#and she doesn't own the soup

[yousaytomato]

Get up late because of the horrors. It's midnight and I need to eat something. I know! Cup-a-soup! Get Cup-a-soup from box labeled "Minestrone". Add into cup. Pour on hot water. The soup is not red like minestrone. The soup smells like chicken. Retrieve packet from bin to examine more closely. Tiny writing. "Chicken and Veg." Chicken soup. In the Minestrone box. Pour soup down drain. Go to bed hungry because I do not want to use another soup :(

[dutybcrne]

Love the idea of Kae getting used to eating consistent meals bc of a significant other or even a friend who made it a point to always eat with him to ensure he doesn't forget, and even gaining a little weight as a result, even with his metabolism.

[qserasera]

oooh i Like this heroine’s reaction to transmigrating into her novel

[fingertipsmp3]

I love knowingly making bad decisions

[jkl-fff]

"Dungeon Meshi" Character Arcs Summarized Badly

Laios: Autistic dude reluctantly accepts management position.

Marcille: Lesbian research student ... honestly regrets nothing, would totally do it all again (and good for her because she was right!).

Chilchuck: Divorced dad finally able to admit he doesn't want his coworkers to die ... and, yes, he really misses his missus.

Senshi: Amazing chef cries for joy because of some absolutely awful soup.

Izutsumi: Runaway cat accepts that, for her health, sometimes she has to not be finicky about what she eats.

Falin: Fridged woman gets out of the fridge (almost literally) to everyone's relief.

Kabru: Polite smiler finally makes a friend.

Mithrun: Depressed commando decides to get a new hobby.

Thistle: Basement-dwelling twink hospitalized after being bitten by his own cat.

[gh-0-stcup]

I think it was done to show Madeline has an indifference, selfishness, and lack of moral fortitude that makes her compatible with the lifestyle of a vampire. She's detatched from life, from the people around her. She doesn't care about the politics of the war or the suffering the Nazis are causing, she just cares about what makes her feel good.

Neither Claudia nor Louis care about the Nazis aside from how inconvenient the war makes their traveling. None of these characters are emotionally invested in the political situation of the time, so it doesn't get addressed in conversations between them.

God. I think having watched S2 of IWTV, I did love it but I just have one big caveat? Which is Madeleine?

To be clear, I did love Madeleine! Fucking heartbreaking how she and Claudia went! I love a tragedy, but god if I hadn't been happy if they'd somehow made it. I think she's an interesting study of a post-liberation french person jaded by war.

But that's also the issue?

I don't think she deserved the fate collaborators (as in those who had a gainful relationship with Nazis and Petains lot during ww2) got, and I'm sure a lot of collaborators who were just trying to survive (as in people who let Nazis stay in their home or exchanged small personal favours for food and supplies they might need to survive) didn't deserve the way the mobs treated them after liberation, but she was still someone who invited a nazi officer into her house, not because she was truly and unfortunately in love or because she needed to survive, but because, in her own words, she felt lonely.

She was with a nazi officer because she was... Lonely. And they don't even explore it! They don't delve into it! Like it was used as a plot hook to give Claudia a reason to save her without actually looking at the ramifications that shed been with a man who mightve shot (or at least tried to shoot) Claudia! You can't just... Skip over the fact that someone was a collaborator when looking at post-liberation France. That war ruined and tore apart families just like the US Civil War did as some were fine with or even directly supported the Nazis and the Vichy government and others fought and died trying to expel them from french soil.

Anyway. I just. Idk. They glossed over something with huge social and cultural weight in that setting and it's just bad taste in my mouth, I suppose. The way the show portrayed the retributions also just garners sympathy for people who sometimes sold out their own family members to the Nazis, and the only anti nazi representation are three enragé who break into a house to try and rape a woman.

Ah well! Good TV show. Just didn't love that facet of it.

[ambrosiagourmet]

I love Izutsumi. She's got a great design, she's a fun addition to the main party, she adds some new tension, and she's honestly one of the reasons I read dungeon meshi in the first place. I mean, "the most cat to ever girl" is an extremely appealing hook to anyone who loves cats and girls (me, I love cats and girls).

However, while I have always liked Izutsumi, I finished the story kind of feeling like I didn't really get her. I felt like I had a decent grasp on her character an character arc (she's a traumatized teen given space to feel safe and open up, and because of that she realizes that she can't grow without letting go of the coping mechanisms she once needed). But I didn't feel like I really understood her role in the story as a whole.

She follows the group of her own accord, after a coincidental meeting and a misunderstanding of what they can do for her. She's never super invested in saving Falin, at least not compared to the rest of the group. Though they do help her escape Maizuru's shackles, and are clearly good for her in general, she doesn't really have a healing Moment with the group the way that Senshi does with the hippogriff soup.

And yet, she gets an entire chapter, the third-to-last chapter, dedicated to exploring her growth and future. She's the one who frames much of the falling action, who lets us check in with everyone. She's the one who helps talk Laios into accepting his role as king. She may join the story part way through, but she is there for most of it. So Izutsumi! What's your deal!?

Well, I think I've come up with an answer, at least for myself, that I really like. Two of them, even! Though they both really work together to form the overall point - Izutsumi is the character that most helps the story face towards the future. Here's why I think that.

So the first of these "ah-ha" moments was when I realized that Izutsumi really is the best supporting evidence for Laios' point about the good things that wouldn't have happened if Falin hadn't died.

If Falin hadn't been eaten by the dragon, Izutsumi probably would still be a slave. It was because of Shuro and Laios' parties both being in the dungeon to rescue Falin, as well as Marcille's use of ancient magic in the resurrection, that she got the chance to escape. None of that would have been the case if Falin hadn't died. Shuro wouldn't have separated from the group and joined up with his retainers, Marcille wouldn't have revealed her knowledge of ancient magic, and Izutsumi never would have even met any of them. They are only part of her life because of Falin's death.

Though this isn't explicitly pointed out by Laios or Izutsumi in the scene, I do think you can very much feel the presence of it. For one, when Marcille reflects on the journey and how much it made her realize she didn't want to lose everyone, her relationship with Izutsumi is prominent:

It's the main original group at the top and center, but when you read it right to left, it’s Izutsumi and Marcille who might catch your eye first. And it's specifically Marcille and Izutsumi's relationship on display here, not just Izutsumi's presence in the group in general.

Also, after Laios' statement about how none of their adventure would have happened without Falin dying, it is Izutsumi who gets the final word:

Izutsumi is also the one here who is the most forward-facing. Chilchuck is trying to correct Laios, Senshi is focused on the immediate future, and Izutsumi is talking about her new goal.

And I want to talk about that goal in general as well, because it’s also interesting how it comes up. In that moment, everyone is trying to remind Marcille of her less destructive desires - to eat food, to share it with them, and to meet Chilchuck's family. All of which are previously established, existing desires. When prompted by Chilchuck to join in, however, Izutsumi offers something new:

That's interesting, isn't it? It's kind of funny, of course, to see her rambling on about a completely new thing, her own personal motive, in the middle of everyone working together to reach out to Marcille. Izutsumi doesn't even know who Yaad is! But at the same time, it’s kind of meaningful. Amidst the focus on desires that everyone already had, she adds a completely new one to the mix. It’s even the final bridge that lets Laios reach Marcille.

It is, in fact, even an idea that comes back later to help out another lord of the dungeon. The idea of finding new goals and feeling new desires... this is exactly how Kabru reaches out to Mithrun, after the Winged Lion is gone

So yeah, Izutsumi's presence here, both in what she's actively choosing to say as well as what she represents of the consequences of Falin's death, supports the story's ideas of moving forward. Of accepting the past, and finding new reasons to live.

Which is all really good, and that alone works pretty well as an answer to what Izutsumi's role in the story is.

But oh, oh. There's more. Something I realized after having thought of all this, because I still couldn't let go of the feeling that there was still something I was missing.

And as I reviewed the things I loved about Izutsumi - her sometimes unhealthy ways of coping with trauma, her struggles with isolation, her skill with fighting, her selfishness contrasted with the ways she grows to care for and protect the group, her perpetually guarded nature, born from the seeming impossibility of ever fitting in or finding a safe place to just be herself - I realized something.

Izutsumi...

is a foil to Falin.

