#I thought we all understood that it was their circumstances that shaped them into who they are now.

[henrysglock]

Correct me if I’m wrong, but the point of showing Billy’s home life was to make him a point of comparison for Will. It was to show that Will turned out the way he did because his home life was better—it was safe, loving, and supportive, where Billy’s was not. It’s not perfect; none of the homes are. Will’s was better, though.

I thought we were all operating on the understanding that circumstances maketh man.

[neuroticbookworm]

Love in the Big City Part 2: Go Yeong and Umma

I was chased around, threatened, bullied and emotionally manipulated for months to write this piece, so @lurkingshan, this one's for you. *please release my family*

When I was reading the book, in Part 1, I remember being frustrated with Young as a narrator because of how standoffish he seemed with his descriptions of the people in his life (except Jaehee – Mi Ae in the show). I wanted to understand the emotional distance I felt in his words. And I got my answer in Part 2, where the relationship with his Umma was laid bare for us to see. The structure of this section was so smart, for it established the roots of his behavior in his childhood with Umma, and linked it to how it shaped the relationship he currently had with Hyung. Seeing it come to life on screen in the episodes this week was a treat to watch.

It becomes evident that Go Yeong’s relationship with his Umma is complicated as soon as we see them interact on screen. She is steadfastly religious, someone who believes that miracles can cure things that humans sometimes deem incurable, like cancer. We could easily infer from what we’ve seen of Go Yeong so far that she would not approve of his life.

Before I get into how her opinions and actions affect and influence Go Yeong, I wanna fully break down some of the objective facts we know about her:

She divorced her husband after he stepped out of their marriage and didn’t even have the courage to tell her about his infidelity

She is a single mother

She is an entrepreneur (in fact, we see her working from her bed in the hospital in multiple scenes)

She is religious and believes in the power of God

She is proud of her son

She loves her son

The last two points come with the biggest asterisks, because if she loves and feels pride for her son, how could she make him feel so alone? And now I shall try to explore this woman’s psyche to the best of my abilities, with a little bit of help from my personal experiences and therapy sessions I’ve paid money for over the years.

When we try to picture a homophobic parent, the image that our brain usually conjures up is often one-dimensional. (Note: This is NOT AN EXCUSE. I’m not trying to justify her actions. I am simply trying to understand why she did the things she did, by placing the context of the events of her life around them.) It is easier to process our emotions re: bad parents who hurt their children when we view their actions as simple. “They could’ve chosen not to do it and yet they did, so I hate them” is the conclusion that is the easiest to arrive at. That doesn’t make it untrue, but oftentimes, it is not the whole truth. Life is rarely, if ever, that simple, and our parents can truly love us while also rejecting fundamental parts of who we are, and never reconcile the two.

We see in the show the circumstances under which Yeom Eun Suk (Umma) finds out about her husband’s affair. She and little Go Yeong observe him from the sidelines, hidden, and see him smile like he had never done in all the time he had spent with them. We see Eun Suk feeling crushed by the implication that whatever love and happiness she thought she had had in her life with her husband was all potentially a farce. The fact that she chose to separate from him implies a couple of things: 1. She had strength and resourcefulness to provide for her son as a single mother in a restrictive patriarchal society like South Korea, and 2. She understood that staying in the unhappy marriage would only make her bitter and would affect her son more negatively than him growing up with a single parent.

She was brave enough to make those choices, and yet was still bound by her sense of propriety molded by society, and her faith. I’ve had a dynamic relationship with faith throughout my life, but I understood pretty quickly that questioning one’s faith is a particularly painful experience. Faith is supposed to be the solace one could turn to during trying times. When one is forced by circumstance to question their faith, it leaves them unmoored on the inside and further isolated on the outside. Eun Suk was already isolated to a certain degree by her divorce and her single motherhood. From what we learned in the book, there’s a history of cancer diagnoses in her family, so I would posit that she had been in Go Yeong’s shoes before, caring for her terminally ill parents in the past. Which is additional trauma from caregiving in her young adulthood that would’ve shaped her life. So I understand Eun Suk not questioning her faith when it was shaken.

She rebuilt her life and community by pursuing her faith—attending church, making friends who shared those values, and idolizing the Christian heteronormative lifestyle even after it failed her. She followed the rules dictated by her faith and community with utmost devotion, including building an entire business around heteronormative romance, in part because she had already transgressed by breaking up her own family and needed to prove she was not bucking that ideal or rejecting the church’s teachings with her choices. We see her take care of her appearance over and over when she is in the hospital after her first diagnosis and surgery, and it is yet another sign of her conformity and dedication to presenting a certain picture of her life. I understand why she would see her teenage son kissing a boy as a blemish on “a life deemed beautiful by God” and panic. I understand why she would think a psychiatric facility would help her son, and that it was her duty to try. (Note: once again, I am not justifying her actions, I am trying to understand them. Conversion therapy is deplorable and my heart goes out to everyone who has been subjected to it, including Go Yeong.) Eun Suk’s faith saved her by giving her purpose and community after her husband’s betrayal, but it also told her that her son, in his queerness, is fundamentally flawed. And like most people in this world, she chose not to rethink her entire life, and instead chose to believe that it is her duty to save her son from homosexuality and guide him to righteousness via the same path that saved her own life, ultimately traumatizing him. Hello, intergenerational trauma, my old friend!

@lurkingshan has already discussed the kdrama-fication of Part 2, with the increased intensity of Go Yeong’s romance with Hyung/Yeong Su. Expanding on that, I think the show’s depiction of Go Yeong’s relationship with his Umma rounded out the sharp edges of Young’s cynical tone from the book. We see her enjoy spending time with him. We see her joke around with him. We see her read her child with uncanny precision that mothers seem to have when she asked him “Why are you sulking like a child?”, when he was, in fact, sulking like a child. We see her observe and deduce that her son is probably seeing someone, and that someone is likely a man. Which then leads to her asking “Must I meet them?” when Go Yeong suggests a meeting with Yeong Su in the park. She runs from direct confrontation of her son’s sexuality, and yet diligently copies Bible verses, hoping for a miracle.

Eun Suk sees her son’s queerness as her own failure, and Go Yeong, in turn, sees his righteous anger towards his Umma, as his. She is so proud of him that she saves newspaper clippings of his achievements, but she is also ashamed that she couldn’t “save” him. She loves him within the confines of her faith. It’s not enough for Go Yeong, but it’s the best she can do; their relationship remains at an impossible impasse.

Yeong Su’s presence in this section is interesting because in addition to his primary role of serving as the broody, tortured creative who swept Go Yeong up in a whirlwind romance, he also serves as a parallel to Umma’s traits. When Yeong Su exclaims that “someone like [Go Yeong] couldn’t even imagine [his struggles]”, it rang eerily close to Umma telling her son “Don’t try too hard. Everyone must go sometimes”. The expression of disdain is the same, but in Yeong Su it reads hollow, as a pretentious assumption, while with Umma it registers as tired disappointment that Go Yeong would’ve surely felt as heavy as a boulder.

After finishing the book, I found myself going back to a particular paragraph:

...[I] was old enough to know that my mother did not exist solely to hinder my existence but was a person in her own right who had fought hard making her way through life. She just happened to be unlucky. In other words, the fact that our relationship had been so terrible was as natural as cancer or fungus or the rotation of our planet or sunspots. I knew this, but the feeling that she was the source of all my problems kept nagging at me. I kicked myself for thinking this about a dying person, someone who was only skin and bones at this point, but the thought refused to leave my mind.

It took me a long time to reach the acceptance Sang Young Park has put in words here. The fact that my trauma is an unfortunate byproduct of the life my parents had lived, and was not premeditated or fuelled by hate, was a hard and unfair pill to swallow. I want to grab Go Yeong and tell him that it is okay if he can’t ever forgive his Umma. Time will wash over his hurt and let him love her, even without the apology he deserves from his Umma. And I hope that, one day, he can learn to love the people in his life differently than the love he received from his mother.

[bad-surprise]

i find many people in fandom incredibly annoying. that is not a secret and it is not a sin. it is far better, in my opinion, to talk through these feelings privately than to approach said individuals because being annoying is a) not a crime in any way, shape, or form, and b) fully subjective. i am sure other fans find me annoying, and they have every right to talk through their frustrations privately with trusted friends. they also have every right to block whoever they’d like or to share whatever i’ve posted that’s upset them with their friends in order to provide context for their emotions. it might hurt my feelings sometimes and i may not like it, but that doesn’t make it wrong.

as a queer black woman, i find it extremely upsetting when the language of social justice is used in bad faith by those looking to evade accountability for shitty behavior. that is the context of those remarks.

everything i said in that conversation i would state publicly. i didn’t, though, because it seemed pointless at the time. conversation with those involved (not any of the accounts who have centered themselves in this discussion) had already been attempted and the deliberate misrepresentation of events, warping of words, and bad faith tactics that followed rendered the situation hopeless.

fandom is not a monolith. we are allowed to have different opinions on everything, and i really enjoy productive conversations with those who have differing views, so long as they’re rooted in a genuine desire for mutual understanding. people i am friends with are free to be friends with people i dislike, i have never policed that and never will.

i am always open to conversation and will offer clarifications if they’re requested in good faith. i would also point out that the screenshots being shared are very carefully selected excerpts of a broader conversation— it might be wise to ask why those specific quotes (which were poorly worded at times, sure— that makes sense considering that they were part of private conversations between supportive friends who understood each other’s context, values, and intent) were decontextualized and used for this purpose.

initially, this fandom was a very creative place, filled with diversity of thought and opinion, characterized by a sense of curiosity, imagination, and collaboration. the occasional bad actor popped up, yes, and there have always been issues with antis (which i define as those who believe there is a moral component to shipping, though it seems like in this case it is being applied to people who simply have differing opinions about a ship beloved by both parties) and those outside of the fandom who dislike the ship, but generally it was a pleasant space in which to exist alongside others. that has slowly diminished to the extent that it’s now very difficult to find reasons to remain involved. i worry that the point of all this is to push people out, but i also hope that isn’t the case.

there is no right or wrong way to ship sauron and galadriel. there is no right or wrong way to ship, full stop.

i’m so fucking exhausted by this conversation and by the fact that accusations of racism or homophobia in this fandom so often target black and queer individuals, misrepresenting our response to circumstances where our lived experiences are repeatedly decontextualized, devalued, disregarded, or manipulated in the service of something as petty as a ship war. it’s not leftism, it’s not social justice— it’s tone policing as an attempt to stoke moral outrage, and it feels a hell of a lot like an effort to dictate the rules of participation in a ship.

but i genuinely believe there’s enough room here for all of us, including those individuals i personally find disingenuous and/or annoying.

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 8 / The Scheme

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 2.4K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary/Setting: Based on the prologue/premise from my OneShot “A Midwinter Carol.” / Astarion and the OC broke up after his ascension. She left Baldur’s Gate for fifteen years, only to return just recently. Following the events of “A Midwinter Carol,” Ascended Astarion has been convinced to pursue a new beginning. Will he be able to change who he has become, with the help of his ex-lover or will he ultimately fall victim to himself?

Preview:

“You’re far too comfortable within our arrangement, darling. Now, simply stand there and look pretty. It’s what you’re best at,” Astarion had finally drawled after a long silence between the two of them, feigning nonchalance at her comment while the white-knuckled grip on his goblet told another story.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

A/N: Took two weeks, but we finally got there! I am going to try to start posting my longfics on a more consistent schedule. Stay tuned for the schedule, once I've figured it out lol!

-----

Delilah loathed people in power. She hated the moneyed patrons looking down their noses at her, always with an air of disgust. The wealthy acted as if they were doing her a favor; as if they weren’t the ones begging for her skills.

The elite she entertained in the brothels might have different kinks, different preferences, and different fantasies that she danced around… but one rule applied to every entitled, powerful individual that purchased her time: they loved to hear themselves talk.

It was quite comical how much her clients would share when they perceived her as an idiot. They often thought her beneath them; nothing more than a glorified decoration, a plaything. An empty vessel to spill their seed into. 

But Delilah was far more cunning than she looked. She wouldn’t have been a whore, if only her circumstances had been different. Her aspirations had always been higher than sex work, and despite loathing people in power, she knew one of them would eventually be her meal ticket out of her situation. 

She was too smart to be a whore and yet too desperate to shy away from any opportunity that came knocking upon her brothel door. 

So when Astarion first spoke to her in Elvish, insulting her in the process, Delilah knew to stay silent. From almost the beginning, she intended to play the long game with the vampire and figured it best to appear ignorant. 

She assumed his goading to be a test. She felt the silver-haired elf wanted to know if she understood his native tongue, though she didn’t quite understand why at the time. So instead of giving any indication she knew Astarion had just called her a filthy whore, Delilah simply smiled and purred a superficial compliment; it was something about how sexy he sounded speaking Elvish.

He bought it. 

After that initial test from Astarion, he would often speak in Elvish when she morphed into Eirianwen’s shape. Most strings of his mother tongue were simply sweet nothings and lamentations he clearly would have preferred to say to the real woman, not the one he paid to portray her. It was tedious to endure the Ascendant as he relentlessly plunged in and out of her body, speaking sappy nonsense as she performed exactly the way he expected her to.

