#reason these people are NOT normal. like she said recently that she isn't and that she thinks the rumor came from her own people😭 like what

[maddy-ferguson]

another connard de macroniste has just come out as gay

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 8

[prompt: phone sex]

male reader x shin ryujin

16k words

The phone rings one too many times, and Ryujin is in the middle of scrunching up the paper slip that Chaeryeong handed her earlier that afternoon when she hears your voice.

The sounds of her scrambling for the receiver and her head smacking against the headboard come through in pretty good quality.

That never gets old.

"Stimulating conversations," you offer smoothly, like it isn't a euphemism and instead some high-brow intellectual pursuit. "How can I help you?"

Ryujin is speechless for an unbearable five, ten seconds until she lets out the kind of low chuckle that probably sounds better than it looks. "Hi," she says, "hello, I, uh- I don't know how all of this works."

"Why don't we start with who you're looking to speak with tonight?" you ask.

Ryujin sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the messy tangle of clothes on her bedroom floor with mild resentment. She’ll take her chances, figuring a direct approach is the best route when she doesn't really know where any of the lines get drawn or who is allowed to say what and who isn't.

"Um. Okay. Who you got?"

"We have a large variety of operators to suit any taste," you explain kindly. She appreciates that. "Do you have someone specific in mind? A gender perhaps, to start?"

"Well," Ryujin starts, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. Lia has this thing she constantly says, that there's always a thousand and one reasons not to do something, and Ryujin is the first person to make fun of her for it - but here she is, finally putting that adage to use.

"I was actually calling to, um," she exhales loudly. "A guy? I mean look - girls. Girls are great, but if you - mmm." She clears her throat. Because she knows how she wants to do this, and it's most definitely: "A man."

You wait for a second before replying, and Ryujin allows the stillness to expand over and fill out every corner of her bedroom before a bright, "Alrighty, well," comes filtering out her phone, tinny but as enticing as ever. "That would be me."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you reply, easy and unhurried. You sound exactly like the kind of person whose company people pay handsomely to be around; the professionalism is undeniable, but there's something to be said for your tone. The softness to the vowels, the almost imperceptible upward lilt to the words - Ryujin gets that, maybe.

You're pretty confident in the answer, but you ask anyway, "have you ever done anything like this?"

Ryujin opens her mouth and hesitates for a brief moment.

"Well," she muses. She's tried porn, she's tried her own fantasies, she's tried cranking up the hot water and touching herself with the head of the shower aimed somewhere she's told by other girls: it's there, free of charge. "I haven't."

"But you have a boyfriend," you state. "You have a man, who you enjoy things with?"

Ryujin laughs nervously. "It's...it's been a little while. Not recently. Sorry. I know you don't-"

"No, no, not at all, you're doing fine, it's just that you sound very attractive over the phone. Excuse the assumption."

Ryujin laughs and rakes her fingers through her fringe. She knows it's a line, but she laughs anyway. She could - if she was looking for the deranged fulfillment of it - pore through a billion comments on instagram, on twitter that call her a lot of things: gorgeous, beautiful, hot. The last comment she read before almost deleting her app entirely was someone who decided to textually imitate a dog barking to a picture Yeji had taken of her in a coffee shop. There's a novelty, she thinks, in being charmed by someone who has no idea who she is.

"You have good ears then," she says, smirking into the receiver. "So do you normally do, what, ask questions? I have no idea."

"Yeah, it helps me build a profile," you reply, "but if you had something else in mind-"

"No, please, shoot." She grabs the pillow from behind her back and flops against the mattress, staring up into the ceiling fan.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing your age with me?"

"Twenty," she answers without missing a beat, even though that isn't right. It's weirdly important to her, keeping it private, and she isn't sure why - but then you say something pleasant and complimentary about college and new experiences that she's unable to register, and you ask her for her name so quick she just blurts it out:

"Ryujin."

"Pretty."

"Fuck," Ryujin grins, immediately chewing on her knuckle to bite back a gasp. "Sorry. The name is cute or, whatever. Whatever. Sorry for the curse. God, I don't really have a filter - what about you? Do you have a name, Mr. Operator?"

"I do."

Ryujin lifts a leg up and puts it down again. She doesn't know if she should already have taken off her pajamas or if that's weird. Or if the fact that it doesn't bother her means this is more or less wholesome. She turns over onto her stomach, humming into the phone and now she doesn't know why she's thinking about your face. You could be- well, fuck, you could be anyone, but there's this gnawing compulsion to put something together.

You tell her your name and she scoffs for a second, before quieting down and returning you a, "pretty."

"Ryujin, tell me." There's probably a slightly too long pause from your end of the line before you get on with asking her, "when was your last orgasm?"

She drops the phone right in her face. It bounces off the bridge of her nose before landing in bedsheets beside her and her eyes are welling with tears while she scrambles blindly across her bed, cursing into the receiver and squirming. She pulls the phone to her ear and catches the last couple seconds of you reassuring her that it's okay, that it's completely fine if she's hung up or gone.

"Actually, I have," and she curls her fingers into a fist, "never came in my whole life."

You clear your throat to keep a less than professional sound from coming out. A quiet space she feels necessary to fill: “Not even once.”

"Really?"

"I know. And I've only recently realized that's, uh - er- a pretty un-normal thing." Ryujin makes a waving motion with her hand even though you can't see it, trailing off into silence and blushing furiously. "Sorry," she apologizes. She doesn't know what she’s apologizing for, but she does it again. "Sorry about that."

"I should be the one feeling sorry for you," you rib.

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Hey, this reminds me, would you be averse to the idea of touching yourself?"

The question stutters Ryujin in her tracks, and she doesn't even say no but a drawn-out "nngh" leaks out before she can stumble into something more intelligible. "Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to do on these calls?"

"Every call is different, Ryujin."

She chews on her lower lip, rolling it under her front teeth. You say her name like you know her, and it's throwing her for a loop. The comfort you have with the whole situation - asking her a million questions and not demanding answers, taking cues and reassurances in stride and turning everything into some sort of ploy for getting her naked. Fuck, she'll take a bit of a plunge:

"Should I be touching myself?"

"It's not my place to say."

"Okay, well that's kind of a frustrating answer."

"So you're saying you like being told what to do," you tell her, and you hear the sharp inhale in reply.

"If I knew what I liked, you think I'd be calling a sex hotline and hoping some stranger might take pity on me?"

You laugh out loud, and her response is the quickest, the cutest little, "seriously!" before she chuckles too.

"Ryujin?" you ask.

"Yeah?"

"Are you straight?"

She nearly chokes - because it's like you're able to just read her mind - and if you can do that then there's nothing you can't do, maybe. And here, excitement feels a lot like apprehension. She twists and curls in on herself, thighs rubbing together, the flat of her hand traveling across her stomach.

"I'm-"

"Because no one should have to pretend that they're interested in guys," you interrupt her and, god, for as much time as she's spent dwelling on that, she wishes it were that simple. 

It would be a hell of a lot easier if she knew why she wanted to get her face between Yeji's thighs and drag her tongue all over her clit until that prettier-than-perfect face of hers cinches up in a pleasure that comes with just the right amount of agony - or if she knew why she didn't feel anything like remorse or guilt or envy when her boyfriend came around instead of wanting, you know, to get on her knees with her mouth around his cock too -

Fuck, it's all very complicated.

"Straight," she answers. She likes cock, as much as anyone realistically can, and she knows the body on a man can get her dripping and easy in all the right ways. So, she just swallows. Says, "straight enough."

"If you were to touch yourself, right now, and someone - say, a man - were telling you exactly what to do: what would spring to mind, if anything."

"Mmm. Is this you asking me to touch myself?"

"Again. That's up to you."

Your voice is light. Very pleasant. Very male, Ryujin realizes. She gulps.

"Can you, I mean," she says, running a hand down the length of her thigh, pressing down at the hollow.

"Ryujin,” you say, letting her mull over how it sounds in your mouth. ��Take a breath for me, please."

Her exhale leaves her with a heavy push and she tries not to laugh. Nervous tic. She's getting goosebumps, but she feels warmer than before.

"We could say this isn't the first time, you and me, in some very broad and abstract sense. How does that make you feel?"

"Strange." She touches her outer thighs again and arches her back. "Kind of horny," she admits. And it is odd - your words, the things you say - and maybe it's her nerves because the experience is new, and so are you, and so are her feelings, all wrapped in one.

"Do you want to do something about that?"

There's silence between you for what seems like a very long time, your breathing quiet but apparent - a signal you haven't abandoned her in some state of vulnerability. Ryujin inhales deeply. She's shaking in her fingertips. The tension has her taut and waiting, and that's funny, really, because it's what she's been doing for years. The rubbing. The touching.

Her hips rock forward gently and she answers the unasked question with a sweetly husked, "uh-huh."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah, really?" Ryujin laughs. Her fingers pause at her waistline. "That old, bad porn trope."

"I like hearing about people's clothes, is all," you excuse yourself lightly. "Helps me get a sense of things."

"Yeah, alright. Sweats. Baggy ones." Her lips fall apart. "Shirt."

"Is that all? Nothing sexy."

"What's sexy?"

"Sexy is…"

She listens to you mull it over, listening for a ruffling or two. "For a girl with a nice body - some body - some curves," you continue, and Ryujin has to drop another finger to the hot line of her thigh, her lower belly. "You need lace. Silk. You've gotta leave the best bits a little hidden, at least for a while longer."

"Wow. You sound a hell of a lot like you'd enjoy taking someone's pants off," she half-teases. "Do you make all your calls like this? One sordid fantasy at a time, huh?"

"Something like that," you reply. And then, as if reading her mind, "are you doing anything, right now?"

"I'm touching myself," she exhales. "Are you?"

"Ryujin, not yet. Please be patient."

She makes a face even though you can't see it or taunt her. That's an unfair request - you have an unfair request.

"Just, wait," you tell her. She's drawing lazy, winding circles across her thigh. "Let me show you something, will you do that for me?"

"But, what."

"Tell me everything. All the things you're thinking. Things you want to do."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

She blinks away her initial disbelief and reaches around for her lamp to switch it off. Until it's just the hallway light peeking in through the crack between her door and the door jamb and you, a stranger who won't be seeing her face or hearing her say anything stupid. She shakes out a few more breaths, shuffles against the sheets, and glides her fingertips past her belly button.

Her hand rises up her stomach in one decisive movement, until her fingers curl beneath the bottoms of her bra, trapped in its underwire. "I'm thinking - unh - about, ah. My friend?"

You're quiet and let the silence linger, until she seems like she might not find her way; so you repeat, "Go ahead."

"And a guy she used to like, fuck, she'd show up here, drunk on, ah. A weeknight. Somewhere, fuck, around midnight. Walk past me into the kitchen where we had the - the light. God." Her hips stutter and she grits out the rest through her teeth. "In the refrigerator. Ah, yeah, a midnight snack. Always looked way too fucking good for, um, oh, for a casual booty-call."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yuna," she practically pants, and immediately realizes she shouldn't have said that either.

"Did you always know what was going on? Between Yuna and her-"

"Boy-toy, yes - it was so obvious, I always knew, yeah," she said, clumsily grabbing the sheets with one hand as she drifts further between the peaks. "Just - fuck - he'd be picking at, ah, something with chopsticks."

"In your kitchen?"

"My, uh, table. And I'd be working up the nerve to ask."

You sigh over the phone, "ask him what?"

"What it was, like, I knew she was only- shit." She keens high in her throat. "What it was like, fucking taking that cock of his, and bending Yuna's tight little, ah, ass over and, mm, railing her on the side of her fucking bed - and just pumping her full of cum just like that until- Jesus, she would walk around after and sometimes-"

You groan softly. This encouraging little sound.

"-fuck - sorry, I mean. Yeah, he, sometimes he'd make her walk around with his, ah, stuff inside. Down her fucking pants and, it's like, fucking disgusting, I swear-"

"And?" You breathe a heavy edged noise over the line.

Actually okay, so maybe this was more than she bargained for, maybe she bit off more than she can chew - maybe, she feels like her insides are collapsing; all the fire pooling around in her stomach and gathering into a melting sort of weightlessness.

"And it makes me feel fucking-"

"Fucking what."

"Why am I talking about this, why-"

"Talking to me? Fucking wet, Ryujin, answer the question."

She pants down at her phone and then turns her face into her forearm, rubbing and making sounds. She thinks about, oh, fucking Yuna and how she showed up to hang out once, with cum leaking down the crease of her inner thigh, smearing against her skin and down between her legs.

"Wet." She swallows. "How do I-"

"Say that you wish it was you," you tell her. "That you wanted that, to be fucked. To feel a cock inside."

Her head falls back. "That," she manages, "fucking, that."

You drawl so that the question might roll off, easy: "Is that the kind of girl you are? Told not to curse, not supposed to let anyone else play with you - you just need it, don't you? Do you need someone's cum? Just tell me."

"I think so, ah," and she stops moving her hand. "I think I'm gonna go now. This is fucking embarrassing, like. Okay, sorry."

"Don't hang up," you tell her, and the soft edge to it is one she really wants to indulge. "Don't," you repeat, a little louder.

You start talking, about the same sorts of things she's imagined herself: the sex and the sounds and what he can do to her. You build a slow and aching heat between her thighs that has her dripping through her underwear and grinding against her fingers. Telling her how she's the one that needs to be filled, needs a man who can wrap her legs around his waist, get to the deepest parts of her, the parts untouched and willing.

Ryujin gets that - she wonders, half out of it and stroking faster than she usually would be, how much of it has anything to do with who the voice is on the other end of the receiver, and how it could be what a desperate, pathetic, tired part of her has always wanted.

"Are you?" she asks, panting over the phone.

"Am I what?" you whisper back to her.

"Are you," and you hear how she inhales sharply through her nose, a desperate gasp leaving her lips on the exhale, "going to, um. Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your reply is immediate, and her eyes flutter and close the second you tell her exactly what she wants to hear:

"God, yes."

She drags her hand up the center of her body, runs her fingertips over her jaw and presses the heel of her wrist to her neck to feel her pulse slamming hard.

"I'm fucking throbbing, Ryujin; you sound gorgeous like this, like nothing I've ever heard, I'm stroking my cock just picturing you, please-"

"Tell me." She's mouthing into the center of her palm, saying the words, tasting salt and musk. "Fuck, ah," she babbles, "tell me what you would do with me."

"I'd get you on your knees," you tell her without hesitating for a beat.

"Fuck."

"I'd come up behind you and tell you not to be scared, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, I'd just touch you real gentle. Push my fingers past your tongue, slide a little down your throat."

"Uh huh," she moans, her head falling back and rolling, rocking against the mattress.