Where Falin copes with isolation and trauma by being eternally caring and struggling to say no to people, Izutsumi copes by constantly saying no to everything she can. Falin is often considered selfless, but does have selfish desires that she can’t easily express until a moment of crisis. Izutsumi is delightfully selfish, but chooses to stick by her friends when they need her. They are both transformed, against their will, into partly monstrous hybrids, and they both will have to live with that - there is no undoing what has been done to them.

Falin anchors the group in the past. Izutsumi pulls them towards the future. Neither would find freedom without the other - it is Falin's death that leads to Izutsumi joining the party, and likewise, it is Izutsumi who inspires the realization of how they can save Falin.

And Falin is her future, as much as Izutsumi is Falin's. Both learn to be a little more like each other, even though they never meet. Falin gets a little more selfish. Izutsumi gets a little more willing to bend.

In this context, I feel like I have finally started to understand just how important Izutsumi is to the story. She is a proof that they cannot just go back, and she is a clawed, happy-to-scratch-anyone-who-pisses-her-off reminder, at that. In any conversation about what the group wishes would have happened with Falin, she cannot be ignored or brushed aside.

She is a reminder that, even in the midst of a tragedy so big it feels like a shadow you will never escape, you have yet to met all the people you will love. Hell, some of those people might even be catgirls. We should all be so lucky.

[ryanjudgesthings]

There's a mistake I see a lot of people in the mental health community make and in all honesty, it's one I've made myself. But I think we should really work on it. And that's saying "if this were a physical illness, wouldn't you care?"

I've learned that no actually, people wouldn't care. Katelyn Weinstein (theADHDprincess on Twitter) is a neurodiversity acceptance activist who really put this in perspective for me. She said that it's actually more an issue of longevity than physical vs mental health.

If you're having a bad day people will generally be understanding. But when you're experiencing chronic depression and you have many bad days people lose sympathy.

In the same respect people may be understanding when you've broken a bone that will heal properly or when you have a cold that will go away soon in ways they simply won't understand when you have chronic pain or need to use a wheelchair. They may send chicken soup for a temporary situation, but when you need consistent accomodations it's an entirely different story.

I understand that from our perspective it looks like people care more about physical health than mental health, but it's good to remember that our own perspective is also limiting. Facing ableism doesn't mean you can't be ableist. And I know so many people are not ill-intentioned when they say this. I know I wasn't. But we can't discount the lived experiences of physically disabled people. If we want true equality we need to be united and we need to listen to those with physical disabilities and illnesses. And those with physical disabilities and illnesses (some of which are also invisible) have said that they are not given proper accomodations either.

So let's be united and fight for equality and accomodations for everyone, no matter what their illness or disability may be.

[mossycobblestonewrites]

DC X DP PROMPT #5

You know those ones where Damian gets adopted by the Fentons? Other way round -> reveal gone wrong Danny gets adopted by Talia Al Ghul.

Danny, after a bad reveal that he loses his friends and sister to in order to escape (they sacrificed themselves for him (taking shots, misdirections)) is tired and low on Ecto. He's hungry and he's so so tired. He's flying which ever way the wind takes him, just a little guy in the sky. And oh, what's this? Some Good Soup™? It smells a bit funky, but that's just flavor.

Talia find Danny bleeding green whilst drinking from the pits. She's feeling maternal (sort of) and Damian has just been brought into the world, what's another son? ESPECIALLY a Lazarus child?

Danny wakes up after taking a nap in his spicy soup to a woman that is more of a mother than his own had ever been (which,, yikes) and he's pretty happy. So what if there are assassins trying to kill him and him brand new brother (literally, that kid is FRESH) it's fun. It's enrichment 🤸 he probably needs to learn how to fight normal humans anyway. Talia doesn't even get mad when he accidentally kills the ninjas!!

He's only there for a few months before he gets another new brother! This one's a little weird, but he's also hurt so that's okay! Danny will support his healing journey!!

[emacrow]

Danny had a very rough week of not sleeping....

Five days straight of non stop ghost hunting, barely focusing on whatever their parents new inventions were and sabotaging them..

Then Saturday began...

There was skulker with him, ghostnapping and chasing him at 12am in the morning to 3:20am in some new extravagant hunting ground in the ghost zone which ended up backfiring on him later when it wasn't even his hunting ground as the original ghost owner started chasing skulker.

Then there was Johnny and kitty argument and dragging him along as an unwillingly victim because johnny was flirting with some ghost girl as he was trying to fly back to his family portal around 4am.

Accidentally crashing into Youngblood ship who rather excited to play again for the 28th this week and it fucking Saturday man..

He finally back home at 10am.. only to noticed that his parents left him to go on some honeymoon field trip since Jazz was in gotham for her collage and part time job as a assistant turned into a full time therapist in Arkham because she actually got a break through with Scarecrow with his childhood trauma and the Arkham are still flabbergasted by her abilities and immediately slapped her a full time sponsorship.

He tries to go back to sleep only to get notifications at 11:03am from tucker that Techno and Vortex teaming to cause a full blown out town wreacking havoc with a literally tornado dragging machines into it for some grand plan which was a fucking pain in his ass because his thermo also got caught in it.

Danny is dragging himself back to his bed after souping both Techno and Vortex, flopping onto his bed to finally catch those zzz when it about 6:29pm

Only for fucking Vlad to start his own bullshit with a new invention.

Danny is about to fucking snap at this point, vlad doesn't know what he released over a week of sleep deprived danny.

Maybe because how tired he was at that moment to not noticed the ray gun that vlad had looked oddly like the one his parents were making yesterday only to get hit by it directly...

Only to noticed he not in his bed anymore..

He was in snow.. iced cold snow in the middle of freezing temperatures and near some icy like palace..

He could cry right now..

He thought he got sent to the Far Frozen, welp this would be a great spot to take some much needed sleep. His mind is too muddle right now to even takea glance on small his form is now at the moment.

Flying a bit loopy through the icy palace, not noticing humaniod like giant crystallized statues with a S on their chests blinking some kind of alarm.

Making himself right at home as he made a nice snow like fluffy blankey that Frostbite once taught him whenever he went through his daily shots and stay the night there..

Drifting off to sleep finally with the sound of the silence..

He was already too far gone into unconscious to be awakened at this point..

Unaware that his presence brought alert to a certain Superhero.

Whom found a tiny little boy in the Fortress of Solitude, sleeping peacefully like the dead despite his heart beating very very slowly to health concerning matter.

Trying to wake him up only brought him a tiny punch to a face so hard and fast that it actually hurt him.

Which made Clark froze as he realized that punch actually hurted...

Which brought a major misunderstanding that slowly became a much bigger one later on in the dna scanner.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Shoulder II

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: They're all hoverers

Sometimes, you think that your family can do no wrong.

Your mothers are loving. Your girlfriend adores you. Everyone gets on with each other, even though Magda and Talia pretend they don't.

Other times, you just want to live alone somewhere on an island with no other people around to fuss over you.

"Are you sure you don't want me to adjust your sling?" Talia asks, lips pursed in thought," I saw you wincing a second ago."

"I was wincing because my painkillers are wearing off."

After your win with Lyon, you had decided to travel back to Sweden with your mothers to finish off your recovery there. You'd told Talia to just return to Spain, to make the most of her days off from football before joining up with the Spanish team.

She'd refused and insisted on coming with you to make sure you're okay.

Nearly a week in now and all three of them were driving you up the wall.

"Should I get you more?" Her girlfriend asks and you roll your eyes, leaning forward to peck her cheek.

"You're sweet, Talia," You say," But I can't take anymore for at least another hour."

She pouts. "Is there nothing I can do to help? Do you want some food or something?"

"No food!" You hear Pernille shout from the kitchen," This is almost done!"

You rolls your eyes.

She's been slaving away on the stove since you woke up.

She'd already had breakfast prepared and lunch already prepped and ready to be cooked. She's making it now but she's also been making it for the past hour now.

You're pretty sure she's cooking dinner simultaneously but you're not too sure. That's the only reason it could be taking this long.

"Are you sure?" You ask," Not even a little snack?"

"No," Pernille says," Just a few more minutes."

You're a little worried, truthfully.

As a child, Magda had always been the one cooking the big meals and Pernille helped by doing little things like putting broccoli in the oven or taking the meat out when asked.

So, you're a little apprehensive at what Pernille's cooking now.

You hope someone gave her a recipe to follow rather than letting her make something that appeared in her head.

"Here," Magda says, appearing at your other side," To tide you over."

A handful of magic stars are placed in your hands.