He always took forever to finish.

The ordeal was ridiculous, really. But her suffering proved worthwhile, for a time. It bought her connections to other elites, a new apartment, and — perhaps most valuable of all — pieces of information. 

Over the years, Delilah collected many useful bits  of knowledge from Astarion. The bastard loved to hear himself talk, in and out of bed, just like all the others. She sold some of the lesser information to his enemies and kept the most significant pieces stored within her mind. 

Delilah knew he held the secret to true power – it was etched upon his back — and she wanted it for herself. She spent years assembling pieces of the puzzle and carefully unlocking the vaults of his psyche for that one purpose. It was no easy task. 

But those years passed, and Delilah grew more impatient with the passing of each season. Astarion was dramatic, self-obsessed, privileged, and almost always held an air of missing that stupid sorceress. Constantly soothing his ego became a full time job, and Delilah began to think she loathed him more than she loved his money and connections to power.

Eventually, she thought she would simply convince Astarion to make her a true vampire, cut her losses, and just take those powers as a consolation prize. Her time enduring the Vampire Lord had been more than enough, and she was ready for it to end. She felt she understood why the real Eirianwen left him; if she’d had the means, Delilah would have been gone long ago, too.

But not everyone is a trust fund baby. 

So, one evening, at another party almost identical in theme and guest list to the soirée they’d attended the week prior, Delilah broached the subject of immortality with Astarion. Her frustration quickly rose to the forefront when the Vampire Lord denied her far too quickly, as if he’d considered the option long ago and decided against it. 

“Why not?” she’d pressed, her arm wrapped around his, simply playing the all-too-familiar part of a decoration at his side as they walked about the great hall of some noble’s mansion.

But, even as she asked, Delilah knew the reason: she was a glorified shell in his eyes; nothing more than a novelty item. She was hardly permitted to be in her own chosen form for these parties, or in general, after all. Astarion never wanted to see her as her. He always made her rotate her appearance as his date, instead. She was never supposed to be Eirianwen in public, of course, because imagine the scandal; but she was always some beautiful being. 

Just not herself. 

Among the many strange aspects of the egotistical man she’d tied herself to for years, Delilah found it odd that Astarion seemed to prefer the appearance of rakishness without actually being a rake. Though she suspected he liked the idea of appearing unattached, should the real Eirianwen ever flit back into his life. Idiot.

“I am not currently paying you to speak, Delilah,” Astarion had warned in a low hiss, his jaw tensed as he’d refused to look at the woman holding onto his arm. 

She was in the form of some gorgeous, pouty-lipped, large chested brunette she’d seen while working in Waterdeep years ago. Astarion always seemed to prefer silver-haired dates, so Delilah intentionally gave him anything else when she was particularly irritated with the bastard.

“It’s been half a decade… she isn’t coming back, you know,” Delilah had snapped in response, unable to hold back her frustration after tempering herself for ages. 

Five years had been far too long. 

She’d been attached to this vile man longer than his precious sorceress ever had been and still played second fiddle to a memory. The thought made her insides boil with rage.

Not that she loved Astarion. Absolutely not. But she felt he still owed her something after all this time. Because truly, he was dreadful, and he would have done nothing of note with all that money and power if she hadn’t pushed him in the right direction. Hells, he couldn’t even sleep properly when they first met, let alone play political dragonchess with dignitaries and crime bosses. 

No, the majority of that had been her doing. But of course, in his pride, the Vampire Lord was certain it had been him all along. 

“You’re far too comfortable within our arrangement, darling. Now, simply stand there and look pretty. It’s what you’re best at,” Astarion had finally drawled after a long silence between the two of them, feigning nonchalance at her comment while the white-knuckled grip on his goblet told another story. 

But the shapeshifter knew her value was severely underestimated. She was more than a common whore, more than an attractive escort, more than just a shell of someone else’s form. And after years of catering to Astarion’s massive ego, one would think her other talents would be of value to the Ascendant – at least enough to consider turning her.

Apparently not.

Ultimately, Astarion kept refusing Delilah’s requests for immortality. Eventually, the shapeshifter decided she’d had enough; she would have to find another route to power. 

She’d wasted too much time already.

*

When Delilah first planned to break into the Palace, she knew entering through the dungeon would be most convenient. Waltzing in right through the front door, while potentially possible in Astarion’s form, would attract far too much attention. The servants swarmed him the moment he entered any room. Plus, she suspected her target happened to be in the bowels of the Palace, away from prying eyes – the dungeon would be faster, too.

It would be a quick job – get in, get out, get back to her new boss, get turned. 

She knew the secret entryway into the dungeon was enchanted and required a password spoken in Astarion’s voice. At first, this had been a significant dilemma. Delilah’s shape shifting was flawless, and yet she always failed to adequately reproduce voices. However, thanks to his unwilling donation of DNA at the auction, the woman successfully brewed a potion that perfectly captured Astarion’s haughty tenor. 

One utterance of “aeterna amantes” later and she found herself in the frigid cobblestone dungeon underneath her ex-lover’s abode. 

She could not help but feel pride for her multiple talents at this moment. If Delilah had been able to afford tuition at Blackstaff thirty years ago, her life would be inconceivably different. Self-study and natural talents could only get her so far, unfortunately. 

Locating the Jathiman Dagger – or “The God Killer,” as it had been called in the texts she read on the subject – had been effortless in comparison to her first trial. The ancient blade was rippling with arcane magic, and Delilah simply reached out to the Weave for guidance. Like a compass, the Weave led her straight to the second hidden passageway in the dungeon, this one much less guarded than the first. And there, behind an illusory wall, was the ticket to her future in the form of a well-worn, rusted dagger.

In truth, the woman thought the weapon that could kill anything from a god to a devil – and certainly a mere Vampire Ascendant, by that logic – would be far grander in appearance than just a simple serrated blade with a leather-wrapped hilt. At first, Delilah worried it was a decoy. But the arcane thrum when she touched the weapon was undeniable; all that was left on her end of the deal was to get back to Lady Lysandra and deliver the dagger. She could leave Edmund to rot if she wanted, Lysandra had indicated him to be disposable in their scheming. 

But standing on the precipice of her future, and try as she might, Delilah couldn’t bring herself to take the final jump and leave the stupid spawn. Not after the time they spent together the past few months. He’d been, over all, a gentleman. And when she finally propositioned him after weeks, he’d never asked her to change into any other form, despite knowing she could… that had been a first for her. 

‘Leave him, leave him, leave him,’ she thought as she made her way toward the secret tunnel leading out of the cobblestoned torture chamber.

And yet, against her better judgment and with half of her mind screaming in disbelief, Delilah stopped just before reaching freedom, tucked the dagger into her robes and began to climb the cobblestone steps of the dungeon. She willingly walked straight into the lion’s den.

*

Finding Astarion and Edmund had been simple; she only had to follow the pained grunts of the vampire spawn and the deranged shouting of her ex-lover. But as she walked in that direction, under cover of a simple invisibility spell, Delilah passed the master bedchambers where she’d laid under Astarion more times than she could count. Out of habit, she glanced into the room and spotted Eirianwen sound asleep, instead of writhing in pain like she should be with Delilah’s poisons working inside her body.

And gods that enraged Delilah. She wanted Astarion to suffer in the worst way, to watch the only person he ever seemed to love be tortured beyond belief, lose motor function, and eventually die after a long, chronic battle with the side effects of Delilah’s concoction. 

He deserved it, and by extension, Eirianwen did, too. She made him what he was, after all. 

But how was this possible? 

The knowledge-seeker in the shapeshifting woman decided to take a quick detour, temporarily ignoring the tortured cries from Edmund in the next room. He was strong, surely he could endure for a mere moment longer as she examined the sorceress, she thought.

After a quick study of Eirianwen, Delilah notices the ring on the sorceress’s blackening hand and realizes it's the flimsy golden band that’s protecting the woman. She remembers the auctioneer toting the magical abilities of the rings Astarion ultimately paid far too much for. 

But Delilah doesn’t dare touch Eirianwen to try and remove the ring. The newest potion coursing through the elven woman’s system had been a rush job; Delilah was not certain how potent the paralytic was or if it would transfer to her, another living being, via touch. It’s why she’d had Edmund carry the bottle around at the party, just in case there had been a mishap; her necrotic concoctions were much less potent on the undead, but on the living they were always particularly nasty. 

A flurry of curses on the other side of the wall, followed by more vitriol from the Vampire Lord, all coming from the space next door she knows to be Astarion’s office, finally rips Delilah from her thoughts and pushes her forward. She doesn’t have a plan. She really did not expect herself to risk her neck for this random spawn. 

Delilah morphs into Eirianwen’s form, mangled hand and all, and slowly edges her way toward the office. At minimum, she can distract Astarion and hopefully Edmund can break away with a bit of her assistance. He’s certainly strong.

When Delilah turns around the corner, she quickly realizes, much to her dismay, that any hopes of saving Edmund are gone. Astarion is crushing the other vampire’s skull in with one hand and plunging something into the man’s chest repeatedly with the other. Splatters of blood are sprinkled about the office like stars in the night sky. The man she’d spent months scheming with, fucking, and for whom she’d idly considered killing his master for once she achieved her goal is lying limp and mangled underneath the Ascendant. 

Edmund is gone. And the realization elicits a genuine, horrified scream from Delilah. In that moment she realizes that perhaps she actually cared for him… as much as someone like her could care about anyone. When Astarion’s eyes snap to her, Delilah forgets she’s in Eirianwen’s form and runs.

Before long, the woman recollects herself as the silver-haired elf shouts down the hallway, calling after his precious Ani. She turns to look at the Vampire Lord, her face filled with hatred, and misty steps as far as she can away from him, back toward the dungeon entrance on the lower floor. Delilah was supposed to leave the murder of Astarion Ancunin to Lady Lysandra… but she just decided that she changed her mind. 

She was going to kill Astarion in his own home, and she was going to savor every delicious moment as he watched the woman he loved stab him to death. 

-----

A/N: Special shoutout to a reader, @lil23akira for absolutely calling this! I love that you were able to pick up on all my foreshadowing. And thank you to @leomonae and @tallymonster for reading this and providing feedback as I worked through what was the most difficult chapter to write thus far.

[altocat]

Um. Long essay ahead, sorry lol.

We are talking about the Genesis-Sephiroth drama and I must say: Genesis is so very human and I love that. I think he seriously thought that Seph needed to hear some cold, harsh truth to finally see why Shinra sucked and why he and Angeal had defected. So, he just went straight for Seph’s most painful issue—his mother and the answers regarding her. 

I know we react viscerally to the idea of Gen having known about Seph searching for his mother and then weaponizing that, but think about it. Angeal is dead by that point and Genesis is on the verge of death. He is desperate. The man is broken to pieces after discovering that his entire existence had been a lie, an experiment, an abuse of power, etc., and that his own adoptive parents had “betrayed” him. He basically was reduced to an orphan that discovered how awful his care-takers were and how they had used him. 

On top of all this, he lost Angeal, his closest childhood friend, to the SAME horrific downfall. I don’t think we talk enough about how Angeal’s death probably messed with Gen, but I feel that he gets noticeably crueler and frailer afterwards. Shinra took everything from those boys, and Gen’s last hope for any salvation was Sephiroth, who was STILL letting himself be under Shinra’s command. Genesis absolutely wanted to hurt him with a wakeup call and went for the heart with his dagger. 

He probably thought he was doing well, that Sephiroth needed it, and yes, a strain of bitterness from their past rivalry tainted his words, but wasn’t it all just forgivable drivel in the face of their deeper friendship? In the end, Sephiroth could overlook that after seeing the light, yes?

Genesis wasn’t an idiot. He really did believe Sephiroth would help him despite the rude awakening, but what he lacked was deeper insight and empathy for his old friend. 

Genesis had a normal chldhood. He understood family, he understood the idea of a “hometown,” he knew how to hold friends and have fun with his life—he had autonomy despite the lies surrounding his birth. Sephiroth had absolutely none of this throughout his life and had trusted his heart only to his friends—one of whom was dead by that point and the other seemingly a traitor who appeared to use his greatest weakness against him before demanding a part of his very essence. Sephiroth had nothing left in that moment.

Genesis did truly descend into his frenzied, imagined glory-tale of three friends that were all monsters and could save themselves together, thinking that he had a chance to full-fill that dream, but he made the mistake of underestimating Sephiroth’s crumbling mental stability as a human being. We saw what discovering the truth did to two kids that grew up fairly normal. It ruined them, killed them, made one of them cruel in many ways. Gen and Angeal suffered immensely believing they were monsters and eventually reshaped pieces of history in retaliation.

But Sephiroth? The “other” child of Shinra? The solitary one? The one that had been violated directly from the womb…not just through his mother’s cells…but from the time his own life force began to take shape? The one that had been raised to be a killing machine with no true connection to the outside world? His discovery of the truth broke his psyche and led to apocalyptic events. 