"Want you sucking on my fingers. Need your hands around my cock, or better, my balls, play with them. You're going to take those fingers - every finger I got, all five, yeah?- all ten of them," you joke, "and open up your tight cunt - like you are now, like such a good fucking girl-"

The girl fucking yelps. Just this honest sound of depravity; it's what she's paying you for. It's a silly line of bullshit, but it makes her bite hard and ache a little around her own knuckles and moan in her palm and dig her nails hard into her flesh. Her thumb fumbles across the top edge of her underwear and you pant again into her ear as if on cue, giving her a small bit of guidance that has her jolting in pleasure. She didn't know that was there, fuck, fuck-

"Like that, Ryujin. Breathe," and she does.

"Please," she whines, trying to find somewhere for her arm to settle, resting finally in her hair - setting the phone to speaker in a foolish moment of lapsed-judgment, just before it nearly clatters off the side of her bed.

Keep going - she's telling you over and over - keep going, and you’re picturing her there: eyes closed, legs spread wide, bent knees quivering and toes curling into the sheets. It doesn’t sound fake - you've heard a million of them, you've learned them in their different tones and accents and you can spot a faker a mile away. And the girl on the phone right now isn't pretending or thinking about whatever's happening somewhere else.

(You don't join in for everyone. You can't. It's an asinine consideration that you'd be rubbing your fist up and down your cock while it's sore and wanting - aching from the neglect or lack of rhythm. You have to remind yourself it's just a job, that the logistics just can't support such selflessness.

But then there's the very fucking premise.

That the girl on the other end of the line is inches from the goalposts, fingering her cunt and sighing into the throes of her first orgasm - first ever, because you did this, you brought her this far - you're the fucking culprit, and no matter how many girls, or boys-pretending-to-be-girls, how many people have gotten off with the help of your voice, your instruction, this one sets a different fucking precedent.

You're not lying when you say, "I'm rock fucking hard, Ryujin," or "there's precum all over my knuckles, baby."

Because there is, and the poor thing chokes out another desperate sound when you tell her.)

"I'm right there, ah, fuck, keep going-"

"I've got my hand around my shaft, just enough that I can fuck it, can't I? The head is getting slick - baby - and my palm is gliding nice and easy. Are you cumming, Ryujin? You better be, you better be cumming right now."

There's a heaving gasp and she calls out for you, babbling curses and "please" and "fuck" in alternating succession, with enough punctuation for you to have to let your lip slip under the hard bite of your front teeth. "Don't stop," she tells you, voice thready.

"You need this so bad."

"Yes," she gasps. "How would you-"

"How would I fuck you?" you finish her thought.

She waits a moment, sucking in shallow breaths and then replying weakly, "I really like... I like doggy."

"On your knees?"

"Yeah," she stammers, "I like when, like- ah, like, pulling my hair."

"Fuck, I love that," you say into her mewling. "Splayed out with your tits against a pillow and getting your pretty, little pussy pounded? I bet that'd feel so good, huh? Hands so rough on your hips, on your throat, squeezing your neck so you'll turn pink. Just to see you smile, I'd probably fucking let you take whatever you want."

You're met with a broken moan, a long string of syllables ending on a note that has your shoulders clenching and cock jumping in your grip.

Tense over the things you can't see: Ryujin biting down into the side of her hand, the other knocking painfully against the wooden side rail on her mattress, her thighs tightening and screaming and clamping around her wrist as she pulls weaker, wilder whimpers out of her chest each time her fingers drag across her slit and the sensitive curve of her swollen clit. She's dying, she thinks, she's going to fucking die - the in and out of her soaked pussy, through all that sticky, satiny skin, slick fingers diving in, twisting until there's nowhere for them to go.

No other recourse than to fuck in, fuck, fuck, like that, fucking god.

There's heavy silence on the line for god knows how long - well, you have to check the log. But for her, it feels like fucking forever. That was - that was it. It's so fucking mind-wracking how good it was, she can't quite wrap her brain around it. Nowhere near. She thinks she'll have a better idea after two rounds, definitely by four. She'll buy something, use the discount, go shopping - an orgasm just to make sure she's not bullshitting herself.

You clear your throat.

She moves sluggishly, away from the side and against the headboard - the heat still unbearably oppressive, her t-shirt clinging and sticking. "That," she stumbles through the afterglow.

"Do I need to apologize to you?" you ask lightly.

"What? Oh god, no - no way. No way. I just."

"Yes?"

"Like I didn't know it was this-"

"Did you just cum, Ryujin?"

She's laying there with the phone pressed to her brow. A hand palmed over her own racing pulse. The faint smell of her own cunt lingering around her face.

"I don't know," she tells you, and promptly hangs up.

-

The darkness in Ryujin's bedroom is punctuated only by the faint, hazy light streaming in from the hall, and her bedroom fan making its creaking little circles, as she waits in her post-nut-high for her breathing to normalize. Her mind is buzzing, and out of all this, she has a hell of a bill and a couple conclusions:

She's a coward and a pervert, but definitely, definitely bisexual.

Or, like. She's in some weird gray area between not liking whenever anyone buys her drinks, but also the girls at least let her dance a little close. That's a strange thing, isn't it? For how often her mouth does stupid shit - you think at least someone would figure it out for her.

But you, oh fuck. You-

She's fucking shaken up, for sure.

-

(It's a home office set-up, actually.

Your desk isn't organized; you're sure the photos on the wall are askew and the paint looks slightly worse for wear if you were to turn the lights on - which you never really do. There's an aging lamp tucked into the back corner, a bottle of scotch next to your handset that's closer to halfway empty than halfway full, and you can't stop imagining it.

Promise, This never happens.

You've got the name stuck to the roof of your mouth even though you know it's fake. Stuck with something so painfully abstract. Imagining this girl that is probably as brash and bawdy as her voice, or more exciting than either - maybe her hair is long enough to brush along her breasts. Or maybe it hangs just over her shoulders. God knows just how that would frame her features.

You can see it, really. You pump a handful of coconut oil into your palm and the details solidify so easily in your head: her pretty mouth, nose, the dimples in her cheeks - eyes glazed and sultry and gazing at you.

Smelling sweet, all the places you need, skin hot, clit swollen-

Just- fuck. Fuck.

Ryujin, huh, imagine that.

Ryujin.

And you jerk off right into the soft embrace of a tissue.)

-

A little more than a week later:

Ryujin's all wrapped up on the couch, with an arm cushioning her head and watching TV when there's a sudden commotion from the front door. Yuna - her friend, her very nice, very male friend who never shows up after midnight unless there's a promise of sex - comes bumbling into the room.

He has no regard for boundaries.

So,

Yuna starts to say, smug, from where the hallway becomes the living room, "Ryujin - look at us. Stuck on a Friday night. You gotta boyfriend or something?"

She's completely unfazed by this interaction. She's pretty sure he has his own key, so like, he should be used to it by now too.

"Kind of." She shuts off the TV to turn her attention towards the topic at hand. "Why?"

Yuna runs a hand through all her long, silky hair and gestures her cock-du-jour on over to the door of her room. "Waiting for a call, maybe." She waggles her eyebrows. "Are you any good, I mean, you never seem to..."

Annoying brat. 

Ryujin smacks the back of her neck and interrupts, "you gonna fuck him? Go ahead and fuck him, Yuna." She checks the lock. The kitchen. Gets up and tries to ignore the heat flaring behind her ears.

"We could pretend," Yuna muses, tugging the waistband of Ryujin's shorts around her fingers before she's out of arm's reach. The elastic flips back into her waist with a dull snap.

"Dumb idea. That's a dumb, dumb idea," she reasons, because she knows Yuna has no self control. None, and it's showing; the second her shoulders sag forward and her eyes dart, craving, Ryujin steps back in. "Don't be stupid."

Yuna's lips are tilted, playful. Ryujin wants to smack that look right off her face. Like she fucking deserves any kind of victory just because she found out she can fuck anyone she wants while lacking the self-awareness to somehow be contented with anyone. She's not going to call her a slut - out of a matter of principle - but god, does she fucking want to.

"Gotta get ready, is what you should do," Ryujin mumbles under her breath.

"Fine." Yuna shrugs and pecks an annoying kiss to Ryujin's temple on her way to the shower, waving a hand over her head with a casual, "If you want something, you've only got a half-hour."

Ryujin pushes her hair out of her face and does what she does best: overanalyze and overthink the situation.

Whatever. Yuna won't give it up regardless, not in any way she'd actually be able to enjoy. Her cheeks go a little redder while she pretends to not be considering it.

God, a threesome in total functional harmony however: her working her mouth on Yeji (Ryujin doesn't know why she's thinking about Yeji, but she is), Yeji working her mouth on her boyfriend, her boyfriend working his mouth on her -

That'd be something, she thinks. Like one of those Escher diagrams, but one where everyone cums at the end.

The thought makes Ryujin wet enough to squeeze her thighs together and stand up a little straighter.

Then she hears the showerhead turn on, and she wonders just why, exactly, Yuna is such a spoiled asshole.

-

Turns out,

The universe just has this habit of providing Ryujin with what she wants right alongside everything she doesn't.

She’s stretched out in her sweats, sat up at the top of her bed again and touching herself beneath the sheet in a pointless attempt to contain the mess. Fucking horny - it's honestly unbelievable - and her left hand's making lecherous, slick noises until it's absolutely gross. Until Ryujin's gasping and panting and sweating from the nape of her neck and the back of her knees.

All because Yuna's the loudest little-fucking-whore of a roommate anyone has ever heard.

She's moaning like she's getting fucking plowed into the next life. And apparently, the cock she's got in her cunt is fucking huge if those little murmuring whimpers are anything to go on. She keeps begging the guy, coy, for a kiss while she's probably folded up like a lawn chair in there, getting railed, and the fact that the boy keeps obliging is as admirable as it is kind of insulting.

"Goddamn," she thinks out loud, because the walls are paper-fucking-thin. The apartments in the area are built in an earthquake-safe way, which in reality, means they can either withstand a magnitude 6.0 and come out without any severe structural damages - or that it's so cheaply constructed the building will go down like a matchbox house before it stands a chance against a tremor of any significance.

They're easier to replace that way she’s told. And Ryujin's apartment is definitely of the latter; she can hear everything.

The skin on skin, their bodies sliding together in the slippery sheets. Her mouth smacking wet around his tongue as he bucks forward and asks her to do a hundred filthy things, asking her where it feels best - that sort of thing, which gets her wound and agitated and frustrated, and fucking horny as fuck. Ryujin's bent-inward and panting when he really gets to work - the creaks and groans, their mingled pants and the constant thudding and swaying of the headboard smacking into the wall.

She doesn't even need to put her ear to the partition like she's sixteen years old all over again, hoping to catch her old brother going at it while her mom was out. Trying to figure out this whole sex thing - what all the fuss was about.

Just the way Ryujin sighs is nothing short of despondent. Slightly pitiful.

And every tight circle she's running over clit feels so fucking good, until she realizes the room goes real quiet for a bit. The stillness - no slapping, no movement, just wet, panted-breaths and muffled speech. She nearly asks aloud what's wrong - but she hears it: Yuna's hushed but totally undeniable,

"Been so long- don't, don't- hold up," she croons in these high, sing-song little huffs. "That - uhn, ah - that's my - that's my good spot, there, keep - yes, harder!"

Ryujin slams her eyes closed, dropping down onto the mattress and wishing she'd slipped her hands into her sweats sooner. Fuck. And as Yuna's back starts banging against the wall - so rhythmic and fucking thorough - Ryujin can feel the heat curling behind the backs of her knees, radiating along her calf and reaching into the smalls of her feet. Fuck. Fuck, she doesn't even get to watch.

Right there. So good, please, so fucking good, is what Ryujin can’t not hear coming right through the drywall.

She’s three knuckles deep in her pussy, all stretched out, and she's practically drooling - "spread me, baby. Hold the, fuck, spread my lips open. See me- unh. Ah - see me? Please, do it-" - the boy groaning about it as he fucks her, and then, Yuna, needling him with a quiet, breathy, "harder, can't you?"

The answer seems to make Yuna squirm and scream.

And Ryujin's nearly rolling - rocking, fucking humping her own fingers because it's starting to ache a little, a cramping in her wrist and arm and jaw that she's trying really hard to ignore, rubbing and fingering and fucking herself closer, the heels of her feet sinking hard against the sheets, throbbing and aching around the flicks of her knuckles, harder, faster - faster -

"Fucking hell-" she seethes and stops moving all at once - because god, Yuna is un-fucking-believable.

The absolute bitch, she's doing it again: squealing and cursing and calling his name into her orgasm and just basking, it sounds like, right in it. Because she always does this, every single fucking time, she acts like it's the best feeling in the fucking world and she fucking loves everything, and that shit just - Ryujin grits her teeth and grimaces and pulls her slick fingers from her body - that just ruins it.

All that build-up and for what?

Fuck, Yuna really has the nerve to go there too. She's talking about sucking her own damn cunt or some bullshit-

Yeah, it's not fucking fair, Ryujin concedes.

Or maybe she's being punished. She could live with that, but god. The unfairness of it all. She tries, for a half a minute, to let her throbbing stop being a goddamn nuisance. But the noises coming from the other room are making her crankier, more angry, more irate - and definitely hornier than she ever really intended, even though she knows Yuna is thoroughly distracted in there.

Ryujin sits up a little straighter. Squares her shoulders, steadies herself and fishes around in her pockets with her uncoordinated, cum-coated hands until she finds her wallet, a credit card, her cell -

And there's an aching, a sore pulse of neglect between her legs; that's all too much. A quick peek down confirms that, yep, she's practically dripped right out of her shorts and even gotten a dark spot in the front of them. How great is that.

Yuna is over there, all, "thank you - ah - can you please do me a favor and fuck my mouth with your big, big, huge, fucking cock-" and this guy, he sounds so patient, telling her how he wants to do exactly that, but he wants to fill her tiny pussy up first, fuck her here, fuck her there, fuck a baby right into her. Wants to get his cum all over her face, smear her mouth and her throat and her cheeks - 

Ryujin inhales through her nose and holds, eyes falling closed in something between misery and anguish.

He's telling her, yeah, of course he'll fill up her throat - give her so much it's leaking out of her fucking nose - and Yuna sounds like she's moaning and garbling an objection to that last part - but it doesn't actually fucking matter.

"Geez," is Ryujin's quiet, little gasped-out response. He just fucking pounds her right back into place; her next orgasm. Fuck-

And there it is: the slew of moans that start back up and just keep on keeping on.

Shin Ryujin is going to lose her fucking mind.

-

Ryujin only lasts a handful more days before she calls again.

It’s another Wednesday night, if only to increase the odds that you’re working. Yeah, she could go with another guy, but another guy might not do everything you did, talking quietly and calmly - so composed while Ryujin was losing some part of her sanity to the thumb she pressed on her clit. 

No, it has to be you.

That's what Ryujin makes herself say when the operator apologizes and explains you're busy.

