't allowed?" I said. "Well then what is? People were being civil! Or at least as civil as hundreds of strangers ever get when discussing a series they're passionate about online."

Then, this morning, I hear that the entire critic subreddit has been banned.

So to answer your question, Tortoise, I don't actually think that "good faith" criticism exists. Meaning, it's not just that fans are misusing the term "bad faith criticism," but rather that there is no unified, agreed up method of writing criticism that will meet their standards. It's not possible and we know it's not possible because fans have been trying to meet those elusive standards for years:

A fan posts nothing but praise for RWBY until changes make them criticize the show as it is now. Their entire body of work is dismissed as the product of a "hater," despite the overwhelming gap between positive and negative reviews.

A fan posts a review that's a pretty balanced mix between praise and criticism. They're dismissed because it's still too much criticism.

A fan posts a review that's 99% praise with 1% criticism. That's still too much, with fans focusing on the single problem they had with the work and using it as an excuse to dismiss the entire review out of hand.

(As an aside, the argument that critics are "obsessed" with only saying negative things and that the only problem here is that they're "too" negative ignores the argument that... RWBY has a lot of flaws nowadays. Few are willing to acknowledge the possibility that it's not fans insisting on making things up to be mad about/ignoring the good parts of the show, it's the that show is, as of now, legitimately more of a mess than it is a praise-worthy product. If I'd been writing recaps in the Volumes 1-4 days, my work would have been skewed far more towards the positive. The critics' stance is that RWBY has gotten worse, which yes, results a higher volume of critical posts. To say nothing of how criticism takes far longer to explain, likewise resulting in posts focused primarily on that side of the divide. I really enjoyed the image of a crying Jaune reflected in his sword. I did not enjoy that moment's context. Saying that you liked an animation choice is a one sentence thing. Explaining the complexities of Jaune securing emotional moments, the problems with Penny's second death, the hurt many fans experienced watching an assisted suicide, etc. takes a whooole lot longer. Hence, you get massive, multiple posts about these nuanced topics and fewer, smaller posts about the details that are working well.)

A fan talks about a topic that has been metaphorically banned by the fandom as a whole. They have something good to say about Ironwood. They dislike something about Blake/Yang. They enjoyed Adam as a character. They have a problem with Ruby's leadership, etc. There's a whole list of topics nowadays that will result in an automatic dismissal, regardless of the point the fan is trying to make or how well they make it.

A fan talks about the minority representation of RWBY — its black characters, its queer characters, its disabled characters, etc. — and as a result has something to say about the biases and missteps of those writing these characters. This is considered an attack on the writers and, therefore, automatically bad.

A fan talks about how they enjoyed RWBY as it was years ago and is having trouble reconciling the dark, complicated story with the simple, hopeful one we started out with. This is seen as an attack on Monty's vision and an unwillingness to accept that "everything is planned."

A fan does as asked and ensures that their post is meeting all the requirements of "real" criticism. They have an argument to make. They have a point. They provide evidence. They recommend a solution. They keep their tone respectful. They don't attack the creators. They provide disclaimers in every single paragraph about how they do not hate RWBY. It doesn't matter. They're considered too negative.

I have, quite literally, seen every one of the above examples on multiple occasions. I have had many of the above accusations leveled at my own work. When fans say that they're fine with criticism provided it's not "bad faith" criticism, they don't actually have a specific post-type in mind; a checklist of behaviors another fan can emulate and, provided they do that, no hate will come their way. Or, if an individual fan does actually go, "Yeah. That criticism I'm fine with" that response is in no way universal. One person's "They make a good, civil point" is another person's, "Omg stop bashing the show!" Because "bashing" has come to mean everything from curse-laden insults towards everything RWBY has ever done, to posts that just happen to say something other fans don't agree with.

It's a rigged game. There is no way to post criticism about RWBY in an agreed-upon, appropriate manner. This recent ban is proof of that. I think it's incredibly telling that almost immediately after I was going, "Wow. A pretty calm debate about the flaws of RWBY in the main sub. That's great to see," all posters from the criticism subreddit were banned. The main sub literally just had the sort of criticism that they claim to accept — people respectfully posting analysis-based arguments resulting in calm debate — and yet they implemented the ban anyway. I'm not going to pretend that I've never gotten too heated on my own posts, never made snarky comments when I'm frustrated, never used exaggerated reaction GIFs that can come across as insulting... but I'd say on the whole my RWBY work is precisely the sort of "good faith" criticism that other fans are supposedly looking for. I never make an argument I don't think I can back up with evidence. I try to allow for the nuance and differing opinions of complicated topics. I try — even if I don't always succeed — to write in a clear, respectful manner. Yet none of that work has stopped people from telling me I'm a "bitter... raging asshole," a "deranged, delusional psychopath," telling me to set myself on fire, threatening to smash my head in, or just messages to straight up kill myself. If someone like me who legitimately works hard to create fair, defendable criticism and who only ever posts on a personal blog that people can easily block, who never engages in debate until someone else starts it first, never seeks out other fans I disagree with to harass them about what they like... if someone like me is still a "bad faith" critic who "deserves" that kind of hate mail... then what kind of criticism do people want?