You used to love these as a kid but they were only ever really bought when you went to the cinema because you never liked popcorn.

You don't know where Magda bought them in Sweden but you're grateful as you throw them into your mouth.

You think Pernille thinks you're going to ruin your lunch, like you're a little kid again that has eyes bigger than her stomach.

It's sweet, you think but a little annoying.

"Have some more," Magda says, shaking more from the bag straight into your hands," You need to keep your strength up."

"I hurt my arm-"

"Dislocated it," Talia corrects.

"-I'm not sick."

"Having chocolate doesn't have anything to do with sickness," Magda says," It's just making sure you have energy."

"You're hovering," You tease and Magda makes an offended noise.

"If I'm hovering then what's Talia doing?!"

"Hovering," You deadpan," You're both hovering."

"We're making sure you're okay," Talia says," You'd fault us for that?"

"No," You say," I fault you for being so overbearing about it. If I feel bad or if I ache or if I need some comfort, I can tell you. Don't you trust me?"

Talia's expression softens a little and she smiles.

"Yeah. I trust you."

"And Morsa?" You say, turning to Magda," Do you trust me too?"

Magda purses her lips, not responding for a few seconds. "I..." She sighs. "Yeah but you have to tell us, alright? No trying to deal with it on your own."

You roll your eyes. "Fine."

"Good girl," Magda says, a sot kiss pressed to your temple.

"Alright." Pernille appears out of nowhere. "Lunch is served!"

It smells alright, the soup that has taken her an hour to make.

You force down a spoonful.

It's horrifically salty.

"How is it?" Pernille asks.

You force a smile onto your face.

"It's amazing."

[genshin-impact-updates]

Chivalrous Shadow, Shrouded in Cloud

"A new resident in the city, you say? Oh, it's Cloud— I mean, Xianyun. Don't be fooled by her usual manner... She's someone you can truly rely on when the going gets tough. If you ever find yourself in trouble, just tell her — I'm sure she'd be willing to help."

— Madame Ping

◆ Name: Xianyun

◆ Title: Passerine Herald

◆ New Resident in Liyue Harbor

◆ Vision: Anemo

◆ Constellation: Grus Serena

Everyone has something to say about Xianyun: "That tall woman with the updone hair," "that bespectacled artisan," or perhaps "that talkative new neighbor." They all say different things, but together they paint a picture of the impression she leaves — of someone who's witty, chatty, warm-hearted, and easy to get along with.

But that's not how Xianyun sees herself. In her own eyes, she's inarticulate, reserved, and unyieldingly proud. Aside from her mastery of mechanics and knack for making all kinds of little trinkets, it's an entirely different image from how others would describe her.

Some curious individuals, seeing how her mannerisms and bearing set her apart from ordinary folk, are convinced that she's a heroine — so they go around trying to uncover her heroic backstory and whether she goes by any other names.

Ask the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's consultant, and with a wave of his hand, he'd say: "Xianyun? We're not well acquainted, but going by her name, she sounds like a good person."

Ask Madame Ping from Yujing Terrace, and she'd nod and reply: "Xian... Oh, Xianyun? We've crossed paths, yes... She's a good person, you know. Once you've met, you'll find that your days seem to go by much more smoothly."

Ask Ganyu, and she'd nod too: "She is a heroine, but a very discreet one — hence why she's living incognito in Liyue Harbor."

Ask Shenhe, and she'd respond pensively: "Xianyun... Of course, she's a master. Whatever you do, you must not offend her."

As it turns out, such speculations are not wrong. There's far more to Xianyun than meets the eye, but those who know the full story are few indeed. If someone was to address her as "Cloud Retainer"... Well, people would know her instantly, and you'd hear a torrent of praise flow her way: "Who doesn't know Cloud Retainer? Noble, brave, loyal, and wise... A most worthy friend if ever there was one!"

So try asking Xianyun herself then: "Are you a heroine? Surely you're not... an adeptus?"

You catch the new resident just as she's working on her latest invention, her pride and joy — what she calls an "Exquisite Mini Broth Pot." She's too absorbed to take the question seriously, so she simply waves it off as a load of old nonsense and tells you not to bother her while she's busy.

As for what exactly an Exquisite Mini Broth Pot is... No one really knows, other than having been told that it brings out flavors much better than a regular soup pot. Likewise, none would know how profoundly it might impact Liyue Harbor's future gastronomic development. Suffice to say — if Xianyun says it'll be impressive, it'll be impressive alright.

[hongism]

what lies beneath us. - c. san (m)

➼ genre; fluff, smut, slight angst for the first half but i make it better quickly promise ➼ pairing; san x afab!reader ➼ au; established relationship, college au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 6.4k

one busy semester is all it took for you and san to find yourselves struggling to find footing in the storm that is your relationship, yet rather than let go, he asked for one more week, one more day, one last chance to help get you back to shore

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

────────────

➼ smut warnings; unprotected sex, oral: m, vaginal fingering, praise, body worship, service-top san, san has some slightly submissive tendencies, coming inside

────────────

You normally wouldn’t find yourself in Wooyoung’s apartment on a Tuesday morning, sitting at the bar counter beside his roommate with two mugs of coffee sitting on the granite between you, but you also haven’t had any leisure time to waste lately. It’s a miracle that Wooyoung is even up before ten o’clock, though that might be in part due to you pleading desperately over the phone to come over.

“Oh, you make her coffee but not me? The fuck is up with that, Hwa?” Speak of the devil, Wooyoung comes into the kitchen still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“She’s a guest, you live here. And I had to wake you up because you slept through three alarms so my sympathy levels are close to zero right now.” Seonghwa flashes a faux shrug despite the heated glare he’s sent. Wooyoung lets out a huff but lets it go in favor of redirecting his attention to you.

“Right, well, what did you need to talk about so badly that it couldn’t wait until the afternoon?”

“San is coming over tonight, I couldn't do the afternoon,” you mumble.

“Is it about him then? Did something—” he waves a hand through the air like that’ll explain his thoughts, and when confusion shows on both your face and Seonghwa’s, he gives up “—did something happen between you guys?”

“It feels a bit awkward,” you admit over the rim of your coffee mug. Wooyoung scoffs at that, but Seonghwa is far more forgiving than your best friend in that he sends you a sympathetic grin. 

“Awkward?” he prompts, toying with his own drink. Wooyoung pushes away from the counter and turns to the coffee maker.

“I don't know. Yeah, awkward, a bit. I guess. Like we don't know what we're doing or how to be in a relationship anymore.”

The brutal semester you both just suffered has been the main factor in the wedge in your relationship. Weekends full of studying, ones that you spent together at the start of the semester when he would come to your place or vice versa so that you could be together even while working. Then, San started picking up more shifts at his part-time job, and you had to redirect your focus to a particularly important internship that required you to forgo those weekends in the blink of an eye. You did have two weekends free of school and work, but San had to rush home during one of those on account of his mother falling ill. The other one was shot by you falling ill with the worst cold you’ve known in all your years of living. San came by that Friday with your favorite chicken and beer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk getting him sick when you knew how important the semester was to him too. It didn’t keep him from coming by again Saturday and Sunday both, soup was delivered to your front door along with voice messages wishing you well throughout the night. Even your text conversations were fizzling into oblivion by the time finals rolled around, which only served to amplify your feelings of dread. 

“Has he been acting differently?” Wooyoung tunes back into the conversation, this time more serious with his tone. “Like, he's pulling away or something?” Wooyoung stands on a different footing in this conversation and knows things Seonghwa doesn't in terms of your relationship with San. He's been there for you since well before you started dating San, and you're certain that he'll be there for you if it were to end tomorrow, the next day, or years down the line. 

“It's gonna sound so childish and stupid but he hasn't been calling me nicknames since the semester ended.” You tuck your hands into your lap and shrink into yourself a little, feeling the hot burn of shame well up inside.

“That's not stupid at all, y/n,” Seonghwa reassures barely a second after you finish your train of thought. “That's not.”

“He's right. That's totally unlike San.”

“Not! Helping!”

“I'm just being honest?!”

“Look, y/n, I don't want you to start having doom thoughts or thinking the worst — that doesn't mean his feelings for you have changed.” You’re starting to think that you should’ve asked Seonghwa for advice from the start instead of Wooyoung. “Maybe he's feeling that awkwardness you are too, or maybe he's feeling insecure. The only way to know is to ask. Have an open and honest conversation about it.”

