#hey! that's my gender!

[lilly-of-the-vale]

You think suguru can be a little too obsessed .

He dolls you up in a pretty traditional yukata before plopping you down on his lap, one of his hands softly rests on your jaw, tilting your head up to make sure you continue to meet his enamored loving gaze, while the other is busy feeding you, his graceful fingers controlling the chopsticks, picking up bite sized portions from the various dishes settled on the chabudai, then bringing them to your mouth. He uses the same chopsticks to pick up more food before feeding himself this time. His tongue lingers on the ebony wood, savoring the taste of your lips, something he insists he can feel.

His hand occasionally moves to gently rub your head, leaving a few kisses on your hair, drowning you in his affection. He won't let you eat on your own, insisting that it's his job to take care of you. There's no use in arguing further. He'll just respond by sweetly cooing at your ear or with one of his signature polite smiles.

You've just learned to get used to it, used to his overwhelming love, his eagerness to take care of you, used to the obsession that comes with said care taking, it really truly feels like he's fulfilling some kind of purpose, with how seriously, he takes these little rituals. It's really not that bad,you have a beautiful man holding you tight, coddling anddoting on you, and all he asks in return is for you to take, take everything he gives you. Not even gratitude, just take what he gives.

[abyssalzones]

it's really hard figuring out your gender and sexuality when it's the 1970s and you can't just google "am I transgender quiz"

[buggachat]

remember when miraculous ladybug finally decided to do an "adrien hangs out with The Guys" episode, like how we get scenes of marinette hanging out with The Girls all the time, but i guess the writers decided that the only way adrien would fit in an environment with a bunch of guys was if they were in a gay night club, and the night club was adrien's bedroom, and they were throwing around rainbow glitter and kissing each other and blasting The Village People so loud that it almost killed his already dead mother and

[earthtooz]

fluff with a lot of angst, reader is injured and in hospital for one scene but it's not graphic, lovesick!bakugou

during the many years you’ve loved bakugou katsuki, you have only seen him cry three times.

the first time, you were alarmed. where you fell asleep on the couch awaiting your boyfriend’s return, you did not expect to wake up to the sound of sniffles and the sight of drying tears.

“katsuki? what’s the matter?” you asked cautiously, immediately sitting up to wipe his tears away.

your touch, like a healing balm to the blond, lets you treat him like glass when both of you know he is nothing akin to fragile.

“‘s nothin’,” he gruffly huffs, voice cracking a little.

“if you say so,” you murmur skeptically, knowing better than to prod when it’s bakugou involved.

“were ya waitin’ for me?”

you nod. “i thought we could eat together but- what time is it?”

“almost nine.”

“oh. i thought we could eat dinner together but your patrol must have ended a lot later.”

his heart aches pitifully, worsening when he watches you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “‘m sorry, i didn’t mean to come home so late.”

“it’s okay, i get it.”

“we can still eat together, if that’s okay,” he grumbles, looking away bashfully and missing the way your face brightens.

“that sounds lovely, i’ll go heat up dinner-“

“-no, i’ll do it. it’s my fault for coming home later, i’ll call you when it's done.”

bakugou is out of your sight before you can argue any further. as you watch your boyfriend disappear, you’re left pondering on the couch as to why he was acting so uncharacteristically. did he have a bad day? did something happen at work? was he unable to save someone? that’s can't be the reason, he always-

“dinner’s done!” your boyfriend calls from the kitchen, disrupting your thoughts.

when you asked, it didn't sound like he had a terrible day, in fact it sounds like he had a successful patrol, but you cannot fathom any other reason for his melancholy, but if he’s forgotten about it, then you will too.

but... bakugou doesn’t forget. he still remembers when midoriya first alluded to the inheritance of his quirk from all might, he remembers the night vision goggles kirishima broke when trying to save him that one time, he remembers your favourite things and what makes you happy; he remembers everything.

and he’ll never forget that the tears he shed tonight were over the fact that bakugou will never get to show you how much he loves you.

bakugou katsuki, for the first time, realised just how painfully human he is.

he has a heart that beats for you, limbs that longingly ache to be near you whenever he’s not, a mind devoted to you and a cursed mouth so incapable of expressing it all.