Nothing. That's the answer. No criticism whatsoever, of any kind, no matter if it's delivered respectfully, is making a good point, whatever. That's why "RWDE" was created. That's why the critic subreddit was created. The community at large has demanded a complete separation between Praise and Anything That's Not 100% Praise, which has now resulted in this ban. Any other explanations we see are excuses, which becomes glaringly obvious when you look at the mods' supposed reasons for implementing the ban:

"Constant arguments with r/RWBY users" - As opposed to the arguments surrounding things like shipping that never, ever happen?

"Vote manipulation and comment brigades" - The subreddit with 3,000 participants, with around 200 on at a time, is manipulating the votes of a subreddit with 155,000 participants, with over 1,000 on at a time? Those numbers just do not check out. If a positive post is downvoted, or a critical post upvoted, maybe that's because large swaths of the community actually agree/disagree with that assessment, not because the incredibly smaller group is somehow manipulating things.

"Attacking and harassing those they disagree with" — Again, as opposed to those non-critics that never, ever harass people? This is an individual problem, not a community problem. Both critics and non-critics have their sub-groups acting in ways they shouldn't. If anything, the main sub will have more individuals harassing other fans, simply by virtue of being so much larger. As the above examples attest, it's not other critics who have told me to light myself on fire and, just to be clear, the asks I've responded to are a miniscule number compared to the amount I've received. I delete the lion's share for my own sanity and to save my followers from reading the really graphic threats.

"Months-long NSFL spam brigades" — I am, admittedly, not sure what this is referring to. Spamming of NSFW content? If so, that's also an individual problem.

"Homophobic, transphobic, and racist attacks towards our users" — See the above points. Again. If someone is being homophobic, transphobic, or racist, then yes please, ban them. Don't ban an entire community for the actions of a few. It's like walking into a store and banning a customer for causing a scene... but then also banning everyone else who happened to be shopping at the same time. It's guilt by association.

The silver lining to all this? The community as a whole isn't pleased. At least according to the main subreddit comments and a few individual voices like MurderofBirds. Despite the increase (from my perspective anyway) of critical voices post-Volume 8, criticism of RWBY is still very much seen as taboo. As this ban showcases. But it's really reassuring to see so many fans, critics and non-critics alike, going, "This was a mistake." A community is meant to include all aspects of engagement: praise, criticism, and the gray area between. If anything, fans like the mods of the main subreddit should be creating a separate subreddit that is specifically for praise. In the same way that there should have been a tag for RWBY praise, rather than trying to eliminate any and all criticism from the main "RWBY" tag. The majority of fans, even those who claim to hate critics and all they (presumably) stand for, recognize that a blanket ban of all criticism is not the way to go, especially when "criticism" has come to have such a staggeringly broad definition. If you want your RWBY experience to be nothing but sunshine and roses (ha), then cultivate your own internet experience to reflect that. Create your own pockets with rules about how this is the space for praise and if you're not up for praising RWBY right now, don't interact with us in this particular space. Don't try to make the entire community — the main tools used to discuss the show online — conform to your preferences. As established, there is no "good" criticism that everyone in the fandom will accept, which just leaves a fandom with no criticism at all. I'm glad to see I'm far from the only one who, when presented with that extreme, is going, "Nope. No thank you."

#rwby #mymetas #suicide tw #rwde

[papakhan]

Some brief headcanons:

I lowkey think theres a sort of unwritten "code of honor/code of ethics" amongst Khans. Like you don't attack children or elderly, etc. Bitter-Roots dad was a notable exception and it's also likely his parents weren't even well-liked in their own tribe.

Khans, Vipers, and Jackals have previously worked together in the past if the payoff was worth it to take down a well-protected caravan, or a raid a large village, etc. It's been mostly uneasy alliances in the past and they usually avoided each other.

Marriages in a lot of the tribes were political, e.g you married into a tribe, they're allies in battle/harvest/trade. Polygamy was especially encouraged for smaller tribes who wanted to grow their numbers and ensure as many allies as possible. The Khans occasionally practiced it, but it's fallen out of favor significantly.

When a Khan child is born, protective charms, amulets and rituals are given to the parents. Papa Khan has carved many of these over the years, with many adult Khans still wearing them out of respect and belief they offer protection.

I like these!! Thank you so much for sending them in I always love to hear your thoughts!! Absolutely hard agree on the thing with Bitter-Root's parents, I can't remember who it was who had a hc about Bitter Root's dad being a former New Khan and that being the only reason he was tolerated but thats what I believe.

I also like that in the cut Child at Heart perk lines from the kids at the Bitter Springs refudgee camp they call Oscar Velasco like "the funny man with the spiked helmet who visits the graveyard at night" which says to me that he's made himself absolutely no threat to them. You can't tell me that he doesn't Notice that he's being watched by small children while visiting the graves of his fellow Khans, and going by how he doesn't even Know it's a refudgee camp until the courier tells him, but he still doesn't hurt the kids even though he probably assumed they were just "frontier brats" says a lot too. A very different sniper to Bitter Root's father for sure.

