Sunshine Smile → T.h

I JUST READ DON'T YOU LOSE AND I WANTED TO TELL YOU YOU'RE AMAZING AND IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL I'M IN TEARS YET

THANK YOU AHH 💞

they had it planned since the very beginning

hey ! wanted to drop in to say how much i love your writing! and to ask, did you used to have a fic called “it should’ve been me” or something of the sort? it’s about IW and the reader takes on the power of the infinity stone and dies but they beat thanos. I’ve been trying to locate it (forgot to save it ugh) and i forgot who the author was

hey!! thank you sooo much! 💓 i did have a fic called “it should’ve been me” but the plot was quite different than what you’re describing. it’s after the events of peter dying and the reader mourning over the loss. however i’ve unpublished it due to rewriting and editing some of my works. sorry!

you’re SO sweet ohmygosh!! 🥺 thank you sm!! <33

okay i just want to let you know that your account is absolutely STUNNING!! like i’m in genuine awe omg

❝dear atomicwriter,

aaaaAAAAA!! thank you so much for all the kind words!! you have no idea how much this means to me especially coming from you👉🏻👈🏻 your aesthetic and writing style is such a pleasure to the eyes!!✨

sealed with a kiss,

nikki.❞

don’t you lose → p.p

SUMMARY: you ultimately decide that peter’s life is worth saving over yours, and it takes a sacrifice that may destroy everything you ever knew and loved.

WARNINGS: death, angst. so. much. goddamn. angst. also this is my first post. lets see how this goes...

Everything had fallen into place so quickly, you hadn’t had the time to think about what you were even doing.

In fact, it was unusual. The sensation of it all. The careless throw as your body slammed down on the cemented sidewalk. The sounds of snapping bones followed by a blistering silence was all that you could make of upon the impact. In no way had you expected the feeling to encompass your entire body. Not the pain, but the burning numbness that paralyzed your limbs and made your sight turn foggy.

It all seem so stupid now. You knew the plan was in no other way but suicidal. You knew that pushing the boy to the side to take what was supposed to be his blow would end up with you injured in one way or another. And now, the twisted, jagged pieces of what used to be your combat staff protruded from your abdomen, peaking through the hindsight of your fading vision. You could feel the building pressure on your lungs, the bubbling air in your chest and dribbling blood from the corner of your lips with nowhere to go. The sharp taste of copper was prominent, layering your tongue and the back of your throat. It didn’t even have to take a genius to realize what the pouring liquid was from your lower torso.

You used to think, that in this moment, you’d feel a swell of pride overtake the agonizing pain. You used to think that you wouldn’t have minded when or how you died, as long as what you were doing benefited those in the future. But there was none of that. No triumph and no victorious battle cries. If you were completely honest, there was just one person that consumed your thoughts at this very moment, which you figured was rewarded by your ongoing selfishness. It was mostly just blind panic, coated with the stubbornness that you had carried your whole life through, sweetened by your act to keep the one you loved hanging on just a little bit longer. Despite the silence, the nauseating ringing that echoed in your head, you could still hear his gutting screams as you managed to push him to the side. You had stolen what was his, redirecting the blow from him onto yourself. It’s not like you minded, anyways, you were just focused on protecting him.

It wasn’t until you heard a shout of relief that you finally managed to realize you earned a sliver of your hearing back. You let yourself calm, watching as his face materialized above you, hoping you weren’t imagining the boys features as he kneeled next to your quivering body.

This lead you to smile. It had worked. He was alive.

A strange feeling of peace washed over you, grinning stained teeth as you breathed out his name.

“Peter...”

The blood that gurgled up from your throat made his name seem more of a choked sob than a relieved sigh. He leaned in closer, hands fluttering over your body as if he didn’t know where to place them. Lazily, you reached up your palm, letting him tightly grasp it and interlace your trembling fingers. You watched as his eyes took in your sight, pretending not to notice as they widened in pure horror.

“I used to hope I’d look decent for the last time you’d see me.”

It was a nonchalant joke, one that sparked a pain up your spine and threw you into a merciless coughing fit. Peter didn’t laugh. Instead, his lips twitched down as he watched a single tear of blood slip down your chin. The panic was highlighted in his eyes as he brought his face closer to your own.