if he could, he would wrestle the night sky to give its stars to you instead because you love stars. you love the stupid things in life that bakugou can't give. he can’t give you everything you could ever want and with that realisation, bakugou discovered just how beatable he was.

you may never know the multitude of bakugou’s love for you, and that fact alone brings him to tears as he gazed upon your sleeping figure on the couch, resting peacefully until his arrival.

the second time, you wake up confused.

the lights in the room are dim, there's a machine beeping intermittently and you think it's a heartbeat monitor but you don't really think too hard about it because your body hurts.

you have to blink a few times to get the blurriness out of your eyes, but you eventually comprehend the sterile walls of a hospital room. then the memories come back one by one, a patrol gone awry, evacuating citizens and... ah, being slammed into a wall back-first by the villain. explains the pain.

then you register the looming figure beside your bed, a pair of widened vermillion eyes gazing into your own with untameable blond hair to match, you can't help the smile from spreading on your face when you see your lover.

"hey," you cough weakly, throat dry and scratchy from lack of use.

next thing you know, bakugou's bulky figure is draped over yours, forehead resting on your chest as his arms gently snake around your torso, bringing you into his chest and pressing himself firmly against you.

you feel him; his relief, his sorrow, his devotion, his painful sobs as he shakes against you and it kills you that the only thing you have the strength to do is run a hand through his hair. you want to kiss him, to tell him that it's okay and that there's nothing to cry about, that you're here and nothing will change that, but you're so very sore and barely in tact.

"don't do this shit again," he threatens weakly and you feel his tears seep through your hospital gown. "you had me so fuckin' worried, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, i can't believe you'd do this to me, do you know how much it sucked to be without you?"

"sorry, katsuki," you whisper and he looks up at you, glossy eyes and quivering lip.

"promise me you'll never do this again."

cupping his cheeks with your hands, there's a rush of deja vu as your thumbs catch his tears. "i don't know how realistic that promise is given that this is my job-"

"-your job is to save lives, not go crashin' into buildings, idiot."

you laugh gently, a stabbing pain making itself known in your gut when you do. your wince doesn't go unnoticed by bakugou, who knows you better than the back of his hand and his heart lurches at the slightest evidence that you're in pain. "still, i won't make promises i can't keep, you know how our jobs are, katsuki."

he frowns, furrowing his brows. "then i'll promise to always be there for you. don't go where i can't."

"that's not realistic."

"watch me."

"okay then, deal."

there are questions you still want answers to, but for now, you'll let the blond continue crying with his ear pressed against your chest.

(you won't ever know about the few days bakugou has spent in your hospital ward, absolutely miserable as he looks upon your gaze with anticipation. he hates how helpless he is, that he can't do anything to rid of this horrible feeling in his chest but wait for you to wake up. he hates that he can't any semblance of peace, he hates the man that love has made him, but most importantly, he hates being without you.

you won't ever know the struggle it was to get bakugou out of your room for even just an hour. midoriya and kirishima had to wrestle him in hopes of getting some proper food together, and yaomomo and todoroki had to literally block the door with various items to prevent his entrance.

you won't ever know how alienated bakugou felt, unable to face your shared home without you in it. without your music playing, without your shoes messily thrown at the genkan, without your comforting presence to return to when all is said and done, there isn't much of a home for bakugou.

you won't ever know how desperately bakugou clung to your hand, fiddling with it whenever he needed a safe haven.

you won't ever know the amount of tears the blond had shed by your side, hunched over your bed, with nothing and no one to comfort him but the sound of the heartbeat monitor.)

the third time, you cry too.

it's your wedding day.

when the news first came out, japan practically roared with excitement and anticipation for the special day that their two favourite heroes would wed. the enthusiasm has not dimmed down even months later, and now, as you're one door away from your lover, you feel it buzzing in your bones.

it all goes by in a blur. one second you're about to trip over yourself in nervousness and the next, you're walking down the aisle with a stunned bakugou failing to keep his composure at the altar. despite the amount of close friends and family around you, all you can see is the love of your life who looks at you with unmatched adoration and affection in those ruby irises of his.

up close, however, all you can see are the tears forming in his eyes, and his first sniffle takes everyone in the room by surprise. no doubt, this is their first and last time seeing their beloved hero cry.

more tears are shed and then, it's just waterworks from practically everyone in the room as bakugou breaks down even more.

thank goodness for a private wedding because you know he is never going to live it down if the press got their hands on this image.

a close friend of yours hands you a handkerchief and you wipe away bakugou's tears with a teasing smile, unable to keep your wobbly laughter at bay as your lover- japan's symbol of victory and heroism, turns to nothing but putty in your hands. he lets you treat him so delicately because you've seen him at his lowest, most shaken, and most unlovable, yet still decided to stay.