ALSO About the Khans/Vipers/Jackals working together! I for sure talked to @thespiral about this! I think that a lot of NCR prisoners, the ones who didn't stick around to be Powder Gangers, were raiders, mostly Khans/Vipers/Jackals but others as well, since Jessup talks about doing "12 years hard labour" for being caught in NCR territory. I wrote a lot so I'll make it a seperate post.

Last hc i actually adore. brb giving Sasha a protective amulet,,, I do really love the idea of just. dozens of Khans with these little trinkets Papa made for them. Maybe he knows they don't do anything, but he also knows that it makes them more confident and assured, so keeps it up :')

#thank you so much!! #aetheravis #great khans #falloutfun #headcanons #txt #fave

[mikwrites-archive]

tango in the night

♜ pairing: kim mingyu x reader        ♜ warnings: death, suicide, swearing, guns, slight suggestiveness ♜ genre: apocalypse au, friends to lovers        ♜ wc: 4.3k

♜ a/n: inspired by fleetwood mac’s song and the photos of mingyu from this hit performance bc WHEW - it turned out way longer than i expected and i ran past the image limit hence the weird dividers HWJBSJD ALSO every other part is a flashback so i hope its not confusing!! enjoy <33 (ps. i hope theres no mistakes bc im posting before i go to bed n im sleepyyy)

The sky is a hazy purple when Kim Mingyu reappears in your life.

There’s streaks of red on the horizon, like a bitter reminder of what it has taken to slowly heal, and something restless inside you is able to settle at the sight for a few moments as you look on from your porch.

You can tell it’s him the minute his figure solidifies past the sunflower field, but still, you rest your hand on the rifle warily. He doesn’t see you until he’s staring down your barrel, and he slows significantly.

“Stop right there.” Unwavering, you cock your rifle, aiming it straight at him.

“It’s me.” Mingyu blinks, halting, holding his hands up. He seems taller than you remember, honeyed skin curving over firm muscles.

“I know who you are.”

Kim Mingyu. You flash back to the moonlit night, tinted in deep blue and black, silver highlighting itself across his back like a sculptor’s pride. You shake yourself out of it quickly.

No use in dwelling over dreams held too closely to the heart.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Huh?” Mingyu’s features draw together confusedly, with a tinge of embarrassment.

“I need to make sure you’re not marked. It’s not like I haven’t seen you without them before.” You add on, unimpressed at his pace, and Mingyu reluctantly obliges.

“I would have enjoyed a nice candlelit dinner or something before this, didn’t know you were so possessive-”

“Oh, shut up.” You bite back a choked laugh that you hate being unable to control at his words, and Mingyu grins.

He’s got a new scar rippling across his shoulder as he turns slowly in a circle, and the others are committed to memory, traced under your fingertips more than enough.

“I think you trust me enough to know I don’t have a mark down there.” Mingyu smirks amusedly, eyes flicking down to his boxers.

You glare at him, letting your aim drop. He puts on his clothes methodically, tilting his head at you.

“You do remember that the sunflowers repel marked ones right?”

“Evolution is a sneaky bitch.” You sigh, leaning the rifle back against the rail, and Mingyu steps up the rickety porch, standing in front of you.

I missed you. You want to say. I’m glad you’re alive.

“Why are you here?”

“I dunno.” I wanted to see you if you still were here. “Nowhere else I could have gone.”

“Didn’t you know?” You crack a sarcastic grin. “We have the entire world at our fingertips.”

                                                  ♜ ♜ ♜

The Apocalypse is expected.

You’re taught about it in school, the news broadcasting daily updates about another storm, another decrease in air quality, another hole in the atmosphere. The sky bled further to red every day, until you and Mingyu barely remembered its true colour.

The Virus, however, throws the world further into tempestuous chaos.

Till this day, no one knows exactly what bacteria, what symptoms, anything, except that a sickly circle mark appears somewhere on your skin.

With governments already crumbling, the disease made them shrink further within themselves, the upper class secluding themselves, and the lower succumbing, while the middle struggled, and you and Mingyu were the very latter.

Being next door neighbours, it was predetermined fate to be close friends with one another, walking home from school together, swapping lunches, and sharing secrets. Maybe even sharing a life, a love, a bond, unbreakable unless by death.

“It’s morning.” Mingyu comments, peering out the curtain, judging the light in the sky. Neither of you had slept since the announcement on the news that the Virus was now in your city.

“They’re not coming back.” You state flatly. Mingyu knew it as well, and only sighed. “They’re probably walking around downtown, not even knowing their own names.”

“They’re still our parents.” Mingyu argues weakly.

“Not anymore.”

Grim silence falls.

“Hey.” Mingyu cracks a hesitant smile, nudging you in the side. “Y’know what this means?”

Your wary stare doesn’t betray your curiosity, but Mingyu knows you.

