#nor should they expect a high school class of them to do it either

[hwangism143]

limbo (part 2)

synopsis: you weren't expecting to meet him again but maybe the influx of memories can help you piece what exactly had happened that fateful night five years ago

pairing: non-idol!minho x non-idol!fem reader

genre: angst, exes to lovers, heart break

warning: mentions of eating a drinking. heart break and swearing. just general warnings. pls lmk if i have missed anything!

word count: 3.2k words

a/n: here is part 2 of my baby, i do suggest reading part 1 though. pls leave you comments and do reblog. part 3 coming soon!

part 1 | masterlist | part 3

now (present day).

You were quite proud of yourself for how you handled the situation.

You stood there staring at Minho for a beat longer than you should have. You were taking him in, all of him. How could someone look this way? He looked like God had favorites, as if the most skilled angles had carved him out of the finest marble.

You stood there and stared and broke a little inside. Then, you swiftly turned around, checked out whatever you needed to, and started to walk to your car. After that you sat in your car, scoffing at your luck.

"The universe really is playing a cosmic joke on me, isn't it?" you mused.

And then here you were now, curled up in front of the TV with a streaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, watching rom-coms with happy endings to dull the fact that you didn't have one. You were grateful though; a happy ending was still an ending. You had so much more to write in your story.

Spending five years abroad had changed you. You weren't sure if it was for the better or worse, but it was certainly something. You had made friendships that you cherished and explored things you never had. You attempted to get into the romance side of things, but just never felt like you had met the right person. Part of you chalked it up to your extremely high standards (ah, the curse of being an avid consumer of cheesy media). Another part of you knew that it was Minho's reaction to you leaving.

He was your first love, your first... everything you could say, when it came to romantic relationships. To find out that he had never even loved you in the first place was a devastating revelation. It had been ingrained into your head that you were unlovable, that you were so pitiful that a man had to pretend to love in order to not hurt your feelings.

You did blame Minho because, after all, you were only human. However, you knew that you weren't the easiest to handle five years ago either. Old you was sensitive to nearly everything. You had a tendency to plunge into things without thinking about any of the consequences affecting you or anybody else involved, and that included falling in love with Lee Minho.

Your phone buzzed beside you and you opened it up with a smile on your face.

[1:47 PM]

hyune bun: BITCH YOU'RE HOME WAGHTHDHDJ?!?!

hyune bun: and i had to find out from your ex, the same one who caused you to come to me crying???

you: good fucking afternoon to you too hyune

you: it was supposed to be a surprise, hehe...

you: about the minho thing...

hyune bun: dw, he told me

hyune bun: a surprise bitch stfu you probably forgot about me -_-

you: damn okay drama queen

hyune bun: lix is gonna be so fucking mad at you lmaooo

You were nearly grinning at your phone now, texting one of your closest friends from college. It took you back to the good old days, when you weren't quite an adult nor a child. You and your friends lived in a balance of freedom and restrictions that you longed for. It took you back the the crazy stunts, exhausting days and wild nights, and since your brain had a habit to redirect to Minho, it reminded you of him.

then (seven years ago).

You weren't quite sure how you, Hyunjin and Felix came to be friends. It did make sense in some ways though. You were just a year older than them, and despite being in your second year of college, just as far from 'put together' as possible. You assumed it was the first astronomy class that you had attended since the school had began.

Since it was a fairly new course, both first years and second years were put in the same class. As a science major yourself, you didn't see it as much of a burden. Having dropped biology as an extra course from the year before, you had made the slightly dangerous choice (as you would come to know from an extremely difficult course load) to stick with physics and mathematics.

Space was always a fascination for you. From the stars to the moon, everything just wholly and completely enamored you. You were excited, if anything, for the class to begin. Your sentiments, however, were not widely shared among your classmates. It was common knowledge that a lot of the art majors just took an extra side course related to science to keep their families' mouths shut for a semester or two. The Asian parent stereotypes were very much true in this side of your world.

That was evident when you saw two adorable first years looking for a seat. They looked like they were positively dreading the idea of being in this class. You couldn't blame them. Everything about them screamed 'doesn't do well with numbers'. Literally. The taller boy was wearing a literal shirt that said that exact phrase. The slightly shorter one saw you eyeing them curiously and gave you a wave, causing the taller one to nearly trip over the stairs.

That was the day you had practically adopted Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin.

then (six and a half years ago).

"Come on," whined Hyunjin as Felix handed you a coffee, "you promised."

"No," you said firmly as you started walking alongside them, a swarm of girls making their way towards the three of you.

You sighed. Being friends with two of the hottest guys on campus could be very irritating at times. Hyunjin, Felix and the six other boys they shared a house with off campus were the heartthrobs of the university you all attended. You knew they eight of them were close, but the only other person from their group that you had met was the freshman, Jeongin.

You would jokingly call their friend group Stray Kids, due to the amount of times they had had to change housing. Despite it all though, the eight of them refused to live separately, opting to live together instead. Hyunjin and Felix had been very insistent about you coming to a party they were hosting this weekend to meet the rest of them.

Felix said so because he wanted to have his 'favorite people meet each other'. Hyunjin cited the same reason as him, but you knew that Hyunjin just wanted to play cupid and set you up with one of his hyungs. That was another thing they were notorious for: that group always rejected girls. The only one in a stable relationship (or any relationship to be honest), was the oldest, Chan. He was in a two-year relationship with a music major named Eun-bi.

You weren't immune to the comments that would be passed about you as well, having been associated with the school prince and sunshine personified. People would assume that the three of you were in a threesome, that it was an open relationship. Some even assumed that you were adopted siblings (and those some were much more bearable than the others). Often time both girls and guys came up to you asking about their status and their phone numbers. You would just laugh it off. Too bad for them, they would never know what big dorks Hyunjin and Felix were in reality.

Another issue though with being friends with popular people, was being set on an unwanted pedestal yourself. People were wary of you, opting to stay far away, or wanted to take advantage of you. You had very few close friends which, didn't really bother you, but sometimes had a tendency to get to you. Realizing that being friends with people high up in the social ranking meant that you could only be friends with people high in social rankings finally caused you to give in to Hyunjin's incessant whining and Felix's hesitant words of agreement.

"Noona, I love you," said Hyunjin, patting you head.

You rolled your eyes at him and started poking him in the side. He began laughing and shrieking at the same time as Felix grinned and whipped out his phone, not missing the chance to document such an event. You finally stopped, a heap of giggles yourself. Hyunjin mumbled something under his breath along the words of 'always conspiring against me' and the conversation soon shifted to what the three of you would be wearing.

"No offense noona," said Felix gently, "but your fashion sense is shit."

You gave him an Academy Award worthy side eye, although you knew he was right. You were well, to put it nicely, very messy. Your "fashion sense" was usually whatever fell out of your closet first when you opened it.

"Okay, fine," you give in, "what should I wear?"

The boys suddenly and very excitedly begin asking you questions. Monochromatic or colorful? What length of dress would you be comfortable in? Sleeveless or with sleeve? You couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm, content with just living in the moment.

"Fuck," you swore under your breath.

Somehow, brilliant old you, managed to sleep through three, three alarms. Quickly getting off your bed, you checked your phone. You had a couple text, one email from Quora (I'm 15 and pregnant...) and two missed calls from Hyunjin. Shooting him a text off 'I'm getting ready', you checked the time and saw that you still had an hour to get ready.

You let out a puff of breath. I can do this. After a lunchtime consultation with Hyunjin and Felix, you had opted for a white button-up crop top, black mini skirt and leather mini blazer. You put on light makeup because, for the life of you, you could not put on makeup. Sighing sadly after looking at your hideous reflection, you hollered for your roommate Sora.

"What is- oh my god my sweet child what have you done to your face," she said in one breath. Sora was two years younger than you (albeit calling you her sweet child) and was a majoring in fashion studies. She was also invited for the party, rocking straight hair, red lipstick and a silver dress.

She scooted over to you and applied eyeliner onto your eyes, chattering about her day. She was applying lipstick to your lips when she suddenly asked, "Yang Jeongin. He's single, right?"

You looked at her with an almost sisterly expression, "Yeah I think so but... don't use him as a rebound Sora.

Sora rolled her eyes at you. She had broken up with her ex-girlfriend two months ago. They had been together for little over half a year, until they realized that a relationship with barely any communication wasn't really a relationship at all.

"I was just asking, a girl in my class was planning on getting his number today."

The conversation continued as you grabbed a handbag and slipped pepper spray and your phone inside. The two of you stepped outside, deciding that Sora would be tonight's designated driver since you were the last time you both went to a party, which, as Sora loved to remind you, was the first day of school party ('hosted by the faculty of all people!' she would exclaim).

You and Sora were nearing the Stray Kids house when Felix ran over to you and wrapped you in a bear hug. "Damn noona, you look good," he said in excitement.

"C'mon, the boys are really excited to meet you," he exclaimed, "also, hey Sora!"

"Oppa," said Sora lightly tapping him on the shoulder, "I think you're suffocating her."

The three of you make your way inside, just to be hit with loud music, the smell of alcohol and excited shouts. Felix leads the three of you into the room when you finally see the other boys in all their glory. Felix quickly starts pointing at who's who.

You recognize Jeongin, the sweet Public Relations major, standing in the corner of the room looking at what you presumed was the boy's fish. Next to him was the host himself, Bang Chan, laughing at something his gorgeous girlfriend said, looking at her with literal heart eyes.

Then you see Hyunjin, goofing off with Changbin and Jisung. The three of them tried (and failed) at making a large tower with solo cups. Next to them, you see Seungmin, shaking his head as he was recording their antics. Finally, your eyes rest upon him for the first time.

He's wearing a white tee and black jeans, hair damp with water from what must have been a shower. He has an amused smirk on his face as he watches Jisung stuttering at a girl who must have asked him for his number. Letting out a laugh, he politely tells her that Jeongin is very much single and that the person who she was talking to was Jisung and she excitedly runs away.

"Go get your guy," hollers Sora who was near the fish tank, startling an entranced Jeongin.

You walk over to Hyunjin, noting Jisung's open mouth and Minho's curious eyes as you went. You crouch down next to him, snorting at how he was so concentrated in building the castle, that he didn't even notice your heeled boots clacking against the floor.

"I'm here you fucking dork," you huff with a roll of your eyes.

Hyunjin jumps backwards, clutching his collarbone, "You scared the living shit out of me, noona."

You stand up gracefully as you say, "Remind me to buy you a dollar store pearl necklace for your birthday, since you have such a large penchant for imitating extras on the Real Housewives."

At that, both Minho and Seungmin snicker. Hyunjin stands up as well and says, "Oh yeah, guys, this is Y/N noona."

The boys exchange polite waves and salutations. Changbin proceeds to stand up, look at you and then sit back down. "Ah fuck," he laments, "She's taller than me. There goes my chance to shoot my shot."

You break out into a laugh as Minho pads over to you. "Science major, right? Hyunjin and Felix talk a lot about how they're only passing because of you."

You give him a dazzling smile, "Yes to both of those. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm taking culinary classes but majoring in veterinary studies."

The conversation just flows from there, not feeling strained even once. The two of you are sitting on the couch soon, about an arms length of distance between you. You're sitting cross-legged with a pillow on your lap as Minho leans against the armchair of the couch.

Gosh, he's funny, and sweet. He tells you all about his cats as you tell him about your siblings back home. He brings you food (which you make sure to thoroughly check because, hey, you did just meet him) and offers to get you a blanket.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you though," you say in response to that.

The two of you seem lost in your own world, oblivious to the beer pong tournaments and obnoxious couples scattered around you. You're hit with the devastating realization that you could listen to Minho talk about the most mundane topics all day long.

It's just the alcohol. I do not have a crush on somebody I have just met.

Hyunjin catches your eye and makes fake kissing gestures behind you back as you flip him off. Minho catches whiff of the exchange and threatens to stick Hyunjin in the air fryer, eliciting a giggle from you. Felix even comes over to Minho, grumbling about how he wasn't expecting that introducing one of his favorite hyungs to his favorite noona would lead to said noona being stolen by said hyung.

You wish you could continue talking to Minho, but soon, Chan's girlfriend Eun-bi comes over and drags you to the kitchen.

"I have heard so much about you," she says with a smile, sipping a lemonade lazily while sitting on a barstool.

"All good things, I hope?"

"Oh," she throws her head back and lets out a pretty laugh, "You're literally an angel sent from heaven according to Lixie and a fellow hopeless romantic noona according to Hyunjin."

The two of you continued talking, and you found that you ended up liking her a lot. You understood why Chan fell for someone like her. She was everything a person could want in a partner. Hell, even you felt attracted to her.

Damn, what was in that drink I poured for myself?

You couldn't stop thinking about Minho though. You wondered what he was doing. Was he talking to a girl right now like he was talking with you? Was she looking at him as if his face held the key to her heart the way you were looking at him?

Did your interaction mean anything or was it all in you head?