"sorry," he apologises as you dab at his tears, words reserved for you and you alone. "you're just so... divine. i can't believe i'm marryin' you."

you feel your first tear roll down your cheek and bakugou catches it before it can go too far, wiping it away.

"such an embarrassin' way to start our wedding," he grumbles.

"embarrassing for the both of us, but memorable no doubt," you try to reason.

"everything is memorable as long as i'm with you."

"such a sap," you whack his shoulder lightly. "have you been saving that line for today specifically?"

"you should wait til the vows. bet mine are better than yours."

"i didn't know you could be a poet."

"only for you."

"well then, i can't wait to find out what else you are, katsuki."

"i'll always be yours."

you laugh, "i'm glad to hear that 'cause i love you."

"i love you even more, i'm crying just to prove it."

"your tears are dangerous."

"yeah well, you're marryin' these tears so."

"like i said, i can't wait."

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[mothervega]

anyone out there who enjoys both Bive and The Smiler i’m boutta summon all of you cuz I MADE A SMILER INSPIRED BIVE AVATAR MUAHAHAHAHAA

[katabay]

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...

the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin

this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.

you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.

also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[ninjasmudge]

make sure your cult leader is scooped up at least once a week so they dont get too cocky

[poisonouspastels]

can you believe these are statements made by the same fucking guy over 10 years apart

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[fishnchip3011]

they r like straight yuri to me

[playfully-sadistic]

One thing about being a sadistic dom is that you'll never hear me say "Oh, baby, don't cry" to a sub, but you will see me grab myself through my pants and grin at you, if you start crying in front of me.

[mochasucculent]

Well your "Dumb thing that wouldn't leave your brain" nearly made me wake up my partner who is asleep next to me lol

Honestly this fandoms artists making Viktor and/or Jayce (honestly usually both I've noticed, its awesome) is so good. Makes me very happy to see so often, being transmasc myself.

I'm so honored by people legitimately laughing out loud at it lolol thank you

And yea I feel like trans Jayvik is such a beautiful self sustaining ecosystem cause I have seen so much trans Viktor stuff that whenever I see cis Viktor I'm like "where are his top surgery scars???" forgetting that he is not, in fact, canonically trans

[sk3tch404]

2 Inna row let's go 🔥 🔥💪

Do i believe he's confident enough to do that? Since he's cranked up, maybe. Canonly? Nah.

[aeb-art]

note: the following is three (almost four) years post-game

okay fine i'll just draw comics for my au since writing is so dang hard smh

anyways welcome to two coins! where loop shows up again but siffrin only got the one hat ending

edit: part two

[catabasis]

I invoked a superstition at the edge of the universe, where the walls are thin and all things are possible. I've just got this feeling. Feeling of something...

Doctor Who: Wild Blue Yonder (2023)

[m1d-45]

wandering eyes

summary: wherein he's not sure what's going on between him and you, but he knows that he definitely shouldn't be thinking like this...

word count: ~2.5k

-> warnings: minor sumeru AQ spoilers ?? author very clumsily uses no name for wanderer . reader is a scholar of unnamed darshan and author handles that clumsily too .

-> gn reader (you/yours) ++ unspecified traveller (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @sarienic || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there are many scholars in the akedemiya. thousands of scholars across six darshans, collected under the akedemiya’s flag, differentiated only by the emblems on their uniforms. tens of thousands of people walked through the front doors, searched the house of daena, roamed the halls and chatted and laughed with their peers.

you were not one of them. you rarely were. it seemed, as time went by, you were more fond of lingering in his office rather than the established gathering places for students and staff alike.

how you found it, he didn’t know. it wasn’t marked with his name, nor that stupid nickname given to him by the rest of the scholars, nor any name at all. it wasn’t even a proper office, more so an abandoned classroom that he’d claimed as his own. and yet, one day you’d opened the door and sat in the chair across from his makeshift desk, and he’d never really had the mind to lock it after you left.