“We have the entire world at our fingertips.”

Some kind of world, you think bitterly as you recall the memory. Yet Mingyu has a half smile on his face at your repeated words of the past, as if the world and your memories in it were meant to be savoured.

You supposed he was somewhat right.

The sky is healing back to blue and something inside you slowly begins to mend with Mingyu at your side.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

“You haven’t changed anything.”

“Of course not.”

Mingyu trails his fingertips along the walls. The wallpaper is peeling now, showing the bones of the structure that held too many memories to change. It felt disrespectful to shift anything, and cleaning the rooms even if they weren’t used, gave you something to do.

“Any word from the others lately?”

“I get letters from ‘Cheol, ‘Hannie, and ‘Shua. By pigeon. Can you believe it? Leave it to ‘Shua to tame pigeons in his spare time.” You snort, and Mingyu laughs at the image of Joshua with a pigeon. “They tell me about the other when they get news.”

“So no one else has visited?”

You shake your head.

“You’ve been alone?”

“I’m never alone.”

Mingyu swallows the lump in his throat. You don’t need to elaborate. He understands.

“I’m scared of forgetting them though.” You whisper. “Jun. Soonyoung. Seungkwan. Hansol. Chan.”

Junhui. No one knows where he is, except Minghao. He wanted it that way, whispering in soft Mandarin to his friend, and Minghao had disappeared for hours after Jun closed his eyes forever.

It was Minghao who pulled the trigger too, Jun pressing the pistol into his hand trustingly, the circle mark creeping out from under his t-shirt collar.

Soonyoung. He’s in the sunflower field, the one who had told you all about their repelling abilities. The sunflower boy, quiet yet exuberant, always facing the light.

He went too soon towards it, getting the group of you out of an abandoned mall populated with marked ones, deep gashes bloodying his clothes. His last breath was in Jeonghan’s arms, in the second bedroom of your house now.

Seungkwan and Hansol. All that you found of them was torn tie-dye cloth, and a battered navy cap, after they didn’t come back from looking for supplies. The last thing they had said to you, you remember clearly. A crooked smile, a breathless laugh. See you later.

Chan.

It was too soon to think about Chan.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

It was a week later when you both agreed to venture out of your house, and to go to the school. It was eerily quiet in your neighbourhood, the red from the atmosphere elongating the shadows.

The school is dark, and you barely make it two steps in when you encounter others.

“Who’s there?” The voice is loud, demanding, and with the shuffling that follows, you can tell you’re outnumbered in the dim light.

There’s a click of a gun, and you and Mingyu freeze. He scrambles for your hand reassuringly. Squeezes it once.

“Names. Now. And why you’re here.”

“We wanted to see if anyone would be here. If anyone could help us.” You stammer after you state your names.

“They’re okay. They’re in my class.” Minghao steps into view solemnly, and suddenly you both feel like you can breathe again.

There’s twelve of them.

Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Joshua, Jun, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Minghao, Seokmin, Seungkwan, Hansol, and Chan.

A tentative system is already set up in the days they’d arrived before you, and it’s easy to fit in. There’s a lot of travelling by foot until Jeonghan learns how to hotwire cars, tired of walking. There’s a lot of scavenging for weapons and food, competitions made out of it. There’s lots of soft singing, fooling around, and lots of quiet nights, holding each other.

The house is long abandoned by the time you all stumble across it, and it’s quickly shaped into a home.

You remember planting sunflower bulbs. Attempting numerous recipes to accommodate the scarce ingredients and everyone’s tastes. Sticky notes and knick-knacks everywhere. You couldn’t say it was broken when the group diminished in number, but the gaps left with each mourning never went away.

Soon enough, it was only you left in an empty house you still called home, despite lacking everything that once made it one. You, with the wispy dreams long gone, and the nightmares.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

The door slams open, and you wake up, the scream dying in your throat along with the night terror, and you forget you’re not alone anymore when your bedroom door bursts open.

Mingyu holds you close, soothing whispers falling from his lips, rocking you back and forth gently, and you shove him away like his touch scalds you, and in a way it does.

It’s burning, the evocation of the past, and once he relents, a shuddering chill falls over your body.

“Who was it?” Mingyu asks softly, and you can’t look at him. The moon shines too bright for your liking through your window.

You heave, eyes fluttering shut, shaking as a mix of sweat and tears drip down your cheeks.

“Chan.” You croak.

Mingyu imperceptibly flinches as if the gunshot reverberated just outside again.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

Chan was always clinging to you.

It was something the others all teased him about, picking favourites, and you remember his indignant response every time.

“If they don’t have a problem with it, why do you?”

And you never did have a problem. Chan was like your little brother, much like to everyone else in your ragtag team, doting on him in a world where loving care was scarce. You wished you could have shielded him from it all.

“I’m tired.”

“Then go to sleep.” You murmur with a teasing gleam of a smile, comfortingly smoothing his hair back. He’d been having nightmares more frequently since Soonyoung was laid down in the sunflowers, and it was common for one of you to stay up with him.