"Oh no," same Eun-bi's voice, "Looks like I have lost you to them as well."

"What?" you ask, arising from your love stricken trance.

"You like one of them," said Eun-bi with a teasing lilt, "Don't worry. It happens to the best of us."

You looked at her, mouth slightly hung open. "Respectfully eonnie, what the actual fuck are you talking about."

She looked at you, mischief in her eyes. "Don't play dumb," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice, "Who is it? Changbin? Mm, no, too short. Hyunjin? Absolutely not, I don't think so?"

Eun-bi continued, "Minho? Maybe..." she looked at you intently, her expression turning from one of fun into one of accusation, "Oh my god. It's Minho, isn't it?"

"What," you scoff uneasily, "Nooo."

Eun-bi raises an eyebrow, obviously eager to continue the conversation, but you quickly interrupt her. "So, how did you and Chan meet?"

At that, a wistful smile etches onto Eun-bi's face. "He's a music production major. I'm a songwriting and vocal major. We had a combined project and even though I wasn't assigned to him, he had a habit to talk to everyone, causing him to talk to me. And the rest is history."

She continued, "He says that the first thing he noticed about me was how my eyebrows would scrunch up. And I noticed how his eyes disappeared when he smiled. I found him attractive long before I talked to him though. Obviously."

Eun-bi says the last sentence with a shrug, almost matter-of-factly. She wasn't wrong though. It was extremely hard to not crush on at least one of them the entire duration that you were in college.

Eun-bi's words led you to foolishly hope. Not for Minho really, but for love in general. It was a dangerous yearning. The yearning to scream from the top of a building, professing your love. The yearning to be held with fragility and to be kissed with intensity. A yearning to be loved, the way poets wove their odes to the stars and the skies. A wanting to be cherished, like a treasured diamond, only reflecting the best that you could offer.

Unbeknown to you, Minho stood in the corner of the room, watching you erupt with laughter, a small smile on his lips and a million similar thoughts in his head.

[mylordshesacactus]

LOVE, WATER, FIRE

What is your best writing advice?

"Show don't tell" doesn't mean what you think it does. Learn it better, and free yourself from a half-understood mnemonic.

When you show, you slow. Learn THAT one backward and forward as well; it won't fix pacing issues overnight, but it'll help you understand what causes them.

Writing fanfiction? Go back to the source material FREQUENTLY, or you'll lose all sense of the characters and end up writing someone unrecognizable.

If you struggle to block out action sequences, genuine advice? Think in terms of combat rounds in D&D. Not literally, of course, nobody should be taking rigorous turns, but: Play out the action in your head. If six seconds have gone by, everyone in this sequence should have done something. That thing could be charging into melee range--noting that this extra combatant is running toward the fight but hasn't gotten there yet. It could be reloading a weapon. It could be clutching their side in shock and wheezing. They don't need to be Selecting A Combat Action, but fight scenes become incoherent when you lose track of who's doing what. When you forget about Goon #3 and then have him show up again doing something that doesn't remotely track with where you last left him. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO INCLUDE THEM IN THE NARRATION if they're not important! If two seconds ago your protagonist kicked a guy off the dock, we can safely assume they'll spend at least the next several "combat rounds" climbing back out. But at any given moment, YOU should know where everyone is, what they're doing, and why.

But most importantly:

Anyone purporting to give The End-All Be-All Writing Advice is either delusional or a scam. Yes, including or perhaps especially famous bestselling authors. What works for them won't necessarily work for you, and there are plenty of people who don't even like their work. You're never going to be whoever's advice you try to mimic. Write your stuff, not theirs.

Do you prefer urban fantasy or high fantasy?

Yes!

Genuinely though. They're both good and they both serve their respective narratives in some way. In general I'm more drawn to high fantasy, personally, but I'm never not going to be interested in a well-done urban fantasy.

Pedantic nitpick though, these things are not the opposites they are being portrayed as. I think what the question was GOING for was actually "low vs high fantasy" which is a completely separate concept. Words mean things! But also, I'm not an ass, and the intent was pretty clear.

(High Fantasy: This story is set in a completely separate world from ours, with no crossover into our known and lived reality. ANY completely separate world, regardless of technology level! STAR WARS IS HIGH FANTASY. This is not an opinion, this is a genre fact.

Low Fantasy: The story is set partially in our world or includes crossover or other intrinsic connections to a realistic world that follows the same rules and expectations of our world. Isekai and portal fantasies like Narnia fall into this category, as do hidden-world/veiled-magic fantasies like the Bad Wizard Lady Books, Percy Jackson, and Artemis Fowl; and also a lot of true-anthropomorphic fiction like Watership Down, Warriors, etc. Note that "low fantasy" does NOT mean "gritty" fantasy or fantasy that focuses on the lower classes instead of nobles, nor does it mean a low-magic pseudo-medieval setting

Urban Fantasy: A story with fantasy tropes and themes that takes place in an urban setting. Can be low or high fantasy!)

What is the worst thing you've ever created?

Okay so this one time in high school me and my best friend Sam were trying to make lemon bars at his house and to this day we do NOT know what the hell ingredient we neglected to add to the lemon bars

but given the state of the results, there is a non-zero chance that the ingredient we forgot was flour.

[heliads]

hi

can i request a lydia martin x female reader? y/n is new in town and ends up getting along with the pack. she's a lot like lydia, genius smart, loves fashion, really girly, the major difference is that she's quiet and kinda shy, so everyone expects the two of them to become friends, but lydia really dislikes her and feels like she's being replaced by her. enemies to lovers, you know?

hope you like it and feel comfortable writing <3

reader: excuse me, i am smart, i am gay, i have the ability to make you jealous, i'm ~new in town~

masterlist

You are finding it hard to believe in the power of a fresh start. Everyone phrased it that way when it was first announced that you would be completely wrecking your old life to move to a town in the middle of Nowheresville, California, but you saw through it from the start. This would not be a wonderful chance to reinvent yourself, nor a blessed opportunity for trying again. This would be awful, and nothing about Beacon Hills could change that.

You already did your time of starting from scratch in a classroom you didn’t recognize back home. Home is not Beacon Hills, home is where you were born, where people knew you from kindergarten through your teenage years. Beacon Hills only has claim to you for the few years you have left in high school, and after that, you’re moving back to your hometown. So you’ve promised yourself, at least.

However, Beacon Hills doesn’t like it when its pawns and pieces get minds of their own. The only way people leave this town is through death, either theirs or that of someone they love. You don’t know that now, but you’ll learn it soon enough. It’s a lesson of inevitability for anyone daring enough to live in a supernatural hot spot even half the strength of this godforsaken town.

Death has not darkened your doorstep, however, and you go to your first day of school with only the apprehension of wondering if you’ll find enough friends to make this town worth your while. The students seem pretty friendly when they’re not judging you behind three ring binders or over locker doors, but what else is new? Beacon Hills High School is still a high school, and that means it can only be so great when you’re not one of its usual crew.

It’s a good thing, then, that you managed to stumble upon people who would embrace you with open arms. You met Scott McCall first when both of you were paired together for a chemistry lab, then Stiles second in a math class. After that, it was almost inevitable that you would join the rest of their group, their pack. If you can win over Scott and Stiles, you’re guaranteed to fit right in.

It’s nice being with the McCall crew. They watch each other’s backs, they stand up for themselves, anything you could want in a friend group. It takes them a while to trust you long enough to share exactly why that is, but even afterwards, it only solidifies the bond you have with the rest of them. Their world is strange and utterly confusing, but they’ve managed to navigate it together so far, and now that together includes you as well.

It would be perfect were it not for the presence of one person in that group. No one can understand why it is that you and Lydia Martin cannot get along, but the facts remain just as solid as always. Every time you and Lydia cross paths, you can’t escape without at least a few angry comments exchanged. Terse words are a must, and sarcastic retorts are a necessity. There’s no way kindness can prosper if the two of you have to work together.

It makes no sense. You and Lydia should be the closest here of anybody, with the exception of Scott and Stiles. Both of you are clever, among the smartest in your classes; both of you like being right, especially when it saves the lives of your friends. Malia and the rest have told you about a thousand times over that you guys could talk about so much if you would just talk to each other at all. 

That, however, seems to be far easier to say than to do. Lydia won’t let you get in a word unless she’s got the upper hand, and you’re no better. You’re not talking unless you’re sniping at each other, and that’s hardly talking at all. 

You’re not going to act like it totally ruins your friendship with the rest of the McCall pack, only that it’s frustrating you’ll never be able to win over the full set. You don’t need Lydia Martin to love you, though, she just has to tolerate your presence long enough to save your life if necessary, and she does that just fine. 

Too fine, actually. Scott gets it into his head that you should all split up to stake out potential hunter territory to see if they’re planning something big. Seeing as you’re still new to the whole hunter/supernatural deal, you’ll have to have someone there with you to keep you alive if your cover is blown, and of all the people to watch your back, he chooses Lydia. 

You tried to fight that choice as much as possible. If you have to be stuck in the dark of night with someone for an extended period of time, wouldn’t it be better if it was a person you could actually stand? Anyone else would be just fine by you. Even Theo Raeken, and the guy’s literally tried to kill everyone about half a dozen times. 

Scott disagrees, though, citing this as the perfect chance for you and Lydia to finally mend some bridges instead of burning them. You may think he’s insane, but Scott’s word is law, mostly because he’s the most capable of making reasonable decisions of all of you. 

This may be true, but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. You roll up to the stakeout with expectations on the ground, and when Lydia greets you with an eye roll, the bar descends even lower than expected. You’ll both be sitting in her car and waiting for something to happen, and all you can think is that three hours cannot pass quickly enough. 

Lydia chuckles derisively when you climb into her car. Evidently you’re not as good at concealing your disdain for this evening as you’d like to think. “You might want to work on your poker face, sweetheart. You’re looking a little unhappy.”

“Wonder why that is,” you say, settling into your seat with great reluctance, “it’s not like I’m stuck in a car for hours with someone who hates me. Oh wait, I am.”

Lydia frowns. “I don’t hate you.”

You scoff. “Of course you do. We pick fights every time we talk. You’re even arguing with me now about how much we dislike each other.”

Lydia goes silent for a second, then:  “I don’t want anyone to think I hate them. Unless they deserve it, of course.”

“I haven’t killed you or our friends yet,” you remark, “isn’t that enough for me to not deserve it?”

“It should be,” Lydia replies hesitantly. 

Yet it isn’t, which is what she isn’t saying. You exhale, irritated, and turn your attention back towards the house outside, you know, like you were supposed to be doing all this time. The sun sets and disappears beneath the horizon, and once the stars have bothered to take their place, Lydia speaks again. 

“It is.”

You look at her, confused. “What is?”

Lydia gestures vaguely at you. “What you said earlier. What you’ve done isn’t enough for me to hate you.”

“Then why do you?” You ask slowly. 

Lydia tosses you an affronted look. “I don’t, but you seem so determined to dislike me that you think I do anyway.”

Your hackles are rising again, and you feel yourself rushing to counter what she’d just said. “Only because you never give me a chance to do anything else!”

Lydia groans. “See, this is exactly what I mean. Neither of us can say anything without the other taking it as an insult.”

You pause for a second, and when you speak again, your words are calm and cautious. “What about a truce, then?”

Lydia nods. “I’d like a truce.”

She holds out a hand to you and you shake it with as much solemnity as you can muster. It’s awkward for a while after that, both of you apparently unable to come up with things to say that aren’t direct insults, but slowly the conversation comes and then you’re finding connections between each other you never knew existed in the first place. 

In fact, by the time your phone vibrates with the alarm you’d set to mark the end of the stakeout, you find that you’re almost disappointed to leave the car. Lydia must feel the same way, because she only lets you go with a promise to meet up later to talk. For real, this time. Truce continued without the forced proximity of a stakeout. 

You end up meeting Lydia later that week for coffee, then two days later for a study session, then again for a review of your favorite fashion house’s spring collection. The meetups seem to follow each other in waves, no one ever enough to make you tired of her company. If anything, it only makes you want it more. 

You never really considered what the others must think about the abrupt 180 in your interactions with Lydia until you’re at a pack meeting about a month later and Malia confronts you about it. 

The meeting is over, and just as you’re letting down your guard and pulling on your coat, Malia calls something out to you in typical no-nonsense Malia fashion. 

“So,” she says with unimaginable confidence, “how long have you and Lydia been dating?”

You feel every bit of air leave your lungs, and it takes a few seconds for you to recover enough to sputter out, “What?”

Malia spreads her hands. “How long have you been dating? You guys are together all the time. When did you first get together?”

Across the room, Lydia looks as if she’s just been shot. “We’re not dating, Malia.”

Malia frowns. “What do you mean? Of course you are.”

She looks as if she’d like to spend at least a few minutes more explaining all the ways you’re totally in a relationship with Lydia when Scott gently but firmly guides her by the arm out of the room. He winces over his shoulder as he goes, mouthing something like sorry about that and I’ll talk to her about it, I swear. 