"Will he be working much longer? Please, I, um-"

"If you give me your number," the operator tells her, "I can add him as a preferred associate. You'll get him next time instead of going to the line."

Ryujin pauses, finger held to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication isn't there, that maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some people do it already.

Oh god, this is kind of fucked up.

Maybe a little. Maybe.

Ryujin pauses, finger to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication, isn't there, or maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone you like-like for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some of things other people are undoubtedly doing with this service, Ryujin decides, and rattles off the digits so fast the operator asks for clarification.

"If your schedule doesn't open," the line says, "call back and leave a message with when."

Ryujin shrugs and says, "yeah, okay."

-

You make Ryujin sit through forty-five-fucking minutes of on-hold music - this barely audible synthetic noise that signals a connection is still there, truly a genre for no one - all before she just cuts the fucking line and lays down on the couch.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

Whatever.

-

(You are… going through the motions.

Some girl on the other line is barely holding it together; you can hear her thighs making slick noises. God. She sounds desperate, she's holding the phone all tight and saying your name. She's fucking babbling; it's not attractive, not while you're tilted back as far as your office chair will go and staring up in the ceiling.

You're bored, mostly.

"Please, please, I'm-"

"Going to cum, I know, princess." She asked you to call her that. "Mouth all open? Can't help it? Just need to lick it nice and fast?"

The answer comes all choppy: "I can't, ah, a-ah-nymore, no, I, can't, need-"

"Do you have any idea? How hard I'm fucking stroking my cock right now? Sitting right in my lap. Jerking it right for you," you say, and then she makes an embarrassingly wet noise, gasping through a choked whine, "so I'm ready to give you what you really fucking need."

"Yes," she chokes. "There - um, please, I just-"

"The biggest fucking load," you tell her. She has no idea, really, that you've got one hand on the receiver, the other just pinching the bridge of your nose - neither of which are you jerking the cum out of your cock and balls like a fucking hydrant as you’d described. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and you keep your face turned to the side as she starts screaming. As it starts running into one noise that lasts forever - so unbearable that, this time, you consider going out to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. "Need it deep. Let me pour it in, yeah?"

"Yes," she gasps again, heard on this distant frequency because, yes, yes, you've plugged your ear with a finger.

"That'll satisfy you. C'mon, now, princess - give it right up," you tell her, but your eyes are a little dull when her moan turns out all-gagging and twitchy and spasming through it, until finally:

"Ugh."

You wait a moment for the gasping and hitching to finish.

"Good girl," is your distant reply, followed by a polite, perfunctory, "call back anytime.")

-

Ryujin feels like she's in grade eleven again as she stares at her phone. Boys. Drama. Girls. The drama.

The overanalyzing, the wondering, the hesitating. Fuck. She wishes she knew a way to change this, because she doesn't feel particularly mature and is somehow reduced to this girl, this idiot sitting here all embarrassed and staring and moping about a thousand different calamities at once.

She's looking right at the lock screen: the wallpaper of her and Yeji and Chaeryeong out getting coffee on a random Sunday, all bundled up. Winter. Like three, four years ago, maybe.

Ryujin looks like shit, it's funny.

But Yeji -

How she can make the winter pallor look good is beyond Ryujin's understanding. It's unfair. All the things are. Her brain is back and forth and spinning, spinning like the hands on the old clock hung up on the wall in the kitchen. So stuck on what's not quite normal. Stuck on what doesn't fucking matter - who even fucking cares who the fuck she's attracted to?

She feels it between her legs.

Has been for like a month, or longer, without an outlet. Without anything to give her the hint that maybe she can get back to it - the right it.

She doesn't need to call, she tells herself. She's not some weirdo who's sitting on this for days just in the hopes that her boyfriend is having a bad week with work or whatever. It's only Wednesday, technically. Still way early. Just another few days, she reasons, another few hours - what does it matter?

Wednesday. She can feel the word settle inside of her.

Though only once her bottom lip is chewed to hell, does she pick up her phone and decide she will.

-

(You're in your bedroom this time around, finishing up your own weekday workout - on the bike, fifteen-second sprints - when your phone goes off. A simple dinging. Very unassuming.

The operator comes in with a cool, level, "line two, callback."

Then there's nothing but silence for a few beats.

You towel some of the sweat off your face. It's warm - your skin, flushed. Bouncing your phone in your palm. The same feeling that's been tugging at your throat for the past two weeks starts to flare and swell.

Not quite a hope, not quite expectation: just something close.

"Are they still there?"

The operator confirms. "Shall I put them through?")

-

Ryujin fumbles in her own rush of bravado, hands pressing against the fronts of her thighs in an unflattering, nervous little gesture as the connection clicks and picks up.

"This is him," comes your voice, a little husky and raspy from all the day-to-day talk, but even and easygoing and maybe - just maybe - something she can hang on to. Ryujin gives an acknowledging "Mmmn," like the phone call isn't causing her major inner-turmoil.

"Right, ah." You sound kind of, dare she say, nervous yourself. You clear your throat into the line and ask, "what brings you here, stranger?"

Ryujin pauses at this; the red in her ears reaches her fucking jaw. Stranger. Jesus christ, okay, okay-

She laughs. Stops immediately at how self-conscious she sounds. Clears her throat and tucks some of her hair back - settles herself into it like her life hangs in the balance. "I'm here to get my rocks off."

"It's not usually my place to say," you begin in earnest, "but if you're anything like me, and this is gonna sound completely off-the-cusp, but those two weeks really seem to build up, don't they?"

God.

She pulls her sock off her ankle. There's eczema on her heel, and it's the kind of thing she can imagine Yeji telling her to not scratch - that she's going to fuck up her skin. It's funny the stupid fucking things she can remember and all the things she forgets. Like just now, with your voice in her ear, a little unsure in a way that says you've got other, much more important things you should be doing. But you're here with her.

With Ryujin.

God. She might hate herself a little.

"Um," is how she finds her bearings. "Actually."

"It's a joke. Not that- I mean." She hears some rustling - assumes it's coming through the ear piece. There's an abrupt slamming on her side of the line and it seems like the worst kind of deja-fucking-vu. Her neighbors. She forgets it's even this late into the evening. That other people don't have to work so hard in their free-time.

"Maybe this isn't a good night," she says, not so much as thinking the words.

"What?" you ask. Then it dawns on you. "No, no. If you're there, I'm here." You clear your throat. "Besides, there's nobody I'd rather hear from than a woman so desperate she's signed onto my frequent flier's club."

She stops chewing the insides of her cheeks long enough to give you a tired, irritated sound. "Whatever."

And you nearly choke trying not to laugh.

"I don't, um-"

"What, do I have a nice voice?" You laugh quietly.

Under normal circumstances, that wry edge, the bit of try-hard-humor would have her rolling her fucking eyes clean out of their sockets. So when instead she opens her mouth and a fatal-fucked-flirty-feminine, stop, comes out, the vowel pulled long like a plea or a request - well, Ryujin's forehead drops against her bedspread in immediate regret.

You seem startled by it too, going quiet for a second.

"I-I'm-"

"Cute," you decide.

Her ears are red-hot and her cheeks have to be pinking and god, she hates this. That she's hearing this so soon, and it's making her brain hazy and soft and stuttering through, um's and yeah, well, um's. A part of her can't believe she's paying for this, and then, at the same time, she can't believe she's not actually putting cash down for more right this second.

Because it feels -

Like maybe -

Her shoulders rise. She wants this to be quick; she hates this feeling of embarrassment creeping its way in and grabbing onto her with both hands, like this weird, pseudo-affection. She's a grown fucking woman and here she is, letting all her guard down for someone she doesn't even fucking know.

You can feel the tension, hear it. Your lips purse. You try for something easy.

"Go on and give me the details, Ryujin."

Before you'd even picked up, she'd already half-undone her shirt, the flaps of the collar hanging loose with her hands gently petting her ribcage - so easily giving and pliant that there's a good portion of her, in spite of the doubt, in spite of what seems completely illogical about all this, that has her realizing maybe she wants this more than she can possibly understand.

God, she feels like a fucking fool.

"It's pretty boring."

"Not to me. I've spent the last few weeks talking to a bunch of assholes who don't appreciate what they got in the first place," you reply. She imagines you're a little playful about it. Wonders, momentarily, how good that smirk looks - if your eyebrows are lifting like you've been teasing her since day one. Fuck. 

“Your operator is a total asshole too, by the way."

"Don't say that," is Ryujin's shy reply, practically moaned out. "You sound like someone I'd absolutely fucking hate, jesus, stop that."

"Just because you don't get on with someone, doesn't mean they can't get you off."

"Smooth, or something."

"I'm taking a break, relaxing a little, enjoying an overrated TV show or whatever this is - not really minding my business," you say, but your smile is so audible it's fucking offensive. And she's - she's maybe, definitely into that. Like the fucking embarrassment in this is turning her on. Ryujin puts the tip of her finger in the waist of her shorts, experimentally, gently, this small brush and press to her sensitive lower stomach. And it's true. All she hears is her own breathing in the receiver, a bit labored over the slightest, least indecent touch. It's amazing, how much her body can want even when her head can't seem to catch up.

"What do you like?" she asks. “You’re a person, working bits and all, something’s gotta get you all worked up and flustered, no?”

"Will you believe me if I tell you this is my absolute favorite?"

"Do you always dodge the question?"

"It's just like a courtesy," you clarify, "it's not personal."

"Now I sound like a desperate pervert."

"On the contrary," is your warm, buttery reply, and it is fucking aggravating just how well this works on her. "I think there are much better things people can say about you."

God, that - the thought, the possibility of something about her that has nothing to do with how 'thick' or 'thin' her thighs are, or the silhouette of her ass in safety shorts, or how her voice makes guys want to ask if they can take her home and fuck the answers from her, or any of that; it's kind of liberating, just a tiny bit. That it can be a good thing for some reason. God.

Ryujin rubs herself. "Yeah, well."

She wants it all the same and says nothing, shifting a little until her hips tilt slightly upwards, letting her pull at the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the grip. She's already kind of feeling woozy in all the best ways, soft and feminine in how she slides her hand underneath her shorts. Over panties first, with no clear idea if you can tell and honestly, too distracted to wonder about that, if she should care or not, too caught up with her fingertips over the raised seam in her underwear - where the fabric's wet from her.

A shush comes into the line when Ryujin swallows.

The ache between her legs grows louder.

"You still there, Ryujin?"

"Of course," and then, she finds a little more reassured finality: "fuck, yeah, fuck. Please, I..."

"Ryujin," you say with all the calm and control in the world, "talk to me."

-

(So - truthfully, honestly, factually - you are a total wreck.

You're sitting there in a heap of bedsheets and a cold sweat when Ryujin finally mutters into the silence, "thanks, for that, I, uh- that felt really good, exactly what I needed," and hangs up before you can ask about her day or comment on the weather or suggest calling back tomorrow.

She is just perfect, the way she lets a small "I..." slip when she's close. Perfect, how she groans her little broken, satisfied sigh of a yes, her last, fleeting exhale just a sweet, high, barely there please, her body tensing with every little shudder and moan and pant. How the pace goes fast and then slow - like she's gotta think it out a second, her own fingers bringing her closer and closer until there's nothing but a flurry of movement and ragged breaths - an enthusiastic little mmph noise - followed by Ryujin's wet and slick little laugh that sounds like relief.

Like you did something to help, like she needed you and wanted you.

There's cum sticking all up your torso and along your wrist, the inside of your thigh - everywhere you could manage, frankly - and, shit, it's not fair, you realize:

She can find you, whenever she needs you.

And you -

You're just sitting here. Nowhere near sure she'll even call again.)

-

There's a sizable difference between being lonely and being alone, Ryujin thinks, running the cloth under the stream of the shower and then pressing it damp against her throat, wiping at the backs of her knees.

Lonely means that something's missing - it's something she feels when she catches a glance at the handsome arm reached around Chaeryeong's waist, the way she dances so close to someone she just met, or whenever she tells her that she's thinking about, maybe, probably, definitely, absolutely going home with him if her friends don't stop her from leaving. God, her smile is always so cute when he's near. When someone's calling her over for drinks - hips sashaying like she doesn't know the whole bar is staring at the creases where her thighs flare into her ass - because he gave her a look from across the room, and she's swaying from drink to drink.

Like, of course, they're fucking; it's a known, unsaid thing.

She knows it, he knows it. Chaeryeong fucking owns it.

Alone however, is just what it says on the tin.

That's something else Ryujin has yet to learn - that everyone loves differently, cares for different things. Yuna is still single after all, and she can never shake the feeling that it's simply to spite her for some perceived slight or another; Yuna can't live without company, no matter how brief or short or meaningless, so perhaps it's better she never catches on or finds anyone worth keeping around.

And Yeji?

Ryujin sighs, rakes the comb through her wet hair.

The showerhead is running hot between Ryujin's fingers, and the water coming off of her skin turns to steam instantly, filling the bathroom with a permanent cloud, stuck in flux - rising towards the ceiling. She passes her fingers under it, watches the flow, a quiet hm escaping the back of her throat - and she considers the way it feels beating against her throat and chest.

Down the concave curve of her stomach. How it burns red right over her thighs. The pressure slips and sinks low, lower - and when she puts a palm out for a little stability, her left leg can't help but buckle just so, lifting itself out and off to the side. So she stands, toes pointing against the shower floor, face first into her arm against the cool tile.

Ryujin sees where the rivulets of water have gathered above her clavicle - feels them trail down over the tightness in her breasts and between. A couple images pass through her mind at once - thoughts of fingers trailing a line back up the center of her body and a gentle tap against her chin, turning her face to some perfect all-consuming kiss - a hand squeezing at her calf, rubbing her muscles gently - Yeji smiling into the crook of her neck, the grasp on her hip, wrist flexing. Her back bowed and fingers, broad and experienced -

"Don't need you," Ryujin quietly says to nobody, which -

You're doing so well, Ryujin hears back in her imagination, you're so beautiful, you can keep this up, I know you can. I bet it feels good, doesn't it? Just let go and I'll...

Ryujin whimpers out. She can feel that line deep inside her going taut, buckling in her core, the reverberations down to her wrists and fingertips and toes. If she didn't have the wall in front of her, she knows she'd be on her knees - kneeling to the hot water pulsing around the knots of nerves right behind her clit. The pressure hitting her like the crack of a whip.

"Fuck me," she says to no one, gasping in that way you only can when no one is listening.

Yeji's smile is what's gotten her this close so many times, the smell of the ends of her hair tickling Ryujin's nose. Hell, she can't stop thinking about the way her nose crinkles or her dimples flare just when she finds Ryujin's name in her mouth.

It's not fair.