“Not that kind of tired. I keep… I keep seeing them. I want it to stop.” A tear rolls down his cheek, and you move to brush it away, but he beats you to it, struggling to sit up.

“Channie…”

His head falls to your shoulder, choking out sobs. You hold him close, praying to whatever higher being that may exist to spare him from further despair. And if no such thing existed, you’d swore to make one into life out of your own blood and tears.

“I’m not a baby anymore. You know that right?” He sniffles once he calms down.

“I know.” You blink, startled at his sudden statement.

“I know I’m the youngest… but I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” You nod, and Chan stares piercingly at you, before slumping down against his bed frame.

“I’m tired.”

You don’t say anything, unsettled at his sudden shift.

“Can you go get me a glass of water? I think it’ll help me sleep better.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.” He calls out, and you pause, smiling at him. He returns it.

You drop the glass when the shot rings out, shattering across the floor, water cascading like the blood on the floorboards just above you.

You run up, uncaring of the glass shards, collapsing to your knees when the sight unfolds in front of you, thundering footsteps of the others hot on your heels.

They have to pry you away from his body, and you’re positive you’ve torn his shirt in your struggle, the blood on your hands unrecognizable from his or from your ripped off nails. The dark stain still lies on the wood under your feet when you dare to venture into the room painfully.

You sobbed for nights on end. You weep this night too. Mingyu sits by your side.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

“I think we should ask the others to come back again.” Mingyu clinks his spoon against the side of his cereal bowl, wincing when it resonates, as if increasing the severity of his suggestion. Yet it’s said in a tone of careful deliberation that has you knowing he’s thought it out.

So you pause in slathering butter on your toast. Setting down the knife and slice of bread, you lean your palms on the counter, thinking.

You wondered if Jeonghan still had trouble sleeping at times. You wondered if Jihoon still liked to write lyrics on whatever slips of paper he could find. You wonder if Minghao still stopped to look at the rain whenever it did. You wondered.

“Okay.” You nod finally, and Mingyu perks up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Turning to stare out the window, you watch the sparrows swoop across the long abandoned telephone wires.

“I think it’s time.”

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

Everyone leaves soon after that.

Everyone except Mingyu.

You don’t blame them. There’s promises to find ways to keep in touch. But it hurts all the same. And there’s no doubt it’s harder for you both to survive alone.

“Hey, wait, stop.” You grab Mingyu’s arm suddenly, nearly scaring the living daylights out of him as you make your way back to the house from scavenging for extra supplies and food, your voice hushed in the dark evening.

“My parents were wearing jackets like that the last time I saw them.”

Mingyu looks over at where your gaze lies, lost between the figures of two people undoubtedly victims of the Virus. Though Mingyu supposes he can’t call them people anymore.

“Let’s go.” Mingyu tugs at your arm. When you don’t move, he does it again, harsher.

“But…” You’re adamant, digging your heels in the dirt firmly, wistfully staring at the couple, staggering around a long abandoned car.

“Don’t you remember? They’re probably walking around downtown, not even knowing their own names.” Mingyu persuades, and you take a reluctant step with him.

“But what if it’s really them?” You persist, and Mingyu makes you stare into his eyes. The expression that meets his is chilling. Your gaze is clear, unmuddled, and somehow, that’s more terrifying to him than if they were glazed over by a lost delirium.

You pull out of his grip, and before he can stop you, you call over to them. A cold shiver runs down Mingyu’s spine as they look up at you both, ambling over, and he grabs you again.

“What are you doing?” He hisses.

“Aren’t you tired, ‘Gyu?” You state simply, helplessly. “Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

Something in Mingyu’s gaze hardens, like glowing tempered steel doused in water, and he yanks you back, pressing you to his chest, two shots firing off from his hand.

You squirm, shouting at him, and he claps a hand over your mouth, pulling you along with him. He drags you all the way back to the house, even after you stop resisting.

You disappear up the stairs the minute he lets go, and he watches you. He waits a few moments before following you, biting the inside of his cheek.

He finds you in Chan’s room, sitting on the bed cross legged, staring forlornly at the stained wooden boards.

“I know you’re hurting. It hurts for me too. But don’t take it out on me. Please.” Mingyu whispers from the doorway, and when you look up, he slowly walks over, sitting beside you carefully. “And I’m not tired of being alone.” He adds on quietly. “I’ve always had you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m really glad to have you by my side. Honestly. I just… I miss Chan. I miss everyone.” You lean on his shoulder tiredly.

“I know.” Mingyu says softly. “I know.”

He interlocks his fingers with yours, squeezing once.

“But there’ll be a time when we can be back together again.”

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

It’s late springtime when they start to come home.

The air is warm, a gentle breeze often caressing your cheeks, and the sun lingers longer, a telltale sign of the upcoming summer.

It was a long ideal, letters taking weeks to send and the whereabouts of each group or person completely in the hands, or wings, of Joshua’s pigeons.

You’re pinning laundry to the clothesline when Mingyu thunders down the stairs, flying past you from the hallway.