You and Lydia are left staring at each other in complete shock. “Crazy mixup she had there, isn’t it?” Lydia asks faintly. “I mean, who could have even thought…”

You shrug weakly. “I mean, is it really such a leap? We go places together without anyone else all the time. We have inside jokes. You have my contact saved in your phone with a heart next to the name.”

Lydia shakes her head. “That’s just because it’s your favorite color. There was no other shape with it. You know that.”

When you stare at her for a moment longer, her eyes clear. “Oh, I see how that could look to someone who wasn’t there.”

“What if she wasn’t entirely wrong?” You ask as casually as you can, “you know, it does look like we’re dating. We might as well just go ahead and make it official.”

Lydia blinks in surprise, then: “Y/N L/N, are you asking me out?”

It takes everything in you to not turn and run. “Are you saying yes?”

Lydia laughs. “Yes, I think I am.”

You think you might owe Malia a favor after this. Intentional or not, she finally managed to get you and Lydia together. That’s at least worth saving her life a couple of times. 

teen wolf tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @23victoria

[mistandshcdow]

‘Men Have Called Her Crazy’ by Anna Marie Tendler — a Review

CW: this book discusses suicide, SH, EDs, mental health institutions and other triggering topics in detail, and they are touched on in this review.

Going into this memoir, I was expecting an intimate look at Tendler’s mental health crisis, her complicated relationship with various men in her life, and some insight as to how she dealt with being betrayed by her famous husband. You’ll get one of those things from this, and it’s not the one you want.

By intimate, imagine you’re sitting in on Anna’s three hour psych examination where she is narrating every detail and breaking down what it means in real time. That happens in the book. She also describes every inpatient class she goes to, every random man in the hospital who dares to glance at her, and every relationship she’s ever had going back to high school. Oh yeah, except her husband of six years, who makes not a single appearance outside of nameless references to “my husband.” He is never named, nor is their relationship even touched on.

She touches on other relationships though, and although they’re undoubtedly shitty, none of them call her crazy. Her mental health condition is addressed by only one boyfriend, the singular one she notes as being caring and dedicated. It comes to a point where she has to literally imagine a man calling her crazy, a man she has met all of once over ZOOM THERAPY and immediately hates for little reason. In fact, the only people in Tendler’s life who do insinuate she might be crazy are WOMEN, a fact she seems unable to unpack or dwell on, and why should she when she can say “Fuck men” and sell her book as a gripping feminist narrative. That’s not what feminism is, Anna.

The one man who deserves the biggest “Fuck you” is not present. Tendler has the right to write about whatever she wants and that includes leaving out Mulaney, but if you’re going to push the book as a tell-all memoir that is almost entirely centered around men shortly after your very public divorce, leaving him out totally feels unnatural and disingenuous. If it’s legal issues that keep her from mentioning him, then maybe she shouldn’t write the damn memoir.

Tendler is frankly unbearable to be inside the head of. She’s privileged (although she repeatedly stresses her financial hardship), judgmental, pretentious and somehow painfully uninteresting all at once. The real problem with this book is that it is boring, and the reason she feels the need to go into excessive detail about everything from her tiny wrists to a step by step guide on how to inject IVF hormones is because there is not enough content to fill a whole book without discussing Mulaney, which she can’t/won’t do. In the final third, readers are spoiled with pages upon pages of her talking about her designer dog, which I’m sorry, is not particularly compelling in a book that’s marketed as an exposé.

If your conclusion near the end of the book is “men are the cause of all my problems” then I don’t think you can really call the book memoir considering we can tell no self reflection was done—ma’am, you are severely mentally ill. That isn’t your fault, but it’s not your male barista’s fault either; it just sucks. By the end of the book, Tendler has learned nothing, digested nothing, and reflects on nothing, which is evident from the way she writes about herself. She is clearly still not in a good place and that is totally fine, but it doesn’t make for an honest memoir. The book ends by her going through her psych report in again, painful detail, complete with her calling every comment she disagrees with misogynistic for failing to accurately describe her experience. I think Tendler thinks that anything she doesn’t like or 100% resonate with is misogyny, which is uh, an interesting take from a rich white woman.

Women are allowed to be mediocre. Women should be allowed to be annoying and pretentious and self indulgent. Tendler is allowed to be these things. Doesn’t make this book any better.

If you loved this book, you’re probably a cis white woman. I can’t prove this, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.

2 stars.

[nostalgicamerica]

True story:

Over a lifetime of pranking my friends, or being pranked by them, in my mind, one prank stands out. It may not have been the funniest of pranks I've pulled, but it certainly was the most impactful.

-

They - whoever 'they' are - say that 'revenge is a dish best served cold.' I can attest that the saying is as accurate as it is pithy. At least, on those occasions that pride and self-respect required retaliation, I have found that a delay in dealing said retribution always made it sweeter.

Imagine the scene. 10th grade. Late afternoon. Biology, or possibly Chemistry. (I don't remember and it isn't important to this narrative anyway.) It is late May. School is about ready to let out for the summer break. The classroom is stuffy. I am either trying to memorize what a zygote is, or Boyle's Law or, more likely, furtively gazing upon the wonder that is Isla Oja, the blonde who most recently had captured my heart and imagination.

In real life I haven't yet informed her of my budding adoration, nor even worked up the courage to talk to her beyond my normal sophisticated and suave courtesies; "Urfkle," and "Whaerdvcsh." In my feverish fantasies, however, I swept her off her feet, sang songs of passion to her, wrote syrupy sonnets, and kissed her over and over, leaving her recently developed bosoms heaving behind her school sweater.

My 'lunch' had consisted of a bearclaw and two Nehis from the corner store down the street from the high school. As a result, whatever I was doing was interrupted by a full bladder. I requested and received permission from whatever teacher was droning on in the front of the classroom to be excused to use the lavatory.

Rising to my feet, I tried to step into the aisle and found myself falling face down on the tan and brown tile that made up the classroom floor. I reached out to catch myself and caught the edge of Isla's text book, sending it, her pencil, her note cards, and a couple of bobby pins careening across the room.

The class erupted with laughter at my expense, probably relieved for the reprieve from whatever subject with which they were being tortured. The teacher inanely yelled at me for disturbing his lecture. I glanced up to see Isla laughing along with everyone else. My embarrassment was acute and I could feel myself blushing furiously.

As It turns out, one of my best friends, Jussi, had surreptitiously tied my shoelaces together while I was ogling Isla. He was grinning like an idiot in his seat behind mine, absorbing the well-deserved adulation pouring down on him from the rest of the class.

One might think that such a prank would be met with anger, and for a second, I was more than a little peeved, until I recalled I had played the same prank on a poor freshman only the week before. Albeit, I didn't do it front of the girl the frosh had his heart set on, thereby ruining what chances he may have had, miniscule though they may have been.

Sullenly, I untied my laces and slunk from the classroom to take care of nature's call and plot some sort of revenge. Proper schoolhouse decorum required a response. My classmates would be expecting a response. I expected it of myself.

Most of my friends pranked each other mercilessly. It was fun and mostly harmless and added a little joy into our lives. Not necessarily into the life of the one being pranked, but he then had the pleasure of planning a payback. And that was my dilemma at the moment; coming up with a suitable and equally humiliating revenge.

But what was it to be? There should be a proper amount of escalation. Various acts of retribution ran through my mind. While a baseball bat to the knee sounded good at that moment, I genuinely liked the guy, and didn't really want to maim Jussi. I could put a cup of sugar in the gas tank of his 'new' truck. The problem with that possibility was that I had been riding to school with him since he got it running and, if I sabotaged it we'd both be stuck riding the bus.

-

I still hadn't found a suitable response by the time the last bell rang. We both laughed and snorted over the prank on the ride home in Jussi's rusted rattletrap as he relayed what happened to my brother. I could tell Jussi was on edge, expecting me to do something, anything, to pay him back, but I sat on my hands until he dropped us off at our front door.

Every day I mulled various ways of exacting revenge on Jussi, without success. We were released from school for three months. The sting of my embarrassment faded, as it often does, and, on the surface, life continued as normal. Chores. Walk the dog. Clean up dog poop. A camping trip. Mow the lawn. Fishing. Rinse and repeat.

I just wasn't creative enough to come up with something that would pay Jussi back in adequate fashion. Until a flash of relative brilliance hit me like a bolt of lightning.

Roughly two weeks after school let out inspiration struck. I was hiding from Mom and her infernal chore list, perusing one of her Good Housekeeping or Today's Woman magazines (they were as close to bawdy magazines as you'd find in our house). I was flipping from page to page when one of the subscription cards fell out of the periodical and fluttered to the floor at my feet.

I absentmindedly picked it up and, as I slid it back between the pages, I froze. For many moments I felt like Albert Einstein or Niels Bohr. I felt brilliant as a plan fleshed itself out in my grey matter. Synapses synapsed. Neurons did whatever they do.

I was growing excited and couldn't help laughing to myself as I contemplated my revenge. The raucous noise I made gave my position away to Mom and she sent me out to fill the wood bin, but it hardly felt like work as I was laughing the whole time while I nursed my plan to life.

-

That night I began. I went through every magazine that my mom and dad and an older sister had in the house, removing all the subscription cards, and examining the back pages for ads that would fit my scheme.

As I gathered the first weapons in my arsenal, I established a few rules: I wouldn't do anything that would cost Jussi money (his financial situation was as bleak as my own). I would not do anything that would cost myself too much money (see above). I would not do anything that even hinted at being risqué (Jussi's parent's wouldn't like it). But other than that, all bets were off. Lastly, I would tell no one, not even my brother, despite his being my closest confidant and partner in crime. (it was going to be a long-term operation and I didn't want him blabbing).

By the time I had rifled through all the family's magazines I had a dozen blank subscription forms to such periodicals as American Weekly, Today's Woman, Journal, Glamour, Redbook, Teen, Woman and Home, and My Home. I had some order forms for Field and Stream and Outdoor Life but I opted to eliminate magazines aimed at men; the humiliation factor would be greater if I sent only women's magazines.

Each of the forms offered anywhere from three to twelve free copies of the magazines just for trying them, and all but one required no postage if mailed in the United Staes. What a deal.

In addition, I found a large number of ads with either order forms or phone numbers in the back pages for a variety of companies offering free samples, or information pamphlets and fliers, and I clipped the forms for which to place an order for said samples and pamphlets.

It was a good start.

I had known Jussi since my family moved from Minneapolis years before, and I had spent the night at his place countless times, but I had to look up his address in the phonebook. Of course I knew what street he lived on, but I had no idea what the house number was. Why would I know that information? I had limited space in my noodle, most of which was occupied by girls, and I never had a reason to know Jussi's address. I never had cause to mail him anything.

I filled out the order forms that night and used block print to try to disguise my handwriting on the off chance some of the subscription cards were returned.

Most of the order forms I clipped from the back pages did require postage but I had enough loose change to buy more than enough stamps at 4 cents each. It was a worthy investment.

The next day, while Mom and Dad were doing the weekly grocery shopping, I deepened my voice and made some phone calls, placing orders for a number of free samples to be delivered to John 'Jussi' Carlson, and why, yes, please send me information regarding any future products your fine company may offer.

It wasn't until after my last call, to somewhere in New Jersey, that I figured I'd be catching heck as soon as the phone bill came (and have to pay for the calls I made), but I'd cross that bridge when I got to it. I wouldn't lie about any charges, if asked, but I wouldn't voluntarily fess up, either.

-

I couldn't stop chuckling to myself. Even after my brother and I joined up with Skunk and Jussi to hike up to The Cliffs (because they were there), an occasional snicker would leak out causing the others to look at me as if I had been dropped on my head. Maybe my plan wasn't all that funny, but it sure seemed that way to me.

I imagined dozens of ladies magazines arriving for Jussi every week, along with the free samples of Kotex Sanitary Napkins, Westmore Cosmetics, and Fresh Greaseless Deodorant. I pictured his face opening a package of free incontinence supplies. I saw piles of pamphlets trumpeting everything from the Jehovah's Witnesses to self-stick shelf liner. I took great joy in what I thought was going to happen.

I had no clue.

-

Over the next two weeks I ramped up my campaign. Raiding the magazine racks at the general store and the local library, and swiping the subscription forms from every woman's magazine I encountered. One day I accompanied Mom and three of my younger brothers on a trip to Houghton for their dental appointments and had her drop me at the library. Ostensibly I was there to find books to borrow, but in reality I was after the Houghton County Library's massive trove of periodicals.

When we left Houghton I had more order forms than I had collected from all other sources combined. That was until a few days later when Mrs. Coulter offered me a dollar to clean out her garage. I told her I'd clean it, but I didn't want pay.

Agnes Coulter was the widow who lived across the street from us. She was a wonderful neighbor and as sweet a person as ever befriended our family. Agnes was close to 85 years-old and tiny - probably five foot even and about 90 pounds soaking wet. Her blue-gray hair was always perfectly set, and I never saw her in anything but a dress and - if she wasn't in church - her frilly yellow apron.