Genesis simply failed to consider this, so his “splash of cold water” mixed with his own bitterness, which would have been cruel enough under normal circumstances, actually led to extremely dark consequences. I absolutely believe he knew that Sephiroth had been searching for his mother for his whole life, that Sephiroth had indicated it or brought it up at some point during their youth, regardless of whether the picture was involved or not.

I absolutely think Genesis weaponized Sephiroth’s gaping wound in that area, but I don’t think he realized how damaging it would truly be. He forgot that his friend was not at all “normal” and that his orphanhood was a different entity—something colder and more feral than most. Even most orphans are not completely deprived of normal lives and raised as weapons. We see this with many other characters. So many that lost their families or never knew them still found a way to make a place for themselves in the world or substitute their loss with something else.

Sephiroth literally could not do this as Shinra’s weapon. He had tried with his two friends and lost them both. He was already collapsing under the weight of it all, and Genesis simply did not see it in time. So, he played with fire and paid the price. That look of hurt on his face when Seph rejects him is genuine and raw and real. He had faith in them, in their friendship, and thought that it could withstand a bit of turmoil like it had in the past—but that only could have maybe been the case if Sephiroth had not been who he was—if he had been normal.

Genesis never quite fully understood his hero in the end and it makes me so fucking sad.

I don't think I could have said it better myself. Amazing analysis.

Genesis is a severely misunderstood character. It's really easy to dismiss him without taking a closer look at his feelings and motives. I think there was plenty of bitterness towards Seph, but we all seem to forget that Genesis' deepest, dearest desire at the end of the day was to share the apples with Sephiroth in a moment of acknowledgement. Genesis hurt Sephiroth badly, but there's more layers to it than just petty rivalry and Genesis being terrible just for the sake of it.

[acoolka]

I now have a Euclidian sona to project onto because I am obsessed with how their anatomy is

So this is the ref and an extra explanation of how it works

This is all i could draw today due to circumstances-TM

This is an angel-demon thing due to being inspired by angel bill art:

INFODUMP BIG LORE WARNING TEXT

Their story is that instead of destroying euclidia - while bill was in the process of “freeing them” - he miscalculted and what happened instead was he was pouring his life force into turning euclidians into 3d beings. Obviously, rewiring the whole being of, like, millions of shapes took much more energy than he expected; which he only realized about quater way in. Which was already way too late to change anything as he was being torn asunder into thousands of pieces.

The result of that was about a thousand of mildly empowered and very disoriented euclidians floating in the middle of space-nowhere, with only, like, a couple of them knowing vaguely what happened (due to listening to bill’s crazy public rants).

It took the survivors an unknown amount of time to gather together and compile a comprehensive picture of what happened and what to do next. [Insert massive timeskip here]

Billions of years down the line the now re-established euclidian society knows of the The Catalyst Event as such:

The legend goes: Once upon a time, when we lived in a world much more simple and pleasant. Sometimes - a shape with mystical powers was born. Some had unnatural strength - to lift things much bigger then themselves, some could bend light to their whims. Such things were very rare, and Cipher was one such shape. His ability most unusual of the rest: he could see into another world. Built so unlike our own - that it was impossible to conceive, nevermind describe. In our native world - the concepts he brought up - such as stars and “up” were considered immensely absurd; And thus he was known as the crazy councilman’s son.

We do not know much of the in-between time, but those who saw it say: “For long he talked about made-up things in the middle of the street, most of us thought he’d been on drugs. However we hoped he might’ve calmed down after not being seen for some time. And the next thing I know - the image of him is superimposed all over my vision. It was everywhere. I could not look away. I think i understood in that moment what he meant by “up”, and yet at the same time it was incomprehensible. Everything swam, but everything was on fire. Blue fire that flowed like the ground and like the people around me. Their organs dripping out of their body through the holes that arent there. Their screaming was all I could hear, but mine too, joining them in the neverending chorus… And through all of it, him, the crazy councilmans kid, he was in “the up”, screaming with us, breaking into pieces. I was more, I was cold, I was burning alive. There was something inside of me that was foreign, it was taking up the space that I didn’t have, too much, too much. I couldnt handle it, i screamed and screamed, for that was all I could do, hoping that would be enough, that if I flailed a bit more - the visions would take pity on me. But I was too numb, I couldnt think, I couldnt bear to move, praying to the unmerciful triangle that his apparition kills me sooner than later… And I woke up. My vision hurt, however strange that sounds. Couldnt feel anything in my body other than that. Only me that did not feel like me anymore, And an infinite void, sparkling with something, and my thoughts. It hurt to think too, for a while.”

Needless to say, we dont tell this part to kids.

After The Event - those of us who survived (and kept most of their mind intact) - did their best to find each other. We found almost a thousand, if there are more - they would be very lucky to be found in this infinity. We did our best to organize ourselves and make plans to rebuild whatever we have left. Nothing good came out of that mind you, travelling together as a monolith kind of group was unsustainable at best and a horrid idea in general; And we had no base to build anything anywhere, as our memories and bodies were all we had left. We were also all different people, too different, and keeping any sort of communication is impossible out here, with nothing to make, and the only way to communicate being face to face - to the disappointment of many - the only way we could progress and survive is either in small groups, or alone. Going to explore the nothing for any news and help at all, hoping we will find each other and reconvene once again in some future.

And so it went. The multiverse became familiar with a new nomadic species - weird flat shapes with stick-like limbs, that had various magical abilities: some more powerful than others. They were categorised, and labeled a bland name, “Shape demons”, for how they are shapes, for their disturbing shared ability to be summoned as if corporeal spirits, and for being able to forming binding magical contracts. Each of those creatures has an different affinities and power, so it would be wise not to mess with them and be specific when negotiating.

It is happy that some were able to come across and pass on a terms of infinity communication; so while not all, a lot of us formed a sort of disjointed community at last. A social media for the lost; Looking if there is a place to make a home.

So much time passes, none alive could measure it. And yet we live and we remember. Searching for nobody knows what. However only but three human centuries ago, just one square, certainly smarter than most for sure, found a place to rest on a plane inhabited with very complicated and gross creatures. But only after a bit discovered that they couldn’t leave a small village, prevented by a barrier. Of course, asking the locals proved futile as neither understood each other, and the creatures with houses were either fearful or hostile, never-mind the aggressive fauna and flora! The smart square was very fortunate to have found one resident that is quite reasonable, and it was smart too! Together, the genius minds taught the other their language, and worked towards many great things. The pair built a portal into the multiverse for easy access to resources and contact with other shapes, then, with other found alien minds to weigh in, they figured out how to break the wretched barrier. It was not considered, then, that such action would also let out the hostile and difficult to handle flora/fauna - that, as it turns out, did not exist on the rest of the planet! That was a mess and a half to handle, thats for sure.

In “modern” times however, humans have worked hard to acclimate to the onslaught of the supernatural. A shaky truce was established in the last 50-or-so years; non sentient creatures handled by a special task-force, the sentient ones have forced through a negotiation of “human” rights (they worked, and still work, for freedom alongside the marginalised and dehumanised groups of humans. Who surprisingly, for the most part accepted their aid). Shapes that have decided to settle on Earth of this universe are… very few. It is a rarity to see one, usually an occasion of seeing a shape demands a selfie and a blog post at least.

As for Euan, their story is not complicated.

A travelling Shape demon couple had an unintentional offspring. They travel a lot, and frankly - care not for wasting time and energy on raising a whole new person. Earth-08356 came up on their radar, a fine place to look for any bleeding-heart creature who longs for a young of their own. A spiritual human was recommended a ritual by a friend of a friend, for a guardian spirit - that, for a price, can grant any wish. The woman couldnt carry one of her own, as a miscarriage too many made it too dangerous. She partook to many religions in search of an answer, a cure, but despite the supernatural and the weird now permeating the planet - there were none. The ritual was supposed to be one of many, yet it became a solution. The shape couple answered the summons, ‘perfect, just what is needed’. The never yet mother begs for a magical cure, for fertility and health to carry a small one to spread her love and want that she could not contain. The Demons respond, ‘ you will recieve a young all of your own, to love and raise, and it will love you in return. We will not demand payment, yet for a neglect of some of your wish. The child will not be of your blood. It will not bleed red, nor be a human child at all. Your want is of a mother yearning for a helpless little person to love without condition. So the deal is such: You will gain an offspring of your very own, it will love you eternally, you shall teach it all you know; But can your love be pure? To love still, an alien so far removed from any creature you have seen? It will love you for as long as you love it, yet it will be hard, many do not like that which is different. Will you accept it? Can you protect it?… Will you? ‘

And thus a human gains a child. It is cute, it loves, and it is loved. The demons did not lie, Euan was a challenge after challenge. In fact, the challenges do not seem to stop. It is hard, and very taxing on every resource she has. The child is good and full of warmth, but by the infinity do they not fit into human society, no matter how hard they try or what is done - the only saving grace is that mental illness is similar in such different beings.

—

That is all lore-talk for now, now onto more technical stuff:

Their parents’ ability is to make ones body into liquid, and the other ones is to fall apart into smaller copies of themself/ or grow when enough energy is consumed. Euan, thus, can usually shapeshift their body like a constructor of two triangles, and manipulate their facial features and limbs to a disturbing degree. Yet they’ve always felt dysphoric for… something.

I have not yet figured a way to do this, but I planned for them to somehow get infused with a copious amount of energy (like, idk, spontaneous wormhole be upon ye) - and unlock like, near infinite shapeshifting. Or something along the lines of danny phantom aka unhealthy amounts of multiverse magic radiation exploded with them in the middle and now they can walk throughwalls disappear andfly- take any form and rip space matter apart due to being everywhere and everything all at once.

-

Extra ref with the infinity bag and some glitches?? not sure where I was going with this…

[biblioflyer]

X-Men: Disproportionate Power, Disproportionate Disorder

Superheroes and Villains are already well understood to complicate traditional understandings of crime, law enforcement, and general social cohesion. When large numbers of people start manifesting powers, the problem only grows. As does the existential dread.

Previously I discussed why X-Men as a setting is fundamentally pessimistic as a necessity according to the creative choices made. It is an essay in 5 parts:

1,2,3,4,5

This is a new series analyzing how experience and social status influences Mutant outlooks on the assimilation vs separatism/supremacy question.

The last part unpacked Xavier’s relatively pampered background and how it likely made him more optimistic, but also how he’s seen more of the sharp end that he’s usually given credit for.

Mutants complicate systems of justice. Assuming the same spectrum of morality as Sapiens, Mutatis with Dark Triad personalities and high power levels, perhaps even Omega level, represent an existential threat. Unlike mortal Premieres and Presidents, someone like Apocalypse can’t easily be thwarted by a minion who simply doesn’t follow orders. Incidentally, I’d happily swap out pretty much any Federal holiday for a Vasily Arkhipov day.

X-Men is also rife with examples of Mutants with more minor abilities using them for criminal intent. Although we could of course fairly ask whether the lack of acceptance pushed them to this, we still must expect that even in a more just society, some Mutants will suffer mental health crises or otherwise simply be contrarian and problematic because it's part of the natural spectrum of Humanity.

Much of social thought is oriented around the idea that you can design a society that rewards good behavior and works around the worst instincts of humans very effectively. Debates over models and systems are functionally debates over what is the more correct understanding of human motivation and behavior and the best way to encourage “good” behavior and discourage “bad” behavior, and to a great extent by what rubrics we should judge good and bad. 

I think all told, we have done better than many historical societies: a person in the 70s/80s would be shocked at how low US rates of violent crime are. This is the era that gave us Escape from New York and Judge Dredd: the idea of entire cities as prisons. 

This is perhaps not an unfamiliar concept to those who watch closely the status and fates of stateless and displaced people now that information more widely circulates, but many people had their ideas about cities shaped by historical crime waves. Many people are also slow to update their assumptions about cities and carry those biases to the present..

I’ve seen it noted that the correlation between living in a rural area and skepticism of government and the regulation of behavior, the so-called “nanny state”, may represent a difference in experience. In the country or small towns, dumb or antisocial behavior has lighter consequences. It impacts fewer people. If you’re playing around with distilling, making homemade explosives, or just having a loud party, the distance between homes often means it's largely the problem of the people involved in doing something reckless or stupid if something goes wrong.

If you throw an all night rager in a densely packed apartment building with walls that wouldn’t pass muster as Amazon packing material, you’re likely to make a lot of enemies. Same as if you start playing around with toxic chemicals. Expectations that people will simply self-regulate, following the honor system or being wary of its dark twin: the Darwin Award, simply fall apart when there are too many people in too close of quarters. 

Eventually someone’s judgment is going to be dubious because even under the most ideal of circumstances, you probably can’t quite keep every last outlier on the Bell Curve from frakking around and finding out.

Now add superpowers into the mix. 

So we who exist outside of the narrative need to contend with this: Human fear of the consequences of Mutant powers wielded by the unscrupulous or disordered is rational.

Collective punishment and oppression of Mutants remains cruel and unjust.