“What’s going on?” You call, eyebrows furrowed concernedly, and he skids back, a grin curving beautifully across his face.

“Someone’s here.”

Dropping whatever was in your hands, you race after him, and you can’t help but break into an identical grin as you see Wonwoo and Jihoon stepping onto the porch. You both stand opposite each other from the doorway, until Wonwoo speaks drily.

“Long time no see.”

“No shit.” Mingyu laughs, striding to give them both a hug, and you join them, cheeks hurting from your joy. Jihoon even returns the embrace.

Minghao shows up that night, seeing him in the dim distance as you light the lanterns on the porch, calling the rest of them who are catching up over the dinner table.

“Nice to see you again.” Minghao smiles warmly, genuinely happy, and you’re all eager to throw your arms around him. “Alright, alright.” He giggles softly, nodding as he pries you off, walking inside and joining the group.

Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua are the last, appearing the next morning, just before the sun rises, with Mingyu, Jihoon, and Wonwoo still sound asleep, Minghao making tea for you and him.

“You’re awake early.”

“So are you.” He states pointedly by the kettle, and you smile. “Dreams?”

Your expression turns solemn at that, and you nod. Minghao pours the steaming liquid carefully, sliding the cup to you before he speaks again.

“I see Junhui most nights. Sometimes it’s nice. A good memory. Like when he let the chickens fly away because he thought they couldn’t fly. Or just the sound of his laugh. And sometimes…” Minghao hesitates, swallowing harshly. “Sometimes it’s me pulling the trigger over and over.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until Minghao hands you a tissue, and you brush at the wetness on your cheeks gently.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, a bit melancholy, and rises, beckoning you to the porch to watch the sunrise, hands wrapped around the warm mugs. You sit and wait in comfortable silence until it’s broken by a rumble of an engine pulling up.

“Surprise!”

“Joshua Hong, what the fuck!” You yelp, standing incredulously as they step out of the car. “Is that really you?”

“The one and only.”

“I mean this in the most admirable way possible, your arms are huge.”

“Not bigger than me.” Seungcheol grins, and both of them flex, Seungcheol burying his head in his hands embarrassedly afterwards as everyone laughs.

“Yes, we get it, but without me, no matter how many muscles, you’d probably be dead.” Jeonghan drawls, slinging his arms around their shoulders. “Did you guys have breakfast yet?”

“Not even a hello?” You laugh, the others join you as bickering breaks out, and when the dawning sunlight floods through the windows, something inside you feels like the last piece has fitted in your soul, finally complete.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

“What would you say if I went away for a little bit?”

Mingyu brings it up over washing dishes, the rush of running tap water almost drowning out his nervous inquiry. You don’t pause in your drying of a plate, yet you wonder if he can see the way your hands tremble.

It’s been a few months since Chan was buried next to Soonyoung, and you were doing better. Slowly, like honey trickling down the beehive on the old maple in the backyard, the result of hard labour like the bustling bees.

“A little bit? Or a while?”

“I don’t know yet.” He admits, and you swallow.

“Will you be okay?”

“Will you?” He asks in response, and you exhale.

“I think so.”

Turning off the water, Mingyu flicks the water off his hands into the sink, and then taps your cheek to make you look at him.

“I want you to be sure that you’ll be okay.”

“I will be.” You say more strongly this time, almost like a resolution to yourself, and MIngyu’s gaze lingers, before it drops with a nod.

“Okay.”

“When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning probably.” He laughs, but it sounds forced. “I don’t have many things.”

You nod, smiling weakly.

“Okay.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. You finish doing the dishes in silence.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

Noise becomes a constant in the house, or outside of it, as the days get warmer and more hours are spent in the sun.

Today was no different, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Mingyu washing the car, while Minghao and Jeonghan sat with you on the porch watching them.

“So.” Minghao starts, and you raise your eyebrows.

“So.”

“You and Mingyu?”

“What about me and Mingyu?”

“God, I’ve been waiting for years for you idiots to realize, and you’re telling me it still hasn’t happened?” Jeonghan sputters, and Minghao snorts.

“Something had to have happened.” Minghao agrees.

“I can't say if it was something or not.” You admit quietly.

“But it wasn’t nothing.” Minghao implores knowingly, and you lapse into silence.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

You’re awoken by a pounding at your bedroom door the same night. It ceases for a few seconds, making you think you’re dreaming until it starts up again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You shout, untangling your body from the mess of tossed covers, and you can’t help but feel irritated even if there was any threat of danger. You don’t bother turning on the lights, the moonlight bright enough. Throwing open the door, you glare at a disheveled Mingyu, as if he ran his hands through his hair too many times. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“This couldn’t wait until the morning?” You gripe, and MIngyu’s face falls, and you realize it couldn’t wait till the last moment before he left. You soften, slightly ashamed. “What is it?”

“You’re my best friend. You know that right?”

The words sting, and you’re not entirely sure why, but you nod.

“I know.”