Because Dad valued being a gentleman above nearly anything else, he would always mow her lawn, shovel the snow from her drive, and ferry groceries for her. Or, if he wasn't available, Dad was never shy in volunteering his sons to do those things for her when they were old enough. None of us ever minded.

Among the things in Agnes' garage she wanted disposed of - besides the old water heater, the odds and ends of lumber, and the old screen door that had been replaced - were a dozen stacks of old magazines, all neatly bound together with twine and ready for the dump. My eyes lit up.

She offered but I didn't want to use Agnes' car. Her 1940 Ford Deluxe was as neat and perfect as her hair. I would have loved to drive it and I had my license, I just didn't want to sully it. Instead, I asked Dad if I could use his truck.

That afternoon I offloaded everything else into the dump - we weren't classy enough for landfills back then - and one by one, I went through the magazines, almost all of which were of the lady's variety. I limited my search to the issues that were less than five years old. By the time I was done I had probably close to 50 more unique subscription forms and dozens of ads.

I was pretty sure I had enough.

-

It was about three weeks after I launched my revenge that the deluge began. It started as a trickle; a magazine here, a sample there, and a couple of pamphlets to make things interesting.

One Sunday after church, my brother, Spud, Skunk, and I were waiting for Jussi on his back steps. We were all going to pitch in for gas and head to Cedar Bay to swim at Spud's parent's cabin.

The window to Jussi's kitchen was open and we could clearly hear his mom ask, "Why on earth would you subscribe to Modern Woman?"

Jussi was indignant, "I didn't, Ma, that's just insulting."

"Your name is on the label and it has our address," She snorted, "What am I supposed to think?"

"How the blue blazes am I supposed to know?" Jussi was practically yelling, "I'm just as mystified as you are, Ma."

Jussi joined us on the stoop, slamming the door behind him.

We were all staring at Jussi. I was biting the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking up.

Spud asked, "What was that all about?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Jussi snarled, stomping to his truck. "Let's go."

-

It may be helpful at this point to introduce another character to the drama that was beginning to unfold. The United States Postal Service had one employee in our town. Mr. Kesti had been hired at the beginning of The Great Depression and had plodded the streets of town since, delivering mail and a rancid sort of gloom that wafted from his greyness. He was a bit of a sourpuss when at his happiest, and a cantankerous grouch when his corns were barking or the weather was inclement.

Mr. Kesti reminded me of a desiccated and disheveled Ichabod Crane; tall, lean, and bony, with large hawk nose that was constantly running. His gray uniform and hat were, like him, threadbare and weathered.

The post office, located approximately at the center of town, was a non-descript brick building with no windows other than those in the front door. There was a bank of boxes for those folks who lived off our postal carrier's normal route, or those who didn't desire home delivery.

The way I understand it, Mr. Kesti would spend the first half of each week day, sorting the mail and filling the boxes, chewing his WB Cut and spitting into an old coffee can. He'd then use the last half of his day in residential delivery, chewing his WB Cut and spitting on the streets.

Our town was not large, and although the volume of mail flowing through was probably about the same as any other town of comparable size, it wasn't too much for a crotchety old man to handle. Mr. Kesti was slow, but he always managed to get the mail delivered with an hour or so to spare.

Until I pranked Jussi.

-

By mid-July, the trickle had turned into a torrent. A white water cascade of mail that at times threatened to drown the Carlson family and the flow was only getting heavier.

A lot of the fallout I had to gather third-hand as I wasn't present for most of it, but I learned that from mid July of that year, every weekday the postman had to load the only vehicle the USPS had allocated for our town - a WW II era jeep painted white and blue that should have been put out to pasture along with Mr. Kesti - with the Calson's mail. After his normal route he would drive the load over to Jussi's parent's house and carp and complain while Jussi was forced to offload the mail into garbage bags and then take it into the garage to be weeded through.

-

Jussi's parents, normally as level-headed folk as you'd ever run into, were besides themselves. Jussi insisted that he had no idea why all the mail was being sent to him and that he had nothing to do with it. Despite his denial, the adults in his household had their doubts.

While Jussi's parents were not especially happy, I do know that his mother benefitted by the incoming flood of lady's magazines. There were lady's magazines scattered all over the house with Jussi's name on the label.

One evening when my brother and I were staying at Jussi's, his dad came into the living room where we were watching TV. He had a small bottle of Zonite Feminine Douche and gestured to Jussi.

"John," He didn't sound angry, exactly; he sounded tired more than anything else. "I believe you when you say you didn't order these things. Is it possible the publisher of your Popular Science magazine sold their mailing list to an ad or marketing agency?"

Jussi jumped up, excited, "Gee, Pa, do you think...I bet that's it! Maybe I can call somebody to cancel these things."

I didn't have the heart to tell him he'd be calling in the neighborhood of 150 companies. I almost felt sad for him. My sympathy faded when I recalled Isla Oja laughing at my expense.

-

So, nearly every week day for months, Jussi spent hours in the garage going through that day's postal delivery, pulling out his parent's mail, and tossing the rest into the box that his mother's new stove had been delivered in.

I helped Jussi a sort the mail a few times and I can assure you it was a daunting task. The box used for the garbage mail was easily five feet high and four feet wide and four feet deep. On one occasion that I helped my friend the box was nearly full and it was only the first week of August.

He asked me if I'd help him haul the box to the dump the next day.

"Of course, buddy," I slapped his shoulder, "That's what friends are for.

-

The next morning my brother and I showed up at Jussi's. While we were young and physically fit, my brother, Jussi, and I couldn't lift the box into the bed of Jussi's truck. We would have needed about eight more guys our size to handle it.

We wound up closing the tailgate, and backing the truck as close to the box as we could, and just tossed armloads of mail into the back. By the time we were done the bed was filled three-quarters full and the springs on the truck were getting a workout.

Initially, the three of us sat in the cab but by the time we'd gone a single block we knew we had a problem. Not only was the bed of the truck open, it was a breezy day. Coupled with that was the fact that the road was a washboard - like most roads in town. It was replete with ruts and pot holes and divots.

At normal speed, the truck bounced and shuddered and shook, and lady's magazines flew everywhere and flyers sailed like kites. We had to stop and spent a half-hour chasing pamphlets trumpeting the benefits of Lustre-Creme shampoo and Vi-Jon Oily Polish Remover. Afterwards, my brother and I sat in back of Jussi's rust bucket and tried to plug the eruptions. Jussi had judiciously slowed his speed to a crawl which helped immensely, but a 15-minute drive wound up taking more than an hour.

A bear was browsing the wares at the dump when we rolled up. Jussi honked his horn until the bear grudgingly ambled off into the shrubbery. After offloading the load, we piled in the cab and Jussi slapped the back of my head in affection, "Thanks, Orava. I really appreciate your help."

I grinned and shrugged, "No problem at all. Glad to help."

-

We had to empty the box again just before we started our junior year and the torrent of incoming mail hadn't abated at all. I hadn't sent a subscription form since the beginning of August and the way the junk mail was pouring in I figured any more would be overkill.

The first day at school before the first bell rang, I was standing at my locker when a delightful and melodious feminine voice sang, "Good morning, Orava."

I spun around clumsily to see Isla Oja walking past. She was smiling at me. She was stunning. She was also holding hands with a senior who was: a.) popular b.) the spitting image of Guy Madison c.) a linebacker for the football team and d.) much bigger than me.

"Whaerdvcsh." I gurgled with a debonair nonchalance as I dropped my books and my heart sneered at me as it felt squeezed by a giant fist, "Did you really think you had a chance with her? Ääliö!"

I have no idea how my heart learned Finnish.

Losing a girl I never had wasn't that big of a deal, but it still was less than optimum. I mentally shrugged and fell in love again by the end of my second class.

-

Occasionally winter eases it's way into Northern Michigan. Most times it jumps in with both feet while swinging haymakers. One day you are enjoying autumn's splendor and cool mornings, and then you blink and you're standing in snow up to your navel.

That particular winter was typical. The countryside snuggled in under a heavy blanket of white to hibernate, and the County Road Commission struggled to keep the roads clear.

In our town, back then, only the main street through town was paved. All other roads were au naturel; mud in spring, dust and dirt in the summer and fall months, and in the winter, thanks to constant freezing and thawing and the resulting frost heaves, they became an adventurous carnival ride. It was not uncommon to see cars stuck in snow banks, pulled there by frozen ruts.

That December (I don't recall the date) Mr. Kesti was driven to his snapping point by all the mail. Nearly every week day he was loading up the post office's Jeep and hauling it the three blocks to the Calson's and every day his anger grew incrementally until it could no longer be contained.

I didn't see it but from what I understand, the crotchety mailman was on his way to deliver a bag of Jussi's mail. The roads were snow covered and nearly impassable. A strategically-placed divot pulled the Jeep into a Maple in the Calson's neighbor's yard.

The accident didn't cause much damage to the tree, the Jeep, or Mr. Kesti, but the Jeep decided it was done. The postman, already irate, lost complete control when he couldn't get the vehicle started again. He got out and began kicking the vehicle ineffectively. He then retrieved Jussi's younger brother's hockey stick from where it had been stuck in a snow bank and proceeded to beat the car like a rented mule.

When I saw the Jeep a few hours later it was a sight to behold. The windshield was smashed in, red fragments from the Tail lights decorated the snowbanks, the door was dented, there were slashes in the soft top, and the hockey stick was sticking out of one of the holes. Jussi's mail was strewn up and down the street and one of the beige USPS bags was in a tree.

-

A few days later the news crept through town that Mr. Kesti had opted to retire and move to Green Bay. The US Postal Service announced a temporary and much younger - and presumably, less-easily agitated - replacement would commute from a neighboring town to deliver mail.

It wasn't long afterward the USPS created some buzz by informing our town folk that they planned a new and larger postal center next to the old one, which would then be razed. They then proceeded to generate ill-will with another announcement; when the new Post Office was completed, all residential delivery would cease. All residents would have to retrieve their mail from the new Post Office.

The District Manager for the USPS made a special trip to town to assure residents that the changes were long-planned modifications to their operation, and had nothing to do with Mr. Kesti's tantrum. In fact, he pointed out, centralized postal centers were being built in other small towns across the Upper Peninsula as a cost saving measure.

Regardless of what the USPS proclaimed, many folks in town laid the change at the retired postman's feet. For myself, I was happy to believe that my prank was not at all responsible for the alteration in how we received mail and packages in our town, but a part of me still wonders.

-

The mail to Jussi eventually did dry up to a trickle but it took almost a year to stop entirely. And he still occasionally received trial issues of Woman's Day and McCall's even after we graduated high school and headed off to college.

-

I never told anyone of my prank until some twenty odd years later when Jussi and his wife visited me and my family in Alaska. I took him out fishing for Grayling on the Chatanika River north of Fairbanks. Afterward, we sat on the bank and ate our lunch and talked of old times. We talked of the kids we ran with and some of the scrapes we got into. We talked of family and pranks we pulled.

I decided the time was right and confessed to being behind the flood of mail and why. He just looked at me for a long moment and then we both broke up laughing. We laughed so hard tears were streaming down our cheeks. We disturbed a couple of river otters who regarded us with some suspicion before resuming their gamboling.

"I knew it was one of you moukka," He wheezed, holding his sides, "I just couldn't figure out which one." He wiped his face with his sleeve and grinned broadly, "You know, of course, that now I have to get you back."

I was confident he would try. Decorum required it.

[cherryfemm]

Welcome to Merston High

Chapter five - Being in Denile

Cleo strutted down the hallway in front of all of her loyal subjects. Some smiling and waving, others, mostly Clawdeen scowling and rolling their eyes. She blew kisses and waved back as she made her way to her locker. As she opened it a note fell to her feet. She picked the note expecting the usual, either a girl begging to be on the cheer squad or a guy begging her for a date.

'I hope you had a good time this summer,

I sure did'

She quickly folded the letter in half multiple times and shoved it into her purse. She knew exactly what it meant and who it was about. For a moment the note made her smile but she immediately thought about the consequences of her actions. Clawdeen and Draculaura soon approached Cleo, Clawdeen being reluctantly dragged by Draculaura.

"Hey Cleo, did you have a good summer in Greece?" Draculaura excitedly beamed. "I bet you saw so many hot guys,"

Cleo sighed. "Yeah, so many.."

"Must be nice, I was stuck on a rickety boat touching worms all day" Clawdeen tutted.

"Yikes, yeah your brother told me you weren't having fun," Cleo coughed at the thought.

Clawdeen rolled her eyes once more. "Yeah I forgot you and Clawd are besties now" She tutted. "I'm surprised you even got in that car this morning, I thought it wouldn't be up to your standards,"

While Cleo wouldn't have said it to his face Clawdeen wasn't wrong. Clawd's old car wasn't exactly luxurious, nor should it have been road legal. But Cleo understood that the car itself had been a hand down from their dad so she didn't really feel comfortable being honest about it's condition.