the wanderer did not often say what he was thinking. it was far easier to allow others to run their mouths in attempt to fill the silence, usually giving over more information than they meant to. buer used to chide him for it, but he thinks she’s gotten the message by now; casual conversations were reserved for a very narrow selection of people. her, of course, when he sat in the sanctuary and rattled off the list of tasks that comprised his day. he didn’t think there was much important about his day to her, but that had of course changed. she told him about his, and maybe he found something from a tavern to bring up to her, letting her try the fruits of her labor. he never ate much. he didn’t need it, and sumeru food was far more… complex than inazuman cuisine. he’s never been able to move past that simplicity—at nobody’s fault but his own, of course.

the second spot on his inch-long list was reserved for the traveller and, somewhat irritatingly, their companion. they made good company, though he hadn’t seen them in a while now… and as such, his list had effectively shortened to two.

if asked, he would not give a name to the tentative bond between you two. both because anyone that didn’t already know certainly deserved no stake in it, but also because it felt wrong to do that without knowing what you thought, and he’d not be asking that question any time soon. you were first a colleague, approaching him despite the gap in your darshans, and then… he didn’t know. he wasn’t familiar enough with the intricacies of human relationships to name it.

you weren’t an acquaintance. he knew more about you than he cared to admit, which his mind already reminded him of often enough. you were not a friend, nor anything else close to it. you were not a companion, that was too close a word for his liking. you were not a confidante, as you surely were not privy to the dim paths his thoughts often wound. more than an associate, less than a comrade. even if, say, the walls of the akedemiya had turned into the plains of battle, he could not call you a warrior in arms, for not only would he be far from the bloodshed, but you would surely be just as distant.

you were a strange character. maybe that was why he had allowed you so close—and it was only on his terms that this had happened, he told himself, because he would not be so foolish as to allow you near him of your own volition. when you spoke, he could almost hear your will threaded into your words, a silent determination to do… something. he hadn’t figured out what yet. you had no research projects you were uncertain on, no assignments or tasks you did not know how to complete, and yet you spoke with all the tenacity of a detective on a cold case.

you had walked into his life and he was too curious to let you leave. just curiosity, that’s all. there was no other reason to entertain someone so… intruiging.

that wasn’t the right adjective. he could spin a few hundred, if he wanted, but he had a feeling that even if he had recited them all, it would still fall flat. why was it that he had no problem summarizing others with the snap of his fingers, but his tongue always lingered over your name?

you didn’t seem to care that he didn’t talk. you spoke more than enough to make up for him, going into gratingly deep detail about how your day had gone and what research you were struggling with connecting, to the point that he’d began to keep books on your subject permanently in his “office” just to push them over to you whenever you started complaining. it didn’t matter that the time before he did so began to stretch longer and longer. he just knew you better, and as such needed to decide which text would be better. nevermind that he could give you both. why did he both welcome and shrink from the sound of his door clicking closed?

this problem, among others, drifted lazily through his mind as he skimmed the various proposals on his desk. for being gifted a name such as “hat guy” by the people of sumeru, a shockingly large amount of them wanted his time or approval on some project or another. he always denied them, and usually wouldn’t give them any mind… but he needed something to keep his eyes busy.

today was a day like any other. he had retired from his lectures with a weight on his shoulders like he was the one forced to memorize half a century in an hour, hanging his hat and sighing in his chair. he had sorted the mail that made it onto his desk—despite being across campus from the other staff offices, he still managed to receive letters—into a neat bucket called his trash can and had set about grading papers, which never took very long. when he was done, he began flipping through the textbooks stacked on his desk, waiting for the tell-tale click that would herald your arrival.

he used to go for walks during this time. he wouldn’t even bother with his hat, quickly scrawling over mistakes in thick red ink before leaving just as fast. he usually went for a walk outside the city to clear his head and get away from the noise, and maybe stop to buy some trinket for buer while he was out to make up for the fact that he “didn’t socialize enough” for her liking.