“W-What are you talking about?” You could hear the sob that threatened to emit from his throat, noticing the extravagant amount of effort it took to keep his voice barely steady. “D-Don’t talk like that. You l-look great!”

He pretended to brush the situation aside, but you could see the real message behind his words, convincing himself that there was a chance you’d be able to survive this. Even you could tell that that was unlikely.

Peter was quick to accept the other palm that you had then extended in his direction, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you into his lap, sliding his other arm underneath to support your shoulders. Even that slight movement made you shudder, wrenching out a groan.

Peter began to apologize profusely, and yet you were able to silence him with the slightest upturn of your lips. You suddenly felt warmer, the churning in your stomach slowly dissipated, and your vision swam with the boys eyes that stared above you. This new angle somehow made it just a bit easier to catch your breath.

“I’m not sorry,” you heaved, finding it difficult to catch enough air to complete even the simplest of sentences. “Y-You’re safe, t-that’s all that-t matters.”

“Shh,” he coaxed, fingers tightening around your wrist even more so. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be okay. We’ll make it make to the Tower, and you’ll get better.”

You locked eyes onto his own, the fierceness behind those bloodshot irises almost made you want to believe in what he was saying.

Almost.

You sighed, shuddering breaths wracking your chest. “You k-know that is never going-g to h-happen...”

There just wasn’t enough time.

The panic that settled upon his face clutched at your heart. You did your best at a subtle smile, but the red bubbles that seeped through your teeth seemed to have the opposite effect of your attempt to coax him.

“Stop it,” he seethed, growing frustrated at the obvious fact that there was nothing he could do to help you. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Peter closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to your temple and letting out a shuddering breath that grazed warmth against your neck. He hiccuped, a feeble act to suppress his sobs. “It was supposed to be me.”

He could feel the quake in your fingers as you released his hand, bringing yours to rest upon the line of his jaw. Peter tilted his face, nose lightly brushing up against your own.

You felt the first tear on your cheek, the rest that had precariously settled upon his eyelids letting loose. His bottom lip quivered against your skin, no longer being able to suppress the sobs that wracked his chest.

“I’m still here,” you managed to splutter out, your poorly oxygenated lungs struggling to keep up with the simple words. It was hard, wanting to stare into his eyes until your vision faded completely. And yet his were scrunched closed, nuzzled into the hair that splayed across his lap.

“This is my fault,” he choked. “I should have been more careful.”

Peter sucked in hard, the sharp breath slicing through his body. You let your hand rest from his cheek, watching as it left red smudges in its wake. You almost wanted to laugh, but it was hard to find the energy to do so.

“I was there,” you sighed. When did your head become to feel so lightheaded? “I chose...”

You found breathing to quickly become a problem once again, the angle only letting you hold on for so much longer. It was almost as if you could feel the cavity in you chest slowly collapsing.

“I chose you.” The last word was a struggle to finish off, sending your body into a fit of wet coughs.

Peters grip tightened around you, cradling you in his chest. His arms had you wrapped up on his battered body, face nuzzled to the hollow of your neck. You could feel him trembling, the wetness of his tears that buried themselves in your hair. But you hadn’t minded, all you felt was his heartbeat on your own, and the unusually slow pace of the beating underneath your rib cage.

“I love you.” It was a soft whisper that emitted from your lips. Nonetheless, it was steady.

“I love you, too.”

You felt the ghost of his lips flutter by your ear as his words caressed your skin. There was a pull of a smile on his face, and you would have masked his own if you could have found the energy.

“Don’t you lose.”

The words came to him like a deadweight, the final realization that you weren’t going to make it past the next minute. But you didn’t want to focus on that, you only wanted to focus on him. The slightest smell of his cologne that filled your nose, bringing you to know how dearly you would miss that scent. You focused on his hands that held you close, his breath brushing your cheek, and the lips that kissed your skin. You sank into the embrace, feeling your body mold to his, your breathing gradually become slower and slower.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You felt him shift, locking onto his eyes once more before he dipped his head, melding his lips to your own.