"I guess you could call it retro," She giggled trying not to sound stuck-up. "Besides I'm not interested in Clawd for his car, I like uh his umm"

"Definitely not those god awful mutton chops," Clawdeen howled.

"At least he can grow facial hair," Draculaura chuckled in her high pitch cadence.

The girls formed a three way line and strutted off towards the girls bathroom. They stood hogging the mirrors even through Draculaura couldn't see herself. Clawdeen would fix Draculaura's makeup and hair for her instead. The bathroom stalls were all empty but one. When Clawdeen checked underneath she couldn't see any feet touching the ground. She banged on the door as loud as she could.

"I don't think anyone's in there," She stated. "I gotta go to the library so I'll catch up with you guys in class,"

After Clawdeen abruptlyleft Draculaura and Cleo continued to apply their makeup and adjust their clothes. Cleo couldn't stop thinking about the note in her purse. It felt like it was burning a hole in her bag. She sighed deeply.

"Drac can I tell you something?" Cleo turned to her looking distressed.

"Oh my ghoul are you coming out to me?" She immediately jumped to.

"What!- No!" Cleo defended. "It's about Clawd and someone else.."

"A girl?" Draculaura continued.

Cleo stomped the ground with her heel. "No Draculaura a guy" she grunted. "I met up with a guy while I was in Greece, and he goes to school here, and I can't tell Clawdeen because she'll have my head on a spike"

Draculaura with her jaw hung open and eyes widely lit immediately grabbed Cleo's shoulders. "Cleo you naughty ghoul," she teased. "But wow poor Clawd,"

Cleo sighed once more but this time out of sympathy. "Yeah I know, he's a nice guy but we just don't click like me and this other guy did," Cleo screwed the note into a ball and threw it into the grey trash can. "I know I should break up with him, but Nefera told my dad that I was dating the basketball captain and he seemed so proud of me and-"

Draculaura grabbed Cleo tightly. "I get it, you're not the only person with an incredibly overbearing dad," Draculaura grabbed Cleo's hand. "C'mon let's ask Ghoulia, she always knows what to do,"

"She'll probably just tell me to do the right thing and tell them both the truth, she's no fun!" Cleo huffed as Drac dragged her out of the bathroom.

As the two exited the room a pair of purple boots lowered through the bottom space of the stall. It swung open with a thud against the wall and a gangly pale figure floated out. She had long purple hair that trailed further than her body length. Her eyes were wide and had no whites, only a misty purple glow to them. She giggled to herself as she realised the perfect crime was laid right infront of her. Gently picking the note out of the trash she saw the boys poor scrawl of a confession.

'Cleo De Nile the queen of being vile'

This was perfect. Finally someone had some real tangible evidence to strike Cleo from her throne. Cleo begging on her knees felt like the ultimate power move. She knew she had to make quick work of this. She promptlyfloated away into the ceiling, continuing to cackle as she did.

[lonelylatebloomer]

Baba - 1

My relationship with my father has always felt like it was divided into distinct chapters, each one shaping me in ways I’m only just beginning to understand.

The first chapter of my life with him is a blur of absence. He was always away, traveling, working, trying to secure our future. I can’t recall much from those years. I only have fragments—like the time I got into trouble at school, and my friends called him to come for me. Even then, I remember feeling determined to handle things on my own, as if I had to. His presence in my life felt more like a distant echo than a steady, comforting figure. I don’t know if I resented him for that or if I simply accepted it.

The second chapter was when I truly started to feel the weight of his absence. I remember standing at a school ceremony, one of the proudest moments of my young life, and he wasn’t there. His friend stood in his place, but it wasn’t the same. I had worked so hard to be recognized, but instead of feeling proud, I felt abandoned. There were other moments like that—like when I came second in my class, and he called to tell me it wasn’t good enough. "You should be first," he said. I still remember how much that hurt. But when I did finally come first, when I achieved what he wanted, he still wasn’t there. The silence in those moments was louder than any praise he could have given.

But there were glimpses of care. He took me to learn new things—English, computers—small efforts that made me feel like he saw me, even if just for a moment. I don’t know if those were his decisions or my mother’s, but either way, they left a mark on me.

The third chapter began in high school, during a time when my parents’ relationship was unraveling. They were caught up in their own battles, and I was left to navigate my own world. My father, in his way, gave me what he called freedom. He allowed me to do things other girls in our society couldn’t. But with that freedom came expectations. I was his "favorite," and in return, I had to take care of my younger siblings. I was still just a teenager, struggling to find my own way, yet I was burdened with responsibilities that weren’t mine to carry. I accepted it, though, because I believed it was my way of earning his love. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt so close to my younger sisters—because I had to grow up too fast and take on roles I wasn’t ready for.

He gave me authority over my siblings, but I never used it to control them. Somehow, even as a teenager, I knew better. I wanted to protect them, not rule over them. That was something good I could hold onto, even when everything else felt so heavy.

The fourth chapter began after university. I asked him for support to travel abroad—a bold request in a society where girls don’t typically venture out alone. But he supported me, without hesitation. It was one of the few times I felt his backing so strongly, and it meant the world to me. Even when things fell apart, when I faced enormous challenges far from home, he was there. But when I returned, broken and drowning in depression, neither he nor anyone else understood what I was going through. No one knew how to help me, and I didn’t know how to ask for help. It was the beginning of a deep darkness that I’m still learning to navigate.

[z3ncat]

For me, "gifted" meant:

- being expected to keep up with both the extra work from the gifted program AND material/work from classes I DIDN'T ATTEND because the gifted classes were pull-out classes (no I did not get extra access to the teachers of the classes I missed, nor did anyone suggest I should have extra access OR that I'd need it).

- being publicly humiliated when I COULDN'T keep up with both regular and gifted assignments, either through a teacher's admonitions in front of the class or by being kicked out of the gifted program for the remainder of the year (something everyone noticed, since I was no longer missing classes).

- when gifted classes were no longer pull-out, being automatically placed in ALL gifted classes despite not being advanced in all subjects. I was in gifted/advanced math for THREE YEARS despite nearly failing EVERY YEAR and BEGGING to be placed in regular math. In 8th grade I was straight-up told they COULDN'T reschedule me because the schedule assumed that aby student in ONE gifted class would be in ALL gifted classes.

- the expectation that I knew how to take notes and study despite NEVER being taught either of those skills. (It took a teacher in the private school I attended for high school to teach me how to take notes, and she went out of her way to help me with that because she really liked me. I'm 38 and I still don't know how to study... which has been A Problem™️.)

- the gifted students being the ones expected to help everyone else with material they didn't understand, even if - in my case - the other students spent more time bullying me than being civil to me.

- being repeatedly victim-blamed by school admins for being bullied because someone as gifted as me should have known how to get along with my classmates.

- everyone wanted me as a partner on a group project but then expected me to do ALL the work while still giving them credit. Teachers got angry with me if I asked to work alone or refused to give my classmates credit for work they didn't do

- there was the very strong implication that when someone is gifted/highly intelligent that's just how people treat them and it's their job to put up with it; I'd be unfair and unkind if I don't give people who did no work credit for work they didn't do because it was obviously less effort for me than it would have been for them.

- the attitude that doing "just enough" or "getting by" is somehow an even greater failure than failure itself. Failing meant people wanting to know what happened, a C meant lectures from EVERYONE on how I'm "better" than just a passing grade.

- "not living up to her potential". I had ONE teacher I don't want to murder for saying this, and it's because she was the ONLY teacher in my ENTIRE LIFE to ask what SHE could do to help me reach my potential. (She's the same one who taught me how to take notes and tried to teach me how to study.) I heard this from EVERY TEACHER for most of my school career - always as MY failing, never the system's.

Look, I attended a summer program for "talented youth". The requirements to get in were incredible (I first took the SATs at 12 for it), and it was WITHOUT QUESTION the first time in my life I wasn't the smartest kid in the room. And yeah, that required a serious attitude adjustment, so I don't doubt there are former gifted kids struggling with not being the smartest person they know.

But the damage being a "gifted" kid does goes so far beyond that.

I think a lot of the skepticism and derision toward the idea of "gifted kid burnout" stems from the fact that a lot of folks have no idea what the gifted track in most high schools actually looks like; they've got this mental image, possibly informed by popular media depictions, of "gifted kids" as a privileged group of students who get to go on extra field trips, monopolise the teachers' attention in class, and constantly be told how special they are, but are otherwise treated identically to all the other kids.

In practice, the gifted track in most high schools – most North American high schools at any rate – has the same problem as any other educational program: the need to adhere to published metrics. These programs exist for the benefit of students only insofar as those benefits can empirically be measured, which leads to several common outcomes:

Students on the gifted track being afforded fewer choices regarding elective classes – often to the extent of having no choices at all – in order to stream the highest-performing students into the subjects that are most valuable in terms of boosting institutional metrics.

Students on the gifted tracking receiving restricted access to educational resources such as tutoring because it's perceived as a waste of resources. In many cases, gifted students are not only denied access to tutoring, but expected to serve as volunteer tutors and teaching assistants themselves, effectively becoming a source of unpaid educational labour for the schools they attend.

Students on the gifted track being assigned considerably more homework, often literally doubling their workload in an environment where homework loads are already routinely high enough that kids have difficulty finding time to eat and sleep, simply because you get more measurable academic performance data that way.

The upshot is that the gifted track is often less about fun perks and constant praise, and more about receiving less freedom, fewer resources, and heavier workloads than one's peers, getting strong-armed into providing unpaid labour to the school on top of it, and constantly being told one should be grateful for it – and that's without touching on the fact that the unspoken secondary purpose of many gifted programs is to serve as a quarantine for all the neurodivergent kids the school couldn't find an excuse to institutionalise or expel.

Like, shit, there's a reason kids on the gifted track exhibit elevated rates of alcoholism and substance abuse compared to general student populations. That doesn't arise in a vacuum!

(To be clear, I'm not saying that people graduating from high school and immediately having an existential crisis upon realising they're not special after all isn't a thing that happens, but in my experience that's more usually something that happens to the kids who were on the football team, and reframing it as a nerd culture thing is really weird.)

[irene-dimension]

ok well just let me type this out to get it out of my head. senior year was seriously ass. and now thats its over..; im in this weird in between right now of classes having ended but so much senior stuff is still coming up. and i feel like a complete and utter failure. not academically. academically, i got my aice diploma junior year, went to college full time as a hs senior, got into my dream school and the top school in florida, and had straight A's every year. yeah, it sounds good all typed out, but i cant help but feel that the struggle for all that was worthless. because somehow, i still failed. i hardly have any real friends. many of my friendships crumbled this year. i have severe social anxiety. i feel like everyone else in my class is so social and has such strong bonds with so many people, and i dont have that. i dont know how to interact normally. making friends is simply a skill i never really developed. and a lot of the blame for that falls on how i was raised. i went to a tiny private catholic school for 11 years. the same 30 people in my grade (15 per class as we were divided into two, because 30 was considered a large class) for ELEVEN YEARS. it truly does something to the psyche. and only a handful of my peers werent assholes. then, i started hs during covid. it was frustrating in terms of making friends, because there was such a heavy expectation to branch out and do that, but we also weren't really supposed to be near each other? and going from a school with maybe 230 people to one with 1,500 was not an easy transition. i didnt know how to really socialize! and i feel like ive never been able to change the effect all that had on me. then being labeled "quiet" and "shy" makes you never wanna open your mouth ever again. i was in three clubs, and it made no difference. seeing everyone else with their large friend groups makes me feel so insecure and shitty. and fucking THEATER KIDS should not be making ME feel insecure like what the actual fuck?? anyways. i feel like ive cried more in this in between time than all year, and i wasnt particularly doing well all year either. it just sucks. im so so sad over the what ifs. i have to grieve the person i couldve been and the life i couldve had. its not fucking fair. on top of that, the school im going to is the one my parents, grandparents, and many of my other family members went to. my older sister didnt get in, when they really wanted her to go. i worked so hard to get in because i had some stupid notion that i could "win" and finally they could love me as much as they love her. yet, they dont even seem happy about it. they act like they dont care at all. like everything they have to do regarding college stuff is just a burden to them. like, great. i wasted my whole life,, i couldn't make friends, i couldn't make my parents like me, nor the rest of my family. everyone just views me as some shy loser freak.

at least i didnt peak in high school, right?

[chemicalblonde]

I rolled out of bed at 3 in the afternoon. 3 weeks ago I left my 9-5 job. The pay, the title, and the sound of it all looked good on paper, but I couldn't bare the unhappiness one more second. While working my flower gig on Mother's Day, I ran into my old boss. It was a picture-perfect scene - I was smiling alongside the owners, beaming ear to ear when I greeted her. In our last conversations, my former boss brought up the fact that she witnessed my struggle with being overwhelmed - so I knew this was a monumental moment.