She's so close to cumming and letting whatever happens happen. The slick of her release pouring right out into the drain of the shower, washed away with the excess. So when her whole hand shifts and catches in just the right, delicious, frustrating way, Ryujin inhales so deep through the end of the sentence that, as a result, her knees wobble.

She feels like fucking crying.

It's that sweet little lilt in Yeji's voice, saying things like: "It's alright. I promise you can keep this up a little longer." And "Oh, god, baby." And, at worst, the way her voice shakes with a "come here, honey. Let me-"

Ryujin has to catch herself when her footing slips a little from under her. Then, your voice, coming in distant at first, grows louder, clearer. Into something catastrophic, right against her throat, like it knows the very inside-and-out of her, "go on. Fuck, please, cum all over me, baby - show me a face no one else gets to see."

And for the first time,

Ryujin gets herself off. Alone.

She moans and sighs out. Gasps, "there you go-" and whispers an, "ah, jesus." She manages the most silent, the least decipherable, fuck, as it leaves her mouth like a prayer. Her left knee twitches, body curling into itself, and her hand moves - fingers closing and her eyes clenched shut, a wave, cresting - she just-

Collapses.

Wanting: Yeji, sure - and she came - but the only thing she can really wrap her head around is the truth that she's so, utterly fucked.

-

"Are you sure there's no one you can bring?" Yeji asks in the middle of slapping the ever-loving shit out of a coffee maker that has, for as far as anyone can remember, never worked.

"Uh," is Ryujin's inconvenienced reaction, the tips of her fingers idly sorting through her credit card statements, which a more-sober, less-horny version of herself is a little out of sorts over. "I'm not sure there's anyone I'd want to bring."

"Uh huh," Yeji replies.

She pauses and rests the bottom edge of the coffee maker on the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping herself mid-smack - leaning away to try and give the stupid thing a once-over.

"Who the hell says it's got to be someone you wanna make babies with? Maybe it's just someone you'd think would look good beside you, smiling at the cameras with. Or."

"Or."

Yeji's lips tilt. "Or someone you wouldn't mind screwing in the bathroom."

Ryujin spins the pen in her fingers and gives Yeji a look that says back off and can you chill out already, in the sort of way it takes years to ferment - the silent understandings, the good-natured naggings, the good-fucking-luck-with-that-buddy's. Yeji knows she's getting on Ryujin's nerves. Knows that has never stopped her before.

"In my defense," Yeji clarifies, "I can count at least a hundred people that would crawl over broken glass to sleep with you and, uh-" She knocks the coffee maker off of its stand and holds it gingerly to her chest like some child, motherly. "-I don't wanna take a bullet for your unintentional chastity, Shin Ryujin."

"First of all, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor here," she replies. "Second-"

"Can't hurt just asking, right? I could set you up, you know, someone you've never even met - no pre-burnt bridges to maneuver."

There’s a world, and Ryujin imagines it for all of a second, where she stands up and grabs hold of Yeji by her cute little ponytail - if nothing else, just to stop the way it bounces every time she steps - and maybe, she also kisses her on the mouth so hard she stumbles. Or perhaps she could pull that ribbon free of its holdings and unravel it down against Yeji's jaw. Pull a whimper, a tiny little ah that says this was inevitable. Maybe they crash onto her bed. Maybe she gets her fingers sticky with how soaked through the cotton of Yeji's shorts have gotten in those short, heated moments - what a world that would be.

"One of what's-his-name's friends? I’m assuming."

Yeji looks annoyed and proud and beautiful; all at once.

"Yes, and what's-his-name's pillow talk is exceedingly whiny about how my best friend is so incredibly standoffish and abrasive and-"

"Okay. I'll go." Anything to stop the image of Yeji with the comforter pulled up to her tits and hair splayed all over the place; red and flushed. Her lips curling with the curve of the sheets and god -

"Just for an hour?" Ryujin asks.

Yeji finally places the coffee maker back onto its stand.

"I mean, nothing much happens an hour into a birthday party," Yeji reassures. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Trust me."

Ryujin wonders just how far Yeji could go - if she knows that she can snap her fingers together, and Ryujin will be there: ready to do anything.

-

Ryujin is trying to go to sleep, is how she'll explain it if anyone asks. Though she prays to god no one ever will.

She tries books. And she tries scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. And there's this one guy she kinda-sorta-dated's updates: photos of a vacation to Boracay, which seems nice; his chest is a little more defined, more chiseled than when she was seventeen and kind of fumbling her way around a college boy and his stupid fucking preoccupation with who should be paying for drinks at whatever run down establishment was his pick of the night. Ryujin makes a face at the screen, pursing her lips; there's a girl in the photo - she looks too young for how her ass is falling out the one-piece. To the extent that she makes sure to send an unsolicited meme she's tagged herself in - like "here is my past and here are his balls", and gets a block and a report as a thank you.

It makes her feel good. That's what's most important.

And then, with little other distraction and a decent lack of luck, she picks up the phone.

It rings for a while before the operator comes in and says, "You're at number nine."

"What?"

"The queue. This call has you at number nine."

Ryujin slowly leans up from the pillows and squints into her bedroom.

"Huh."

"Would you still like to be connected, miss?

Ryujin thinks it over for a moment. Of course you're popular, a part of her mind comments, because you've got a voice like gravel-slung honey-gold. She's imagining eight other girls just like her, laying in their bed, panties on their ankles and thumbs covered with spit. All desperate for you. All curled up - one right after the other - with no fucking idea.

"Miss," the operator comes back with.

The line goes quiet - a few beats, but not too uncomfortable a silence. Then she gets a soft little exhale out, saying, "can I leave a callback number?"

"If you like." The operator considers the idea. "I can’t promise whether he’ll call you.”

“No, yeah.” Ryujin curls an arm under her chest and plays a finger against the swell of her breast through her night shirt. Gets lost in her own consideration. “Don't think he would anyway."

-

A new day is defined by new possibilities, or something or another you read once stitched into a frame; Something you muse over the rim of your coffee, nose-deep in the laptop at the kitchen counter top.

Last night ended a bit unexpectedly - this not considering the couple's awkward fight which took up two-thirds of the evening. Or the girlfriend-slash-fiancée of that guy, which somehow led you to wonder just how old was too old. But as you were logging your final client session of the night a ping came through the employee portal and let you know that someone had left their number with the operator in the hopes you'd call.

You swig back the rest of your coffee, roll your shoulders and shrug. Oh, there are at least a million reasons not to call a number that randomly, offhandedly arrives in the middle of the night and gets patched through a phonesex hot line under the cover of darkness.

The same number could be out there, defacing the wall of a truck stop bathroom, or inked into the skin of a squat prison convict who's got a brow like the horizon. Maybe, it belongs to that married business man that took your personal phone number as his private line and spent all the time bragging how he was going to quit his wife and make a run for it with you - just you - even though you'd rather stab him with a fork than be involved with that kind of psychopathy and are honestly just looking for that extra bump in commissions every time his wife calls to ask the exact same thing.

Your clients call. You talk.

You take the cash.

The point is: there's more fucking deviants out there than there are stars in the sky. You would know; you talk to a new handful every goddamn day.

Yet it doesn't really matter. You're gonna do it. Because you're feeling restless. Because - and it sounds insane - there's at least some probability, no matter how remote, that you will pick up that receiver and punch in a number and the line will connect with the girl who's been on your mind almost constantly for the better half of two months. That you might listen to the dial tone turn into her answering with a genuinely indifferent, "this is Ryujin," or whatever her name actually is -

You're living in a pipe dream. You're probably reaching, actually. And all you know about this woman, is, what? What does it really, factually, truly amount to, the amount you feel you've come to know about her.

You know more about how she prefers to methodically, meticulously begin, then draw out, and finally end a blowjob to someone that ain't you than you do about any detail in her life story, frankly. You're reaching, and you know it.

You pick up the phone and dial.

-

(It goes straight to voicemail, and get this: that’s her real fucking name.)

-

Yuna has the audacity to ask, as she slides into the booth, "who do you keep texting?"

Ryujin's eyebrow arches.

The younger girl nods towards where Ryujin's thumbs are practically flying over the keyboard.

"No one." Ryujin puts the phone on her lap and crosses her arms over her chest. Then the words seem to echo through the inside of her skull, so she shakes her head a little, in emphasis. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She's right though - and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why it's hard to answer.

Chaeryeong washes the shot of whisky down with a swallow of lemon-lime. Her eyes slide open to Ryujin as she wipes at her bottom lip. Then she spikes a finger into Ryujin's ribs.

"Spill."

It's a dangerous order, and she doesn't realize it at first. Chaeryeong's bad ideas have an annoying habit of flinging themselves on Ryujin, like a bomb dropped at low altitude - sudden, quick, and more than enough to shake everything up. Chaeryeong will make Ryujin go out dancing - and then she'll lose her clutch purse. Chaeryeong will remember she started the evening with a scarf - so they need to walk out a whole block or two to find it.

More importantly: Chaeryeong is not a great drunk.

So, of course she spills. She relays her findings, carefully and as deliberately as she can muster.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Chaeryeong asks.

"It's kind of deep?”

Chaeryeong snorts. Apologizes immediately.

"Not... deep. Sultry. I guess. Smooth, easy to hear." Ryujin tells the two across the table.

Yuna whistles low. "Romantic as shit."

“Fuck, I don’t know. In, like a sexy sort of way." Ryujin raises both palms in a vague gesture. She clears her throat at the two pairs of eyes staring back at her as though the words coming out of her mouth belonged to a foreign language. "Uh. Sort of raspy, or something, sometimes, like he's... on the phone a lot, and you know," Ryujin flushes, suddenly caught and wondering where all the confidence went, "yeah."

Yuna's leaning forward, chin in her palm. "I'm having a hard time believing texting is a sort of standard operating procedure."

"Well try a little harder," Ryujin snaps, eyes finding Yuna's and making herself fucking clear.

Chaeryeong has this look about her, she's trying to keep it all in, but then there's her eyes, cinched at the corners and dead-fucking-giveaways. She puts an arm against the table and points at Ryujin with an up-reaching thumb. "This is the cutest shit, like ever, and you two are texting like actual lovers instead of two, apparently rando-stranger fuck buddies, or whatever."

Yuna - for whatever reason - feels at liberty to throw gasoline on the fire. "Does that mean you think he's going to get jealous if you bring some dude along to Lia's birthday?"

Ryujin sucks in a breath; the fact that he'd never - well.

"Ryujin's in love," Yuna adds for dramatic effect, for the sake of being the worst fucking person. She can be so fucking petty. It's a side of her no one ever sees, because she's just so sweet all the time. Like right now, she's doing that smile-smirk thing that gets Chaeryeong giggling against her hand and then coughing into it a second later.

"Jesus christ," Ryujin starts gathering her jacket and purse. "He's- not- this is- God, I'm done." She slips her shoulder under the strap. "Thanks for listening to me sound like a teenager."

"Isn't that just normal for you," Yuna quips back, pulling at her straw until there's only air rushing through the bend of it. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Ryujin says as if it's obvious, as well as her point, the argument she's trying to make. "Besides, Yeji is gonna want me to get my dress and shit all sorted out."

"Don't fall in love with one of the robot voices at the cross-walk on your way home, or anything!" Yuna laughs out, giving a flippant wave goodbye.

Ryujin lets her eyes roll because sometimes, she hates her friends.

-

It still throws you for a loop whenever Ryujin pings your phone with a text that says something like:

have you jerked yourself off to exhaustion or is there one more in you for someone like me?

Or,

my roommate is getting pounded through the springs of her mattress, wanna see if you can hear it?

Or,

are you free? I really fucking need to cum. bad.

Each text is something you tuck into yourself. Save and mark and spend all your time in those long-form responses imagining how her face looked when her brain typed out the words for you. You wonder if she's sighing through her fingers or hiding her lips behind a pillow while the heat coils in the pits of her hips.

As time goes by, Ryujin slips a little more. From one text about whatever book or series she was rereading last and another about the sadism of politicians and how people are more likely to agree with what they've heard someone else say than the facts of a given subject, to texts with a few scattered thoughts to strings of sexting that has you cumming into the palm of your hand and through your sheets and in the middle of a dream in which there's no clothes and a pretty fucking filthy proposition.

"How have you been lately," you decide, and consider, briefly, the very strong likelihood this call is gonna send her right through the goddamn roof.

When Ryujin eventually finds herself able to get out: "fine," there's a tell-tale pause, then an even longer pause, that implies she'd definitely rather say anything else. Then she kind of stutters a, "pretty good. Not too bad. All that stuff, I suppose."

And not to say any part of this has felt like routine. Both of you breathing into the end of a telephone and letting your eyes clench tight while you cum all over yourself - imagining everything she told you she wanted you to do to her, how it'd all go: "fucking with my arms grappled behind my back," she'd hum, "head pushed into the bedsheets, you're smothering me, ah- I'd let you cum wherever the fuck you like, but please-" or maybe a bit simpler: "so my thighs are straddling your face?" is about the gist.

A second goes by, another, a third.

"Hang on," you end up having to tell her sometimes, "I need a fucking towel-"

"You really are, huh, jerking off with me- I get you that hot, is what you're telling me? Or is just too much imagining how you'd fuck your way right into my guts through my pretty little pussy? Ah, jesus," the cadence of her voice climbs high before ending up back where it belongs, "Jesus, fuck."

"Can you imagine," is how it'd start, "how good it'd feel? My pussy, or- anywhere, everywhere. I think you'd ruin me for anyone else - you- with how, god-"

You can hear Ryujin shift on the sheets, licking at her bottom lip. Silently cumming. Cumming for you.

"Okay."

"Okay what," Ryujin quietly says back.

The gears turning.

You press your hand into the side of your neck. "Fuck me. Now, in a second. Tell me the last fucking thing in the world you want me to be or do and-"

"Wait."

There's this half-breath. This hmm that almost trips off Ryujin's tongue. Her eyes squinting open to a new thought. You think she's about to be sly. About to surprise you with an offhand fuck yes I'd ride that face like a bus seat; that she might come back with, yes I'll put you right in the middle of the best part of me, god you'll love it, and I promise not to make you cum if you're nice enough not to let your hands wander. But.

It's funny how things are -

"I have a confession," she says, matter-of-factly.

That's not entirely unusual. You've had more of those come through your line in a year than a confessional grate might get in a lifetime. So it doesn't sound like something special to you; Ryujin and you are in this candid don't-ask-don't-tell in regards to payments and the exchange of goods and services, but here you are, still using lines and bits. Practiced.

"In the name of the father, and of the son, and-"

"Funny." Ryujin gets the hint to backtrack. "Uhm, I mean. Remember the roommate I was telling you about?"

You hum a, "maybe."

"Uh," and now the hushed voice from her throat sounds distant, suddenly out of the scope of the receiver, "can I be totally, honestly- just really, extremely honest here, are you- or?"