You focused on his heartbeat, on the life that he gave you in your final moments. The steady beat guided you away from him, and you let out a sob as you buried your face into his chest.

Peter stiffened, you could feel it, the atmosphere becoming unusually silent. All you heard was him, and that was alright with you. You could hear his heart, his breaths, his wrenching sobs he fought so hard to hang on to. But even then you could feel yourself slipping away, sinking further into his arms, into his warmth.

“I won’t...” You reminisced his voice, closing your eyes. The weight of keeping them open had become unbearable. “I won’t lose.”

The ghost of a smile played on your lips, the ceasing of your breaths was enough to let Peter emit a bloodcurdling cry.

“I’ll win this,” you heard him croak, just before the blackness took you over completely. Just before you felt the warmth he gave you disappear. “Only because of you.”

when people tell me they're about to go see infinity war

✿ Send this to 10 other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going, make someone smile! ✿

you’re too sweet my gosh!

found my new favorite writer! keep it up x

holy shit that means a lot! thanks! xox

my teeth in your heart → xiao

00. An Amputated Soul

DESCRIPTION: in liyue, wuwang hill is spoken of as the place where the dead dwell, and there’s a fable that’s oft–repeated among the youth of qingce village. xiao knows this tale, he witnessed it firsthand, and it is as familiar to him as the wind that he coils between his fingers. he does not speak of it much, for who is he to tell it to? all he knows is that the memory is prevalent as the disembodied whispers of karmic debt that call his name.

DISCLAIMER: gender neutral reader. brief mentions of nudity and death. multi-chapter fic.

WORD COUNT: 3k.

It’s a strange sensation.

There’s no pain, just an all-consuming numbness that spreads throughout your entire body. Your fingers flex, although you’re barely able to make sense of their movements. You can only recognize the metronome of your heartbeat as you float wistfully, the blood in your veins roaring so loud that all other sounds fall deaf to your ears. This serenity, a moment free from shouldering the hardships of the world, seems all too foreign for you, although you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

Here, you drift in the endless cosmos, wet and thick. You’re untethered, a lone particle with no sense of gravity in the middle of space. Reality seems discombobulated, and life consists of fractured memories that you’re unable to put together, as if you are missing the puzzle pieces necessary to do so. There’s a heavy pounding in your temples, and the tresses of your hair float around your head like wisps of smoke caught in the moonlight.

It’s when you open your eyes that you realize you can’t breathe. You suddenly become aware that you’re submerged underwater, and the previous tranquility is replaced by a fervent hysteria. Curled up in a fetal position, your bones knock together at the joints, trying for a foothold over the slick crossings of the river floor. Withal, your limbs are constricted by the water reeds, rendering you practically immobile, and your feet sink into the slick, black earthsoup. The surface seems far away from your stricken fingers as you desperately flail them in an attempt to stay afloat.

You can feel your heart pulse sporadically in your teeth, and your spine convulses as you choke on the air that you can’t breathe. In a brief moment of clarity, you retract your arms, beginning to uproot the reeds that confine your body to the riverbed. Determination numbs the burning sensation that coruscates throughout your chest, snuffing out the white-hot sensation that begins to gnaw at your lungs. This newfound electricity swallows you whole, surging through your veins like an incinerator that’s sweltering hot and nuclear-powered. Mud billows up in waves from the floor.

You can taste the acrid tang of death as you bite down on your tongue, and you know it’s coming when your periphery turns white. An abrupt coolness rushes in, igniting a formication along your skin. In mere moments, you realize, you will float like the water reeds, nothing more than flesh and bones ready to decay in the currents. It’s unnerving to realize, it’s unnerving to even think about, and you want to push against the exhaustion that barrels onto your body; to strain for the moonlight that dims above. But your limbs grow heavy, your fingers turn bloated and blue, and your head is spinning, spinning, spinning…

A rough hand clamps down on your shoulders and you’re jerked out of the water before the darkness completely takes over your vision.

You break the surface, coughing and spluttering. Your chest heaves violently, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air that you had previously been so cruelly deprived of. The disturbed water sloshes around as you’re pulled onto the surface of a raft, and you collapse to your knees. Spindly fingers anchor themselves against the dried bamboo stakes, unable to let go until you’re steady once again. Your breath releases in sharp heaves, but it’s there, and that’s all that matters.