Mingyu swallows. His hands flutter at his sides, uncertain, and you can’t help but feel the same at his behaviour.

“Mingyu, what’s-”

His lips fall onto yours, you think that’s the only explanation, but they’re soft, gentle, in a way that encompasses you with warmth and you can’t help falling into the embrace.

“You’re my best friend.” He whispers between kisses, over and over, and the words take on a new meaning with the tender look in his eyes as you fall back onto your bed. “You know that right? Tell me you know.”

“I know ‘Gyu. I know.” You murmur breathlessly, cupping his face, and the moon seems to shine just for him.

You knew Kim Mingyu in the sun like it was his natural element. But Kim Mingyu in the moon was like the supernatural, silver stealing across his jaw, his biceps, shoulder blades, every sharp and smooth curve that had you in its deadly soft clutches.

But it was still Mingyu. Your Mingyu. Your best friend.

                                                 ♜ ♜ ♜

“Morning.”

Mingyu chimes cheerily, ambling into your room and drawing the blinds back, sunlight blinding your groggy state.

“Mingyu, what the fuck?”

“Jeonghan said we can borrow the car for the day.” Mingyu swings the keys from his hand excitedly. “I may or may not have woken him up to ask so he didn’t care, but still.”

“To do what?”

“Roadtrip.” Mingyu shrugs, smiling, as if to say what else? “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”

You use an old map from the dusty attic space, tracing a route to the beach, and packing some sandwiches along. It’s soothing, the wind flowing through the rolled down windows, Mingyu’s old sunglasses perched on his nose as he drives and sings to some random song that resurfaced in his memory.

He sets up the blanket and basket of food while you stand at the tip of where the tide came in, watching the lulling waves roll.

“What’re you thinking about?” He huffs, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stands next to you, glancing at your solemn features.

“Do you remember,” you start just as Mingyu’s about to repeat his question, “that night?”

“You’ve gotta be a little more specific there.”

“The night before you left.”

Mingyu stares out across the water, wind ruffling his hair.

“Yeah.” He answers simply.

“Why me?” You blurt.

“What?”

“You could have had anyone, so why me?”

Mingyu knows you’re not talking only about that night now, but the entirety of your existence together. Maybe it was the fate of next door neighbours. Maybe it was the fact of the Apocalypse that numbers had strength. Or maybe…

“Because you’re the only one I want, you always have been. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“A little.” You whisper, and Mingyu looks at you finally.

“I’ll be by your side as long as I can. You don’t have to return anything. Just let me do that and I’ll be happy.”

“Then why did you leave that time?”

“Because I was scared. I couldn’t help but think that one of us might get the Virus. Then… I don’t think I would have been able to do it.” He admits, kicking at the sand lightly.

“You’re stupid.”

“Thanks.” Mingyu snorts sarcastically, and you sigh.

“You’re stupid to think that I wouldn’t want you by my side always. You’re stupid to think I depend on you too much, because people need to depend on each other. And… and you’re stupid to think I don’t love you.”

“You don’t make any sense.” He shakes his head, but he’s chuckling softly.

“You’re my best friend. You know that right?”

You clasp his hand firmly, looking at him, and he returns your gaze, slowly tugging him close. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and they curve upwards gently as he murmurs.

“I know.”

♜ taglist: @seijoh​ @soranihimawari​ @peachy-yabbay​

#caratwritersclub #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu x you #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu scenarios #svt x you #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #tw suicide #suicide tw

[superangsty]

ok ficlet prompt: tomgreg coffeeshop au but Tom is the barista and he's a total bitch about it. up to you whether this is a) an au where they don't know each other at all or b) post season 2 au where tom is on the outs. basically i just think it'd be funny to see tom forced into doing menial labor and taking it out on customer!greg by belittling his order. if you hate this, you never saw it lol

fsdgfgfdhs I feel like I didn’t get much snarkiness in there and I’m not sure if 1k+ words can still be called a ficlet, but here we go!

///

Tom doesn’t normally pay attention to customers. Sure, some of them you get used to when you’re seeing their miserable faces day in, day out, and for an even smaller percentage you remember their orders and sometimes, if you’re feeling particularly generous (or bored, either works), you let the ones who look like they’re about to cry skip the queue, but for the most part the hundreds of faces he sees each day blend together.

Hard, though, for a face to blend in with the others when it’s a foot above everyone else in the store.

It’s eleven in the morning and the rush is on, but every time Tom looks up from the till or coffee machine his eyes automatically dart to where this guy is standing in the queue, just briefly before he gets back to what he was doing.

When the guy gets to the front of the line, he smiles and says “hey, how are you?”, and for the first time in his years in this job Tom smiles back.

Then he goes and ruins it all by ordering a skim milk vanilla mocha latte with, and this is a direct quote “some kinda sprinkle things?”. Asshole.

 *

 He comes back the next day, in mid-afternoon when it’s quieter and Tom’s the only one behind the bar (and thank god for that, because after he’d left yesterday Tom had got honest to god wolf-whistles from the others).