he doesn’t do that anymore. his routine had shifted, and the idea of you coming back to an empty office… well, he didn’t want you bothering anyone else with your inane inquiries anyway. he’s not sure anyone was as familiar with your research as him, and he’d rather not gain a reputation for annoying his coworkers by forcing them to keep up with you. no, only he was fit for that task.. and so he waited.

you had walked in with all your usual fanfare, sitting in the chair he never moved, starting to ask pleasantries that he had parried as soon as they left your mouth. his day was fine. his work was fine. his students were annoying. your day was good? good. what did you want and how could he give it to you?

from the moment you began to talk, he knew what your problem was. he was reading about it as you spoke, actually, tracing the arguments on the page as your words filtered through his mind like coffee through paper. perhaps if he was the divining sort, he’d sift the grounds and read your fortune.

he wasn’t. he read, occasionally looking up so you knew he was listening and continued, eyes flicking over your expression. you seemed more irritated than usual, the softness wrapped around the steel cord of your demeanor shedding away. it, like you, was interesting. that was the only reason why he was staring.

your hair was out of order, like you’d been fussing with it on the walk here. your uniform was out of place, as if thrown on without your usual care. your brow was set tight, though it softened when he’d snapped the book in his hands shut without a word, waiting for the truth you knew he held.

why was it, he wondered, that you bothered with small talk? why was it, as he pushed the book across to you, did he put up with it? why had he wanted to hold onto it longer, and why was it your exasperation that had made him cave?

curiosity. that was all. for when you took it into your lap with a smile he ignored, you did not leave. you stayed, launching into a spiel about the house of daena’s lending practices. did you know he was the one with all the books you needed? the house was short on such a niche subject as yours, and he didn’t like the idea of you going without the materials you needed—it would only cause more headaches, after all.

even if you did know, why tell him? this was not a problem he could fix. he looked to the remaining books on his desk, but found no answer. you had pulled the topic away from research, and he was at a loss for what you wanted. back to you, his eyes wandered, searching for some other indication. he would not say he was the smartest when it came to human emotion, but he still knew how to read one’s intentions; spending decades stuck in a palace of ice would teach anyone how. yet, despite all of this experience, he kept getting caught on one detail.

curiosity. that was all. your lips were dry, just so, and he was wondering why. had your stress caused you to neglect yourself? that happened often among scholars, to his understanding. were you without water? or had the heat gotten to you? if you were flushed, he couldn’t tell. you spoke without a rasp, the same voice that had haunted him since you had first called his “name” from up the hall, lips the same shade of pink he always knew.

curiosity. intrigue. novelty. he pulled his eyes away with an odd feeling pooling in his fingertips, willing himself back in line. and yet, the moment he looked back at you, his gaze was weighed down. dry, yes, but seeming so soft between the cracks. or was he just seeing things?

with a groan and a harsh shake of his head, he reached down, pulling the old proposals out of the trash. you had stopped talking, so he waved his hand to lead you to continue, pushing his eyes across the lines of text instead.

a lecture he was bored by from the name alone. a subject he held no research on. a lot of those, actually, people seeking his help from across darshans either instead of or after going to their sages. in fact, he had received proposals from everywhere but vahumana, it seemed. it was ridiculous. maybe only those he dealt with knew how futile sending a letter his way would go. should he give the relevant letters to you and say he had sent you in his stead? some of the subjects looked like something you would be interested in… it would never work, but he took the excuse to look back at you anyway, currently elbow-deep in a story about the last time you went to puspa café.

what did you drink, he wondered? was it why your skin looked so rough? perhaps the next time he went by the shops, he should find you some sunsettia juice.

it was that thought—and assuredly not that you had caught his eye with confusion—that had snapped him out of his thoughts. he dropped the stack in his hands on the desk and again pulled his synthetic eyes from where they should never have strayed, gesturing to the book in your lap with some snappy quip he didn’t think much about. there was little reason to put thought into insults he didn’t mean, and calling you poorly-read would only reflect back on him and his help.

which was fine. because he wasn’t helping you for his reputation. he was helping you for his own selfish…

you stood, giving thanks that slipped right off his shoulders, as easy as the breeze on a hot day. you “pushed in” the chair that had nowhere to go, leaving it where it would stay until you returned, like a dog by the door.

“don’t come back,” he called, voice holding no bite as the door latched shut. it was useless putting effort into things he didn’t intend to happen anyway.