When the chill finally seeps into your skin, you see everything in pieces: the shadow of a silhouette in the fading moonlight, dark eyes fraught with concern, and frantic hands thrusting a sheet around your trembling body. Panting hard, you find a certain sense of relief when you cut your eyes to the person who stands by your shivering form. The landscape is blurry before you, and a restless energy hums beneath your skin.

“Are you alright?” the man asks you.

You don’t answer him at first. Instead, you swivel your head around as you take in your surroundings. You’re encircled by calm waters, serene despite their previous menace. Ripples lull the boat, and you follow their path to a shore that doesn’t lie too far from where you are now. You can barely make out the bamboo stalks that extend towards the night sky, framed by the gray cliffs that confine the surrounding land within an alcove of shadows.

“Where are we?” you ask him.

“This is Bishui River.”

The name rings with an unknown sense of familiarity, and you repeat it under your breath.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the man crouches down beside you, “but, what happened to you?”

You wish you could answer him, and when you look down, you notice your hands are shaking. From the frustration of being unable to recall anything or your apparent weakness, you don’t know. It’s like there’s a roadblock in your mind, a screen that reaches from ground to sky that disconnects you from the world around you. Faint sounds plug your ears, memories float across your eyes, and you’re unaware of what you have forgotten. Your past is something hidden, but in this moment you cannot fathom what it might be.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You ball your hands into fists, knuckles blanching and fingernails digging deep into your palms as you turn to glower at the waters below. A sharp pain lances through your skin, but you don’t release them. All you can do is tell him your name.

“I see,” he hums, and you look towards him, whose cloak reveals a subtle beard of black hair and callous hands - working hands. There are wicker baskets that lie adjacent to his feet, filled with scavenged fish and herbs, carrots and sunsettias. “I stopped using my real name a long time ago. You can just call me Jiangxue.”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t lose focus. Your nature is to piece this puzzle together: a fisherman out in the dead of night, an unknown land that is strangely familiar, and you, a person composed of seafoam who was pulled to the surface with nothing but a name. You admit that that’s what bewilders you most, but you suck in a breath and push the thought away.

“There’s a village near here. I can take you there if you’d like,” Jiangxue speaks when your silence persists. His eyes glance towards your figure before quickly looking away. A cough catches somewhere between his lungs and his throat. “It consists of amiable folk. You should be able to persuade them into getting you some clothing.”

You look down at his words, and your throat drops to your stomach when you find your bare skin on display. A hypodermic heat rushes to your face, and you wrap the thin sheet tighter around your naked body.

“I … uh … sorry,” you manage to sputter out, bowing your chin down to your chest as if the simple action alone could erase all traces of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s no matter,” he affirms, paddling towards the land.

It begins to rain once the raft reaches the shore, and an argentine fluorescence seeps from the sky. The drops plummet from the sky, rapid and ruthless. As you step onto the bank, you find that the mossy ground is damp and sodden, a deep green pigmentation that indicates the fallen rain as a usual occurrence. Jagged stones press uncomfortably into your heels, and you can feel the way the air stills around you.

You don’t understand why these plains seem so disorienting, why the soft susurration of the leaves feel so heavy in your ears. This stupor comes alongside that previous sense of familiarity - an ambient nostalgia for a native land that you yearn to experience once again. There’s an entwining reassurance, distant childhood memories, and the comforts of home. Perhaps one day you will find out why.

When you see the man step off of his raft in an attempt to follow you, you stop him with the shake of your head.

“I’m fine from here on out,” you say before you can even make sense of the words. “I know my way there.”

Skeptical of your proclamation, he raises an eyebrow.

“Dawn will be here soon, you should return to fishing before the world wakes up.”

“You misunderstand,” he says, walking towards you nonetheless. “I do not fish for a living. Neither the process nor the result means much of anything to me.”

“Oh,” you frown. “Is it just a way to pass time, then?”