Next: The precariousness of passing and the earned cynicism of those who have known only the wrong end of the boot.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #11

Did you know that I like to make wire trees? I weave them myself, by hand. I'll show you some of my best examples:

I even made one of you. Here's what it looks like:

I like taking the trees I make and turning them into various weird handicrafts. I don't sell them; I give them away to people who have been good to me and to others. I'll show you:

Here is what became of the tree that I wove for you:

Easily, though, my best handiwork is this one:

It is a rainbow tree encased in an epoxy sphere. You can find an explanation of what it is within the letter I wrote for you a while back. Right now, it is in the hands of some very important people in Japan; I gave it directly to someone who might be able to help you. I hope that they are enjoying it, and I hope that they can see the love with which it was made.

Somewhat recently, my therapist thought that he could turn my tree-weaving into a self-love exercise. The reasoning goes, we can look at trees and see that they're beautiful no matter what shape they've grown into. So he asked me to turn myself into a tree. I tried to weave a colorful willow tree. This was the result:

And you know? I've never hated a tree that I've made until this particular one. As you can see, it's nothing like the other trees I've made. It's a bit of a mess. It can't even support its own weight. It tried to be colorful and flowy, but really, it just ended up being loud, obnoxious, overly dramatic, and relatively useless. I thought about taking it apart so that it wouldn't be a waste of gemstone beads, at very least. But instead, I put it in a box and left it somewhere for weeks, so that I wouldn't have to look at it. I was disappointed and ashamed about how it had turned out.

But then I realized something. What if I'm looking at it from the wrong angle? What if it only looks useless because it is not in the correct orientation? What if it only looks like a disappointment because it's not in a place where it would thrive?

So I changed its circumstances. Its branches no longer look so noisy now that they're spread out and being used to keep it balanced. Whether it can hold itself up is no longer relevant now that its main focus is reaching and embracing. The branches bend under the weight of their circumstances, but they will not break, even if you let them help you to climb out of wherever you're at.

(It looks much better in real life than in the photos, I promise!! Haha!) The only times I ever really feel as though I am alive are when I am trying to reach for someone else and bring color and joy to their world. This tree does not stand tall and proud like my other ones do because the weight of the colorful leaves it carries is too much. But maybe that's okay; we have to be willing to kneel down in order to help the fallen anyway, right?

I think my therapist will be happy to learn that I've finally understood his lesson today. I will tell him about it next week.

May you, similarly, learn how to look at yourself and other people with the same marveling eyes with which you regarded the trees as you were looking out of the window in the inn at Nibelheim, when you first arrived there.

Please remember that you are loved. And please stay safe; I don't want it to be the case that all I have left of you are these random letters that I write to you.

Your friend, Lumine

[connoisseursdecomfort]

Is Anya unrealistic

I never thought I’m going to write this but... I have no hate on any other shows. This is just a personal observation about kids, and let’s agree to disagree.

I just find it unfair to call Anya unrealistic. Mostly because all stories have to contain a certain level of realism to make it relatable. The only part unrealistic is that she is a telepath. The realistic part is that even if you tell a child every single thing that is in your head and try to explain why it is so, chances are the child will not understand, because have you ever tried to reason with a child by laying out facts made as easily understood as possible? (Stupid teenager me had.) That is where the comedy comes from. Obviously telepathy doesn’t really make Anya understand more about people. Her constant misinterpretation on people’s thoughts and words is literally play for laughs in both the anime and the manga. Endo made it clear that she doesn’t understand much despite the amount of thoughts she hears.

You would hear/read that quite a lot of people say Anya is quite believable as a 4 or 5 year old. They see Anya on other children, and more importantly they see echoes of their own childhood on Anya. To a certain extent Anya has to be realistic enough to be relatable, even for children. There’s a poll in Japan asking primary students who they admire the most. Anya came third, while "friends” and “mom” came first and second.

I’m not going to say Anya is an ordinary child due to her experiences, but then she’s an anime character. Most often even in the most SoL of SoL shows there has to be something extraordinary about the characters for them and/or the show to stand out. That’s why I find it unfair to say something like, oh this child sounds more like the children I know so the other child is “unrealistic”. Let me give you some of my examples.

A. I babysat a child. She’s four. It’s not that her parents don’t want her, but there are some complications so she’s currently living with a relative. It is apparent that the relative she’s living with loves her very much, and they are very close. She will soon go back and live with her parents. She is energetic, but she understands your reasonings and instructions and is very well-behaved. She doesn't really mess around.

B. I was walking on the street. A child, most likely 4-5, was throwing a tantrum. The mother threatened to count to three and if he didn’t stop there will be consequences. When the mother counted to two, the child cried even louder. The mother never counted to three.

C. My cousin is thirteen years younger than me. Our families are very close and we would have gatherings every week. When my cousin was a small child, she was shy but stubborn. She’s a tiny bit spoiled but overall well-behaved. She’s never a noisy child.

D. My younger brother, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. Loud and energetic. Very cunning and dramatic. My brother obviously knew he’s cute and smart. That doesn’t mean he can’t be the sweetest kid in the world.

There are many more examples but I’m not going to bother you with that. The point is, they are all kids, but they are all different. You won’t find a parenting book that is universal enough to solve all your problems. It could be useful for your first child but could be absolute trash when it comes to your second-born. Because they are inexperienced tiny human-beings being shaped by circumstances while growing up.

Admittedly, Anya is a calmer child. But then she was experimented on and abandoned four times. From my own observation, children know, and they learn from their experience. Remember the four-year-old I mentioned? After she visited my house, my mom was talking about that little kid, and commented how “all children test your limits by pushing your boundaries.” Even when they are four. Children are not dummies. They learn from your responses to their actions. Not saying that they will not ever mess up once they know where your limits are, but they do try to do better according to the reactions of others.

What I appreciate about the children in sxf is that Endo gives them different personalities and goals. Most often reactors to the show would say something like “that’s so Becky” or “that’s Anya being Anya” instead of “yeah, kids”. I see my six-year-old self, who watched way too many soap operas and tried hard to act like an adult but was way too dramatic, in Becky. I also see myself in Damian, because I remember myself working hard to gain my parents’ attention.

(But then a lot of people did say I acted more grown-up than others. That still doesn’t mean I was “mature” tho.)

They are not defined by their childish behaviours. I think I saw a comment stating the reason why the person think Anya’s a good child character, and it’s because children are still human-beings but with very limited experience. Endo did a good job in trying to show you Anya’s thought process. Anya behaved like that not because Anya is a child and all children do that. Anya thinks before she acts but she still acts like a child because of her own (limited) experience and child logics and misinterpretations. Like all other children, she understands very little, and that’s why she acts like the gremlin she is.

So yeah. There are people who don’t like kids, and there are people who prefer other child characters over Anya. I get it. But em, no, you don’t need to do that to Anya, or Endo, or people who have worked/are currently still working on the sxf project. They have their own vision they want to share with the audience, and they have their own experiences with kids, too. You really don’t need to say things like, my show or the characters I like is realer than yours. That might not even be the point, but still.

Like what you like. Focus on the positives about the characters you like. And have a nice day I guess.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*SLAMS MY HANDS ONTO THE TABLE* hoo boy I have way too many hcs about mer language So disclaimer first, none of this has any basis in canon, it's just what I like to think about mer physiology. Moving on from that, I hc the mer language to not require breath, so their vocal cords are shaped rather differently from humans. Since mer have some sort of gills, based on the tweels and Azul's design (and if they don't and I'm remembering wrong that's honestly kinda stupid), they don't need air to breath. If they don't need air to breath, then how do they talk? My hc is that mer vocal cords are activated some other way (anatomy isn't my strong suit so I haven't decided the exact way). So mer do have their own language, but it's hella difficult for landdwellers to learn - so it's usually not taught on land. As for mer learning common language, that would be for emergencies - not many mer who aren't in service ventures or go to learn on land learn it well, but it's kinda like how Spanish is learned in the US - not learned well, but can be kinda understood. Anyways I have too many thoughts on mer biology and such, but ty for reading

[Referencing this post!]

ADDENDUM: Real life octopuses and moray eels don’t have gills in the shape or form we traditionally think of them on like… fish. I took a recent look at the Magical Archives and it seems that Jade and Azul’s pages talk about the markings on their sides (and some on their backs not seen in the usual frontal view) are fish-like gills. Weirdly enough, gills of this nature aren’t seen at all on more “human” merpeople. I talk a little more about that and the differences between them and the more human-like mermen guards stationed at the Atlantica museum here.

*puts on life science nerd glasses* 🤓 I’ve actually formally studied speech formation and A&P, so I can talk a bit about how normal (aka irl human) compares to some of the headcanons you shared! Of course, we don’t 100% know how merpeople anatomy and physiology is different and similar to humans (or how much fantasy races really borrow from real life), but I thought it would just be interesting to share the knowledge!

Firstly, breath is a requirement for speech because it is the movement of air across the vocal cords that results in the vibrations which become speech. Now, it’s not clear how or why merpeople are able to breathe underwater or why they don’t necessarily need to breathe air to survive; the respiratory system that typically brings air into the body must not be the same as a human’s, as that would likely result in water getting into the lungs and drowning them or crushing them from pressure. It’s entirely possible that merpeople have a hybrid respiratory system between that of a human and marine animals, so merfolk could have adapted such that the movement of water across their vocal cords produces a similar result as air does for humans. This, in addition to potentially having different shaped vocal cords, could mean a potential merlanguage has sounds that are very difficult or even impossible for non-merpeople to replicate.

Of course, that also begs the question 💦 would merpeople be able to even properly speak in their language if they were on land??? Because they wouldn’t be in the same kind of environment (and thus don’t have the same conditions as they do when they usually speak the language); this would impact how certain sounds are produced by the speech systems and then perceived by the ear.

I think merlanguage vs human languages isn’t exactly the same as Spanish vs English?? 🤔 Yes, some students may be in circumstances where their schools require them to learn a language other than the native tongue as part of their curriculum, but that’s because it can have practical applications even if they don’t become totally fluent or pursue higher level language difficulties. For example, especially in America, Spanish-speaking communities are a considerable part of the population and continues to grow, so Spanish is a popular second language. Mandarin Chinese is also on the rise globally, as China is becoming a powerhouse (so knowing how to communicate in Mandarin is smart for global enterprises). Many schools internationally also teach English as a universal second language because English is so prominently used.

In comparison, merpeople are so far geographically removed from humans and are given lore which states the majority of merpeople don’t really go to the surface world. It makes me wonder what the benefit of teaching human languages would be?? It’s not the same situation as the real world because it’s not a system where speakers of different languages would interact with each other super frequently (due to the split between land and sea). I understand maybe learning a second language for emergencies if there’s a good chance you’ll engage with populations speaking that language (like Spanish in the Americas), but it isn’t the case for merpeople because the chances of them interacting with a human doesn’t seem to be very high in places like the Coral Sea. It makes more sense to me that (if there is a native merlanguage or dialects) maybe merpeople would pick up some basic phrases of human languages (like “hello”, “thank you”, etc.) in their free time/by chance. There is no incentive to try learning another language even at a basic or conversational level unless maybe this was a path a merperson planned on pursuing further or professionally.

Again, can’t believe rubbing my two brain cells together to talk about how the fuck anime fish boys breathe and talk and are even theoretically possible—

[lostinnirvana]

An open letter to my Almost — The one that got away.

There’s something deeply haunting about the idea of being “the one that got away.” The one who was almost everything, but never quite became it. It’s a feeling that lingers, a memory that fades but never disappears. And when you realize, after all these years, that the love still exists—unchanged, maybe even stronger—it leaves you with an odd sense of closure, mixed with a thousand what-ifs.

Ten years ago, we stood at the crossroads of becoming something real. We loved each other, though I don’t think we fully understood the depth of that love. We were younger, less experienced, trying to make sense of life, love, and everything in between. Timing wasn’t on our side. Circumstances pulled us in different directions, and we became each other’s almost—two people who could have been, but never fully became. Life happened. We moved on, or so we thought.

But here we are, ten years later, and the love never truly went away. It still lives quietly between us, unchanged by the distance, the silence, or the years that passed. It’s strange, isn’t it? To realize that after all this time, we still love each other. That connection we shared, as fleeting as it was, still lingers.

I’ve often thought about how we became each other’s almost. How we were just shy of being everything for each other. For years, I questioned why we couldn’t make it work. Why, despite the love we had, we were always just out of sync. But over time, I’ve come to understand something that has brought me peace: qadr—divine decree.

Our story, no matter how incomplete it feels, was always part of a larger plan. It was written that we would cross paths, love each other, and then go our separate ways. It’s easy to think of fate as something cruel, but qadr reminds me that everything happens for a reason, even the things we don’t understand. We weren’t meant to be together back then, not because we didn’t love each other, but because it wasn’t the right time. There were things we both needed to learn, ways we needed to grow, before we could be ready for something deeper.

Through the years, I’ve held on to sabr—patience. Not in the sense of waiting for us to reunite, but in accepting that some things aren’t meant to happen when we want them to. Sabr has taught me that love doesn’t always follow the timelines we set for it. Sometimes, it grows quietly in the background, waiting for the right moment to reemerge. And when it does, it’s more profound because it has withstood the test of time.