You stop thinking about the ebbs and flows of her voice, how it dips down then arches up a little. Because now her voice has become something that is nervous, bordering on uneasy. So you stop, take stock and hold on. You weren't expecting a voice of worry or tension, or not at least while she wasn't thrown back into her bed and rubbing furiously at the ache between her legs.

"Yeah, of course," you offer her up.

"This is so embarrassing," she's saying, and some part of you feels ready to sink - you haven't the faintest idea for what, but there is something. Your chest clenches.

You can't help the worry and reply: "Okay, um. I mean- yeah. Me too, I can admit I feel a bit- and you can, y'know, be a little-"

"I'm not straight," she says finally, with a little quiver of her voice right at the tail end.

A blink comes, another - there's nothing coming out of you and you have no idea why that should be at all difficult, so the silence grows long. A new sort of awkward; the kind that you find out isn't just the rush of cum cooling in a pair of sweat-damp underwear. No - this is embarrassment, the kind that taints you.

"What?" You exhale a strained laugh, almost too-bright. "Are you- is this some sort of-?"

"Nope, no, this is crazy, sorry." She laughs. "Sorry."

"You certainly had me fooled." You sit up straighter in your bed, resting elbows on your knees. The moon is filtering through the windowsill and bathing the room in blue - casting light all the wrong ways. Making your own heart beat just a little too fast. "Fuck, um. Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds uncharacteristically soft.

"What are you into?" and you as soon as you ask, you're laughing - because you've heard Ryujin wax lyrical for weeks, pontificate about every manner and way she'd take a cock between her hands, lips, fingers. Every. Single. Place, she wants one in - and now you can't believe this is what you went with: "I mean, like girls?"

"It's probably safe to assume I have some, y'know- degree of- yeah."

You chuckle a bit. The stiffness in your shoulders settling out.

"I've been in love, I realize - boy, with my roommate - for a while."

It's said with a sad laugh - as if this were a little shameful. Some deep, dark secret no one could ever be privy to; some stain on her soul that might wash out only after one final scrubbing with dish detergent and the cruelest bristles. A thing that keeps her up at night -

“Not the roommate, by the way, who we listen to get fucking railed like she’s on-demand pornography every weekend. Just to be clear."

"Good, jesus, that'd be fucking something."

Ryujin sounds more cheerful when her voice comes back through the line, "right?"

You wipe the perspiration of your top lip. You laugh nervously at this girl admitting to being in love over the phone - a stranger, truly, in all ways - to some fucked up audio-fetish sex line personality. And now - the fuck's wrong with you?

"Are you mad?" she asks, and some part of you is wrung. A small string of tension twisting so hard inside your gut, you're losing touch.

"No," you let her know. "No, not at all."

And that is honest. This is honest. There's this itching little scratch all over the insides of your skin that seems intent on driving a fucking wedge. Right at the center of your chest, tearing you apart. It feels as you've lost - not an object, not a material. Not an idea, nor a concept - but a feeling, that for once, was distinctly, overwhelmingly yours, without your wanting, or permission, or comprehension.

Ryujin sighs, this elongated relief coming in. She sinks back against the headboard.

She tells you everything. How Yeji smiles, and it's like the whole fucking room has gone up in lights, just from her and her alone. How there is nothing that she'd rather spend all her days around. She talks and you sit there, silent and listening. She talks about her. Her name and everything Yeji does and everything she wants.

The more you listen, you realize it's all real; she's not confused, or mistaken, or out to play a game or convince herself of something she believes is inherently untrue. She's not frustrated, or longing. She doesn't have this stomach-rolling pit of anxiety digging a cavern at her center because she just can't go through the rest of her life, living a life like everyone else. Not ever.

Because, all you really notice is-

She loves Yeji. The quiet kind. And she's sitting there, legs curled under her ass, crying. Not sad, or frightened, or wounded, just this beautiful sort of awed: it's the kind that only someone who is too inexperienced at crying should have. Where you just-

Look away.

"I'm not taking my phone into the bath with me," is the last thing she says to you, tears flooding out in her last couple words, before you can only offer her a meek: "anytime, Ryujin, I'm here."

-

(Four, five weeks go by in the blink of an eye. A month where you figure it's best to let her text or call or make it clear she wants your voice.

She never does.)

-

Lia is taking her sweet time to apply concealer over the cut Ryujin earned herself trying to get a stupid thing off a shelf - that's how low and unreasonable her tolerance for anything mildly inconvenient is.

"That fucking hurts," Ryujin tells her, wincing.

Lia ignores her.

She keeps on dabbing at the spot on her temple with the makeup brush until there isn't any trace of bruising, or where the jagged scar of a cut ends and skin begins, not anymore. At this point, she has gotten better, has developed a kind of surgeon's eye: zeroing in and unblinking, until every inch of damage is looking like Ryujin did when she was brought into this world -

(which is not perfect, but what it ought to look like, all things considered.)

Lia holds her hands in place on either side of Ryujin's head. "Stay."

It takes less than five minutes, and during those, Yuna just offers from around the bathroom door, "Ryujin, sweetheart, you’re looking hot tonight."

There's nothing more Ryujin wants to do than set the girl straight - the girl can't not keep a chirp to herself, for once in her fucking life. Because this flimsy slip of a dress around her middle feels too tight, the air choked out of her lungs if she shifts her weight onto the wrong foot. The hem rides way too fucking high up her thighs. So, if anyone didn't want a good long look at her ass tonight, they better come up with a plan B if she has to so much as approach a staircase.

"Have I ever not," she bites.

Yuna snorts.

And luckily for Ryujin, Lia feels the same way:

"Yuna, would it kill you to find something productive to do with your time?"

Yuna opens her mouth like she has something to say (she usually does) before retreating further away, the edge of her hair disappearing around the doorway. Then Ryujin's grinning - eyes taking in how Lia glowers a bit back, silently judging the stupidity in Ryujin's expression and also, admiring how good the girl looks. "Not bad, though, really."

Lia tells her with an underhanded wave of the brush and a wink: "historically, you do always get laid on my birthday, remember?"

Ryujin jerks a little, and the scar above her eye throbs into Lia's thumb. "Thanks?"

-

The party is miserable, but it's not Lia's fault. It's not really Yeji's fault either. They tried, that's really all she can say for them - her and her permanent-plus-one whose face Ryujin wants to both claw at and kiss until it’s swollen-

What she really can't wrap her mind around, though, is the guy sitting right fucking beside her. The idiot.

"Really, I'm telling you," her date - who is about 3.5 out of five stars at best and not so much handsome or hot as he is 'okay in a pinch' - grins up at her with the smarmiest of smiles, "if you'd just have taken me up on dinner, I would've spent all our time talking about you. We’d figure out how to enjoy ourselves."

"Likely story."

This fuckwad has the absolute goddamn gall to look wounded when his arm starts circling its way around the space where her dress is suffocating her at the waist, and Ryujin starts to shimmy her way out of hot water - again. God, she thinks, god save me-

"I think," she manages with a stilted grin, "I'm going to make myself useful- drinks, no?"

When he leans forward to grab her hand, it's only so she doesn't leave.

"You're not going to ask for my order?" he presses. The only reason Ryujin hasn't knocked out a couple of his front teeth is because Lia would be the one hearing Yeji whine about cleaning up the fucking mess.

"Just scotch. Neat."

Ryujin's a natural when it comes to smiling fake; it's part of her goddamned job. "Of course," she says, like she's not absolutely loathing him.

"Try the oakier, single-barrel variety, alright," he explains, because what's hotter than a man who's an expert in alcohol and being an insufferable tool? Nothing of course. She hopes he knocks back a few too many and his liver explodes - the painless way out. If god would ever fucking allow it.

She barely manages a half-strangled laugh over the blare of the music before he finally releases her wrist. 

The absolute fucking prick.

-

Here's something Ryujin never thought she'd come to appreciate:

Being alone.

It's just her and the breeze through the open doors of the rooftop garden, which is something every bit as refreshing as it is teeth-chatteringly cold. The wind picks up in gusts and billows, until it starts nipping up the fabric around her knees, like it's any one of the drunk, stumbling guests milling about and looking for a noncommittal lay.

Her left foot slips a step outwards, the uncomfortably tall heel bouncing on the edge of her toe and tapping a tune against the brick. Ryujin slouches on the railing that encapsulates the entire terrace, arms pressed over it, hands folded one-over the other - letting the night sky caress her bare shoulders with its wind-brushed kisses. This, is okay. It's better.

Maybe not ideal, but better.

And all it really took was a few fucking moments where she isn't smiling with pursed, stressed lips; where the pressure in her jaw finally settles out enough for the knot in the back of her teeth to fall loose and for her mouth to actually feel, y'know - good.

Not forced, is what. Not fake, or not real, or whatever-

Ryujin almost fishes her phone from her clutch. Almost. Almost texts to tell you that: this fucking night, like all the others in the past month or two or year, has left her feeling particularly done for, and yeah, no, it isn't helping that she'd take whatever would be the alternative if it meant a face like yours came in handy to lean against, or your shoulder or thigh to use. Like some pillow - that's all.

And you are, like. An option. But not, she sighs out, exactly the right one.

An errant chill shudders through her and down her spine.

"Shin Ryujin."

She'd recognize the tilt of that voice anywhere; even if her ears were pounding and her head filled with static and noise, she'd be able to place Yeji at the end of the world. The truth is easy to see, if only Yeji knew where to look: the corners of Ryujin's eyes screw up tight for a second, an immeasurably long time, in order to not do what they wanted. What it would mean.

She does anyway. "I'd hug you," Ryujin throws behind her with an airy sigh, "but I know where you've been."

Yeji's jaw has set at this point; a twist is still in her lip and she lets out this dry, half-laugh, half-not sound - which is the thing that drives Ryujin a little crazy. Yeji turns her attention from the concrete ground, to Ryujin's profile, her body leaning forward, toes tipping in: "sometimes I wonder if my partner in crime can breathe without saying something incendiary."

"Nope." Ryujin offers no further response or follow-up. Instead, the quiet gush of air makes itself the center of attention and a victim of silence.

"Sorry about-"

"Don't be. Don't give it a second thought." Ryujin stretches, leaning a little over the railing. Her fingers arch before her. Her words sounding the slightest bit cold, "can't win 'em all, right?"

Yeji's eyebrows pull together. "That's not how this was supposed-"

"God, Yeji." Ryujin smiles. Yeji hates that she never knows what that means. "I'm trying, really, I am, but you know - I really, I have tried my best, so can we just lay it to rest?"

Yeji leans over the railing - the fucking moon reflecting in these lustrous pools where her eyes go darker than night - and doesn't say anything for the longest moment. Ryujin chews her tongue, and tries to look as interested in the void of stars and night clouds as possible.

"Fuck's going on with you, lately?"

Ryujin just laughs back.

"Really," and the last word dips in a groan. It's almost childishly tragic how petulantly she insists, "talk to me."

But Ryujin has nothing else to say - no witty, scathing remarks. No deadpan observations or funny asides, not even a morose comment to throw back. There are times and moments and fucking periods of her day where she'd happily chew glass if it meant that Yeji would sit there a second longer, be beside her for a while and smile, just smile at only her, once - for once.

Her only response is the worst kind of lie, this soft: "really nothing."

The moment where it slips and hangs between them, when it lingers the longest -

She could reach out, a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, if she could only reach. And Yeji, she'd listen to her, for once. She'd really, genuinely hear what Ryujin says; like she can see it, plain as day, everything there's in Ryujin's eyes, the thoughts inside her head, written on her goddamn face and across the open night air in neon:

I love you. I'm in love with you, you're too close to me.

The seconds pass. They tick, they stretch and grow thin. Yeji looks at Ryujin expectantly, and Ryujin knows. It is something like being put on the spot and called in. Something like a long, pained whimper caught somewhere in her throat.

She is very much still, unmoving, and feeling nothing at all.

Maybe she can blame the alcohol, the dark, the series of events that saw her hiding away behind a bunch of decorative trees and fighting for breath where the wind blows a little cooler. She can pretend like the stars aren't absent above her, and it doesn't hurt a goddamn bit.

“Yeji, I-” She licks at her lip, ready, willing-

Ryujin grabs at her waist with a hand. Her knuckles white around the black of the railing. And with no further fanfare, she spits it out like venom, with no small measure of shame or guilt or worry for how Yeji will take it - or worse: how she herself would react in the wake of admitting it aloud -

“I love you,” Ryujin says, and it pops out of her mouth as neatly as it had the first thousand times practicing alone in her car.

A blink, and another. The look on Yeji's face is hard and blank, as if she'd understood every syllable, but didn't hear it at all - maybe. Her gaze drops, it trails a path along the long line of Ryujin's pale neck. Of the two ways it could ever go in her head, stuck on loop for as long as she can remember, Ryujin had never considered that Yeji might turn this still and vacant. A sudden feeling, a pull or a grip, starts in the lowest part of Ryujin's guts.

"And not-," she hears her own voice falter, "like-"

Then - it's on the back of Ryujin's head and in her hair, a hand curled at the base of her skull and pulling her head a little downward and her, until their foreheads meet. And before she has a chance to walk it back - to stuff it down where it came from and seal the bottle tight - before she can clench her eyes, shake her head, and spit out anything else like the fact that there was not much that had to change, between them -

Yeji just says plainly: "Yeah, hun. Love you too."

And it's shockingly, the most painful thing - that she just squeezes her hand and pats her back like it's all they could ever be. Without even the wherewithal to reject her properly; to tell her something like "don't ever say that again, god," or "oh shit- Ryujin. Sorry. So, no," or at least to spit back with a scathing laugh: "welcome to the fucking party," like what she always does.

"Yeah." Yeji clears her throat quietly and starts retreating back from the brink - with no apparent aim but to pull away as she draws herself away from the warmth of Ryujin's space, "uh, don't forget to say hello to some of the staffers before they go home, okay?"

Ryujin is left with nothing but the air that follows Yeji's outline; left with her heart sinking into the depths of the night; left trying to make sense of the bitter sting ripping her chest in two.

Left with her own hopelessness - the pining - when Yeji walks away.

To be lonely, to be alone; neither are the same. 

And she hates knowing she is so incredibly both.

-

The worst part is she knows how it looks.

Her pace just on the verge of unsteady, the way her feet come up from the ground: Left foot, the right. The other. Back and back and forth again, faster and then slower and- fuck.

A damsel, severely distressed.

She sits down on the curb. She wants to cry, but even just the way she looks, carrying her heels and struggling with this fucking dress she wishes she'd never bothered with at all - oh, the tabloids would be sure every detail gets pinned under all the wrong lights. A breakdown would only serve to confirm all the right things; it would paint a story for anyone who cares enough to glean from her crestfallen posture and red cheeks that she is yes, a little broken, and that everyone wants to be loved and she's no different - and -

She sucks a breath. This time, when her tears fall, it's a quick, perfunctory action, no show in it.