“But…” You glance past Seonghwa to look at Wooyoung's back. Without even needing to look back, he seems to feel the weight of your stare.

“You're scared that if you bring it up, the worst will happen and y'all will break up.”

“We've been dating for so long that I don't know what I would do if that happened. I don't know how to be single, no offense to either of you, but it's just that we've been together for so long now. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it ended.”

“If…” Wooyoung bites his words back as though he's unsure of how they will come out. “I don't want this to sound harsh, but if all it takes for him to lose his feelings for you is one busy semester, then that's not someone I would want you to have a future with. I know it's not up to me and it's not my business, but I want you to value yourself more than you value your relationship with San.”

“I truly don't think he's lost his feelings for you, y/n,” Seonghwa cuts in again, hand darting out across the counter in your direction. “Woo is right; you should value yourself more than the relationship you're in, but that doesn't mean you can only have one of those things. They can coexist.”

“What if I’m fighting for something he doesn’t want any longer?” you inquire softly and under your breath.

“The spark isn’t gone, y/n, I’m certain of that much. Maybe you just… need to find a way to reignite it!” The coffee maker dings loudly behind Wooyoung. And like it’s turning on a lightbulb in Wooyoung’s head, his expression turns suddenly bright. “Why not do just that? It’s been half a decade, to be fair, so really you can’t be blamed if things feel a little stale. If you went and did things that made you fall for each other in the first place, wouldn’t that help a bit?”

“I hate to say it…”

“You always say that when I’m right!”

“Ignoring him, that does sound like a good plan, y/n.”

Despite the reassurance from both your best friend and someone you consider to be far more mature and wiser, it doesn’t fully quell the concerns settling in your gut.

It’s only been six days since you last saw San, though you would argue that it feels a lot more like six months given how absent you both have been from each other’s lives of late. While that isn’t particularly your fault or his wholly — it’s definitely a joint effort that’s kept you apart — it does make your skin itch with anxiety every time you think about seeing him again.

It’s all culminated into this moment right now, where you sit on the edge of your couch waiting for the doorbell to ring and announce his arrival. You want to see him, desperately so, you’ve missed him so incredibly much that you can hardly stand it. And yet — you’re rooted to the cushions riddled by anxieties. You tried to rid yourself of the lingering stress after leaving Wooyoung’s apartment by doing chores properly for the first time in months, going so far as to run to the grocery and restock some necessities as well. You hate to be the type of partner who cannot do anything alone without associating it with your partner, but San was on your mind throughout the day.

Will he feel the same as you even though the flame keeping your relationship alive has been inching closer and closer to nothingness? The two of you don’t fight, in fact, your friends like to say that things go a little too smoothly between you two, and while that’s true, they aren’t aware of what it looks like when you and San aren’t getting along. It looks the way this semester has, slow conversations that lead nowhere and less time spent in each other’s presence. You aren’t fighting right now, but you certainly aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. The weather mirrors your emotions — dim greys shrouded by white flurries of snow that have been falling since early afternoon.

You clench your fingers around the seam of the couch cushion. No part of you wants to play the part of the overbearing partner: if you’re too eager to see him, wouldn’t he find it off-putting? 

The doorbell rings.

It takes a moment for you to brace yourself for impact, standing and walking over to the door as slowly as you can manage without it seeming like a deliberate delay. The second you open the door, however, your worries melt away for a moment. 

San smiles so brightly like you’ve not gone a second without reveling in each other’s presence. The weather is clinging to his coat still even though he had to climb three flights of stairs to reach your door. The little snowflakes are beginning to melt into the fabric.

“May I come in?” The facade cracks a bit. It’s not like him to ask such things, but you choose not to hold it against him now.

“Yeah, yeah, I finally had time to clean the other day so everything’s — nice.” 

If your smile is strained, he says nothing about it, stepping over the threshold and into your apartment like it’s the first time he’s ever done so. He’s polite all the time, but now it makes those seeds of doubt sprout further because you’ve been together for five years now, what reason does he have to act like a stranger in your home? A home he’s been in time and time again, one he’s slept in, fucked you— 

“Do you want ramen or pizza?” You force the thoughts to come to a halt before your expression turns bitter.

“Let’s do ramen, I’ll cut up the vegetables for you.”

There’s an elephant in the room that it seems neither of you wants to address, and so you keep your mouth shut just the same as San with the thought of “maybe this awkwardness will pass after tonight”. You watch him remove his coat and hang it up on the door while still picking at your nails. He extends a hand to you, one you take eagerly, and you lace your fingers through the gaps between his. A bit like a well-oiled machine, you think, something that Wooyoung had noted about the two of you as far back as freshman year of college. San presses his lips to the top of your head. You lean into the touch ever so slightly. 

You share in a quiet synergy that carries you through the motions of preparing food, with no conversation exchanged aside from a “watch for the knife” and “careful, behind you” on occasion. You’re still trying to psyche yourself up to bring up what’s truly on your mind, so you aren’t sure that you’d be able to get any conversation out without it spiraling into insanity right off the bat. For the moment, for now, you want to simply drink in San’s presence. 

He hums as he opens a cabinet in search of bowls, but they aren’t there. 

“Oh, I—I moved the bowls to the other side.” Three months ago, your mind adds. It would do nothing but add salt to a blossoming wound. San stops dead in his tracks too. He seems to suffer the same crisis that you do right then. After a few seconds of mental buffering, he resumes his humming and shifts to the adjacent cabinet like the moment didn’t happen at all. 

You sit beside each other at the bar counter, atop the uncomfortable stools you’ve had for well over two years now, but it offers a weird comfort because it’s familiar, it’s something San knows, it’s something you share and have shared for years. 

“Thanks for the meal,” San says, still wearing a bitten-back smile. 

“Of course. Thank you for helping.” But the detrimental reality of not speaking to someone properly for a long while is that part of you forgets how to make conversation with them. There is nothing for you and San to “catch up on” seeing as you’ve been keeping each other updated on your lives through dry text conversations. “Um…” He’s eyeing you carefully now, and you could pass off the watering in your eyes as the spice of the food, but he would call your bluff in an instant. The funny thing about doubt is that once it’s taken root, it’ll keep growing back no matter how many times you chop at the stem.

“What’s wrong, y/n?”

“It’s just — I don’t — are we breaking up?”

San freezes halfway over his ramen, chopsticks nearly falling from his fingers as he rushes to put his noodles back down. Your shoulders start shaking before you can stop it. He doesn’t stop you from turning away from him, but San has always been endlessly patient and gentle with you so you don’t expect him to ask you to look at him anyway. He does rest a hand atop your forearm though, and his thumb drags small, comforting circles over your skin. 

“Talk to me, y/n, what do you mean by that? Why would we be breaking up?” The words themselves sound calm. There’s a slight quiver to his tone, however, that makes you want to crawl inside yourself and disappear. “A-Are you wanting that?” Your continued lack of response makes San more urgent than ever, and he shifts his hand to your leg, spinning you to face him. You can’t be certain of the expression on your face (though you’d wager there is some degree of hurt); whatever San sees makes him let out a distressed noise from the back of his throat. “Come here, duck, talk to me.”

Standing on somewhat shaky legs, you push yourself closer to San, and he instinctually moves his knees apart to let you tuck yourself into the space there.

“Don’t cry, baby, I’m here, you can talk to me,” he murmurs, hands cupping your face in his hands. You reach down to cling to his shirt like it’s a lifeline. 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that in weeks. This is the first time we’ve spent time together in six days. We’ve barely spoken or spent time together all semester, and I know why — I know we agreed that school and work have to come first. I know that.” Your voice drops to a whisper as you lose the confidence to speak. “I didn’t think it would mean losing you though.”

“You haven’t lost me, y/n. I’m still here, with you, loving you just as much as ever.” San smiles a little as you push your cheek further into his palm. “My feelings have not changed. I thought about you every day, wondered how you were doing, and if you responded to my texts late, I hoped you were eating well and getting enough rest. I listened to your voice memos rooting for me every night. Your face was always the first thing I saw in the morning because I still keep that slideshow of you as my lockscreen.” Reaching around to the back of your neck, he gives you a little tug, and your foreheads bump together. “The thought of you helped get me through the semester because I knew that it was you who was waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.”

“Sannie…”

“How long have you been worried over this, baby? You should’ve come to me the moment you started having doubts. I wouldn’t have let this go on if I had known.”

“I thought I felt you pulling away so I was scared to bring it up. You weren’t calling me nicknames anymore, and I started reading into it too much and freaked myself out.”