You have to understand one thing, I have acknowledged that people possess many layers that include faults and wonderful gifts - so to say that she is evil would be untrue. She is a human navigating her own life, as I am mine. Hours later, after enjoying brunch with her family, she returned and I built her a bouquet. We hugged, wished each other well, and continued to go our separate ways.

I don't think about that job anymore and I'm not kept up passed the witching hour tossing and turning with grief and dread about interacting with her either. I don't regret leaving. I have found so much peace in doing so.

I made it to my pottery class 3 hours later and worked alongside 3 other girls who just wanted to get a course under their belt. Or possibly to do something on a Tuesday night that broke their routine. I destroyed 2 of the 3 pots we made. However, I did not feel defeated nor did I feel angry about wasting the money I spent to be there. I think I'll keep trying, and it's okay that I'm not perfect for my first attempt at ceramics since high school.

On my way home, I was stuck in heavy traffic. So I called my brother to inform him of the horrific death of our family friend that happened over the weekend. I have been keeping it inside because sharing this kind of story is sad, and not fair to share with others who aren't attached to this person. I felt relief in our conversation, I no longer had to hold that in.

After I got home, I scarfed down bits of dinner, ran a load of laundry, and decided to go for my nightly walk (I've been walking every night for a few days in a row now and I want to keep it up). I felt lighter. I felt a release of worry, I release of guilt or pressure to figure it out right now. I am happy that I am returning to my core, to my stable self. It's nice to be back. Maybe I do need to pursue a life in yoga training. Maybe I should. I can't think of other vocations that bring me to this kind of clarity. I am beginning to explore parts of myself that I enjoy.

Shayla and I have been indulging ourselves in this therapy show as of late. We stay up crying and psychoanalyzing. But tonight's season finale resonated with me. There was this insufferable woman who would incessantly gripe about her husband and his lack of value. Turns out, this woman was deeply anxious and loved him dearly. Her therapist asked, "What would life look like without your anxiety"? And she began to explain how she wanted to travel to places where there were dangers and uncertainty. That hit home a little too hard. I think of my past relationships and how my anxiety got in the way, how my control was suffocating, and my expectations for myself were projected onto my partners that resulted in feeling unheard or unappreciated by them. Much to chew on.

Shayla is thinking of possibly pursuing a job outside of Texas, which would mean our time living in this beautiful home is now on a countdown. I am sitting in this. It is not new information, but I was just getting comfortable with the idea of staying here long-term. But this is okay too because I would like to leave and explore the world now. It's time. I can pack my things and head to the west coast to be with my brother. I can create new memories with him and his small family like he dreams of...and I dream of too.

It's now 30 minutes until 3 and I should start winding down. I am overwhelmed with such joy and excitement about the newness ahead. May I continue to believe in the universe and all of its blessings.

[iloveabunchofgames]

#JakeReviewsItch

After the first station

by Lsgamedev

Price (US): $5.00 (But it seems to be on a permanent 100%-off sale.)

Included In: Not in any bundles

Genre: Adventure

Pitch: Hop aboard a train that literally and metaphorically takes a Japanese high school student out of her small town and into the challenges and isolation of adulthood.

My expectations: Looks like a walking sim. The screenshots don't suggest much interactivity, nor do they show any text. I love when a mellow game lets me inhabit a space. A lot games do that and also have other, video game-y stuff, so unless they really have something to say, pure walking sims usually strike me as unambitious and pretentious. But I'm not even sure if that's the genre. The visuals are pretty. Everything else on developer Li Sheng's Itch profile page is a horror game, so maybe After the first station isn't really as cheery as it looks. My curiosity is piqued.

Review:

I’m in a school. I enter a classroom. There’s nothing of interest inside. I walk to the another classroom. It’s not my class. I try another. It’s not my class. I try another door, and it opens! This must be my class.

Class is not in session, but something is happening here. There are glowing circles on the floor, and they are freaking out. Should I stand on them? Do I need to walk along them in a certain order? Or are the circles, which are jumping around to ten different places at once, meant to draw my attention to the conspicuous box on the teacher’s desk?

I approach and see a button prompt. I can rotate the box, but how do I open it? I can move a cursor over the latch, but I’m pressing every button and nothing’s happening. Ohhhhh… I have to put the cursor on the lid, and then…rotate the lid?

I get a key, which opens the library, where I find a camera, which I place on a scale, which gives me a train ticket, which takes me away from the first level. Thus concludes the best part of After the first station.

+ Solid framerate at max settings. ("Meets expectations" shouldn't be cause for celebration, but I've played a lot of primitive-looking Itch games with terrible performance lately.) + It seems like a very personal story. As laughable as the end product is, I hope its development was therapeutic. If making games helps you process trauma, you have my full support. If you release those games to the public, though, I'm not going to hold back on what I think of the full product. And on that note... + Unintentional comedy is still comedy. This game is a riot.

– The Itch page lists, "Atmospheric and appealing graphics" and "Amazing and magical landscape to explore" as key features. The landscapes are a handful of assets copied and pasted at random a thousand times. I don't think I ever went a full minute without finding a new visual bug. Yes, "amazing" is exactly the word. I was in disbelief the whole time. – According to a YouTube walkthrough, I quit a little more than halfway through the game. I consulted a walkthrough because I was sure I had completed my objectives, but nothing was happening. As suspected, I'd hit a game-breaking bug and couldn't proceed. Awesome. – A full sprint in this game is more like a leisurely stroll—especially obnoxious since most levels are either about collecting glowing trinkets in huge, vacant, repetitive areas or walking straight ahead along huge, vacant, repetitive paths. How nice it is to slow down and take in all the nothing. – Sometimes you get Xbox button prompts. Sometime you get PlayStation. Sometimes moves like leaning to the side, zooming the view, or rearranging the inventory—useless vestiges of whatever template is driving this thing—simply stop working.

🧡🧡🤍🤍🤍

Bottom Line: If you're a streamer or you like to gather with friends to watch each other play single-player games, grab After the first station while it's free. You'll have no trouble finding material for your quips and zingers. If you're playing alone, or if you're looking for a real game, don't bother.

#JakeReviewsTwitch is a series of daily game reviews. You can learn more here. You can also browse past reviews...

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[whateveryousay04]

I just found this on Pinterest and wanted to Reblog directly but I didn’t find the user anymore. If the account and original post are still there, please send it to me so I will respectfully reblog and delete this post.

So true. As someone who is feminine with a style leaning on glamour (sometimes vintage, sometimes modern), sophisticated and elegance; I was insecure of making my peers insecure or curious about my social class and my choice of clothing.

I won’t spend almost 2 hours to write a long rant like I sometimes do, all I will say is that aside from the formerly integrated expectations to dress and act a certain way, if nowadays the newly integrated expectations are more casual and liberal, if you sustain will your entire heart that you are fine and feel much confident and comfortable with your selected personal style and don’t feel intimidated by mine in a non judge mental social environment with the majority of people like you; then why are you slightly insecure of me? I dress like that because it makes me feel myself at the fullest even though I am self aware of being always the ugliest, stupidest, dumbest, less educated/less smart, stinkiest, most asocial, most unwanted etc person in the room (I am serious, please don’t comfort me in the comments, you don’t know me and I am actually always among the worst people in the room, I have a couple of good traits I guess but overall I am a loser and others visibly and audibly believe the same-No questioning), actually, since I have stopped shopping and curating my wardrobe 5 years ago (Social anxiety and fear of wasting money) and 80% of the good pieces didn’t fit or broke and were thrown away, I feel even less confident in my own skin and clothing ever. It made me realize that I actually have courage at least in past when I used to believe I was at my lowest point.

I am constantly intimidated by everything and everyone because everyone is somehow either better than me or a teenage peer who might make fun of me or both. But I only felt intimidated by other’s style because I wanted to have it and it started when I had less good clothing pieces during the last few years.

I think that if you feel that intimidated, maybe you should attempt explore your fashion sense and who knows, maybe dare to go a little out of your comfort zone and you might discover that you actually secretly like a certain thing but we’re too insecure for it.

Personally I never wear skirts, I sometimes wear dresses when back in Africa and at ceremonies but other than that the last time I went out in a skirt/dress I was 9 years old on my first day of school. At the time I felt well, it’s later that around 14~ when I started to think that I shouldn’t wear them but I actually love skirts on other women but I am not confident at all to wear them. (10-14 years old me never wore skirts just because I guess it was never popular at school in my country, not ever high school. I rarely saw skirts over the years at middle and high school)

So if one day I will regain my confidence and curate my wardrobe, I do not feel superior to you! I am actually extremely insecure and I secretly believe that you are superior to me! It’s even worse when you are introverted and act like a “sweet good girl” because I was extremely surprised when some middle school classmates and a teacher lightheartedly joked that I am someone who thinks is better mannered and educated and well dressed. (I do believe that in many cases I am but I don’t fixate nor barely think about it. It’s not a ME vs YOU, I don’t compare. To me if you are impolite than you should behave better. End of the story.) because at the time I was already constantly feeling inferior to them in many ways. And they surely felt superior to me too! I think that they were also aware that that statement was only given on how I carry myself and dress because they definitely thought I was maybe the ugliest, weirdest and stupidest in class.

So please, don’t make me downplay my fashion because it sticks out compared to the group overall. It’s one thing to dress for occasion (which I do) and another to pressure others to change their style direction. Because if anything I could also use the excuse of dressing for the occasion to call out many people.

By the way, my fashion sense is actually quite versatile. I just physically can’t not add at least a certain small element that relates to femininity or girlyness but I actually like many outfits of other styles that sometimes my peers wear and I end up slightly intimidated because they indeed pull it off very well. My fashion sense is not tridimensional but my personal style is.

Seriously though, DO NOT RESENT OTHER LADIES FOR BEING CONFIDENT ENOUGH TO DRESS THEMSELVES THE WAY YOU SECRETLY WISH!

Or, DO NOT LET OTHER LADIES RESENT ON YOU BECAUSE YOU HAVE A SOCIALLY ATTRACTIVE-ACCEPTED/APPROPRIATE STYLE!

[doctor-peggy]

Once my high school has a famous author speak to students and other people (probably parents) while he was on a book tour. I attended because my English teacher let me and I got to skip part of class (if she ever reads this: I’m sorry. I know you’re on tumblr. Please don’t be mad at me.)

Anyway I didn’t particularly like his writing to start with, so my expectations were low… but I really would have skipped the talk for my actual English class if I had known that I would come out of it with nothing useful.

Specifically, the part that drove me absolutely nuts is that when someone asked about how to get better at writing or get published or something, he said nothing of how to explore your own writing and gain useful skills that help you express yourself better. Nor did he say anything about the nature of the publishing industry. He pretty much says “if you can’t get it right on your first try, give up while you’re ahead. telling stories is not for everyone, and writing skill is innate and immutable. you either have it or you don’t.”

I really should have walked out then to prove a point.

Typically I don’t end up engaging with communities who place disproportionate value in a specific style of written expression, and who claim that other forms of writing are less important or valid. It’s not that I avoid it, but more just that I don’t end up in those kinds of spaces one way or another.

I still think studying writing is useful and important. I learned a lot about how I can use language to my advantage when trying to express what’s in my brain exactly the way I wanted it to come across. I can and have used literary techniques I learned about in my silly little fluff/humour fanfics because many of them, beyond the stuffy technical terms, are just ways to direct a reader’s attention to evoke certain feelings or ideas.

But it’s important to remember that there is a point where studying writing ends and gatekeeping writing starts. And it’s not necessarily a point that’s hard to notice. I know that I will be studying some limited amount of writing in the near future and it will be entirely the result of privilege. And when I inevitably analyse writing, I would like to not forget that the writing I am studying is not more valuable than the 100k+ word slowburn texting au fanfic that I once read. Which I am specifically referencing because I didn’t bookmark it on ao3 and now I’m looking for it. Which is somewhat unrelated. Anyway.

It sucks that we even choose to assign social value to a certain type of writing over other types of writing. And it’s incredibly frustrating to me that this has distanced people from writing. I hardly know how to work through that kind of disillusionment… but I do sincerely hope that writing doesn’t have to keep being hard and painful for you forever. A form of self-expression that imposes arbitrary rules about its usage is no longer a form self-expression.

Also to that one author who spoke at my high school… fuck you.

I've been able to neither read nor write stories in a long time. Poetry too, for the most part. I guess what I mean is that the art of the written word has become a stranger to me.

I hate what poetry classes did to my writing. Yes, the Wikipedia poems, but they are easier because they're not my own words, and I have gotten so many comments on those saying they are powerful pieces of art, but for me personally they're a way of hiding from the awfulness of trying to assemble my own words into poetry.

I hate the poems I wrote in poetry classes. I hate the version of me I showed others in those classes. I hate the way poetry classes taught me to draw from my own experiences and thoughts for poetry. I hate everything I learned about how to interpret poetry, the eye with which I learned to read poetry, and the vocabulary I learned to talk about poetry, and ultimately, I hate "literary" poetry.