Her palms rub her face - and she wipes, and wipes, and wipes - smearing at the foundation under her eyes before she takes a long drag of night air. Deep from her core, filling up her lungs until she can't hold anymore. Until it hurts and stings the backs of her ribs - it's enough for a single, fleeting moment. The street is mostly empty; an occasional car will speed by every now and then and it's those few and far between intervals that hurt most, that nearly shatter her: if she can barely do this, alone, how can she possibly be enough for anyone?

Ryujin’s smiling only to hold back her tears, and it fucking stings. She flicks hurriedly past the lock screen of her phone and swipes through the message stream with blurry eyes - there’s a whole host of people that want to know where the fuck she went, if she's safe, why she up and vanished the moment Yeji couldn't keep an eye on her. And well. The girl sighs.

Finds your name in her contacts and puts her thumb right beside it.

It rings exactly three times, and she hates the number. She hates how many things can be associated with that number in those seconds alone.

Four, the pause where you must have had the opportunity, but didn't decide to pick up - just leave it be. Then five - Ryujin is definitely no longer looking forward to any of this.

Six: it stops.

There's this crackle, and through the night -

"Just what brings you here, stranger?"

For an indistinct amount of time, Ryujin drifts in the whirlpool current of that question; it sinks her deeper, into the currents of your voice and the tone and what it's suggesting and demanding from her. All the things your voice is giving her permission to ask of and with and-

Until finally she answers back: "do you ever just, like, wish," a shallow pause for the hitch in her breath, "something, someone was a little more for you- or to- with you-"

The swell of a smile through the receiver; and you can't help your laugh, soft.

"Sometimes," is what you say, "that's just human, don't you think?"

She doesn't understand how something like love or life or desire should be a universal trait.

"Uh, maybe," she shrugs out, and thinks.

"It's pretty normal," you tell her.

Quiet, as if you were right in front of her.

"Look," you start, and you can hear how she sniffs her nose and swipes the pad of her hand right along the side of it, to catch anything stupid and stupid sounding leaking down to her upper lip. "You don't have to. Let's just hang out. Tell me anything."

And for once, she does.

She talks.

-

(The whole story.

From the first time Ryujin realizes the world is never going to be fair - that she shouldn't have to look at herself like she's unlovable because she's seen her friends be held as though they are - or at Yeji like she's completely unattainable or somehow, unlovable, and that someone as amazing as Yeji should have been loved from the moment she was born.

The rest comes through as fragments: the truth of her career. Yeji.

The balcony, the breeze, the bitter-fucking-disappointment.

And what came of that -

When Ryujin isn't a million and one words per minute, it feels, almost, it feels - she'd swear there was less noise in her own head: this thrumming in her brain has settled out; the walls around her and the echo coming off of them - the booming and pulsing - it's, gone.

Because even though there was an indistinct shape for where she had landed, in the aftermath, and nothing much had changed - all that did. You listen, and that alone makes it so you're both exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if this, tonight - you are unsure, if it will actually fix anything - if anything needs fixing at all.)

[yumeka-sxf]

My thoughts on Spy x Family: EYES ONLY Guidebook (English ver) - part 1

I finished reading through my copy of the English version of the SxF manga guidebook "EYES ONLY." There's tons of fantastic information about the series, but I wanted to share my thoughts/commentary on parts that were the most interesting to me. Since there's so much content to cover, I'll be dividing it into a few different posts. Also, rather than go in the order of the book's sections, I decided to group the content based on topic. This first post will cover Endo's comments about the characters individually, as well as information about Garden.

Endo's Q&As and comments about the characters

Loid:

I like that Endo provides a reason for why Loid wears a WISE logo pin as it's something more than one fan of the series has questioned! And I totally agree with Lin about his "lack of distinctive features." Compared to so many other anime characters, especially shonen main characters, Loid's design is so plain, particularly in his hair and clothes. At least in his spy outfit he has a gun to make him a little flashier, but when he's in his casual clothes, he literally just looks like "some guy," haha. But that also makes sense for his character.

I love how Endo gave specific numbers for comparing Loid and Yor's strength (Yor: 10, Loid: 6-7)

Anya:

I did notice what Endo is talking about how Anya's design changed over time. But that can be said for all the characters really, and it's definitely not uncommon for manga-ka's styles to evolve as they get a better feel for their characters and world.

He mentions the classical language thing that was also brought up in chapter 42. Definitely makes me think that will somehow tie into her backstory.

Speaking of Anya's backstory, there was this little excerpt about the researchers at the lab. So one thing we can say for sure about her past is that she was not treated well there at all (which has been hinted at in the series).

Endo also discussed the origin of Anya's pink hair (namely, there really isn't any origin, lol).

Yor:

Interesting that he spent the most time designing Yor, and also about the origin of her stilettoes. And his apology to the cosplayers for that bonus feature about Yor's hair, haha.

I had to chuckle when he said they can't measure her strength because she keeps breaking the instruments! Also the fact that she hasn't learned how to make a single successful meal since the stew…Endo is such a savage sometimes, lol. But keep in mind that this book was originally published over a year ago, and obviously we know from recent chapters that her cooking is improving. I also like that he mentions that she has left witnesses to her work, like in Extra Mission 2. I wonder if that will be a bigger plot point somewhere down the line.

Like Anya having pink hair, Endo expresses some regret about making Yor an assassin (but his laugh makes it clear he's not terribly hung up about it!)

Bond:

I know some people are bothered by the fact that Yor is Bond's least favorite. But I think Bond's (initial) dislike for her originated from the chapter where he assumes he would have died from her cooking. Also the fact that Anya put the idea in his head that she would "murder" him if he did something she didn't like, like shun her food (which is obviously heavily exaggerated). But again, this book was published over a year ago, and the most recent chapter revealed that he definitely doesn't dislike her even if she's not his favorite. It's perfectly normal for pets to have family members they prefer over others for whatever reason.

Franky:

I love that Franky does charity work. I hope we'll see that in a future chapter.

Fiona:

It's interesting that he ranks Fiona's combat ability so low, especially when you consider what she did to Wheeler in the recent arc. But to me, that wasn't so much a display of combat prowess as it was totally raw, uninhibited willpower.

Yuri:

I love his blunt answer about whether Yuri has other interests besides Yor. Also intriguing that he mentions Nightfall when discussing Yuri's combat ability…maybe those two will meet eventually?

Information about Garden

Since Garden is still such a mysterious entity in the SxF universe, I tried to gather everything about them that the book mentions.

It's interesting that Yor sees Shopkeeper as her mentor since he taught her survival skills in her youth. The book also raises the question about how Yor found Garden in the first place…maybe something Endo will expand on in the future?

So the information Franky gives us about Garden is exaggerated? Gah, that just makes them even more mysterious!

The above was a cool bit of trivia...so it seems like the secret police might know more about Garden than WISE. Perhaps Yuri will find out about Yor's real identity before Twilight?

Continue to Part 2 ->

[worriedvision]

A romance with no romance - Sunday

Gender neutral reader, readers good friends with Robin here and they've had a big crush on Sunday, knowing he doesn't like them back. Angst lol, includes heavy spoilers from the most recent trailblazer quest (inspired by it tbh!)

--

You were a fellow singer, and you landed up meeting Robin and Sunday at the same time. It wasn't even related to your work, and at that point you were an upcoming vocalist. You didn't have a good time that day, your mentor seemingly disappointed that you couldn't find the confidence to wear an outfit too revealing to 'accentuate your voice'. Robin invited you to join the both of them, which you accept, and you start talking to the both of them.

Truth be told, Robin was such a lovely person to speak to. Free from the singing conversation, just talking as if you were just normal people. You didn't speak that much to Sunday, he seemed more reserved. It was when you saw him and Robin interacting that you foolishly fell in love. While he was embarrassed to say it out loud, you could feel how much he loved hearing Robin's performances. It made you want to strive to get an ounce of that attention, starved of positive attention in your pursuit for a successful career.

"Robin, I want to get better with my singing." You admit, Robin waiting for you to continue. "It feels like I'm trying everything I can, and I know I have some potential, but I'm so scared because nothing I do works."

Robin falls silent for a moment. She's smart enough to know that she is a very talented singer, but there's another factor that can be in play here.

Her influence from her brother.

Robin gives you an idea - ask out Sunday, and once he says yes you both will be out as a couple. You honestly didn't know what to think when she said it - was it really the fact you weren't being out there enough? Or surrounding yourself with the right people enough?

Regardless, you go ahead with the plan. Surprisingly, Sunday accepts. In any other scenario of this happening, you would be over the moon.

But you know Robin spoke to Sunday about the plan, and nobody was more important to Sunday than his sister. You weren't jealous of Robin, absolutely not, but you felt a twinge of guilt when Sunday accepted as you knew by the look in his eyes that you had some sort of feelings for him, and these feelings would never be returned.

He would hold your hand, tell people he loves you and you were like an obedient cat that would willingly curl up in his lap - leading to the inevitable 'thats so cute' reactions.

He did this publicly for months, but he wouldn't share any affection with you when it was you, him and Robin. He would always have Robin between the two of you, and you'd just hang out as you typically would before you became a 'happy' couple.

Fast forward to when Sunday had his downfall, you were suddenly in the spotlight for a strange reason - people were worried you were being used by Sunday as a pawn, as he would be projecting you out more than he did with his sister at times. When he got locked away, you got more popular. Your career was taking off!

But...you weren't happy. Neither you nor Robin were happy. Neither of you blame each other - you both know Sunday did those actions of his own discretion - but you silently thought to yourselves 'what if I did this differently '?

One night, you get visited by a strange figure. No features to identify by, you fear for good reason, and they give you a proposal.

"If you are willing to ensure your partner's punishment, Sunday will be set free." They state.

"...But how could I possibly help here? Even if I do that, isn't there a chance he gets caught and gets punished more?" You query.

"Sunday is a very capable man - he can survive." The cloaked figure replies.

"And what about outsiders? Won't they get suspicious when I disappear?" You tilt your head.

"That's a simple answer - people will pretend to care about your unfortunate disappearance, and then move on swiftly." The figure bluntly explains.

"...I'll do it. I'll take his place." You nod, the figure giggling before grasping you by the forearm. You lose consciousness, unable to stay awake.

--

When you next wake up, you're in a dark room. Thorns wrapped tightly around you, securing you as if you could run away. No windows, only a door in front of you somewhere, and even if you could get out of the room what was the chance of you getting caught?

Or of Sunday getting caught, as you were in here to essentially be a substitute.

Looking back at his way of describing you, you really begin to realise he felt hunted by you. As cute as his descriptions were, he described you as a cat as opposed to a songbird. He would talk about Robin as a songbird, perhaps he thought you were going after Robins career.

But it doesn't matter now. Your life as you knew it is now over. No career, no friends, pure solitude. The only thing you can truly yearn for is Robins wellbeing. You knew Sunday would be fine, and Robin would likely be fine, but you can't do anything more than what you have done already.

[smallmightsupremacy]

Why we are getting a dvk3

So. The war is over now, and everything is supposed to go back to normal, right?

Wrong. I don't know about you, but this recent chapter was... a roller coaster of emotions, to say the least. We went from the highs of graduation to a mysterious new character all the way to some panels showing how Izuku isn't doing well mentally. And I have a lot of thoughts about that last point in particular. Especially for what this means for Izuku and Katsuki's relationship going forward. So, well before reading this chapter, I was a firm believer that we were going to get a dvk3. It just makes sense, right? Every pivotal moment of their relationship has been a dvk moment, so it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that the third pivotal moment of them becoming true equals would be a dvk too. Not convinced? Well, I'm going to breakdown one specific moment in this chapter and explain why this makes me even more sure that we're getting a dvk3 The moment I'm referring too is Izuku's interaction with Ochako:

We start off with Izuku looking off into the distance after hearing the words "why I wanted to become a hero" from Mawata. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume that those words were enough to make him reflect on himself and beliefs; to reflect on his own why. Why exactly did he become a hero?

Well, we already know the answer to that: to save people with a smile.

But in the final war, did Izuku actually achieve that? He doesn't seem fully convinced about that idea:

He believes that he didn't fully save Tenko, and those feelings of self-hatred, of not being good enough rose to the surface when the why of becoming a hero was brought up. Hence, his pensive expression in that first frame. Clearly Izuku's going through some turmoil right now. Self-hatred, emptiness, probably no sense of direction about where he wants to go in his life now that he's quirkless... the list goes on. So what does he decide to do about it? He approaches Ochako:

Maybe it's to talk about her moment on the UA rooftop which was referenced just before, but it doesn't seem that way. They've already talked about that moment already, why bring it up again? I mean, you could argue that it's Izuku telling her not to be so humble or embarrassed over that moment, but his reaction when she changes the direction of the conversation says otherwise:

He looks so upset, like he wanted to truly talk about his feelings with a trusted friend. The war is over. There's no need for him to control his heart again. He can finally talk about his feelings... yet he gets brushed off.

The fact that this panel of him frowning is right next to one of Ochako laughing says A LOT too It wasn't an accident that this panel of Izuku was put next to one of Ochako smiling. This was done for a reason. I think that reason is to showcase Izuku reaching a realization-- the realization that everyone is starting to move on from the war and smile again while he's stuck in a slump. I think it's in that panel, where he decides that he won't try to talk about his feelings again. If he does, then he'll bring down the mood and no one will be smiling anyone. Remember, Izuku still blames himself for the reason why his class got targeted, so he probably blames himself for them getting injured and upset from the war too. In his mind, the least he can do is keep quiet about his feelings and suffer in silence at the gain of everyone else's happiness. That being said, this is by no means an attack on Ochako's character at all. She's a great friend to Izuku- hell, that's probably the reason why he decided to go to her specifically to talk about his feelings -but I think there's a part of her that doesn't want to talk about what happened in the war either.

Even if there was, she still would've said something or shown concern if she could truly see how much the war was impacting Izuku. Instead, she misses it. She misses it because, as close as they are, she's the person from class 1A that knows Izuku second best. So that leaves only one person who can help Izuku process his feelings: the one person that knows Izuku best; the one person that will be able to see through his guise of pretending to be alright and save him before he reaches the point of self-destruction; the same person that has proven that they can and will do something like that time and time again. Sound familiar? Yeah. Katsuki is the only one that can help Izuku right now.