“I’m so sorry, y/n. Don’t put the blame on yourself, it’s not a crime to have anxieties. I didn’t even realize I stopped using them. I suppose I just got swept up in my own feelings and wanted to call you by your name as much as possible.” He nudges you with his head again. “Because I missed you so dearly.” Your lips turn up at the corners, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. “And because I adore you so so much, my y/n.”

“Stop that.” You hope he doesn’t, truly.

“But I’m so mushy and full of love for you, y/n.”

“You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Oh, I can think of other ways to do that, baby.” San stands, subsequently pushing his body into yours, but your hands are still on each other, his moving down to caress the back of your thigh before he hooks his fingers around the bend of your knee and hoists your leg up over his hip. “I haven’t been good to you, my sweet,” he murmurs close to your lips. “What kind of boyfriend am I if I let you feel unwanted?” Your heart skips a beat as he grips tight at your other leg, then you’re suddenly weightless for a second as he hoists you up to his waist.

“We just ate—”

“I don’t plan on letting that stop me.” You let out a gasp as San traces the line of your jaw with his lips, hot breath spilling across your skin as he carries you from the kitchen. “Unless you want it to?” This damned man knows what he’s doing, he knows the hold he has over you — your brain is already turning into a foggy mess of want, and even the prospect of waiting two minutes for him to lay his hands on you is too much to bear. Your nails drag across his shoulders, tugging at the thin material. He misses the doorknob to your bedroom thanks to your antics, sending you against the wood a little harshly and forcing the air out of your lungs. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Still on the pill.”

“Hm?” he echoes, managing to turn it right on the second try and popping it open properly.

“I’m still on the pill,” you repeat. San freezes in place to stare at your face. You bring a hand around to toy at his parted lips with your thumb. “So you can fuck me raw.”

San becomes so dumbstruck that his jaw moves up and down over and over without any semblance of noise coming out.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a horny teenager,” he says under his breath. You drop your head back and laugh. San’s hold on you feels so blissfully warm. You didn’t even have time for this during the semester, sometimes thanks to your workloads but more often thanks to sheer exhaustion. A few solo jaunts before bed are hardly enough to please you the way San does. Based on how tightly he’s gripping your ass, he seems to feel exactly the same.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He manages to get you both to the bed without further incident, laying you down on the mattress with a sort of reverence that makes your chest swell with emotion. Even through the barrier of clothing, his fingers are hot and sear a path from your hips up your waist then right back down again as San wastes no time in stripping you of your pants. 

“I missed you so fucking much it’s insane.” You want to respond, but the sight of your lover dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed stops you in your tracks. All you can do is lie there and watch him tug your pants off, lips moving to kiss each bit of exposed skin along the way. Goosebumps rise across your body when he kisses his way up higher. His broad frame cages you in the closer he gets to your face, and despite his hands being on the somewhat small side, they feel all-encompassing when they’re sneaking under your shirt and exploring the skin beneath.

“I missed you more,” you murmur, catching his chin between your fingers and angling his face upwards so you can properly look at him. “I love you so so much, San. More than I can put into words.”

“Yeah?” You make no effort to pull him higher although he moves as though you do and climbs all the way up to be right over your face. He hums before dipping down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I think I’ve missed you more still though—” another kiss, this time to the opposite side of your mouth “—but you’re welcome to challenge me on that.”

“San,” you whine. He pulls back and sits back on his knees. Your brain goes totally blank watching him take his shirt off. It’s something you’ve seen time and time again, truly nothing new or foreign to you, but something about it now makes your gut twist in on itself. He’s lost a bit of the muscle you’ve grown accustomed to seeing on him, now softer around the edges, at the waist and across his stomach. It doesn’t curb your desire for him in the slightest; if anything it makes you want him more, to cling to him tighter and feel him firmer against you.

He throws the shirt down to the floor and drags a hand through his dark hair. His legs are splayed around yours, putting the prominent bulge in his pants on full display before you.

“I want you to use me, y/n.” He grabs your hand from where it’s resting against the bed and brings it to his chest. You dig your nail into his flesh like it’s second nature to do so. “Tonight, for your pleasure.” His eyes trail after your every moment, watching as you sit up and pull your legs out from under him. You graze the underside of his dick ever so slightly yet it’s still enough to make his lashes flutter. 

“Then…” San is like putty in your hands, conforming to every move you make while still maintaining that unbreaking eye contact. He turns with you, and you climb off the bed to stand despite feeling seconds away from toppling over. All it takes is the slightest push against his chest for him to lie flat on his back. “Will you be good for me?” 

His response comes in the form of a bitten-back whine thanks to you cupping the bulge of his cock as you withdraw your hand. It’s intoxicating to strip him of his jeans and feel every inch of his pretty tapered waist. You urge him to move further up on the bed, making room for you between his legs once you’ve tossed his pants down beside yours on the floor. The tip of his cock peeks out the top of his underwear, already stiff and leaking precum onto the elastic band. Saucy nudes here and there don’t do him nearly enough justice, you think. You tease just the bit of him that's exposed with your tongue, licking at the sensitive and swollen head, and he twitches beneath the fabric. Humming to yourself, you inch his underwear down just far enough to put his whole member on display, along with his balls, but you don’t go any further than that. It’s enough for you to get your mouth around him, after all, and that’s exactly what you do without giving San any time to brace himself for the touch.

He lets out a desperate moan the moment your wet heat envelopes his length, fingers curling into his palms around the comforter. His hips twitch with the desire to thrust upwards, but he keeps himself firmly planted on the bed, fulfilling his end of the bargain for you and being so delightfully good. The weight of him on your tongue isn’t nearly enough; you want him buried deep inside you as soon as possible, and you’d go on and do it now if you didn’t think it would hurt like a bitch given how long it’s been since you’ve taken him. San isn’t distracted enough to miss the way you retract a hand to touch yourself, and he fights to speak through broken moans.

“I w-wanna touch you, pretty.” You lift yourself off his cock until just the tip sits on your lower lip.

“I’ll let you later when I ask you to fold me in half and fuck me into the mattress.” You sink two fingers into your hole, taking San back into your mouth to revel in that full feeling again. You’re just as needy as he is, in reality, because your walls are already coated with arousal and it pools around the base of your fingers in such a way that it makes your cheeks flush. San’s noises aren’t helping in the slightest — for as quiet as he is in day-to-day life, he is ever so vocal when it comes to sex, especially when his cock is buried in your mouth. He’s just long enough to push right into the back of your throat, making it far easier for you to take him fully. 

“Your mouth feels so — fuck, fucking good, baby.” If you weren’t preoccupied, you would love to return his words with your own, so you settle for tugging at his balls a little. It earns you a delightful little yelp, and his hips buck up to drive his dick further into your throat than expected. “Hngh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I want—” you don’t finish your train of thought, too rushed to bother with it as you scramble to rid yourself of your underwear. San greets you with his hands when you climb back onto the bed and grabs hold of your waist. He tugs and pulls at your shirt until it’s gone too, leaving you with nothing more than your plain black bra. However, even that San seems to find issue with, because he toys with the clasp until it comes loose and throws that aside too.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, settling back against the mattress. He’s always told you this is his favorite position, to see you straddling his hips and bouncing on his cock, though he favors missionary quite a bit as well because it lets him see your body and face while he’s fucking you (despite how much he loves your ass). His cock is trapped between your pussy and his stomach now, hard and throbbing for the same kind of stimulation you so desperately crave. You drag your folds along his length a few times just to tease San, but he grips your hip in warning. In hindsight, you should have let him finger you open more before because the stretch is far more than you remember — not enough to hurt, but enough for you to really feel every inch of him entering your body. It makes you writhe atop him, your spine arches, and you drop your head back. San holds you like you're a precious gem, thick arms circling around your waist as you rest your hands on his chest. The position gives you some much-needed stability, but San's fingers have begun to get severely distracting. He rolls his thumbs into your skin, pausing only to squeeze and pinch at the more sensitive parts of your sides. 

“I’m gonna start moving,” you whisper like being too loud will break some sort of seal. San nods and unwraps his arms enough to simply hold your hips. Despite the decrease in definition of his muscles, his strength doesn’t seem to have gone anywhere, because he lifts you with such ease that it’s a bit dizzying. Still, he lets the control rest in your hands. You sink down slowly on his cock, letting your walls get used to the drag, before doing the same motion two, three more times. The first whimper to fall from your lips is what snaps your resolve. San’s hold on you remains firm but only to ease the strain on your thighs as you begin to pick up your pace. 