“Precisely that.” And then he smiles, reaching out his hand and placing it on yours. When he retracts, you find a sunsettia placed into the cocoon of your palm, accompanied by a glowing ornament composed of Varunada Lazurite. There’s a delicate swirl–like design imprinted in the middle of the gem, and your breath catches in your throat when you realize what it is: a Hydro Vision. It must have resurfaced alongside you.

You wish to thank him, but you can not find the voice to do so.

“Safe travels,” Jiangxue says. He turns away, only walking a few steps before he pauses entirely. He opens his mouth, and a look crosses his face then as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“Yes?” you ask of him. “What is it?”

He still doesn’t speak, and you watch as he unclips the cloak from around his waist, slipping it off his arms and rolling it within itself. He hands you the bundle of cloth.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, waving your hands in front of you. “I couldn’t possibly. You have given me far too much.”

“You are cold,” is all he says. “Take it.”

“Really, I don’t-”

“I implore you. Please take it.”

There’s something in his voice then, a plea that is all too unfitting for the composed man before you. Unable to fight against his wishes, you timidly reach forward and remove the article from his grasp.

“There should be no monsters to block your path,” Jiangxue says. “He has made sure of it.”

There is nothing to stop the bewilderment that illustrates your face.

“He?” you question, but the fisherman’s back is turned to you. Befuddled, you do not say anything more, and the quietude encroaches in.

Somewhere in the near distance, a bird squalls — the only sound to penetrate the silence. Jiangxue moves back onto his raft, situating a paddle between the calloused texture of his hands. You don’t wait to watch him leave, instead bowing your head in a display of gratitude before pivoting on your heel and weaving through the clotted bamboo.

When you are certain that you are adequately hidden, the soaked-through sheet that had previously found home on your shoulders falls to the floor. You cinch the cloak that Jiangxue gifted you around your body, and the linen cocoons your body heat comfortably. Pocketing your Vision and the sunsettia, you pluck the sheet from off the ground, and begin to walk forward once more.

It’s not a long trek, that much you can recall, but when you reach the edge of the village, you find that the world has flung itself over and a new sun breaks the horizon. It’s a nectarine-sweet sky, mingling above the mountain that cradles the abundant crop lands within its embrace. You cross the bridge over the terraced fields of crops and wildflowers, inching closer to the livening village. It remains peaceful and quiet all the same, even as its occupants begin to stir.

This isn’t a place that receives many guests, that much you can affirm, despite the boundless beauty the land withholds. The rising sun embraces your skin, silky and warm, and even the rough texture of the stairs beneath your feet seems to hold a fount of comfort within themselves. You can hear the hummingbirds philandering with the flowers, their birdsong coming in lulls and bursts. The aromatic hints of Jueyun Chili and Violetgrass invade upon the atmosphere, inspiring a warmth to pool within your stomach.

It’s when you near the top of the stone path that you can make sense of a hunched figure beneath the strung lanterns, still lit despite the day’s arrival. She paces from side to side, graceful in her steps regardless of the aged lines that sculpt her face, on display due to her gray hair tucked in a low bun. As if sensing your presence, she stops, the green of her dress swiveling with her movements as she pivots on her heel to face you.

“My dear,” she calls, as if she has known you all this time. “Welcome to Qingce Village. Why don’t you take a walk with me?”

The elderly lady nods her head towards the courtyard, and there you can see a conglomeration of buildings that frame the square, constructed of wood and bamboo stalks. Fruit stands are tucked into corners, and a little ways down, a water mill sits adjacent to a bridge, converging with the path that leads further up the mountain. From nearby, the sound of a waterfall marginally emerges above the noises of early morning, and a rush of wistfulness overwhelms your entire being.

“Have you been aware that I would come?” you ask as you step beside her. She leads you towards the bridge.

A small smile sets apart her lips. “You must know we have quite the accumulation of spies here.”

A look of confoundment overtakes your features, and before you can request her to explain any further, a muffled chorus of giggles is heard from behind you. When you turn around, three pairs of eyes stare curiously at your form, and petite hands latch onto the edges of the cart that the children hide behind.

“I was not aware that I’d been under surveillance.”

“Outsiders are rather rare here,” the elderly woman muses, turning her head to where you gaze. “Of course, they still have a lot to learn.”