Even now, as we stand here ten years later, acknowledging that the love is still there, we both know that our story is still in the hands of something greater. That’s where tawakkul—trusting in God’s plan—comes in. Tawakkul has taught me to let go of trying to control the outcome. To trust that if we are meant to be, we will find our way back to each other. And if we’re not, then that too is written, and it will be for the best.

The realization that we still love each other after ten years is powerful, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re destined to be together now. Maybe this love was never about a lifelong partnership. Maybe it was about teaching each other lessons we couldn’t have learned on our own. Or maybe, it was simply about showing us that real love never dies; it just changes form.

I’ve come to trust in qadr—to believe that every moment we shared, every part of our story, was exactly as it was meant to be. The love we had wasn’t wasted, even if it didn’t end the way we once hoped. It was part of our journey, a journey that shaped us into who we are today. And now, ten years later, we can appreciate that love with a deeper understanding, knowing that it was always part of a bigger plan.

So here we are, two people who loved each other deeply but were kept apart by time, life, and fate. And after all these years, we realize that love never left us. It survived in the quiet spaces of our hearts, waiting to be acknowledged again.

But with tawakkul, I trust that whatever is written for us will happen in its own time, and if it’s not meant to be, then there is wisdom in that, too. Because if we were meant for each other, nothing in this world could keep us apart. And if we’re not, then something even more beautiful is waiting for both of us—something we couldn’t have reached had we stayed in our almost.

We still love each other after ten years, but we’ve learned that love is more than holding on—it’s trusting, letting go, and believing in what is written for us. So, whether our paths cross again or we remain as each other’s almost, I know that our story served its purpose. And in that, I find peace.

With love and trust, J.

[yourbuerokrat2]

Gen fic: A trollface in the Continuum or a brief history of memes

@startrekwintergiftexchange​

Prompt:  Vulcans or trek aliens of your choice discovering memes.

Since the Qs are one of my favorite species (although I tend to ignore the Q Voyager episodes more often than not) I thought their reaction would be funny. 

Also Q gets to infodump about some quirks of his favorite species in the form of a collection of outdated and current memes and a brief history of them. 

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“What is that?” a question every Q asked themselves and each other when they found their way in one of the least popular corners of the the Continuum and come across a room. A room that was not just a translation of what’s actually there in order for a lesser mind to understand, but an actual room. Or perhaps to be more precise, the door to a room. 

A light brown, quadratic door, which shared a strange resemblance to the doors found inside the USS Enterprise. 

It was Qs room, because apparently he had chosen to adapt a few things from the species he was supposed to judge. One of these things was privacy in a place where all Q were connected and there was just no need for it. 

Qs.... spouse/partner/main political ally/’mother’ of his child had once humored him and opened the door. The door had slowly been shut close afterwards with her not so much as entering the room and despite some curious inquiries she refused to speak of what was inside the room.

Junior on the other hand had just shrugged and went to go on some ‘self-exploration’ that was in most other species ‘normal’ for his current stage of ‘development’: 

Now these were already some unusual circumstances in a Continuum that used to be more or less static for the last millions of years. 

But the latest scandal and controversy regarding their strangest member was a poster hanging on the outside of the door.

“Well, it is obviously supposed to be a parody of a human face.”

“Do you think its a parody of his human”

“Nearly impossible, I have done a brief research on this guy. He doesn’t really ‘smile’ much least of all anywhere near like that.”

“Don’t tell me we are going to have to worry about you ...”

“Oh don’t worry. I barely understand what Q sees in these humans. Besides, he and I have had a ... conversation after he became aware of my research.”

“Well, what is this picture then?”

Behind the ongoing discussion, which more and more other Qs joined in, not really having anything better to do, a flash appeared. 

“It is called a ‘memes.”

Turning around they found the owner of the door and the room behind it. Smiling at them in a rather annoying way that showed how much he joined knowing and understand something they didn’t. 

Giving what a human would call a defeated sigh, one of the Qs asked “What is a meme?”

“I am glad that you asked. “  and with a snap of his fingers the Continuum took on the shape of a 19th centure english classroom. With nearly all of the present Qs as students sitting on small wooden chairs while the most infamous of them took on the robe of a teacher. Unfitting for the times however a powerpoint presentation was shown in front of the ‘class’.

One of the more serious and not at all pleased nor really curious Qs spoke up

“I swear Q, you are incredibly close to getting exiled. Again.”

“Shush. I am merely showing some of my research on Humanity I have conducted for the Trial. 

Authorized research, if I may add.”, Q said, looking at the Q who had dared to show a little bit too much interested in the Enterprise and Humanity. 

Going back into his role, Q went on.

“It all started with this.”

“Ah, I see.” one of the Qs wanting to show that they knew and understood everything from the start, talking to his neighbor. “This is one of their cave paintings.”

“Not really”, Q said. “It’s a bit later than their cave painting. This picture was used by American soldiers in one of their wars, the one call ‘World War 2′. At first just an inside joke on their military ships and vehicles it quickly became an inside joke wherever they went during this war. The british soldiers soon decided to do their own and came up with this

While the Australians had this

“I like their cave paintings more”, said another Q in the back.

“But it’s only when the humans had created what is known as the  internet, when it really starts to get weird.

One of the first things to spread across Earth through it was this.

“A virtually created infant?”

“Dancing, yes. And this was just the true beginning. The twenty-first century started it all, with what some scholars would call ‘the Experimental period’ from 2000-2004.

Memes from that area for example were:

“You now?”, one ofo the more serious yet curious Q said after a few seconds watching the video of a dancing and singing banana animation.

“Maybe it’s wrong of us to judge them? After all, they as a species seem... mentally unwell if not to say insane.”

“Shush” came from two other Qs who were actually entertained for the first time in more than three thousand years. 

“Then”, Q went on with a near dramatic ais of importance “came the Evolutionary Period from 2005-2011″

“Believe it or not, they origin from the same year of 2005

2006 however brought back old favorite pictures of humans. Cats, a species of which a few vulcans and even the android on board of the Enterprise seem to be fond of.

“There are numerous more examples like these. Just a picture of a feline with a text that is mostly supposed to be relateable to people who live with one.”

None of the other Q really understood the context or the precise meaning of these memes, but since none of the other Q asked they didn’t want to appear stupid by not understanding such seemingly simple concepts the pictures were reffering to

“In 2007 a particular song amongs various ‘meme songs’ is notable that would keep the status of a meme for years to come

“Q, we are just here to understand your pictures, not whatever it is human qualify as music.”

Grumbling about none of the Qs having any kind of appreciation for creativity and art, Q stopped the video and the song and went on with his presentation. 

“Then in 2008 a man named Carlos Ramirez posted a few comics on an internet communication board called 4chan, which would spark a variety of other meme comics called the Rage comics. 

I chose the trollface, because I found the expression quite humerous and fitting to a trickster.”

“So it represents someone who enjoy getting on other peoples nerves.”, said rather factually. 

Q chose to ignore that comment, instead, 

“Other pieces from this period include

The question of “what’s a monday?” went through the metaphorical head of many Qs. Yet, again, out of the discomfort of being thought of as stupipd, no one bothered asking. 

Feeling instantly better about their own intelligence, some Q even laughed. 

“Following the Evolutionary Period, came the Transitorial Period, which was really short only from 2012-2014″

“And Humans find these reminders of their own mortality.. funny?”

“Yes, quite a few do.”

“But ever since 2015 these things have exploded in variety. The basis of all of them, that something relatable to a lot of other humans is shared. Often in a way to make the other humans laugh or relate. For example, there are quite a few on a collective hatred for the day ‘Monday’, often shown, once again, through the picture of a cat. 

I am guessing that everyone now has somewhat of a understand of what a ‘meme’ is?”

A few nods and more than a few eyeroles were there.

Thinking that he has shared enough of human culture and has taken what fun he could get out of educating his fellow Q, Q snapped his fingers and everything was back to how it was before the lesson. 

Ignoring most of the others, who were already on their way to other places, Q went to the door, opened it and entered his room. 

[epitomees]

Chie’s interests were brazenly on display, allowing for an easy deduction. The stack of video games automatically labeled itself as a last minute purchase. A case could be slipped into the stack, forgotten until it was knocked over, or in a moment of remembrance that yes, this was actually a game she owned. A collection of movies was also present, mostly martial arts, but unless it was critically acclaimed, Naoto felt that it too would be forgotten among its brethren.

Something else. Last year’s present was a moderate hit. Chie appeared to be thrilled that her haori went along with Naoto’s own, but summer was the season of festivals, food stalls and game booths abundant. It prevented Naoto from diving below that line, but beyond a plush, festival commodities were not to die for.

A platter of meat would have sufficed, knowing Chie’s carnivorous palate. They could have homemade yakiniku. Well, no. Rather, they could go to a yakiniku place. The only hindrance came in the form of Naoto’s pride. Compared to last year, it went below the bar of expectations. An edible meal someone could forget versus an article of clothing that one would see in the closet. But Chie had eaten more vegetables, ate less greasy Chinese take out from some dinky corner of Tokyo. Perhaps it would be all right to allow Chie to eat to her heart’s content. Covering meals completely wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and it would be preferable than conveyor belt sushi. Of course, it had to be a respected place.

Two days after her reservation was made, in a typical rude roommate greeting, Naoto threw one of Chie’s many green jackets directly at her face. “Happy Birthday.” (She wouldn’t take it personally, would she?)

“We’re going to a yakiniku restaurant. I already reserved a table, but we should head over now. It may seem like a step down compared to last year, but I hope you’ll find this year’s present acceptable as well.”

Surprises came in all shapes, sizes, and...people, so to say. High school Chie would never have thought one day she'd live with someone who tolerated her very hyperactive personality and invasive behavior. Let alone, a friend...and let alone, that friend being Naoto out of her close friend group. Circumstances led to them finding each other in the same place, around the same time, so covering the cost of a two-person apartment appeared suitable to their financial needs.

A year already passed. It hadn't felt like it. The first few days certainly were awkward, but not too foreign, at least to Chie. Naoto never was a morning person, nor someone willing to join in her daily workouts or exercises, or even eat the same foods as her. Their groceries trips always puzzled most clerks considering their different tastes and diets. Naoto's coffee addiction baffled them, too. It wasn't too bad. An acquired likeness, for sure, but Chie didn't bash the 'hot bean water' as much now like she did during the first few months together.

They learned more about each other, now that a whole year passed without someone winding up in the hospital from food poisoning. She assumed Naoto would highly consider separating since the detective preferred peaceful, quiet living spaces but...again, surprises always came in different ways.

Even now, as Chie's special day arrived, yet another bout of shock startled the messy-haired, slowly waking brunette. Days off meant sleeping in late. Plenty of naps, too. While she emerged from the cave known as her own room, she was met with a sudden spell of darkness. Lavender scents too. "MMPFF MPF!!!" Good use of words, even though no one understood it. She pried the jacket off her face, taking in a deep inhale of air in time to let out a rather large, very noisy yawn.

"Aaaaaahhh...hmmm? What's..." Chocolate eyes adjusted to the dim living room lighting until her focus returned, now centered on the darker shades of blue standing by the coat hanger. "...w-w-wait! You mean like...right NOW!?" So much for preparation. But it was food. A birthday dinner. A meal specifically reserved just for them.

"Oh!! OoooooOOOOH!! Okay! Gimme just a sec! I can go freshen up reeeal quick!" Back into the void of her room. She was rather quick, just as promised. A bit of deodorant and a splash of cold water to the face worked miracles. A change of clothes later, and Chie once again appeared. Although this time, she traded out a simple T-shirt and shorts for a more casual dining attire.

Specifically, the haori gifted to her, from Naoto.

"Why don't you wear yours too? I know we won't be going to any festivals today-" Maybe on the weekend. She was looking forward to sharing red bean taiyaki with her roommate. "-but...ya know, we could match!" Hopefully the restaurant staff didn't get any ideas.

Or maybe...Chie wanted them to...deep down...

[andrew-james-biggs]

“I’m from another country. I speak the language here, and understand it pretty well. I was a writer and did intellectual work in my home country. I spend my time watching a lot of 

T.V. and smoking weed. I go out some weekend nights to clubs and have a good time. I know I could be the owner of a large corporation. I have a strong mind and people like me.

I’m confident yet I’m not sure of myself in this new country.”

What’s the most important thing to you?

“I enjoy my life. I don’t know what I want to do since I don’t have kids and I’m not married. I know I could be gay.”

Where do you see yourself ten years from now? Twenty years from now?

“Dude- it’s none of your beeswax! This isn’t about him or them! It’s about you!”

Whatever. I’m looking for enlightenment. How am I to be enlightened if I’m not able to experience others’ enlightenments alongside them?

“Oh God. Your people are so twisted!”

Of course it’s me literally writing a script about how I feel about other people. I get that. I’m really trying to tune in as much as I can. I’ve always loved people.

“Okay- well it’s fucked up.”