But it's not going to pretty. I'm not necessarily saying that dvk3 will involve a fight. On the contrary, I think that's the last thing that should happen for a multitude of reasons: Katsuki is still recovering, their relationship is at the point where they can have vulnerable conversations without throwing punches (read: the hospital scene), and it wouldn't make sense at all to have them throwing punches. Izuku hasn't got a quirk anymore; against Katsuki, he doesn't stand a chance of winning the fight. And that just negates all their growth of becoming equals. So perhaps we shouldn't call it Deku vs Kacchan 3, but rather Deku AND Kacchan 3 It's going to be a fight of them accepting feelings; both each other's and their own. There's going to be crying and tears and so much pain, but it's going to end up with Katsuki reaching out to Izuku so we can get that long awaited and incredibly foreshadowed handhold. So we can see that Katsuki still sees Izuku as an equal, quirk or no quirk.

At least, that's what I hope. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this too!!

[nox140497]

Comfort

Prompt: No

Request: No

Summery: After reading the comments on their latest video, Colby feels really down. Seeing this and knowing Sam feels pretty down, too, Kat sends Colby's girlfriend an SOS, knowing she would know what to do.

Parings: Colby Brock Reader

Authors Note: Hi guys. Heres another one for you. You guys seem to like the Sam and Colby content, so here you guys go. Also, please feel free to make requests if you have any.

Also this >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> means timeskip

This<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< means flashback

Masterlist

Prompt List

------------------------------------

It was a normal day for Sam and Colby. They had posted a new video recently and were going through the comments.

The comments on this video, however, were particularly negative for no reason. They also seemed to be mostly targeted at Colby.

Needless to say, both boys were a bit upset and wanted comfort. Sam had Kat up in his room with him, but Colby's girlfriend Y/N was still at work. Seeing the state her own boyfriend was in, she could only imagine what state Colby was in, seeing as they were practically targeting him.

So, making a decision to help her friend, she sent Y/N an SOS text. This was a message that the girls of the trap house had started using when the boys were all still staying in the first traphouse. It was a message that said there was trouble and to get there ASAP. She got a response telling her her friend would be there soon.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Y/N walked into the dimly lit house. It was way too quiet for the people who lived there. Now she understood why she had received the SOS from Kat. She walked up to her boyfriends room, figuring out that's where she would find him. Her heart ached as she saw her boyfriend, Colby, slumped on the ofice chair by his desk. Colby had always been a strong and resilient person, he almost always had that beautiful contagious smile of his on his face, but today, the weight of negative comments on his and Sam's video had taken its toll, dragging him into a whirlpool of doubt and self-criticism. She had seen the comments on the video. She had been absolutely furious when they had attacked the boys who worked so hard to make content for the fans who they loved. She had been beyond furious when she saw the ones targeting her love personally.

She couldn't fathom how these people could be so cruel to a man who gave his everything to give them content that they would enjoy.

Seeing this man, the man she absolutely adored, the man who had unkowingly saved her life, like this, slouching in his chair with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly, didn't just break her heart, it shattered it into millions of tiny pieces.

Y/N aproached him softly not wanting to startle him too much, she knew he had noticed her when he lifted his head ever so slightly. The look in his beautiful ocean blue eyes broke her heart even more. She gently brushed Colby's messy hair away from his forehead and placed a tender kiss on his temple. "I love you," she whispered softly, her voice permeating the air with soothing affection. Colby's breath hitched as he absorbed her words, the depth of her love washing over him like a healing balm. He leaned into her body and buried his head in her chest. She continued to very gently run her fingers through his hair.

"Those comments don't define you, Colby, and they cerainly don't come from all of your fans. Most of them love you boys and you know that." Y/N spoke, her voice steady yet filled with conviction. "You are talented, creative, and so loved by many—including me. Your worth isn't measured by the opinions of faceless strangers."

Her words resonated, and Colby's tense shoulders began to relax slightly. Y/N knew that while her words were a start, actions would speak louder than anything she could say. She took his hand in hers, entwining their fingers as a symbol of unwavering support.

Y/N gently pulled Colby up off his chair and guided him to lay down on the bed, propping pillows up behind his back for support. Tenderly, she covered him with a soft blanket, creating a cozy haven that shielded away the negativity and doubt that had plagued him all day.

She lay curled up next to him and gently ran her fingers through his hair. Eventually, his breathing started to even out, and soft snores started to come from his slightly parted lips.

She continued to watch over him, marveling in just how much love she had for this man. He was the love of her life, and she knew and had known for a while now that his was her person. This was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

She reached over and grabbed her phone. She texted Kat, asking her how Sam was doing. After hearing that the man she cared for as an older brother would be ok and was also asleep, she bid her sister in all but blood a good night put her phone back on the nightstand and cuddled into Colby's side. Falling asleep content in the knowledge that her boys were going to be ok.

[atinystraynstay]

Checkmate - Park Seonghwa

Synopsis: Jealously is a dangerous game.

Pairing: Biker Bf!Park Seonghwa x fem reader

Really got inspired by this gif set because when I sent it to a friend, she said that Seonghwa was giving biker bf! vibes and I just have been drooling over that idea ever since.

Genre: Angst, on and off relationship

Contains: mentions of sexual intercourse (use protection babes!), alcohol consumption, vulgar language, attempted spiking of drink (be cautious when you go out, babes - hand your drink to a friend, take it with you. Better to be safe always), description of physical violence

Word Count: 3k

Heartbreak was not in the forecast for this week, but sometimes things changed. Yet, you were familiar with the rollercoaster of emotions so it almost was routine, always expected like those in the Pacific Northwest anticipate rainfall. It was part of your normal.

Deep down, you knew you were in love with your boyfriend, Park Seonghwa. He was someone who added excitement into your life and could be the absolute gentleman. At least when you two weren't arguing.

The arguments between you were not frequent but more explosive. You two often approached situations defensively, almost refusing to see the other's perspective unless the other came in apologizing immediately. You two were stubborn which led to your cycle of being on and off.

Almost everyone in town knew you were Park Seonghwa's girl. Even after the ugliest of arguments, you found your way back to Seonghwa one way or another. Some might say that your souls are carved out of the same material, so you're bound to be together one way or another.

Seonghwa was the type that was fiercely protective of you. To him, you were capable of standing your own ground. He just didn't trust the motives of other people, so he always had a watchful eye over you.

That was ultimately led to the recent argument between the two of you. Seonghwa wasn't suspicious of your best friend's new boyfriend. He was a part of another biker gang in town who didn't quite carry the best reputation. Seonghwa thought he was being reasonable by asking you to limit your interactions with the individual.

However, you took it as Seonghwa didn't want you to see your best friend anymore. You were running on high emotions when you exchanged venomous words you would never use to actually describe your beloved. You called him a monster, self-centered, and insecure.

You were also hurting from the impression it seemed that he couldn't trust you.

Time and time again, you have shown your dedication to Seonghwa. Or at least you thought you had. You were constantly there to take care of any bruised knuckles or black eyes he might obtain from altercations. You poured so much love into him to help him be the confident man he is today.

Hell, you guys have been on and off for three years. Isn't that enough to prove your devotion when you always come back?

Apparently not.

"If you want to be a slut, kitten. I'm not going to stop you," Seonghwa growled at you. "Go on. Go someone else's whore."

His words cut deep. It shattered your heart into a million pieces that no argument had been before. Sure, Seonghwa might call you his slut behind closed doors. The word doesn't bother you as there was often a tone of possession behind it.

Yet, to be called a whore? By the man you love? That just aches.

You had no argument left in you after he said that. Whore. It just repeated in your mind like a broken record.

So you went to the only place you could think of to escape from the ache. Alcohol. You were currently sitting at the bar. You were wearing a black silk skirt that had a slight slit that exposed your knee. It was Seonghwa's favorite on you. He always claimed how angelic yet tempting you looked. You wore a black top that showed off your cleavage nice well.

Might as well fulfill what Seonghwa wants from you, right? He made it clear you were no longer his lover.

"Well isn't it Mrs. Park," a voice called out to you. "We're filing for divorce," you murmured.

While you might not know the particular person speaking to you, you had to make it clear. You were not linked with Seonghwa anymore. He made that very clear, and you were convinced there was no going back this time.

Not when it seemed his view of you was tainted, that he was disgusted by you because you were some common whore to him. You weren't his angel, his lover anymore.

"Can the lady get another drink? Put it on my tab."

Your interest undeniably peaked when the stranger offered to buy you a drink. You found your posture sitting up before turning around to face your suitor.

Your eyes widened. No fucking way. It was your best friend's boyfriend.

"Oh hi! Is y/bff/n here?" For the first time that night, you had a bit of hope in your eyes. Maybe not all is completely lost. You never liked to say you were dependent on Seonghwa, but your whole world was created when you got together with him. Without him, you felt like you had no true direction in life. You could always count on Seonghwa to guide you, to cherish you. But now what? The only remanent from your past life before Seonghwa was your best friend.

Her boyfriend shared an apologetic look before shaking his head. "Oh. I guess she didn't tell you. Um, we broke up last week." "Oh fuck, I'm sorry. She and I were meant to catch up but we both just had let life get in the way. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's okay. Maybe it isn't too bad? I mean, after all, we are people trying to overcome heartache."

As if on cue, the bartender delivered your drink in front of you. You smiled as you exchanged your ice-filled glass for the fresh cocktail. You raised your glass in the air as he followed suit with the beer bottle that accompanied his.

"Cheers to that," you laughed.

Clink!

After taking a proper sip of your drinks, you both set them down on the bar top. You looked out towards the crowd, seeing dancing bodies as the bass from the stereo rattled your bones. It was the perfect opportunity to forget reality.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what happened? I mean, I don't think Seonghwa is as dumb as I think he is."

In any of your past relationships, you were all on board to bash your exes. Not Seonghwa. He had given you the world, and somehow, you gave him the impression you weren't genuine. Even though you were hurt by his words, you still felt the need to protect him.

"I think I messed things up," you sighed. You tried your best to blink away the tears, taking another sip out of your drink to ease your nerves. "I don't even know at this point. We were just arguing in circles and somehow, I pushed the man I love away and I don't think he's ever going to welcome you back."

Your best friend's ex-boyfriend looked at you sympathetically. You didn't deserve any pity. You were the one that ruined the relationship. There is no way Seonghwa would say such a word if he didn't mean it. You just couldn't calculate how he got that impression you would cheat on you.

"His loss, y/n." His hand rested on your knee comfortingly, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't want to get mixed up with the wrong crowd anyways. Seonghwa and his biker gang are all trouble, you know that."

It felt odd to have another man touch you, even if it wasn't particularly intimate. Seonghwa was the only man you trusted within your bubble because he was yours and you were his. At least, that's how it was until tonight.

Seonghwa initially joined the biker gang when he was 18. He felt lost in this world. There was no traditional career path that sparked any interest, so going to college seemed pointless. Especially when there sometimes can be such a hefty price tag.

Hongjoong, one of his classmates, had talked about the gang. It helped Hongjoong feel important, like he had power in a world that often casted any strays to the side. Seonghwa wanted to do something meaningful in his life, and the bikers allowed him to do that. His gang, in particular, viewed themselves like the Robin Hoods of your town - trying to make wrongs into rights. They were the good guys.

"And what? Your gang has a clean record?" You teased.

He chuckled and put his hands up in defense. "You got me there, pretty girl. But I can still see Seonghwa is a complete jackass for letting you roam free. Never know what can happen," he sighed.

"But at least I'm here with good company," you said. "Unless you hurt my best friend? I mean, she didn't call me crying but still." "Yeah, I know, kitten. That's your girl. Don't worry. Things just fizzled out between us. I think we thought we could give each other what we needed, but I realized it wasn't enough." "Ouch. Not sure what type of heartache is worst." "The type where you feel sorry for yourself."

You nodded, even though you didn't completely agree. You didn't feel sorry for yourself. If anything, you felt guilty for pushing away the best man you've ever met. You really thought eventually, the on-and-off carousel would come to a stop but where you two would get off together. Maybe get married. Have a house in the suburbs. A girl can dream.

"Another drink?" Your friend's ex offered.

You smiled and nodded. If he was paying, why not take him up on it. There seemed to be no strings attached, so who knows. Maybe this is the start of a new friendship, a new chapter, a new life for you.

Although, you couldn't quite shake off Seonghwa's warnings about the individual beside you. Maybe Seonghwa's been overreacting this whole time? I mean, the guy seems harmless even for being in a gang.

Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.

You looked at your phone to see Seonghwa's name pop up. You rolled your eyes and declined it immediately. There were no words to be exchanged between you and Seonghwa. Not when the message was loud and clear from him. He was done with you.

Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.

Seonghwa. Decline.

Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.

That's it. You looked at your new friend and muttered a quick apology. "I'll be quick, ok?" He nodded before turning towards the bartender to order another round.

You grabbed your phone, deciding to hop off to take the conversation outside. At least maybe you could hear him clearly and get all the pent-up emotions off your chest. While you were wishfully thinking that Seonghwa would beg for you to come home, you also had to be realistic.

Seonghwa was a well-known guy in town for the wrong reasons. His gang made grown men quiver in fear. Someone probably saw you were out alone, talking to someone from a rival gang. Specifically, a person whom Seonghwa viewed as public enemy number one. It didn't look good, but how bad could things get for you? Seonghwa wasn't your boyfriend anymore. That fact alone kept you at rock bottom.

Finally, when you were at least in a hallway of the bar, your thumb hit the green accept button.

"Hwa-" "Stay where you are."

Your eyebrows furrowed at his command. It wasn't an ask. His tone was fierce, firm. You knew there was no room for arguing, even though you wanted nothing more than to scream at him for what he said.

"How do you even know where I am, huh?" "I always keep track of my belongings, baby girl."

Your heart fluttered at the pet name. What was going on though?

Before you could question, just to get more details, you heard grunting from his side of the call. The fluttering in your heart came to a quick halt, especially when you heard grunting.

Was he okay? Was he hurt?

You noticed that the music at the bar came to a screeching halt. Quickly, you picked up on the sound of fists flying, grunting, and shouting. Even though you knew better than to stay where Seonghwa told you to, you had to investigate. At least to make sure he was okay.

Cautiously, you emerged from the hallway into the main floor of the bar. Some of the members of Seonghwa's gang were beating up the members of a different gang. The one your best friend's ex belonged to. Most of the bar had cleared out the moment fighting broke out it seems. Either out of fear or not wanting to be present when police arrive.

It was then you noticed where Seonghwa was. With the call still on-going, you noticed his cellphone was on the bar top. Yet, Seonghwa stood over your friend's ex as he remained seated. Seonghwa's fists were gripping onto the collar of the poor guy's shirt. Oh no.

You came rushing over, trying to get Seonghwa to ease up. Jealousy never brought out the best in people.

About to speak up, you found everything came to a halt the moment you heard Seonghwa.

"And you dare try to hurt my girl? My world? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

What was he talking about? Your mind was rushing to the numerous scenarios of what could have played out to lead to this moment. Did someone feed Seonghwa the wrong information? Was someone trying to stir drama.

"Listen, man. I was just following orders!" "And you really are that much of a sick fuck to try to spike someone's drink?"