A sense of amusement flutters within your chest.

“Might I inquire as to why you have come?” she asks you.

The question momentarily startles you, although you reason that it is not unexpected. Attempting to grasp at your thoughts, you press your teeth down onto your lip, and all answers that are brought to mind prove insufficient to her question.

She must notice your inner turmoil, because she provides a reassuring expression before speaking: “It is fine if you do not wish to indulge me. We all have things we wish to keep to ourselves.”

“It’s not that. It’s just … how do I put this?” you reply, taking a grounding breath before voicing further. “There are many memories before this morning that have escaped me, including the answer to your inquiry. Although, I do suppose I hoped that I might be able to acquire some assistance here.”

She seems to contemplate your words, and stops walking just before your feet make contact with the bridge. A middle-aged woman appears in your periphery then, raising her hand in greeting to the lady beside you, the other arm slung over a wicker basket that rests on her hip. She must be preparing for a day's worth of field work, you presume.

“I see. Let us go somewhere more private. We will converse there,” she says. “And perhaps we might find you some more suitable clothes.”

She leads you to a building that rests on a wedge below the peak of the mountain. It’s certainly the largest structure of the village, composed of wooden posts and joists to encircle the open space. A shallow pond borders the front entrance, lotus heads and lily pads peaking above its glassy surface. The inside is completely exposed to the external environment, and from here, you can make out the entirety of the village. Nonetheless, being under a roof grants you a gratifying sense of privacy.

With a fragile hand on the small of your back, the lady leads you to a painted screen wall that rests off–center of the building, framed by wooden beams. It’s a picture of the mountain, you promptly recognize, with streaks of orange and blue that appear to glow in the morning light. She gently encourages you behind it, and you don’t realize that there is a set of garments in her other hand before she’s pushing them into your own.

“There is no one around to see,” she says, as if sensing your hesitation, and leaves you to your own.

Once the woman rounds the corner, you make haste in removing the cloak, slipping on the pants that tighten at your waist. The silk laced fabric flares out to brush at your ankles, and the cerulean trimmed edges barely graze upon the ground. The main portion is a dark umber, much like the short sleeved shirt given to you, with stitched decals of ochre and blue. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to bind the fastenings down your chest.

There is no mirror nearby, but you are gently pleased by the choice in fabrics. You run your fingers over the material, feeling the ridges, the needlework, and the cotton–like texture. You know you’re in no position to experience such a luxury at the given moment, but you also have no entitlement to brush off such a thing. Your body hums with gratitude, and you step out from behind the wall.

The elderly lady seems to be equally as pleased, as she sends you a tight–lipped smile. From where her hands are clasped behind your back, she motions towards the chairs that circle the center of the building, fringing on the carmine painted engraving of a flower–like design. You take a seat.

“Might I ask your name?” You are the first to speak.

“You may call me Granny Ruoxin,” she muses. “I do apologize if it isn’t too lively around here, but life is pleasant here, and I hope you find a sense of enjoyment within the village.”

You learn forward, eager. “You mean it? I can stay?”

She nods, and it’s like the Universe has bursted into light. “There is plenty of room. You may stay until you are certain of where your journey will take you.”

A glint from the sun sparks your gaze, and you watch as Granny Ruoxin moves to sit beside you. Her movements are leisurely, hands crossed–hatched with scars reaching down to clasp yours in her own, and you dare to wonder of all the ways in which your life is about to unfold.

hello! i hope you enjoyed this. it’s my first time posting something genshin related on tumblr, so feedback is greatly appreciated. <3

additionally, i am considering making a tag list for this story, so if you are interested please message me!!

also! you can read it here on a03!

Hi! I absolutely loved ‘I would’ve stayed for you’! The way the mystery was kept a secret was so intriguing I was almost tempted to skip ahead and read OMGG. I could picture each scene really nicely and it flowed at a nice and steady pace. I really enjoyed it and loved the idea for the story! The anxiety and mystery could be felt though it the words and story and I really engaged within it! You should be really proud of yourself!!! ❤️

thank you so much!! it means A LOT to me that you enjoyed it 💓💓