“Hi,” he greets, still with that carefree smile. He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. “How’re ya doing?”

“I’m great,” lies Tom. “What’ll it be?”

“Um, an iced almond-milk macchiato with, like, do you have some caramel? Like a lot of caramel?”

This guy had better not become a fucking regular.

 *

 He becomes a regular. Every day for a week, and never at the same time, he comes in and orders a new, somehow even more ridiculous drink than the one before. It’s infuriating.

Still, Tom can’t help but notice things about him. His hair needs a cut, he’s carrying a backpack that needs to be thrown out, like, ten years ago, and his suits are cheap but if Tom knows his shoes – and he does know his shoes – he’s wearing a pair of Crockett & Jones oxfords.

A line has to be drawn somewhere. Luckily, the guy draws the line himself when he comes in one day, 10pm, and asks for a cappuccino with four shots of espresso.

“Absolutely not.”

“What, why?”

Tom cocks his head, frowning. “Because you would have a heart attack, that’s why, and I don’t feel like dealing with a lawsuit.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve had it before, actually, so.”

“Then get it somewhere else.” Tom waves a hand towards the door when the guy doesn’t move, just stands there with his eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. “Shoo!”

 *

 He comes back the next day, orders himself a herbal tea, and introduces himself as Greg. Weird and unnecessary, as far as apologies go, but whatever.

 *

 Greg starts ordering normal drinks. Tom keeps on making ridiculous sugary crimes against humanity for him, and then telling him he’ll get diabetes when he accepts them. This is not flirting.

Greg starts staying to sit and drink in the café, rather than rush out. Sometimes he reads the newspaper, sometimes he flicks through paperwork. Sometimes Tom gives him one of the day-old cookies that are normally claimed by staff. This is still not flirting.

One day, there’s snow and no customers, and Greg says “hey, Tom, why don’t you sit with me for a bit?”, and Tom does.

They sit in silence for a couple of minutes, each sipping at their respective drinks, and then Greg asks “so you been working here long?”

“Couple of years,” Tom replies. “Came into some money, saw the storefront for sale, thought ‘why the fuck not’, right?”

He’s gotten very good at keeping this part vague. The money had come wrapped in the neat little bow of ‘redundancy package’, when in reality it was hush money in response to the breakup and the breakdown and the subsequent NDAs.

It’s not what Tom thought his life would be. It kinda sucks, actually, but whatever.

“Oh!” Greg says, again with those wide eyes of his. “I – I didn’t know you owned it, um, sorry? If I offended you?���

Tom waves it off. “New to the city?”

“Ha, yeah,” Greg says, smiling into his cup. “How could you tell?”

Everything about you, Tom wants to say. “You’ve just got a vibe,” he says instead.

A customer walks in, and the conversation is cut short.

 *

 This keeps happening. It’s like Greg knows when Tom won’t be busy, and he chooses those exact times to show up. It’s annoying, really. He’s annoying. And Tom isn’t flirting.

A couple of months later Greg walks in during the mid-morning rush with another, significantly shorter (not that it’s hard), man in tow.

Tom takes one look at him, unties his apron, and walks into the back room.

Kendall fucking Roy.

Of all the coffee shops in all of Manhattan, he had to come into Tom’s. Of all the customers in all the coffee shops in all of Manhattan, Tom had to befriend the one guy who just happened to know his ex-future-brother-in-law.

He stays back there until he hears Greg’s voice disappear out the door again.

 *

 “I brought my cousin by here yesterday, told him it was the best coffee in the city.”

The next day, Greg is back at his normal time and is sitting in his normal seat. Tom is reluctantly sitting across from him.

Cousins, jesus fucking christ, it keeps getting worse.

Also, Tom’s coffee is only okay. Greg should probably try some new cafes.

“And what did he think?”

Greg shrugs. “I don’t know, he said it was only okay. He also saw you walk into the back? Said ‘hey I know that guy’?”

“I used to work at Waystar Royco.”

Greg smiles incredulously. “No way! That’s where I work too!”

“Mm, nothing like a good bit of nepotism in the workplace, is there?” Tom bites out. But it’s not like he’s bitter, or anything. That would be hypocritical.

“Oh, ha, I guess.” Greg shifts awkwardly in his seat, like he’s worried Tom will think less of him. “So you used to work together?”

“Used to be engaged to his sister, too.”

Greg doesn’t drop his cup, but it’s a near thing. He gapes at Tom. “You’re Tom Tom?”

Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. He wonders what they’ve been saying about him, whether Greg’s important enough to know the real story or if he got the version they feed their friends and colleagues.

Not that it matters, because there’s no way Greg’s coming back after this. There’s no way Tom would want him to come back.

“I think you’re done, Greg. I’ll clear up your cup.”

Greg looks like he’s going to say something, but Tom walks away and doesn’t look at him until he leaves.

 *

 Against all odds, he comes back the next day. And the next.

#Anonymous #tomgreg #ficlet #my child is fine your child just wrote a 1.25k tomgreg coffeeshop au in the space of like 20 minutes