No, it’s not. It’s the natural progression of love. I care about individuals and each individual operating at their highest state possible is the enlightenment I aim for. 

That’s heaven. 

“That’s heaven, Andrew. Exactly. Who the hell is saying it’s fucked up?”

Someone surprised me with that line. It may be more accurate than I realize. Is it true? See, this is where it gets going in circles- with you telling me that it’s my own opinion.

“Well, you’ll do better with us than without us.”

Alright. Maybe you’re right. I can love people, though.

“We know you are able to- we just you to be good, too.”

I mean, I wasn’t good before because I wasn’t loving people with as much urgency as before. I was under the spell of Abraxas before. I thought slaving for material things was a noble 

order, and the material world noble in itself. I see now that I was wrong about that. Since I replaced my intent to love others with a passion for material work ethic, I didn’t need 

to focus on having my whole self there in order to properly take in the information the souls around me were expressing. I didn’t have a need to take care of myself as much, 

since that need for deeper love between souls was shifted out of phase by Abraxas.

When I find my mind drifting away from love of souls and back toward Abraxas, or serving the material world for its own sake- I reel my mind back around toward either self-love,

that is appreciating the blessings all around me- the shapes and colors and feelings, sounds, everything around me. Even the minutia of muscle and bone movements contain 

an essence of exultation. The taste of a good meal, the multitude of sensory-memory simple actions to embrace and relish. Self-love is but a tether to the realm of love, and the 

mind turns continually toward love for other people. Then there are the reflections and the people that are brought to mind throughout life in the world and through memory 

triggers during interactions. The mind splits off and holding onto love for disparate individuals with various memories attached and doing so with as much investment and 

focus as possible is a continuous practice of prayer. Also praying for myself to have the humility to recognize the efficacy of my prayer is contingent upon my own ability to 

listen to, understand, and serve the people in front of me- while withholding my judgment. Withholding judgment because what makes sense and works and is understood at 

one moment, may only do so because of a specific set of circumstances and when circumstances change, love continues to listen and seek out the best understanding and 

service for the moment. Always understanding that there is still yet a better possible outcome, and aiming in humility for the best possible outcome without any judgment or condemnation is the practice of love.

[standtogether2020]

FEAR

Fear haunts you always, the goal is to overcome what you can.

Fear is also only one word in a level system, starting with anxiety.

Anxiety is a derivative of fear and though the list may be in the wrong order, I believe this is where it starts. From worry to anxiety then the signs of being scared into panic then full paranoia switching over to outright fear evolving into terror and finally paralyzation.

This chain of the brain's processing system can be a hindrance to anyone and maybe even everyone if you are willing to show it. I feel that everyone has a weakness to fear in some way shape form or another. The problem is not the fact of knowing this chemical process of the brain exists but knowing what level matches what situation for it is different for all. I have been working with one of my wonderful ladies through her anxiety for a few years now. I'm surprised I did not think of this as a topic sooner. After one of her recent surgeries, her anxiety got really bad on certain things. I will leave it at that as it is up to her as an individual adult to share her medical records, though I am proud of the support groups she has been a part of. I may have logic but I lack experience where these support groups have the experience. So a quick thank you to the people for helping her where I lack first-hand knowledge. On the logical side of things though this is the advice I spoke to ease her mind...

I get that anxiety is a real thing and it may not be something to completely overcome. It will always be a part of our life. It is our brain's natural safeguard to protect us from bad situations or dangerous circumstances. Although you can not let it rule you. The brain may do the auto-calculating for us on the matter of what is scary, but now and again we have to manually calibrate a new list with reason and logic to decide if something is worth the fear or not. If you listen to your auto fears constantly you will always live in a shell and be branded as a coward and knowing today's society many other words can attack the mind a lot worse. But by adding bravery and courage you will have the strength to face it instead of running from it.

This was not quite understood right away so I came up with some scenarios to help comprehension. for instance...

Every time I personally go on a walk I wonder when I will fall into a manhole I didn't know was open for sewer line repairs I was unaware of, or every time I cross the road will be the time I get hit by a car, truck, or bus. Who knows, keep in mind if these are confusing,... I AM BLIND haha... others were in the police force. How many times do they walk into a gas station robbery wondering if they tell a young adult to put the stolen item back and do it simple as that or tell them to put the item back just to receive staring down the barrel of a 45. Or will speeders pull over right away or cause a ten-mile pursuit through high traffic, red lights, construction zones, or mall plazas how many casualties will happen. Or to go deeper a military soldier walking across the desert wondering when the next step will be when they hear a heavy click and realize they can no longer move or sudden death due to the pressure mine they now stand on. Thinking how long they will last before they get tired of standing and fall or get shot down due to being stuck in the open. Maybe even the thought of someone on their bomb squad making it to them in time to defuse it or the thoughts of the bomb specialist what if this mine is wired differently. which wire will release it, and which one will make us both go.

All of these people are brave and courageous because even though these fears are deeply rooted they still go out there and do what they're trained for because they all have one goal in mind. For the good of our country and the protection of our people. When my woman was four blocks down having an asthma attack it was up to me to grab the rescue inhaler and blindly book it at high speed on foot. I did not care what obstacle got in my way. I would be there for my woman when she needed me or I would die trying.

I hope this can help others with anxiety or those in fear of something. Understanding fear will always be in our lives but I hope this can help the processing of anxiety ... even just a little better

--- Eli Mackay Ramirez

[todoscript]

sweetest delight

SYNOPSIS: While Shouto’s out hunting down villains on Valentine’s Day, you try your hand at making some sweets to celebrate the occasion, and in doing so, find your efforts rewarded in more ways than one.

pairing: pro hero!todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: smut. fluff. pro hero au.

word count: 7.3k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. apron kink. praising. oral (both receiving). face-sitting. 69. cum-eating.

author’s note: god, this is long overdue, but i finally got this thing out after all this time. and of course, it ended up getting out of hand again

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

A range of curses spewed from your mouth as the unpleasant smell of your burnt confections permeated the space of your kitchen, threatening to notify the fire alarm overhead of your latest baking mishap. Luckily, you entered the kitchen just in time to dissipate the smoke before it can do so, fanning your towel while navigating to the oven to find your crisp, blackened sweets already ruined inside. The corners of your lips slipped into a scowl at another failed batch of mini chocolate cupcakes at your hand. You slid on a pair of oven mitts to transfer the set off the rack and onto the kitchen counter.

A flicker of optimism in your head presented the thought that they didn’t seem that bad at first glance, going so far as to believe they might’ve tasted relatively fine and that the burnt parts simply added a bitter flavor that would balance the overall sweetness of the decadent chocolate cupcakes. But upon closer inspection, you knew you were lying to yourself.

Flipping the miniature cakes out of the molds, you discovered the sweets were encased in a dreary black outer shell, a sight which made you grimace, wondering how you screwed up so badly to have concocted such a dismal image. You definitely had no right feeding these to Shouto, let alone offer them to him as a Valentine’s Day gift.

As everyone knew, the fourteenth day of February marked Valentine’s Day, the day where couples expressed their love to one another by giving gifts, spending quality time through dates, and displaying many other forms of affection. This year, however, Shouto was called in at his agency to investigate a case of villains whose plan was to wreak havoc on this special occasion.

Now, any person would find it normal to be peeved over these circumstances—having their lover’s free time eaten up by work when they could be celebrating together with a nicely lit dinner or a casual, romantic night at home, and perhaps cap off a wonderful evening with a smooth transition into the bedroom. Much better than spending a day at home alone, pitifully watching couples intertwine their hands together in envy as they walked along the sidewalk beneath your apartment complex, right?

Well, you, on the other hand, were a different case. Rather than sulk around as you waited for Shouto to arrive home later, you decided this would be the perfect chance to whisk up some sweets to surprise him. After all, what’s Valentine’s Day without some chocolate delights on the side, made with vanilla, sugar, cocoa butter, and lots of love and effort. A perfect way to welcome Shouto home from his mission while honoring the festivities, you’d say.

Besides, you understood the situation well enough to recognize that the citizens’ well-being came first before any date of yours. Your boyfriend was a hero, after all, and a Pro at that. It’s not as if you and Shouto hadn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day together before. So long as he came home—intact—prior to the clock ticking to midnight, one day didn’t bother you.

Though… after witnessing the aftermath of several failed attempts at baking thus far, you started to wonder if it would’ve done you better not to get so involved, only to waste resources and pervade your kitchen with an acrid smell.

Still, despite the trials and tribulations, you were determined to come out on top. You tapped your index finger repeatedly against the surface of the marbled counter. “Did I mix up the baking times? Maybe I undermined the portion sizes so the cupcakes started cooking faster?” you speculated out loud, wondering how to troubleshoot the minor errors to come out successful in your next attempt.

After some thought, you decided not to dawdle on your overthinking for too long and shrugged off the idea of redoing another batch of cupcakes. “It’s fine, I’ll just move onto the chocolates then. They’re the star of Valentine’s Day so better to focus on those,” you told yourself. A grin found its way on your face as you rolled the sleeves of your blouse up your forearms. “Alright, let’s get to it then!”

You retrieved a recipe sheet from across the counter, scanning through the contents while overlooking the ingredients lying in front of you. Compared to baking cupcakes, chocolates should be easier to tackle since you weren’t entirely making them from scratch. All you had to do is temper the chocolate melts in a bowl over a heat source, pour them into silicone molds, and refrigerate until hardened and shaped to the perfect, bite-sized delight. Seemed simple enough.

.

.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as simple as you thought.

Or rather, you chose to make the whole process more complicated than it needed to be, not realizing the ambitious turn your take on these chocolates was moving toward until you drove yourself into another mess.

Your first trial of bonbons was sprawled out over parchment paper, waiting for your verdict. Eyes roaming the array of sweets tentatively, you absorbed the mixture of pink and white hues with an unsure look on your face. Somehow during the process, you opted to forgo the customary milk chocolates for white and strawberry, which was the closest you could get to matching Shouto’s signature hair colors.

You’d thought it’d be cute for the treats to have a slight resemblance to him as a simple yet sweet reminder that he was on your mind throughout your progress. But staring down at the final product, you wished you guessed ahead of time that the vision you sparked in your head was not going to be as bright and pretty in comparison to what came out.

You frowned at the batch with narrowed brows before begrudgingly scooping a piece and tossing it into your mouth. The sweetness of the strawberry and white chocolates coexisted together to form a smooth texture that left behind a creamy, floral undertone on your tongue. What was incredibly lacking, however, laid in the looks department. The visuals left… more to be desired, to say the least.

With the idea of wanting to use two different flavors of chocolate, you also played on the notion of incorporating a theme. That theme being half-and-half. And half-and-half being splitting the colors on the chocolates right down the middle.

Though not a complicated plan for an adept baker, it was the exact opposite for a newbie like you who had came up with the idea on the spot. With your chocolates appearing in odd shapes and sizes, not one seemed to resemble another, which was the result of both your lack of patience and miscalculations. You had to allow one of the flavors to harden in the mold before adding the other to not prematurely mix the colors, but judging by the swirls of pink and white surrounding the chocolates, that didn’t seem to go so well. Add on to the fact you had some trouble inverting them out of the silicon molds—the edges of the chocolates ending up smooshed or torn off entirely—and you were left with another failed attempt at a Valentine’s present.

“Guess making sweets isn’t really my thing, huh?” You sighed, body slumping forward against the kitchen counter in defeat. Your eyes wandered from your sad chocolates to the hefty amount of dirty dishes piled in the sink. All this, and you weren’t able to make anything worth giving to Shouto. What exactly were you going to tell him when he came home, bearing witness to this entire mess? No, Shouto was probably under enough stress and fatigue as it was after working all day. Plus, his anticipation for a gift would only be amplified if he saw the number of baking supplies you’ve wasted today. At this point, you had to turn in the towel.

“Oh well… I better clean everything up before Sho comes home and start on din–”

Your words were interrupted by the sharp sound of the front door opening.

“I’m home!” an all too familiar voice announced, one that you were more than aware belonged to a particular fire and ice hero.

Surprised, you glanced over at the clock to check the time, which read a bold 6:00 PM—sooner than you expected your boyfriend to arrive home from his duties that day. So soon, in fact, that you weren’t able to even begin erasing any of the evidence littered around the kitchen.

“Y/n?” you heard him call. Freezing in place, you picked up Shouto breathing in a quick whiff. “What’s that smell?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response, traveling through the enormous apartment to find that answer for himself. Hearing his feet shuffling across the hardwood floor, you moved quickly.

“The kitchen smells sweet but also... bitter.”

Sweet and bitter..? you repeated but soon realized what he meant—those damn burnt chocolate cupcakes you left out. While in your rush with making the chocolates, you had forgotten to dispose of them beforehand. Though the bitter smell was not as prominent as when the cupcakes first came out of the oven, it still didn’t evade Shouto’s keen senses.

After shoving the burnt mini cupcakes in a trash bin, you scrambled to the entrance to the kitchen, thankfully cutting Shouto’s path off just in time as you met him there. “Oh hey, Sho, why didn't expect you to come home so early!” you greeted, a cheerful lilt in your tone as you leaned an arm on the side of the doorway, hoping to come off ordinarily chill to avoid any questioning looks. It seemed you achieved that much at least by how Shouto smiled warmly at your appearance.