"Literary," by the way, is the category of art that has more meaning, value and legitimacy than the "other" category, which is not "literary." A "literary" poem is published in special, fancy "literary" magazines and almost invariably written by a person with a MFA or PhD in poetry.

You could say that the distinguishing feature of "literary" art is its overwhelming sense of legitimacy. A "literary" poem is a poem in the same way that a nonprofit organization is charitable, that a CEO is rich, or that an SAT score demonstrates your academic prowess. It is a poem completely immune to the possibility that someone will think it sucks. It expects to be absorbed, analyzed, studied, and discoursed upon because something feels "official" about whatever designates it as Good Art.

Literary poems are not only written by and for a special subset of people that have been formally taught to read and interpret poetry, they are written exclusively for audiences that will automatically assume they are Good Art; beautiful, meaningful, and worth interpreting. Because of this, most literary poems are literal incomprehensible nonsense.

Just take this one:

Say I climb the ladder of wheat/and at the top there is a faucet dripping beads of water/but the water takes a year to turn into an eagle/and the sky's forty-three shades of gray pierce/the first inflection of my heart, the point where the signals/throw grass into the river. Say the river sags/and the horizon sucks the lance out of the ghost's hands/like the moment of being born, the point where a shadow's/tongue slides through the faultline./Grace. Sunlight, cherries.

(it continues like this)

And conceptually, I love art as collaboration between the creator and viewer, where abstract, indeterminate and murky things are forced to take shape through the participation of the viewer as they interpret and associate things that stand out to them in the work! The "aliveness" of art in the abyss between what the artist attempts to communicate and what the viewer feels is the coolest thing to me!

But this philosophy of art is incompatible with the idea that there is an elite category of art that is worthy of interpretation, analysis, and reverence. I can fuck around with this random word generator and get something that is roughly as meaningful as the above. I don't mean that as demeaning to the poem, I mean that I feel demeaned by the poem, because its linguistic play and experimentation is something that everybody can do, that everyone should try doing, but this poem has been designated as something exceptionally meaningful and worthy and its writer teaches writing at the University of Chicago. You can click through that website for hours and not find a single soul without a MFA or above in poetry or creative writing.

For me, the world of "literary" writing was like a room with a splatter of vomit across the floor that no one else would acknowledge. The ability to formally study poetry in college was a privilege, but I was constantly aware of privilege, and the thing about privilege is the more you have, the less you think about it. What of the ability to pursue a PhD in poetry? What small fraction of people could expend so much time and money on something that didn't really have a career associated with it? And of that fraction, which fraction would be seen as "good enough" to publish poetry books and to teach? With poetry this indeterminate, how were the "good" poets selected at all?

Literary writing excludes poor people, and the existence of published literary poets who are immigrants or minorities doesn't negate this. Increasingly, published writing in general excludes poor people. A LOT of popular authors graduated from very elite schools!

But literary poetry I hate especially, because it puffs itself up on unlocking the universe and human experience and pain, as if insight into those things is a seldom-appearing gift instead of something many people have, except they don't have the time and money to train themselves into expressing it in a way that appears Literary.

The "literary" vs. "non-literary" paradigm had an inescapable rottenness to it. I couldn't stop thinking about the luminous conversations I'd had with people who lacked the formal training to express ideas in a "literary" manner, but still showed me something vital about the universe.

I've been bitching about literary poetry for like two years now, and really, I just hate what studying all that shit has done to my own writing style. It's so frustrating that the joy and playfulness won't come back.

[siflshonen]

So you're saying that people shouldn'tt pin of all the society ills on bakugo?

I know it might be controversial, but no, I don’t think a superaverage teenaged boy should be single-handedly responsible for everything that is wrong with the world and society nor should they expect him alone to fix it!

Katsuki may exhibit and exemplify the flaws of his society as a perfect example, but that doesn’t mean fixing it is his boulder alone to roll up the mountain!

[xpeachesncream]

lowkey (jjk) | 02.

⦿ boo’d up in the daytime

⦿ mackin’ & hangin’ in the nighttime

↳ series masterlist

summary: in order to pass organic chemistry and pay off your car damages from an accident, all you have to do is help the nerd, jeon jungkook, with a few things: pretend to be his girlfriend and teach him the ways of dating.

pairing: popular!reader x nerd!jjk

genre: college au, fake dating au, friends (with benefits?) to lovers au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.2k

warnings: cussing, implied sexual content/mature language, kissy-kissy koo, mentions of a boner, mention of sex and cum, seokjin’s still toxic

note: posting this chapter a little early since it’s butter weekend, plus the last part of liquid courage should be up sat/sun. still sticking to my schedule in my faq though, srry loves! i’ll do my best to update as soon as i can. 💗

tags: @taegularities​ @jimidol​ @miinoongi​ @bluesharksandfish​ @ggukkieland​ @unicornbabylover​ @thebeebi​ @preciouschimine​ @ladyartemesia​ @moonchild1​ @jikookiekosmos​ @marcoazz2​ @kootaes​ @wearenot7withu​ @codeinebelle​ @bigbootyjoonie​ @thisartemisnevermisses​ @maichiverse​ @ppeachyttae​ @fairysunooo​ @secretlycrazyhummingbird​ @yukiehyukie​

"I heard you were in an accident last night, babe. Are you okay? I'm so sorry I got mad at you yesterday." Seokjin comes towards you, cupping your face to look at every inch, every detail. You move away from his hold, backing up to give yourself some space.

"Seokjin, I told you to stop calling me that. Jesus. I'm fine. Don't need you to check up on me."

"Are you really gonna keep that up? I said I was sorry."

"Okay, and? I heard you."

"Really, that's it? Y/N, why are you being like this? What's the real reason?" He follows after you as you make your way to the library. To say Seokjin was persistent is an understatement— he was persistent for the wrong reasons. Like, keeping you close so he had you to fall on when things went wrong with another chick, his safety net.

"Because this is done, I don't know how many times I have to tell you. I'm tired of you doing this so, please. Just go." You slightly turn towards him as you climb up the stairs.

"I wanna work this out with you. Don't push me away. Let me help." You don't respond. He watches as you adjust your bag strap and wave at Jungkook. Seokjin chuckles and grabs your wrist gently, making Jungkook suddenly hop on defense as he balls his fists. Like he could do shit. Seokjin would probably wreck his ass with those broad shoulders.

Still. He hated how much of an asshole he was to you.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Seokjin laughs his rare, deep laugh that he uses when he's caught off guard. "You're hanging out with nerds, now?"

"And if I was, that would be none of your business." You snatch your arm away while glaring at him. You shake your head and continue walking towards Jungkook, relieved Seokjin finally left you alone today. Probably off to tell Namjoon, Yoongi and his friends how much of a bitch you've been and that you actually left him to hang out with a nerd.

Sunmi knows you're being tutored. However if that wasn't the case, she would question you, but she never take their side on shit. She remained loyal to you, and always supported you through whatever. That's why she's remained your bestfriend until this day. The senior chicks Seokjin and them hung around with though? Questionable. As long as Sunmi was by your side and you by hers, you both didn't care much for getting close to them.

"Hey, sorry you had to see that." You say as you sigh and set your bag down alongside of you on the long table.

"It's alright." Jungkook replies softly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Thanks." You give him a tiny, tightlipped smile. "So, should we get right into tutoring, or should we talk about the details of our deal? I have all afternoon." Luckily, it was quite loud in the loud section of the library. No one cared much to listen in to your secret deal with Jungkook, nor did anyone care because it was Jungkook.

"I do too. I guess, whatever works for you?"

"Let's get this tutoring over with first then iron out the rest." He nods.

"Sure." He pulls out his notebook. "Tell me, what are you struggling with?"

"Everything." He does a small head tilt.

"I doubt that. I'm sure you understand some things."

"No, you don't understand Jungkook. I'm legit drowning. I don't know what I'm doing wrong or where I'm lacking." Jungkook simply looks at you, lips pressed together before he nods. You're not lacking anywhere, he thinks. You're really not. The subject is just shitty and the spawn of the devil.

"That's okay. Well, can I go over some basics? Throw in some tips?"

"Yes, please. Lead the way. I need you." You chuckled, but it makes the heat rush to his cheeks. He hopes you don't catch the rosy tint creeping up on them, so he instantly grabs at the whiteboard near your table and starts to go over the very beginning, the very basics of this semester's OChem class. Maybe a bit from last semester, but last semester wasn't entirely that bad compared to this one.

He didn't expect you to be all that engaged for some reason, but he should have known you'd ask questions left and right, taking the black whiteboard marker from his hand to practice what you've learned with him watching and guiding you from your side. You were always focused, always so determined. You were incredibly smart. Incredibly beautiful.

Honestly, Jungkook go on for days.

The both of you hadn't realized it was nearing close to 5PM and neither of you had really eaten much since lunch. You sit, feeling pretty good about your first session with Jungkook. You feel a little bad having kept him for so long over OChem, realizing you still had things to iron out with him.

[sunmi] 4:34pm: hey babe, not gonna be leaving for a bit. i forgot i had to work on this psych project with jennie. you okay with leaving around 6/7?

"Crap."

"What's the matter?" Jungkook glances at you as you continue to stare at your phone and scroll away.

"Sunmi isn't leaving until later. I'll probably be stuck here for a little longer after you leave." You put your phone down, now resting your chin against your palm, nails slightly digging into your cheek.

"I-I can give you a ride, if you'd like? Plus, we still need to talk.. about stuff." He shyly says.

"Jungkook, that's too much to ask for."

"It's really not a big deal. How far do you live from campus?"

"Maybe a 10 minute drive, the next exit off the freeway." He shrugs.

"I'm going in that direction too."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. We can just talk on the way home."

"Would you be willing to stop by for dinner? We can talk then. Maybe it can be considered our 'first date.'" You joke with a small giggle.

"Oh, sure. Yeah." He gives off a tiny, nervous laugh. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Can we get.. hm—" You hum. "Fire Wings? Down the street?" He almost feels intoxicated watching how your eyes gleam under the light, how they brighten and widen when you mention food. You were cute, and you didn't even know it.

"Only if you tell me what flavors you get." He tries to get smart, which makes you laugh. He made you laugh.

"Is this judgment day? Gonna see if you should call quits on our deal before it even starts?"

"Maybe." He goes along with it.

"Okay. Garlic Parmesan and Dragon." You pack up your things before shooting him a look.

"Okay, solid flavors." He nods. "I guess we can continue on."

"You're funny." You giggle as you both throw your bags onto your backs. You stay in your position until Jungkook comes to your side so you can walk by him. You don't know much about him, but he has a soft demeanor and he makes you feel comfortable. You had only seen him a couple of times across campus, not really noticing him much in class either. You feel a little bad knowing you didn't even try being that he sat behind you, but better late than never I guess? Maybe there was a reason for all of this happening. The way he tutored you today was insane, too— he was super smart, but broke it down perfectly, was patient. He was patient.

No wonder Dr. K loved his ass.

"What about you?" You picked up the conversation.

"I usually go for a dry rub and Garlic Parmesan."

"I haven't tried any dry rubs."

"You can try one of mine later."

"Okay." You suddenly remember to shoot Sunmi a text before she comes looking for you everywhere on campus. Jungkook stays silent beside you, allowing you to do your thing without being too overbearing or nosy.

But, he honestly can't help but glance a few times.

[y/n] 5:11pm: sorry just saw this, hitching a ride with my tutor. don't worry about me! ty ily, have fun working on your project.

[sunmi] 5:13pm: tutor, as in jeon jungkook?

[y/n] 5:15pm: yeah, he offered.

[sunmi] 5:16pm: okay, that was nice of him. if he tries anything tho i'll beat his ass. text me when u get home?

[y/n] 5:17pm: don't worry about him, he won't lol i will.

[sunmi] 5:18pm: kk love u b

"Sorry." You say, tucking your phone into your pocket. "Had to text Sunmi."

"That's okay. You two are really close, right?"

"Yeah, since high school."

"Cool." At this point, Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok are coming out of the café at the same you two are passing.

"What about you, where are your friends?"

"Um." He sighs, trying to avoid his friends obnoxiously waving and calling him from the distance. You glance over from behind his figure, chuckling a little bit. "That's them."

"Cute. You all are really close, too?"

"Ya, I've known Jimin the longest though." You smile and wave at them, causing them to gasp and whisper amongst each other with huge smiles on their faces.

"I'll need to meet them if we're gonna do this thing for real. Do they know?"

"Yeah kinda."

"That's okay. We should probably work on keeping it between us though." He nods.

"Okay, but. Can we save meeting them for later? They're a bit.. much." You smile.

"Sure."

"D-do I have to meet Sunmi?" You nod.

"If you wanna make this believable, yeah."

"She's kinda scary."

"Jungkook, she's not gonna bite your head off. She just has that look, but I promise she's sweet." That look, that resting bitch face. Really, you could be biased because it's Sunmi. She really only had issues if she felt disrespected. Other than that, she meant well. Same with you— you've been accused of being intimidating and having the same look but you don't mean any harm by it.