“Beautiful, beautiful, you’re so beautiful, my sweet.” San rolls his hips up in time with your movements, driving his cock up into your cunt as you drop yourself onto him, and it reaches so deep inside you that you see stars behind your eyelids. “Missed you so much, missed this, seeing your body through photos wasn’t enough — fuck, it wasn’t enough.”

“How many, ah, times did you come to those photos, hm?” You crack one eye open to watch San’s face. He’s already flushed with want, but the red in his cheeks deepens more upon hearing your question. You lean your weight further into your hands. “I fingered myself so many times thinking of you, Sannie. B-But, hngh, it wasn’t good enough. Not as good as your cock. Nothing… n-nothing feels as good!”

San thrusts up with more vigor now, all but taking over for you to go slack above him as he drives your hips down with his hands and pushes his length into you from the opposite direction. Then, suddenly, his movements falter and stutter to a halt, and he looks just as shocked as you are when his cock twitches against your walls. A blooming of warmth fills you right after, along with the realization that San has just come inside you without warning.

“I-I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to, ah, I thought I would last longer.” He slings an arm up over his eyes, and the red in his face deepens in hue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you come first.” You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Leaning down over him, you peel his arm away from his face so that you can see his shamed expression better.

“Your dick is far from the only thing that can make me come, babe. Right?” 

He nods a few times, but there’s still a pout on his lips. You kiss it away. 

“Then—” you detach yourself from his body, bringing about an unwelcome emptiness as his spent cock slips out of you, and roll onto your back beside him. He watches with rapt attention as you spread your legs and open your pussy to him. “Why don’t you?”

San moves with surprising haste for a man who has just come, rolling into the space between your legs, and while you expected him to just use his fingers to get you off, he hooks his hands around your thighs and shoves his face into your used cunt instead. It yanks a startled moan out of you, and it’s only amplified when he closes his lips around your clit. He’s lucky you don’t give him a concussion with how quickly you slam your thighs around his head. You don’t notice that he’s moved a hand until fingers are prodding at your leaking entrance and urging the come he just pumped into you back into your hole.

“O-Oh, San.” 

Normally, he takes his sweet time eating you out, bringing you to the precipice of orgasm before sending you right back down time and time again without release. Though, either out of lingering shame at coming early or simply out of a desire to make you unravel, San laps at your clit so eagerly that it sends shudders through you. You can feel your blood rushing lower as he urges you to come, walls clenching around his fingers. It only takes another second more for the first wave to hit you, and it makes you scramble to grab hold of San’s hair as he keeps curling his fingers over your sweet spot. He does so throughout each wave of your orgasm until tears burn the corners of your eyes and you’re all but pleading for him to grant you some mercy.

“You — you had nothing to prove, you know,” you say between desperate attempts to catch your breath. San giggles and looks up at you from his lewd position. “Ugh!” You shove his head away from you half-heartedly just to spare yourself more embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, duck!”

You only go as far as the pillows, turning back to him immediately and opening your arms to welcome him into them. 

“I came too early, of course I had something to prove,” he adds once he’s snugly placed against your chest. You slot together like two pieces of a puzzle, his head under your chin and your breath stirring the messy strands of hair in your path. “I’ve fallen out of practice. When was the last time I did that? It’s embarrassing…”

You can’t contain your laughter.

“You always come a little early when I ride you.”

“That’s not fair!”

All you can do to soothe him is pat his head. You feel a tad sticky and gross all over, but San’s warmth more than makes up for it, and if you’re not careful, you’re certain you’ll fall asleep within minutes. A small sniffle coming from the man atop you chases thoughts of rest away in the blink of an eye though.

“San?”

“’m okay, promise.”

“You’re crying, baby, that’s not ”okay“.”

“I just,” he inhales and licks over his lips, skating across your sternum in the process. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna stay afloat without you.” You comb your fingers through his hair.

“Tell me when you need me and I’ll be there. Always.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your schedule and get in the way.”

“You have to trust that I’ll take care of myself and my responsibilities even if I help you too. You always tell me that when I worry over the same things. It goes both ways, San, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods against you. “Okay, I’ll try to remember that. As long as you don’t lock yourself away when things get tough. Rely on me if you need strength. And talk to me when something is on your mind.”

“Alright, we have an agreement.” Out of nowhere, you remember Wooyoung’s suggestion from this morning. Picking at a stray piece of San’s hair, you mull over your thoughts some more. You could let things settle as they are now since things seem to be back to a pleasant state of balance. But even so, would it do any harm to try anyway? “I’d like to go on a first date again. With you. I want us to go on a first date again.”

“Hm?”

“Like… I want us to go out like it’s the first time all over again. And feel that excitement and giddiness we had back then. We don’t have to, it’s just a thought. I don’t know. Maybe it’d be a good thing after this semester.”

Silence overtakes the room. San’s breathing is so steady that you think he’s fallen asleep, but the second you try to shift and see his face, he tilts his head up and looks into your eyes.

“Alright. Let’s go on a first date again.”

…

“I figured we’d go to that little Thai place by the grocery before heading over to the Christmas light show?”

“Oh!” Your thoughts rearrange themselves around his words. “That sounds really nice, yeah.”

“The guys wanna meet up at Wooyoung’s after for chicken and beer, but I told them I’d leave the decision up to you.” He tilts his chin a bit to the side as he speaks, lips quirked up at the corners, and you find yourself so incredibly fond of him all over again.

“Let’s see how we feel after walking around.”

You offer to drive tonight, but he denies you quickly, whining about how he filled his tank full of gas just for tonight so you don’t push the matter any further than that (though, you still tease him a bit once he opens the passenger door for you). When he turns the car on, music starts blasting through the speakers, a song you recognize well, and the dash shows that he’s been listening to the playlist you made for him at the start of the last school year. 

“Sorry, forgot the volume was up so high.” He scrambles to twist the dial down, but you stop him with your hand, gripping his wrist lightly and giving a firm shake of your head.

“I didn’t realize you still listened to it. Normally you just have the radio going.”

“Ah, well,” San’s cheeks are a bit flush under the low lights of the car, “I suppose I’ve been feeling a bit sentimental these days.” His next move is a bit hesitant; he reaches across the console and lays his hand atop your thigh. You reassure him by putting your hand over his, fingers curling around his once again. It feels normal and familiar, though you can’t count on two hands the last time you’ve done something as menial as holding hands with San. 

“San?” He makes a noise of acknowledgment while watching the road. “I’ve missed you.” His nails dig into your flesh a little, and the pressure makes your heart clench in your chest.

“I’ve missed you more.” You can only see his side profile, but it’s enough for you to catch the upturn of his lips. 

“I’ve missed you most then.” The statement slips out through a pout. 

“And I love you more than the moon loves the ocean.”

The weight of his hand is comfort enough for you to be at ease for the rest of the drive.

────────��───

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this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

[malwaredykes]

well. here she is. miss Leigh Stasik.

trans woman. stubborn, incorrigible, eccentric. communist; she has leftist in-fighting with herself on the regular. a cannibal; she has no moral qualms about this, and its both a bit of a spiritual thing and a bit of a pragmatic thing. medic (not a doctor. no medical license). she knows for sure she had some kind of significant personality change from being shot in the head, but she doesn't remember what she was like exactly before it happened, it all became this kind of distant memory soup. shes originally from west new cali, but she grew very attached to the mojave. and has a lot of contempt for the ncr. She Will Serve Crack Before She Serves This Country. thank god the army discriminates against transsexuals etc. zero tolerance for the legion, obviously.

she firmly believes she is not nice, or kind, or compassionate, but instead her actions and her general sense of justice stem from her simply doing whats the most logical and objectively beneficial. it may be true to some extent, but she might also have a wee bit of ocd of the "i am a horrible person whos at all times like 2 seconds away from committing atrocities" variety.

shes a SCIENTIST. unofficially. she doesnt have a degree nor a chosen field of study. she makes her own hrt and other mysterious concoctions, including designer chems. which she claims she ingests injects etc not for recreational purposes, but to Enhance Her Powers And Possibilities. she reads old world books about psychology so she can manipulate people better. and makes weird contraptions and doohickeys while high. shes a HACKER of course and hacks terminals and systems for fun and just to see if she can.