“You should’ve shot me a quick text or something.”

“Sorry, we managed to track down the group of villains right away and finished the mission smoothly without any casualties,” he explained. “I guess I was in such a hurry to come home and celebrate Valentine’s Day with you that I must’ve forgotten.” The soft look on Shouto’s handsome features had you in a daze for a second; you nearly missed him descending his head to your level so his lips could find yours. Eventually, you broke from your stupor and swiftly turned your head so he planted a peck on your cheek instead.

You were never one to purposely avoid a kiss on the lips like that from him—far from it actually—but you didn’t want him to find any residual sweetness on your lips from the confections you taste-tested that day and have him bring up if you made anything for him. One thing you surely couldn’t avoid, however, was his puzzled face at your uncharacteristic actions. Still, Shouto wasn’t one to overthink the details. Instead, he decided to look at the bigger picture, such as the dirty yet cute, pink and brown frilly apron tied around your body.

“Your apron’s a mess,” he chuckled lightly. The comment caught you off-guard, eyes slowly traveling down to the flour and chocolate stains on your Valentine’s-themed apron. “Have you been cooking?” he asked. You fumbled with your answer.

“O-Oh yeah..! In fact, I’m… still cooking, actually!” you quickly added, making up for your lack of words. “C’mon, it’s probably been a long day for you. You should go freshen up in the shower while I get everything done and cleaned!” You tried shoo-ing Shouto from the kitchen’s vicinity, but he didn’t budge.

“I can help out if you like. I wouldn’t want you to fix everything up by yourself, especially since we’re supposed to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day together,” he said, and as much as you liked to take him up on his kind and thoughtful offer, you had to object.

Firmly shaking your head, you continued your attempts at pushing Shouto to retreat to the shower and scrub off the troubles of his day. “No, you’ve probably done enough work today as it is! Just let me handle the rest, ‘kay?” you insisted, straining a smile. However, your hurried shoving felt almost too persistent than what Shouto found normal.

“Well, what are you making then–” As he tilted his head up to sneak a peek, you followed his movements, elevating yourself onto your tiptoes to block his vision in time.

“S-Soba noodles..! Cold! Just how you like them,” you answered after partially interrupting him. Quirking a brow at your fidgety gestures, Shouto stared at the smile etched on your lips which screamed of suspicion. Now he was sure something was up.

“Love,” he said, his voice a tone lower than usual that made goosebumps appear on your skin, staring at his turquoise and gray eyes warily, “are you hiding something from me?”

“What? Psh, no,” you feigned innocence, shrugging, “Why would you think that?”

Shouto gave you a look, silently telling you that you should more than know the reason why, but you chose to remain ignorant. No point in questioning it any further then. He would have to pry the answer out himself.

Aware that you had no intention of letting him pass voluntarily, Shouto began putting his hero training to use. He side-stepped in a single motion, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet to slip through your defenses. You didn’t have time to ask yourself what happened before you turned around to watch his reaction to what you left for him on the kitchen counter.

Upon entering the kitchen, Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes were immediately drawn to the marbled white-and-pink sweets sprawled across the parchment paper. His interest piqued, he walked straight to the chocolates with you trailing behind. You could feel the heat in your cheeks slowly rise from the embarrassment at seeing Shouto inspect your sorry excuse of chocolates.

“Hm, no soba noodles, but I may have found something even better,” he said, and you wondered if you heard correctly or that maybe he saw something you didn’t. You rapidly blinked about four times, letting your vision adjust, and yet your chocolates remained.

“You’re kidding… right?”

Shouto lifted a brow at your hesitance. “No, why would I be kidding?” he replied thoughtfully. He took one of the chocolates off the parchment paper, raising it in the air between his thumb and index finger. “You made these for me, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be a Valentine’s Day gift, but…”

“But..?” A frown settled on his lips, watching you nervously twiddle your thumbs while you held your hands against your apron. “Y/n, you can tell me.” Not liking how you weren’t meeting his eyes, his finger drew your chin up so he could get a better glimpse of your face.

“But they don’t look the part. They’re hideous,” you quietly admitted, your words mellowing into a whisper the more they departed your lips. The way he treated your creations as if they belonged on a pedestal didn’t sit right in your eyes. “So I... didn’t want you to see them, or any of this actually. I thought if you saw what I was doing, you’d get your hopes up for something special, only to be disappointed.” You tried avoiding his gaze again, but Shouto wouldn’t allow it, following your eyes as his hand pried yours apart to take one in his own.

His focus shifted from the pink and white chocolate held in front of him to the uncertainty clouding your expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. They look fine to me.”

“Sho, you don’t have to lie to me just so you don’t end up hurting my feelings. Anyone can see how uneven they look,” you said, pointing at the rest of the batch still sitting on the counter behind him. There was a low chuckle coming from the male’s lips, one that you guessed was out of amusement, but you were too caught in your troubled feelings to be sure.

“Well, I have to admit, they don’t exactly resemble the perfect, visual representation of the chocolates you’d find at the store or anything,” he acknowledged with you mumbling an ‘I told you so’ in response before he continued, “but that’s the reason why I like them. That means you made them for me and there isn’t any chocolate like it. They’re one of a kind.”

His genuine words took you aback, eyes glimmering and cheeks flushed. You were too wrapped up in your need for perfection that you didn’t realize you could consider your efforts that way.

“Besides,” he threw the little bonbon in his mouth, “they taste great,” he said as the strawberry and white cream melted on his tongue with its rich sweetness.

Despite his praise, you thought he had only said that because you knew for a fact that the chocolates did at least pass in the taste department. “But what if they had tasted bad too? What would you have said then?” You were bold enough to question, though half-worried about his answer in the back of your head—worried that he would have to take back those sweet words of his.

“I still would have eaten them, regardless. I’d never waste anything you’ve made for me, you should know that. To me, these chocolates are the sweetest delight not because they’re the best looking or tasting, but because they came from you,” he answered earnestly, bending down to tuck a hair away from your stunned yet grateful appearance which looked as if you were nearly about to sigh out loud in relief. You brought your body into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around you, lips pressed against your hair.

Shouto didn’t grant you much time to bask in your solace however, before beckoning you over to the kitchen counter. He wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

“Normally couples give each other milk chocolates on Valentine’s day. Any reason you decided on white and strawberry then?” Shouto noted, a grin on his lips as you seemed reluctant to reveal your reasoning—lips pursed and fingers playing with the hem of your apron.

“Well, they’re supposed to be your…” You finished by motioning at the crown of your head before pointing to his red and white locks.

Heh... Cute. The grin that was persistent on his features widened, and your response earned you a kiss on the cheek. “Thinking about me, huh?” he teased. You were more than aware of your intentions throughout your chocolate-making process, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less embarrassing when your motives came to light out of Shouto’s own mouth.

You pouted profusely, turning your face in the other direction as you nudged his arm. “Aren’t you going to eat the rest then?” you asked despite your demure demeanor. You couldn’t see it, but you were positive he was aiming that amused expression in your direction, leaning his head on his palm while his elbow was leveled on the counter.

“You made a lot of chocolates today, love. You don’t expect me to finish them all by myself, do you?” You heard the rustle of the parchment liner unsticking to something behind you. Then a finger poked your cheek, and out of curiosity, you followed where the disturbance came from, only to have a swirl of pink and white pushed past your lips.

“Mm..” you hummed surprisingly in delight at the harmonious strawberry and cream flavors coating your tastebuds.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got to taste them before you arrived home.” You rubbed the back of your head. “And um, I didn’t exactly make these from scratch...” You went about divulging your methods to him, explaining your usage of chocolate melts, which all in all saved you a lot of time, considering your earlier mishaps with the brownies—a misfortune you also confessed to as you side-eyed the trash bin.

The dual-haired male laughed with mirth at the disasters you tangled yourself into today. “Seemed like you had an eventful Valentine’s Day at home without me.”

He scanned over your outfit, consisting of a simple buttoned blouse and a pair of jeans. What caught his eye the most was the frilly, laced brown and pink apron tied around your body. You must have bought this specifically to get in the spirit of Valentine’s Day because this was the first he’s seen you in this. Normally you’d wear those plain cotton aprons while you were cooking. Not something so charming and—dare he say—refreshing.

As you were continuing the conversation—going on about how vanquishing criminal organizations was more productive than whatever you were concocting at home—your words faded into the background. Shouto found it hard to focus on what you were saying, while your animated gestures seemed to enhance the shape of the apron against your body, emphasizing your physique.

Recalling the story you just mentioned, he imagined what the scene of you frantically dashing around the kitchen would look like as you wore this cute thing. Was it weird of him to hold fantasies of arriving home, being greeted by your endearing self donning this garment, dolled in its intricacies with a smile gracing the lips he oh so wanted to kiss every day?

Shouto would think so. He’s never heard of any anecdotes of this kind of behavior before. Perhaps it was how dainty and frilly the material appeared against your figure that stemmed such a risqué thought from him. If that was the case, then this apron was no different than lingerie. Or more specifically, those delicate lace babydolls you’d wear for him on those special occasions, in which you displayed the zenith of lust and vulnerability that rendered him a man ensnared by his need to utterly ravage you–

Fuck. Letting those imaginations cross his mind was a dangerous move. He felt himself getting hard, body exercising the willpower not to pounce and concede to his fantasies. Then again, no one could really blame him for thinking of his girlfriend this way on Valentine’s Day. Especially when you looked so damn cute right now that he could just eat you up.

“Shouto?” Your voice diverted his attention from the growing problem in his pants, though only for a moment. When his focus returned to you, all those lascivious thoughts buried in the back of his head made their way to the forefront again. Damn, did he have it bad.

“Is something wrong? You were zoning out for a bit.”

He shook his head, dispelling your concern. However, it was going to take more than that to sweep away the lust consuming his mind. “It’s nothing. More importantly, why don’t we continue tasting these chocolates?” Pulling up a stool, he took a seat next to the kitchen counter.

Just as you were going to mention that you needed to start on dinner soon, Shouto suddenly drew your body in between his parted legs. Thrown slightly off-balance, you instinctively held onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

You couldn’t help but notice the hand traveling up your legs as it situated itself on the back of your thigh, but the detail was abandoned as soon as it was manifested. The proximity between you two was too much not to overlook now. Shouto peered up at you with what you made out to be smoldering intensity, and the sight reduced you to shying away from his eyes again.

Of course, Shouto didn’t take a liking to that. With you so close, he didn’t want anything hindering his front seat viewing of your candid reactions. “Baby, look here,” he called to you. You followed his command, turning back to face the grin reaching his lips. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You attempted to open your mouth to reply but found another ball of marbled chocolate placed where words should’ve been.

Soft lips wrapped around him, Shouto had to fight back the urge to groan, feeling your tongue graze the pad of his thumb as he fed you the candy. His other hand, formerly occupied with rubbing subtle circles on your clothed flesh, wandered to the satin ribbon of your apron fashioned behind you.

It wasn’t long until you discerned the game he was playing through the fiery looks and frisky touching.

Well, enter player two.

You brought a hand to his wrist, keeping him there as your tongue made work at licking away the residual chocolate melted on his finger. You moved from his thumb to his index finger, noting not to miss anything with every flick as you confidently returned the heady expression with batted eyelashes.

Shouto breathed in silently through his nose, gritting his teeth, your sultry actions having an innate effect on him, to which you smirked at. There was a slight tug on the ribbon wrapped behind you. It wasn’t firm enough to where the knot came undone, but enough that you noticed his fixation on the material. If he was making an effort to exert some self-control, it was futile at this point. No doubt, he was going to take you before Valentine’s Day was over.

“Hmm, you’re right, these chocolates are pretty tasty. But it’s probably because you’re the one feeding them to me that they taste just soooo good,” you mused, adding a sensual tonality to your voice as you concluded your words with one last kitten lick.

The man before you bit the inside of his cheek, your voice alone making blood rush south. You little minx. He was going to make doubly sure you understood just what you were doing to him.

Finally releasing his hand, you reached over beside you to grab a chocolate off the parchment paper. “For you~” You giggled as you led the confection to Shouto’s mouth. He readily accepted your gift, lips wrapping around the tips of your fingers as the mellow flavors soothed his taste buds. He made a point of re-enacting your little show, tongue languidly lapping your fingers while he maintained steady eye contact. You shuddered at the wet warmth abiding your skin, the suffocating sexual tension in the air causing you to press your thighs together. The action was not overlooked by Shouto, who smiled amidst cleaning your fingers with every brush of his tongue.

“What’s wrong, love? You were so bold and talkative earlier. Cat got your tongue or something?” he teased. A smirk ran across the curl of his lips as his licks turned to kisses he planted on the back of your hand.

After finishing his task of lapping up every essence of sweetness off your skin, he lifted himself from the stool. Doing so made him stand tall over you, and he easily cornered you to where your back met the edge of the counter. Your wrist captured in one of his hands, he wove an arm around you, pulling your body into him.