"Okay." Jungkook unlocks his black 2016 Honda Civic and pops his bag in the trunk. You do the same, while Jungkook goes to open the passenger door for you.

"Thanks." You smile sweetly at him. He climbs into his seat, hitting the button to start the car and sighs. The music in the background starts to play, and it sounds mellow, soothing— like it came straight out of a fairytale. His eyes widen as he rushes to lower the volume before shyly looking at you.

"Sorry."

"What, no. Don't be. What is this?"

"A Final Fantasy lofi mix." He begins to drive off as you turn the volume back up.

"It's nice. Pretty relaxing."

"Ya, it's nice to listen to after a long day." He pushes his glasses up at the light.

"Do you have family here?" He nods.

"I do. My mom and dad live about an hour away. I'm the only child. What about you?"

"Same. They're probably 30 minutes up north."

"Do you live alone?"

"Yeah, I live in a studio. It's actually my coworker's. She bought the space to rent it out. She lets me rent it for pretty cheap though."

"That's nice."

"You?"

"I live with Jimin. Our parents are close."

"What about your other friends?"

"Hoseok is dorming, and Taehyung would rather live back home with his family and commute. He's close to them. He'll crash at ours or Hoseok's from time to time."

"Are you close to your family?" He nods as he turns into the plaza lot.

"I suppose, yes. I'm just really quiet overall, so they think it's hard to read me sometimes." He parks and you watch as he shuts the car off with the same button. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm really close to my mom. Dad, a little questionable."

"Why, if I may ask?" He comes to open your door again, causing you to give him a small smile.

"He, um. Just got into some stuff." He watches as your body tenses while you fiddle with your fingers waiting in line.

"It's okay, don't think about it. I won't ask again."

"It's okay, Jungkook. Really. Maybe another time?" You look up at him and he nods. He stands way taller than you, almost at Seokjin's height, if not the same. He likes to wear baggy, dark clothing and doesn't do much to fix or style his hair.

He's simple, but in a good way.

You both order your food with Jungkook going first so he can grab a table afterwards. Before he could pay though, you offer to cover him for dinner as your way of thanking him for driving you home. You make your way over to the table he snags, Jungkook silently sitting at the high table with his legs pressed together and his hands clasped tightly on his lap.

"You okay?"

"Ya, why?"

"You look tense."

"Sorry. It's not everyday I have dinner with Y/N." You smile.

"Stop, relax." You watch as he slightly eases up. "So, this deal." He nods. "A month?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"We have to convince people it's real or else people will know something weird is going on." You look at his hand, now resting on the table. "You're gonna have to hold my hand and kiss me, you know?" He swallows the lump in his throat. Shit, he thinks. Don't know if I can actually pull this off?

A kiss?! Fuck.

"Y-yeah."

"When was your last relationship, Jungkook?"

"8th grade." Your eyes widen.

"O-oh, now I see."

"What's that supposed to mean? It's terrible, I know but I—"

"No, no, no. You're good. It's totally okay, it doesn't matter. I'll just have to teach you to make it look realistic and not.. awkward." You perk up again. "Not saying that you are though, okay."

"I know."

"So, are you.."

"Am I..?" He cocks hid head to the side in confusion.

"Like.."

"Just ask Y/N."

"Are you a virgin?"

"I don't know." You furrow your brows.

"Huh?"

"Look, this is gonna sound really embarrassing and I don't know if I'm even ready to tell my fake girlfriend about it."

"Just say it. We have to know things about each other." He sighs.

"I— ugh." He groans. "I did it with my girlfriend at the time. Or I guess my ex because we had broken up and this was sometime during freshmen year in high school and she came onto me out of nowhere at a mutual friend's pool party. But it was weird because we were just hormonal kids and I was just curious so I slipped myself into her only to slip back out right after because—" He's rambling, but you're doing your best to keep up.

"Because?"

"I-I, ugh. Y/N." He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Are you really gonna make me say it?"

"Jungkook." You lean a bit to try and catch eye contact.

"I came right away." He says just as the worker puts down your food and takes the number from your table.

"Ohhhhhhh." You say as you nod slowly. "Okay."

"You can just run now." His head hangs low as he slowly slides his chicken over in front of him, causing you to chuckle.

"I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. Stop that."

"It's pathetic."

"No. Besides, I know you'll get better overall, and you'll find someone who will rock with you till the end. We'll work on this."

"Thanks." He says, feeling comfortable around you. You were quick to reassure him and smile at him, he felt himself melting in his seat. Yeah, you were too good for Seokjin.

"You'll have to come to parties with me. Club events. Events in general. It won't look right if I'm always going without you."

"Okay. Can I bring my friends?"

"Sure." He nods. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Play video games and listen to music. Read comics, manga. Build lego sets with the guys."

"Cute." You smile.

"You?"

"Hang out with Sunmi, or just watch movies on my own at my place. Read. Eat by myself. Explore by myself. I value my alone time."

"It's nice." Jungkook's familiar with it. Even if he had his friends around, he truly liked being in his own peace when allowed. "What about outside of the public eye?"

"Hm?" You hum.

"Do we hang out?"

"Yeah we can." You nod.

"Cool." He smiles.

"Is my car gonna be a lot of work for you?"

"Don't worry about it, it'll be good soon. Just might take a bit cause I need some parts to make it look brand new again."

"I really can't thank you enough." He shrugs.

"Only trying to help my girlfriend out." He boldly says, causing you to laugh.

"Confidence is peeking through already, are you sure you need me?" You joke. The rest of the evening, you continue to talk to Jungkook about pretty surface level shit— what you like, dislike, overall experience in high school and college so far. It was a nice, harmless conversation, one where you were starting to see how warmhearted Jungkook really was. How real and laid back.

None of the shit in Seokjin's group. It was refreshing, a breath of fresh air.

Once dinner had finally finished, Jungkook was on his way to drop you off. He had parked in an empty guest spot, offering to walk you up just to be sure. At the door, he took a peek at how clean your studio was, mainly soft colors of white and cream taking over, with plants scattered around your living room area. The hallway in was sandwiched between your kitchen area and another wall, Jungkook assuming your bed was on the opposite side of it. He awkwardly stands at the door, afraid of overstepping.

"Well, goodnight Y/N. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hey, wait." You smile and come close to him. He swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling dry when he feels your breasts press against his chest. "First lesson— give me a kiss."

"Right now?"

"Jeon Jungkook, we're doing this tomorrow. People are gonna have to see this at least once while we're together." He nods and presses a quick kiss against your cheek. "Not bad, but a little longer?" He complies and presses another kiss, leaving his pillowy lips against your cheek for a little longer before pulling away. "Perfect. Now here." You point at your lips before crossing your arms.

"Y/N, I—"

"Don't be afraid, just do it. I won't kick you in the balls or anything."

"It's not that. I just don't think I'm a great at this stuff."

"Okay." You tippytoe and gently grab his jaw while you lean towards his face. "Just relax, okay? Don't think too much of it." He stays silent, doe eyes constantly on you as you continue to inch forward.

Sparks. Just sparks everywhere for Jungkook.

He feels your soft lips against his and he relaxes, moreso because he feels like he's lost all senses being this close to you. Taking in your scent. Kissing you.

"There." He stands still, still trying to process the kiss. "Not bad. We'll get better over time, but at least that looks believable. Just—" You put his hands down as they were about to fall onto your hips during the kiss, but they fell short. "Let it happen and hold me, okay?" You smile. "Night Jungkook."

"N-night." He stutters as he watches you close the door. "Fuck." He whispers to himself when he realizes he's now sporting a boner. "Jungkook, what the fuck is this?!" He continues to whisper to himself as he waddles down your hallway.

[earnestly-endlessly]

*flies in like magneto* can i get some exes to lovers™?

Do I have some exes to lovers fics for you? Yes I certainly do. It seems that the cherik fandom loves some exes to lovers cherik and I don't blame anyone because this ship really calls for all the angst. I hope you enjoy this list.

Exes to Lovers AU

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Preheat to 350 (just for you remix) – ikeracity

Summary: Charles realizes he's in love with Erik. But there's one tiny little problem: he just broke up with Erik.

Thread Through a Needle – Black_Betty

Summary: Erik and Charles are broken up. Neither of them want to be.

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) – kianspo

Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

Linger like a tattoo kiss – ikeracity

Summary: Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Symphysis – ikeracity

Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.

Call/Response – phalangine

Summary: Charles and Erik have a real conversation for the first time since breaking up. Charles is looking to avoid confrontation. Erik is not.

Regression Therapy – Fantine_Black

Summary: O, God, he’d made a terrible mistake. Whatever he’d expected to find here, Erik was still Erik, a man he’d moved continents to avoid. In retrospect, that felt like a rather good idea…

Four years after Charles walked away from Professor Lehnsherr, the two meet again for a drink.

Because things are better the second time round, aren't they?

Forever is Only a Drunk Dial Away – bettysofia

Summary: Charles is sad and drunk and stalking Erik's Instagram.

Shop Space – Caradee

Summary: Charles and Erik break up but still meet at their favorite coffee shop and manage a completely friendly relationship. The kids who work the coffee shop don't understand it, Charles' overprotective twin brother doesn't understand it, and even Charles doesn't understand it. Then, Erik shows up with a new date, someone who seems to be everything that Charles is not.

How will the Professor handle the surprising heartbreak that comes seeing Erik with someone else?

Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn

Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.

Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.

It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles.

Probably…

Believe (One More Time) – luninosity

Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend...

Old Flame Burning – TurtleTotem

Summary: It's ridiculous for Charles to dread meeting the best man at his sister's wedding, just because he shares a name with Charles's ex. It's not as though it could possibly be the same Erik.

Don’t speak to the bartender – Wild_Imagination

Summary: Logan is a bartender, it's a gloomy evening, and in his bar there's someone with a broken heart. But this is not a movie.

Right?

Somewhere I’m Going & Have Never Been Before – Yahtzee

Summary: In late December 1984, Charles falls victim to the terrible pandemic sweeping across the globe. He's sick, probably dying, and utterly alone in an isolated cabin...until he's not.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland – TurtleTotem

Summary: Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.

Lean On Me – SpiritsFlame

Summary: Ten years ago, Charles and Erik split up, dividing their six kids between them. None of them expect them to meet at summer camp. And no one could have predicted the results.

It was a yellow umbrella spring – ikeracity

Summary: Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York.

Second chances are wonderful things.

My heart above my head – annejumps

Summary: Emma thinks her coworker Erik and her friend and fellow telepath Charles should get together. No one expects things to get so intense so quickly.

The Edge of What Doesn’t End – populuxe

Summary: When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

Exit Wounds – LemonadeGarden

Summary: It's been eight months since Charles and Erik had a fight that broke apart their marriage. When a mutant rights protest goes awry and Charles begins to get sick, past memories and present obstacles begin to blur the lines of their ideological differences.

Alternatively: Charles and Erik learn how to fall in love again in troubled times.

Note: Unfinished

11 Days, 8 Hours and 12 Minutes (or Bruises, Stupidity and Anger Management) – ximeria

Summary: For six months, Erik and Charles have been the disgustingly happy couple of the school. Considering their pigheadedness and general communication skills (or lack thereof), things are bound to go boom at some point.

Moon Song – ikeracity

Summary: Werewolf AU. When Charles is captured by hunters, Erik and his pack go after him. It turns out there might be some room for redemption left for both of them after all.

I will Never Stop Loving You – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik and Charles split up three years ago but Erik never really got over it and then one day when the man who walked out of his life three years ago is walking down the street towards him, Erik sees an opportunity to mend fences.

Please leave your message after the tone – ikeracity

Summary: Spending his evening getting shitfaced and pining over Erik seems like a totally productive use of Charles's time. Luckily, it turns out to be a better idea than it sounds.

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.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven (the things you love don’t last remix) – hllfire

Summary: Charles hands Erik the signed divorce papers, but Erik has changed his mind. Too late, it seems. All he can do is go forward with the divorce.

A year later, Charles comes back, and Erik can't help but wanting to see him. The only problem is things don't go like Erik had planned.

Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let it Snow Remix) – kianspo

Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

All we do is break up (and make up) – Stuckyl0v3r

Summary: "So instead of making the most out of this next months, because you don't know where either of you is going to end up, you decided to stay away from each other to get used to the feeling?" Hank summed up, stopping in front of the class. Charles nodded his head confidently and beamed at him, but somehow his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, something like that."

Well, that was the most idiotic plan Hank's ever heard.

Three wheels of cheese and a Great White – ximeria

Summary: Charles and Erik were friends with benefits in college.

They went their separate ways and 18 years later, they run into each other in New York.

The sex was never a problem back in college - and sex was all it had been. But now Erik is a divorced father and Charles has admitted to himself he needs more than just sex in a relationship. So in their usual round-about way they try to navigate becoming friends after so many years. The whole quest is aided by Raven, Edie, Wanda and Pietro (and a large number of shark jokes).