her stats are out there due to implants and intense training, originally they were rather average. in-game she wears combat armor mk 2, but i see her having spruced it up like this. her main weapon is the ycs/186, the unique gauss rifle, but before that she used a modded plasma pistol. which she very much enjoyed the silly appearance of. because it was so small and with so much shit tacked on and she could just hold it in one hand like a mutated revolver like Hands up motherfucker bang bang bang lol. her melee weapon of choice is the machete gladius, but she's been training to be able to wield a thermic lance.

in my head the trajectory of her actions and the fate of the mojave that follows is different from what you can do with the game, because leigh could only go for The Secret Leftist Route Which Was Supposed To Be In The Game But We Were Robbed Of It.

boone was the first friend she made after leaving goodsprings and their relationship is particularly notable. they are Comrades, Siblings-In-Arms, Worsties (like besties but fucked up). theyve seen each other at their worst. they annoy each other on purpose. theyve had serious ideological clashes with each other and some ways in which boone perceives the world drive leigh absolutely nuts. they're ride or die for each other. theyre the kind of comfortable around each other where she'll be on the toilet and smoking a cig with the door open and talking to him, while he's naked sitting on the floor removing stitches from his leg. she's done surgery without anesthesia on him. he's projectile vomited blood on her from being poisoned by cazadores. she strongly encourages him to become a traitor to the ncr and to take part in the revolution and the formation of the new independent mojave alliance. somehow, it works on him in the end. shamefully they kinda like snuggling... boone bro come to bed man its nighty night man its beddy bye time.

shes in love with lily bowen. i havent decided yet whether she actually makes a move. but she thinks lily is sooooo dreamy. and shes right. if you dont think the enormous 203 year old blue mutant woman is dreamy thats your problem. outta her way

[sky-scribbles]

When I think about Gale and Mystra, I'm reminded of the Greek myth of the moon goddess who fell in love with a shepherd and asked Zeus to place him in an enchanted sleep, so that he would never change. So he would be beautiful and hers forever.

There are different versions of the myth, but this is the one I knew as a kid - and it always made me so fucking sad. And now I see why, because Selene loves Endymion - and her love takes his life from him. A god could not love Endymion as a mortal loves a mortal; she wants his presence to gaze on, to soak in, his body to hold. Perhaps he's a balm to her immortal existence; perhaps his beauty is an inspiration to her - but she does not want him, not all of him, not really. She doesn't want his sheep flock, the evenings where his fingers burn from the cold. She doesn't want his voice, or the lines and experience he'll gather as he ages. She doesn't want to live a life alongisde his.

Selene would say she loves Endymion, and perhaps, yes, Mystra would say she loved Gale. But how can a god love a mortal in a way that a mortal can recognise as love? You soak up his company, you laugh with him, you value his mind and his talent and his deftness with words. His presence is a spot of bright difference in your endless existence. But will you change with him? Will you be vulnerable with him? Will you look him in the eye, as an equal? Will you stroke his cat and put a blanket over his shoulder when he falls asleep reading, make soup for him when he's sick? Would you love him as a person, not a treasure? You can't.

Gale wanted to be loved with a devotion to match his own. Mystra wanted him to live in the enchanted sleep of being hers, something to smile at and hold but never, never to live beside. And she knew - she must have known - how unequal their desires were. She kept him anyway, until she didn't. Until he woke up.

A god's love ruins mortals.

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 5

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

ANGST, vomiting, Mention of the death of Mama Archeron

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Nesta could remember one time…the first winter they had spent in that godforsaken cottage…were Feyre had been so sick with fever, that Nesta had thought Feyre was going to die. 

It had reminded her eerily of her mother’s last days sick with Typhus…of the swelling scent of sick, the bright red cheeks and otherwise pale, clammy skin…

And she also remembered how she had behaved abhorrently. 

Eira had been the one taking care of Feyre. Their father had been useless as always. Nest had spit and snapped and Elain had…well, Elain had pretended like Feyre wasn’t a step away from dying. 

Elain was good at that. 

Eira had stoked the fire…Eira had made a bed out of blankets and pillows in front of it for Feyre…Eira had cooked soup and spooned it in their sister’s mouth. Eira had gone and begged their neighbour for her recipe for a cough medicine…and had then poured that down Feyre’s throat a well, cleaning up the vomit when Feyre threw it all up. 

Eira had done that. 

Eira had always done all of that. 

She had taken care of them all in these years in that cottage, had somehow managed to make sure that they all had two dresses to wear and that one was always clean…had managed to grow misshapen vegetables in that tiny patch of garden they had. If she hadn’t, Nesta was sure that they would have starved throughout one long winter. 

Eira was the second-born, right after Nesta. And somehow…while Nesta had always taken care of Elain…she had never done the same for Eira. 

Had never needed to. Eira had always taken care of everybody around her. 

Even now…She was still taking care of them all in her own ways, had gone out of her way to see Nesta every week, regardless of what Nesta had thrown at her head…took care of Nyx whenever Feyre asked, rocking him to sleep…helped Elain in the garden. 

And Nesta quietly wondered if anybody ever took care of Eira. 

Of Eira, who laid in her bed just like Feyre had done then…Pale and glowing with fever, covered with Azriel’s shadows, who did everything they could to preserve her modesty. 

She wondered what…wondered if he had given them that order. Or maybe they were self-aware enough to do it for themselves…

She wondered if it gave her sister any form of comfort from that, through that fledgeling mating bond. 

“If you show her naked form to him, I’ll burn you to crisps,” she hissed at the shadows who just ignored her. 

Rhys sat silently and unmoving, his face blank, chiselled in granite and Nesta swallowed at that. 

Maybe he could take some of the pain from her. Eira didn’t deserve the pain. 

Eira deserved nothing of this. 

Why had it been her? 

Why Eira? 

Why Eira, who had been turned into a fae just like Nesta and Elain had? And while Nesta had raged and Elain had spent weeks in that state between alive and dead, once again needing Eira to spoon soup into her mouth and take care of her…Eira had just…existed. 

And Nesta had taken it for granted. Had figured that maybe if one didn’t have the silver flame of death eating you alive from the inside out or have visions of death and destruction…maybe then it was easier to adjust to a new strange body, a new strange world. 

No mate for Eira either, a small mercy as far as Nesta was concerned. 

But the one thing she had noticed…it was that regardless of how well she seemed to adjust, Eira clung to whatever smidge of humanity she could dredge up. 

Starfall was something she hated, even when she never said anything…and when Nesta had her phase of going out and drinking every evening, Eira had one time and one time only come knocking at her apartment door, brought her food and then proceeded to ask her haltingly if this was what she wanted. If she didn’t care that her husband wouldn’t be her first. 

Eira and her romantic ideals of the future. 

Eira had clung onto that through anything. Her sister wanted a husband and children and that was that. He didn’t need to be particularly rich. He didn’t need to be anything other than kind. Eira would have been more than willing to be a farmer’s wife, to spend her days doing backbreaking labour if that meant…If that meant that she got a husband and children.

That was the difference between them. Nesta had been her mother’s prized possession. Elain her beauty. And Eira…well. Silent. Content in the background. Overshadowed by Elain’s beauty. 

It wasn’t like Eira wasn’t pretty on her own…wasn’t like that if she was given the chance, she couldn’t make polite conversation, once she had overcome her shyness…that she wouldn’t be able to keep a house running better than Nesta and Elain would have ever been able to. 

But none of that…none of that had mattered in the land of Prythian. 

And now this. 

Her little sister, lying in that bed, fighting for her life, because she had protected Nyx. 

Eira, who was clumsy enough that nobody had trusted her with a knife, because chances were, it was more likely that she would stab herself and not the other person. 

Eira, who abhorred violence and fighting and just wanted everybody to get along. 

Eira, who was sweet and soft and made dresses, little fingers dancing over fabric, stitching and tying off and embroidering and knitting, whose hands were always doing something…and if she wasn’t making something, she was cooking or canning or doing any other household tasks…now she was still.

For once in her life…she was not moving. 

She was just laying there, covered by shadows in a ripped and hastily torn apart dress. 

Nesta couldn’t fix this. Could fix none of this. 

Couldn’t fix Eira fighting for her life…couldn’t fix that mating bond that…

What would Eira think? Eira, who had fallen in love and tried to hide it so desperately and failed so horribly…what would she think about the mating bond snapping for Azriel? 

Would she be happy? Delighted? 