“You know, there’s something I want to eat right now other than chocolates,” he confessed, forehead pressed to yours and glinted heterochromatic eyes latent with an insatiable hunger. The baritone of his voice sent shivers through your body and a throb aching in your core.

You innocently tilted your head at him. “Oh, is that so? And what would that be?”

He chuckled darkly at your redundant question.

“Why you of course, my love.”

The moment the words reached your ears, he lunged forward to seize your lips. You quickly followed in the sensual movements of his soft lips against yours like it was a practiced routine, not resisting his tongue prying its way into your mouth and submitting to the dance that made pleasure course through your veins.

A single tap on your thigh was your cue to hop into Shouto’s waiting grasp and wrap your arms around his neck. You pulled your bodies closer to where the few layers of clothing you both possessed did nothing to hide your enthusiasm for each other. You could feel your nipples under your bra stiffen at your arousal, growing more sensitive as you pressed your chest to him. Meanwhile, his hard erection shamelessly poked the inside of your thigh to which his grip was poised on remaining firm, grinding your lower half against him.

You expected this was where he intended to have you—right then and there in the middle of the kitchen—but to your surprise, Shouto had other plans. He navigated you two to the dining table as you continued feverishly making out with your legs wrapped around his waist. Never breaking the hot mingle of your lips, he carefully placed you on the edge. His hands were free to roam the expanse of your body, palming at places that elicited airy moans from you as he inscribed the niceties of your bonny apron into his memory. Though he cursed the unnecessary layers that obscured your beautiful flesh from him.

Finding the clothes still on you equally unbearable in the heat of your movements, you were on the same wavelength as him. You sought out the satin ribbon tied behind your back that kept the apron on your form, but before your fingertips could even reach the material to tug the knot loose, Shouto seized your wrists and led your hands away. Your face was scrunched with bewilderment by how sudden his actions were.

Shouto didn’t think he could have a fetish over something as ordinary and domestic as a decorative garment tied around your waist, but this Valentine’s Day was proving him otherwise. He was not about to pass an opportunity to absolutely ruin you in this pretty thing.

“Keep it on,” he ordered, voice deep and commanding.

“H-Huh? What about my clothes?” you stuttered, confused at first. You wanted to ask what spurred him to give such a demand, but you were too caught in the moment to think of objecting to his request (not that you had much choice anyway).

“Let me.” That was all he said before his hands sought after the waistband of your jeans and the buttons of your top. He pulled and undid the apparel until you were left in only your panties and that lovely apron. Your bra was quickly disposed of to the pile next to his feet thanks to the clip being located at the front this time, and he was eternally grateful for the convenience. You didn’t even have to mention anything for his own clothes to float above yours on the floor, sitting back on the table to admire his toned physique, now free for you to ogle in just his briefs.

His hooded, icy eyes concentrated on every aspect of your appearance. He didn’t dare miss a single detail in front of him—from your bare, flushed skin glowing beneath the light fixture to your aroused nipples shaped through the thin fabric. You were a sight Shouto would gladly worship for the rest of his life.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, my love, and I’m going to enjoy ravaging you until all you know is my name.”

His words alone were enough to send a tingle of anticipation to your cunt. You did not shrink at his assertiveness, instead embracing both yours and Shouto’s desires with open arms.

“You have me, Sho. I’m all yours.”

The man released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before inhaling and diving in. Your lips reencountered each other, continuing from where you left off with his tongue chasing after you. You laced your fingers in his soft hair to press him deeper to you as Shouto navigated down your neck. He sucked and licked at your skin; every tug he felt on his scalp compelled him to lay marks as he inched closer and closer to your breasts.

“Ahh.. Sho…” you mewled, feeling his hands grope one of your mounds and tease your slit through your panties. With no intention of letting this apron off your body, Shouto pushed the fabric concealing your chest inward to reveal a perky nipple, seeming excited to be covered by his mouth. Well, who was he to deny such exuberance, especially when he himself was hungry to taste?

Lips enclosing the stiffened nub, Shouto sucked and prodded with fervor. As you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your fingers pulled harder at his strands which he hummed in content at. The tip of his tongue circled your areola, making the slick clinging to your panties damper at the stimulation. The hand occupied between your thighs stroked you against the fabric before pulling it to the side to touch you directly.

“Oh fuck!” you cursed at the contact as Shouto did not hesitate to start pumping a finger into your pussy.

“Damn, you’re so wet down here. Did my kisses and teasing do all this?”

You were too distracted by the precise movements of his fingers working through you to answer, words superseded by your wanton moans. “Keep making those pretty sounds, love. I want you to cry out as I’m ruining you.”

Your noises hit a crescendo when his fingers began curling inside you, stretching into places that lit stars behind your eyes. His thumb rubbed your clit to intensify the fire building in your abdomen. Your back arched on the table as you grabbed onto Shouto’s free hand for dear life, already feeling that flame ready to ignite.

“Sho– Wait, I’m gonna–”

“Don’t hesitate, sweetheart. Coat my fingers with your cum,” he told you, increasing the speed of his thumb against your bundle of nerves as he continually hit that euphoric soft spot.

At his words, your pussy clenched hard around him, practically sucking him in. You threw your head back against the table, releasing a loud cry of his name as your orgasm engulfed your whole body with electrifying pleasure. Chest heaving up and down, your breaths sounded ragged as your vision went white before slowly adjusting to the light.

Shouto slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking at the layer of gloss. He observed your fucked-out state from above and admired his handiwork—your lips swollen, eyes glassy, and sweaty skin adorned with his marks.

“You taste absolutely delicious, you know,” he said almost too sweetly, like he had immediately gotten drunk off drinking the remnants of your orgasm. And, of course, he had to let you know how delectable you were. Shouto provided you a sample by pressing his fingers to your lips. You obediently parted them, welcoming your essence on your tongue.

“Don’t you think so?”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. Shouto grinned, bending down to mix your flavor in each other’s mouths. He finally removed your ruined panties and slid them down your legs. But to no one’s surprise, the apron stayed on your person.

When you parted, Shouto gestured for you to get up from the table. In doing so, you had anticipated this would be the time to head straight to the bedroom, but the night continued to prove you wrong. Shouto was still famished.

“Stand up for a second, baby. I want to lay down as I have my meal.” You didn’t need to guess to know just what he wanted to satiate his appetite tonight.

Shouto laid himself flat across the table, the majority of his legs dangling off the edge. You, on the other hand, were apprehensive at his approach, cautiously wondering if your modest dining table could handle the rampant motions of two adult bodies on top of it at once. Should the legs give way and the table collapses, the gravity of your descent would put all your weight onto him. What if you hurt him as a result?

“Love, what’s the holdup?” your boyfriend called, breaking your train of thought, “Come, your throne awaits.” He patted his chest—a rather peculiar place to sit but your cunt pulsed at the image of you riding that gorgeous face of his.

“O-Okay, I’m just afraid of hurting you, is all,” you said, pulling at the hem of your apron for security.

He raised his upper body halfway to see the hesitance painted on your features. “Y/n, there’s no need to worry, I wouldn’t have thought of doing this if I couldn’t handle it,” he assured, his hand reaching out for you. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You stared at the hand hovering in front of you and then at Shouto’s eyes glimmering with faith, and you knew you could trust his word. So you take his hand, climbing onto the table and over his body where you straddled his chest.

“Dining tables are meant to be eaten on, right? Well, I intend to devour you until your legs are shaking beside me, sweetheart,” he promised. He stroked up and down your thighs tauntingly. Your breaths hitched as he maneuvered you above his face, moving the flap of your apron so you could feel his cold breath against your lower lips.

“As much as I appreciate all those confections you made for me, they all pale in comparison to the sweetest delight here–” He uttered praises to your core while rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. “This pretty, soft, and dripping pussy.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks at his lewd words and how close in proximity he was to your twitching center. The one thing you detested about this apron at this moment was the fact it blocked you from what Shouto was doing, the bottom half lying right above his face. To him, however, it made everything all the more entertaining.

Despite being the one trapped under you, it must have felt like you were more in the dark than he was. After all, he was the one asserting dominance in this situation, and with a layer of fabric hiding his face, you had no idea how or when he was going to eat you out. His deafening silence was not offering you one bit of reassurance either. If he truly intended to devour you atop this table, he should just do it already.

“...Sho? Are you—Ah!” Upon questioning him, your words were choked by your surprised squeal, feeling him delicately kiss your folds with chilly lips attached to your warm pussy. You opened your mouth to speak again, yet you struggled to search for words as Shouto’s tongue flattened against you, licking a long strip before latching onto your sensitive pearl. The more he relentlessly sucked and teased, the more you sang out with waves of pleasure quivering through your body.

Hearing your beautiful noises, he chuckled, tongue vibrating on your clit. Every sound you produced made his cock stutter, still leaking and begging for attention beneath his briefs.

Not liking how inactive you were—simply sitting on his face and waiting for yourself to come undone on his tongue—you reached behind yourself to trail your hand down his abdomen. His body tensed, abs immediately flexing at your soft touch. You noticed his ministrations falter in their rhythm.

“B-Baby, what are you doing?” he questioned, pulling himself off of you to concentrate on your hand running along the waistband of his briefs. His fingers dug into your flesh as you found his length, tentatively giving it a pump that gave birth to a strained noise below the flap of your apron.

“You’ve been doing all the work so far, Sho. I just want you to enjoy yourself,” you said. His eyebrows were scrunched, hissing through his teeth at your thumb grazing his slit, mixing his precum around the tip.

“I am enjoying myself—this is all I could ever ask for,” he replied honestly. He lifted the frilly material off his face so you could discover your slick running down his lips and neck, the blush spread across his fair cheeks an more than sufficient indication that he derived nothing but delight from being in this position. He looked like an absolute mess, yet the debauched sight made both your heart and pussy flutter.

“But if you want to join in, I won’t stop you.”

At that, Shouto detached himself from your sweetness for just a second to quickly reposition you above him. You were adjusted to where you were practically on all fours on the table now, facing the prominent bulge raised on his briefs while your fluttering cunt was somehow even more obscenely split in front of him. You were thankful the piece of furniture stayed intact throughout the motions, pleasantly astounded by its strength. However, you couldn’t pause to be impressed by this detail for long. Not when Shouto’s aching erection pleaded for you to continue touching it.

Your hand returned to its original place—wrapped around his heavy length that wept with precum coating the surface of its mushroom top. As you stroked it up and down in a consistent rhythm, you altered your grip to tighten more around him.

“Ooh yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that… Ahhhh, fuckkkk—” You were rewarded by his praises and groans at the splendid pressure surrounding his dick. It encouraged you to keep up your pace and add another hand to the fray to increase the tension.

“You’re doing so well, making me feel so fucking good, love. Can you add your mouth for me now?” he requested, and you happily complied. Your tongue flattened against his cock, noting every vein and twitch running across your wet muscle that reduced Shouto to muttering obscenities behind you. Reaching the top, you swirled your tongue along the tip before taking the entire head into your warm cavern. Shouto’s thighs flexed, body almost trembling at how heavenly you made him feel. He couldn’t be outdone.

You let out a whine on his cock, feeling his mouth working against you again. This time you felt the effects stronger than before as Shouto spread your pussy lips to grant him better access to tongue fuck you. He stimulated every sensitive area with practiced ease, making sure to flick your clit with extra vigor to achieve the best results. You delivered in your reactions—legs shaking and knees slowly and deliberately being reduced to jelly.

Even ensnared in ecstasy, you did your best to adapt to his intensity, engulfing him more into your mouth. Your hands worked together to maximize the most pleasure you could give him, fondling his balls and gripping the base of his cock.

The lewdest of sounds filled the room in an unrelenting symphony. From your muffled whimpers to your pussy squelching in the presence of Shouto’s mouth purring against you, there was no shortage of bliss evident in the atmosphere. Hearing yourselves in the throes of rapture as you devoured each other’s whole beings like starved animals, you two were simultaneously climbing toward your highs.

“Shit, keep doing just that baby, and I’m going to paint that pretty mouth of yours white,” he warned half-heartedly. You purred, the enthusiasm laced your tone informing Shouto you wanted him to do just that. He was pleased by your response.

“You want it, don’t you, you slutty girl? Well, I expect you to drown me in your honey while I cover your throat with my cum then.” Those were the last words he spared you before proceeding to manifest them into reality. His hands dug themselves in the flesh below your ass cheeks, exposing your pussy to his appendage that swiped away at your clit until shockwaves made you tremble above him.

You were the first to come undone, juices running down your thighs and boyfriend’s chin. Your cries were muffled amidst Shouto’s dick caught down your throat, tightening around his length, which surged with spurts of white all over your mouth. You swallowed every single drop of his seed, wiping at the excess on your lips as you released the hero’s cock with a loud pop.

After taking a moment to catch your breaths, you carefully moved off of each other. Shouto steadied you on his lap, letting you straddle him as he sat on the edge of the table. He intertwined your fingers through his and brought them to his lips to place a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Shouto. Happy Valentine’s Day.”