Or feel that this was one step too far from her humanity, one step too far from…

Nesta didn’t know. She had never talked with her sister about the mating bond or the lack of it for Eira…They had never talked about what had gone on between Azriel and Elain…though a part of Nesta had waited for Eira to find herself somebody else to fix her attention onto. Waited for Eira to realise that…that it was never going to happen.

Now though…she wondered if the mating bond hadn’t been there for her sister already. A pull that made it impossible for her attention to be changed to any other. 

She would be fine. It would be fine. It needed to be fine. 

It wasn’t fair that Eira, Eira was the one who…

It wasn’t fair that this had happened now. Now, when the mating bond had snapped and it seemed like her sister could get everything she had ever wanted…

And if there was a man that Nesta was going to trust with her sister, with Eira in all her sweetness and softness…then Azriel…then Azriel, it would be. 

Nesta couldn’t fix this. 

But maybe she could fix the dress…maybe she could…

She let go of her sister’s lax hand, as she stood and walked over to the closet. She opened it, half expecting a whole flurry of gowns to fall out. 

After their wealth had been returned to them, then in the Human Lands…Eira had stocked up all their closets with many new dresses and clothes. 

She had made most herself, of course, keeping the cost down to where it was an indulgence but not outright ridiculous. 

Nesta had expected the same now. Instead, with a blink, she weakly realised that she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

There had been the dress that Eira had worn today…and then there were 4 more…all of them dresses that Nesta could weakly remember Rhysand purchasing for them in these first few weeks in the House of Wind...a pile of dresses from which Eira had taken and fitted them to Nesta and Elain both, changed sleeves and necklines until they were exactly like they had wanted them to be. Eira had taken the leftovers...the ones neither Nesta or Elain had wanted. 

Nesta hadn't ever thought about it before today. There were servant girls who had more clothing than Eira seemed to have. 

And none of these dresses were decorated with the embroidery that was her sister’s trademark…the embroidery that decorated hair ribbons given to her sisters for birthdays and other occasions…that decorated the hems on Elain’s gardening dresses that turned muddy anyway. 

Eira's own dresses were well-loved, mended in places, threadbare in others. Of course. They had been well-loved for the better part of 3 years now. 

One dress was new. Nesta could see that. Beautifully grey, with long sleeves cuffed at the wrists and mother-of-pearl buttons. Beautiful. Simple. Heavy silk. Reminding Nesta of human fashion much more than the one of the Night Court. 

Going through her drawers didn’t make this any better. Nesta found aprons…but once again, a far cry from the aprons with floral embroidery around the edges that Elain favoured…and then sometimes in between old, well-loved things, meticulously taken care off…There was a pair of new shoes, leather and a closed with a crystal-embellished buckle. 

Such an indulgence that Nesta couldn’t help but smile and bite back the tears that threatened to overcome her. 

But that dress and that pair of shoes…it was one of the few things that truly showed her sister’s personality…

Finally, Nesta found her nightgowns…picking one up, made out of white cotton, with buttons down the front, that maybe would make it easier to dress her without hurting her. 

She took the nightgown and returned to Eira’s side, the shadows not having budged an inch. 

“Can you help me?” she asked, wondering if they even could understand her, or if they only listened to Azriel…

They understood. Immediately. They became nearly opaque, shielding Eira from Rhysand’s glance if he opened his eyes…and then so very carefully, arranged her sister in a sitting position so Nesta could remove the scraps of the dress she wore from her, see the white bandages tinted with red that Maja had used to protect the wound…

Eira was limp, unprotesting…against the gentle grip from the shadows that arranged her limbs so Nesta could easily undress her, and then fluttered around to help her pull the new nightgown over her sister’s body. 

The shadows pulled the covers back from the bed, and Nesta stared in admonishment as they lifted Eira up, becoming solid underneath her…nearly levitating her off the bed, so that they could quickly put fresh sheets on the bed, could tuck her underneath her duvet and fluff her pillows for her…take care of her, quicker and more thoroughly than Nesta would have been able to. 

The shadows picked up a hairbrush and whisked it to Eira’s side, brushing her hair until it was clean and free of tangles…pulling it back into a braid, tendrils of shadows trailing over her face…nearly lovingly. 

It must be Azriel’s doing. 

Nesta had never seen the shadows…dote on anything like that. She had seen them, rarely, top up Azriel’s teacup, but even that seemed to be an occasional thing. But for Eira…the shadows seemed to be at her very beg and call. 

Just yesterday she had raged at Cassian, that this didn’t mean that Azriel had any right to Eira, not when he had tried to pursue their other sister the year before. 

Now…after she saw this…it was…startling. 

She mulled it over silently. Eira and Azriel…the more she thought about it…the more she wondered if they didn’t fit together so well… Both so happy in the background, so painfully polite…so kind.

She picked up her sister’s blood-flecked dress, folding it with shaking hands…then picked up the petticoats she had worn. No blood on these. 

Nesta hadn’t seen any in her closet, so maybe Eira kept them in the chest at the end of her bed? She would just put them there…She opened that cedar chest and the cotton skirts were quickly forgotten, by what lay within it. 

The first thing she saw…were glittering silver flames. 

Nesta could just stare. 

There, safely folded…laid away…was a dress. 

She couldn’t help herself. Couldn’t help as she picked it up, hands nearly magically pulled towards it. 

Shaking it out…

A deep, dark red bodice…a v neckline…just deep enough to be interesting…peaked shoulders, not unlike the ones on Cassian’s fighting leathers…and then the skirts…layers upon layers of grey silk, embroidered painstakingly with silver flames that seemed to flicker in the light. 

It was the most beautiful dress that Nesta had ever held in her hands. 

And it was….she didn’t need to try it on to know that it would fit her like a glove. 

This dress…Eira had made this dress for her. 

She carried it over to her chair in a trance, smoothing it over her lap…seeing every single tiny stitch it had taken to bring it to life. 

It was perfect. 

She was ripped away from staring at it, with Rhysand’s sudden wretching, her head snapping towards him. 

“Fuck,” he choked out as he stopped vomiting. 

“Are you sick?” she demanded. “What if you get Eira sick, you idiot!” she seethed, but he held up a hand, vomit already being banished with nary a thought of him, as he looked at her, violet eyes…darker and…tortured in a way she had never seen it before. 

And then his eyes fell to the dress draped over her lap. 

“Eira made that for you,” he told her hoarsely, shuddering nearly “She…”

What had happened to him? Was Eira’s pain so bad that even Rhys couldn’t stand it? Was it…

“What happened?” she asked him sharply. “Is she in pain?”  

“Her mental shields are nonexistent right now. She dragged me into her memories,” Rhys answered, another shudder working over his body. “It was…unpleasant.”

That seemed to be an understatement. 

Nesta stared at him, grey eyes wide, red hot anger shooting through her. 

“So what, you just wanted to rummage through her mind?”  She snapped. 

“This was an accident. I did not do that on purpose,” Rhys shot back. “I wouldn’t have…”

“She has a right to her privacy!” Nesta raged. Hadn’t Eira already lost enough? Hadn’t they all lost enough?! 

“She does,” Rhys agreed, scrubbing one hand over his face.“She has a right to privacy. As long as it does not interfere with...”

“As long as it does not interfere with what?” Nesta demanded. “Your plans?” 

He stared at her, violet eyes wide and…hurt. 

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with her safety and happiness,” Rhys corrected quietly. He stared at the dress draped over her lap. “It’s a wedding dress. She made it for you,” he said with a nod towards it. 

A wedding dress? Why had she never…why had Eira never even mentioned it’s very existence? Why had she never…

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like make another ugly dress?” Rhys quoted, his voice quiet, deathly even. "Sounds familiar?"

Her breath caught in her throat. 

No. No. No, Eira couldn’t…Eira had taken that to heart? Eira had taken to heart what she had spat in her anger and desperation? Eira had…

“If it makes it any better…There was worse said by all of us,” Rhys said, looking away. “Every single one of us.”

What?

“I have news,” Amren’s voice suddenly came from the doorway. She stood there, Madja, behind her, obviously having come back to check on Eira.  “The lightning that was used to fell the three Darkbringers? The magical signature was unmistakingly female.” She nodded to Eira. “I think she finally decided to be interesting.”

The anger that flared in her chest was so bright and hot that it had taken her breath away. 

Rhys beat her to it. 

“That’s enough, Amren,” he spat out. “We need to have a talk.”