Your eyes darted to the bar top to look at your drink. It seemed to be okay, the usual light yellow color from the pineapple juice mingling with the clear liquor.

But then you noticed the clear baggy. It was small, and easy to be hidden if the man leaned his arm a certain way. Honestly, you probably would have missed it when you returned to your seat.

Seonghwa was seeing red. He was worried you had taken a sip, only arriving right after you slipped away to accept his call. He was fearing the worst case scenario, and he had asked you to stay back so he could come help you once he handled the creep.

"Hwa? I'm okay, baby."

The harsh breathing from Seonghwa slowed down at the sound of your angelic voice. His grip didn't loosen, but his demeanor softened slightly. Yet, he still remained vigilant in case the punks tried pulling a fast one.

"Kitten, I asked you to stay where you were. I didn't want you to get hurt." "I didn't take a sip, I promise. He ordered a new one for me when I slipped away to take your call," you confessed.

You didn't speak in your normal tone. Seonghwa always admired how confident you are. Even during the worst of fights, he was enamored by how you always stood your ground.

Now, though, your voice was soft. Almost timid. You weren't afraid to speak to him, but clearly overwhelmed by the situation. To go from breaking up with your boyfriend, again, to nearly falling for a trap. All you wanted was to be in his arms, your safe haven.

"Hwa, we can take care of him," Hongjoong announced from behind. His hand was on Hwa's shoulders, to show he was fully capable of taking over dealing with the low life. It helped knowing that San was also there to be a the guy to a pulp after retrieving information, of course.

Revenge would be sought after. But not until he comforted you and made sure you were okay.

Seonghwa nodded, taking a small step away from the guy. However, before he could even think of running off, Seonghwa's knuckles met his face. The guy's head went flying back, so he slumped in the stool. Hongjoong and San took Seonghwa's position, leading the guy out back to handle business.

You didn't even notice the fighting in the bar had come to a halt. The bar was nearly empty besides the few members of Seonghwa's biker gang who checked the perimeter, to ensure that it was safe.

Immediately, Seonghwa rushed over to you. Both of his moved to cup your cheeks, his thumbs caressing over your cheeks. He had a hard exterior, but he was undoubtedly soft for you. It was a privilege of getting to experience this side of him. Your eyes fluttered shut in the comfort of his warm touch but also at your settling heart.

"Are you positive you're okay? He didn't touch you?" "No," you whispered. "He bought me a drink and touched my knee, but that's it, I promise."

Seonghwa's blood boiled slightly, but not enough that made him want to jump and join his two friends outside. What was important to him was taking care of you.

His heart shattered as he noticed the tears slipping from your eyes. He pulled back which caused your eyes to widen, fearing he was about to walk away. All he did was coo in your direction as you watched him shrug off his leather jacket, draping it around your shoulders.

Once he noticed your arms had slipped in through the sleeves, he wrapped his arm around you. He never wanted to admit it, but he loved being physically close to you. He just loved how soft and warm you were. His free hand moved up to tuck strands of your hair behind your ear.

"I never should have said such hateful words. God, I am a fucking idiot, sweet girl," he whispered. His lips moved to plant a lingering kiss on your forehead. "I don't view you like that. Like what I called you. I don't even know why I said it, but it's not a fucking excuse."

This happened every time Seonghwa felt guilty after an argument. When he was consumed by the guilt, he couldn't quite put the words together so they came out at once. He never wanted to let something be unsaid, especially when he was trying to make amends.

And all he wanted was to make things right with you.

"I'm done with the arguing, sweetheart. The way we argue isn't productive because I mean it when I say I'm putting a ring on your finger."

He pulled back, so you two could look at each other. Your eyes slightly widened but a smile was on your face. The tears of anxiety and sadness were replaced with tears of joy. "Really?" You whispered. "That is, if you accept my dumbass back as your boyfriend? And that you allow me to work hard to be the man you deserve, not just who you need."

[ilikekidsshows]

I've seen people said Adrien doesn't have motivation to be a hero but Marinette does, which is weird because I feel like it's Marinette who doesn't have a motivation to be hero beyond "people listen to Ladybug". Her lack of motivation is what confused me because as a protagonist, she's inevitably become a role model for the young audience and I find nothing about her is likeable, even more so after she become a guardian. It's as if being a guardian inflate her ego and she forgot that everyone else is a human with feelings, not just a pawn or a doll for her to play and ordered around.

Recently I found out a website that contain the concept plot and it confused me more because I feel like concept Marinette is a more grounded character than she is in the show.

Marinette's goal isn't just to be Adrien/Felix's girlfriend but she also need to collect the kwamis that she accidentally releases and she become a guardian not because of luck or favoritism like how it is in the show, it's because her grandfather is the guardian. Adrien/Felix doesn't even become Chat Noir because he's chosen by the guardian, it's Plagg who chose him. It's actually much better than the whole "I choose you but also I'm not going to do anything with you" that Fu pulls in the show.

i don't understand why the higher up/the sponsor reject this plot because I think this much better than whatever we have now. If they have a problem with Chat Noir being an anti-hero, then why do they accept Marinette being written like one while also hailing her as a hero?

---

“Adrien isn't motivated to be a hero” he actually likes being a hero, unlike our role model protagonist, who’d rather do anything than be Ladybug even when she's being lauded for her heroic deeds. Is this based on Adrien trying to quit when Fu or Marinette is making his job needlessly more difficult to do? Because, like, that's the only thing that he seems to dislike about being a hero, which, like, makes Marinette an even worse hero. She’s so bad at her job, she makes otherwise eager heroes lose their motivation.

I’m gonna be very honest here; Marinette becoming Ladybug because she accidentally released a bunch of magical creatures and Adrien/Félix being more of an anti-hero rival than a full-on ally would have been copied straight from Cardcaptor Sakura’s starting setup. Like, I’m not surprised that even the rejected ideas for Miraculous are copied from other properties, but it just proves that regardless of any other variables, Astruc’s creation was always going to be highly derivative. Regardless, I do feel that Fu being her grandfather instead of a stranger would have gone a long way in justifying Marinette’s special treatment both in-universe and to the audience, but that’s probably why it was rejected.

Like, we can mock the fact that Marinette isn’t actually within spitting distance of being a “normal girl with a normal life” all we like, but that doesn’t change the fact that, from a purely on-paper angle, she is pretty average. She’s a middle-schooler with pretty average hobbies who deals with normal teen problems like bullies and a crush on a boy she doesn’t know how to deal with. There’s a reason it’s the opening line for the show’s opening. It's marketable. A special chosen one from the start wouldn’t have been as marketable in the same way. Especially when we take into account how hypersensitive Astruc is to Marinette being less liked than he’d want. He’d do whatever he can think of to make sure Marinette isn’t immediately judged a “Mary Sue”.

The thing with executives is that they don't watch the shows they fund. They read the pitch, synopses, and maybe the scripts if they can find the time. And even then, they might not want to put in the money to get a script revised even if they paid enough attention to tell it was dogshit. They wouldn't be interested as long as the different Miraculous bedsheets and shampoos keep selling and as long as the show isn’t too gay to sell to other countries. Like, the show bible that Gloob leaked? The one full of inaccuracies because it was outdated? That was what the executives were most likely given when the retool went into development. In addition, corporate oversight on the show has actually decreased the longer it’s gone on, because the show’s proven itself to be a success. I’m pretty sure the higher-ups were not asked: “hey, is it okay if we make Marinette an entitled jerk who gets validated at every turn while she starts treating people worse and worse?” I’m pretty sure no one okayed Marinette’s “villain arc”, it was just allowed to pass because it didn’t make the show less marketable.

That’s the thing with any property that becomes “too big to fail”. Less oversight means less quality control. It’s like one anonymous Gamefreak employee said about making Pokémon games: “It’ll sell anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it’s bad.”

[lazycats-stuff]

I hope it’s not too weird but can I request batfam a batbro!reader, older than Damian but younger then Tim that isn’t very emotional when it comes to death? Like they don’t understand why people are so hysterical over death. Maybe an animal died and they just go “oh they’re dead” like it was nothing.

Hope ur doing well, I’m projecting so much with this but I can’t wait to see what you do if you do. I love ur writing, can’t wait to read more 🫶

Alrighty then. Thanks for the encouragement.

Summary: (Y/N) is not really emotional about death. Bruce was a little bit worried.

Warnings: talk of death and it's elements, death of animals, this is just Bruce being worried and thinking about his son.

Bruce knew that his kids have some problems expressing emotions. To almost all of them, death was a touchy subject. Bruce knew that better than everyone. But his second youngest son was a whole another case about it.

Why, I might hear you asking? Well, (Y/N) had no reactions to death. Bruce always waited for (Y/N) to get hit with the reality, but the reality and the aftermath didn't hit him. Never. Bruce understood that everyone grieves differently, that was in human nature. There isn't really a rulebook on how to grieve.

No human thought the same and no human grieved the same. But to Bruce, (Y/N) was a whole another case. He loved his son and when (Y/N)'s parents passed, he wasn't really sad. He was... fine.

Bruce waited for the aftermath to hit and he waited for (Y/N) to crumble and he was more than ready to help him and he was more than ready to catch him.

But the aftermath never really hit him. Bruce would be lying if he said that (Y/N) wasn't sad, but it wasn't a normal grieving behavior either. He was so worried that he asked Black Canary to talk to him about mourning and grieving.

Canary said that there was nothing wrong with (Y/N). She just told Bruce that he didn't grive in a normal way, but that wasn't any reason for concern. He wasn't a sociopath or a psychopath.

Bruce could breath a little bit easier. But sometimes (Y/N)'s calm demeanor was the thing that could get him in the most of trouble. It was just recently when a bird that Damian was caring for passed away.

Damian was sad and the rest of the brothers were sad too so they decided to bury the bird in the yard. Everyone made little speeches, expect (Y/N). He didn't see the point. It was just an animal. Everyone was emotional in their own way, expect for (Y/N).

" (Y/N)? Anything you want to say? " Bruce prompted, putting his hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder.

" I don't have anything to say. The animal is dead. That's all. " (Y/N) said, looking down at the tiniest coffin that he has ever seen. Damian fumed. If it weren't for Dick, Damian would have lunged at (Y/N).

Bruce could only sigh and lead (Y/N) away as they were done with the ceremony. He really needed to talk with (Y/N) about being sensitive when it came to death. Sure, you don't have to cry, but still, have some empathy for those who are suffering.

" But Bruce, I don't understand why people are so emotional about death. I mean, it happens. It's a natural process. We are all slowly going towards our deaths. " (Y/N) said after the talk he had with Bruce.

" I know. But people have different approaches to death. Some grieve openly, some in private, but one thing they have in common is that they are all in pain. Animal or a human. " Bruce explained to his son.

" I should apologize to Damian then. " (Y/N) declared, standing up. If Damian doesn't try to kill him first. It was 50/50.

[bluegiragi]

hello! i'm gira, i go by she/her, and i've been making fanart for the cod fandom for about four months now :) the majority of that time's been spent on the soapbox saga, which is sort of just what i call the very plot-ridden porn comic featuring ghost, soap and konig. and recently i've been working on the monster 141 au!

i'm here to address the reasoning behind how i assigned certain monsters to certain characters, particularly the POC characters as well as accusations of racism regarding me neglecting gaz in all my art :) whoever you are, if you're reading this in good faith, i thank you! i earnestly never intended to make anyone feel uncomfortable from my work.

The Monster AU

i won't post the blog who brought this issue up mainly because, (realistically speaking) i think people might go after them and spam them with hate so I'm paraphrasing here. but basically..."how come all the POC in the Monster AU are assigned animal-associated monsters? Comparisons to animals can be incredibly demeaning when it comes to minorities".

I completely agree! But earnestly, I think my desire to assign every character a 'monster' that was relevant to their culture overshadowed the part of my brain that would've raised red flags about this sort of thing. There's the argument here that I could've assigned these characters cooler monsters such as Price who is a dragon, and Ghost who is a wraith, but I wanted to be respectful of all the minorities in the COD cast by giving them creatures that reflected their culture and personality.

ALEJANDRO - NAGUAL

In the Monster AU, Alejandro is a nagual, which is considered a guardian spirit in Mesoamerican culture. Typically, it's said that the nagual is the shapeshifted form that powerful men can transform into in order to do evil (although that doesn't apply in this case, Ale's a heroic lad), and can come in the forms of a jaguar, deer, dog or bird. I chose a jaguar, since it seemed to be the most common form of nagual depiction in the resources I was looking at. The 'panther mode' isn't pre-established as part of nagual mythology, but since most panthers are just black jaguars, i thought the association wouldn't be unreasonable.

I chose Alejandro to be a nagual because it's so in character for him to be protective of his home. The idea of him being a literal guardian spirit for all he considers his just made sense to me :)

--

RODOLFO (RUDY) - CADEJOS

In this AU, Rudy is the vessel for two cadejos, which are legendary dog spirits popular in the mythology of Central America, parts of South America and Mexico. Historically, they've been known as psychopomps (guides to help humans into the afterlife following their death) but modern interpretation has shifted to depict them as the good guardian dog and the evil attacking dog respectively.

A lot of the minute information about the cadejos tends to differ depending on the source. Like whether they're actually two separate dogs, or they're the same dog just in different 'modes', or how big they are. My personal depiction of them has them sized as normal dogs (although their spirit nature means they can move into small spaces pretty easily by just becoming immaterial temporarily) and as separate spirits that have been passed down through Rudy's family generationally.

I chose the cadejo for Rudy because although I wanted to include him in the Monster AU, i still liked keeping him as a character who was a bit more 'human' than Alejandro. I think Ale needs Rudy to hold him back sometimes, and having the two cadejo definitely helps with that. Sort of like how cheetahs in zoos have therapy dogs growing up because they're so anxious all the time! I think it also does a good job of showing Rudy's two sides as well, like he's a softie who just wants to protect those he loves, but he's capable of a lot of violence too.

--

VALERIA - GORGON

Valeria is a gorgon which, admittedly, is not part of Mexican mythology. However, I was put in a bit of a bind here, since my research didn't really reveal to me a monster in Mexican culture that I thought would suit Valeria's vibe (manipulative, elulsive) and I just felt like a gorgon would be perfect for her. Medusa's myth has her being continuously demeaned by the men in her life and is a symbol of female empowerment, which I thought was a great reflection of the implied reason that Valeria left the army was due to internal sexism. There's also the perfect parallel of how anyone who sees El Sin Nombre's face dies, and Medusa's whole 'turn you to stone' thing.

I thought i could compromise by making Valeria a gorgon but her hair would be Mexican black kingsnakes but...turns out they're actually not that dangerous. Some people even keep them as pets! So I decided to keep the visual, but make her a pit viper, a subfamily of vipers found in the Americas as well as Eurasia.

--

HORANGI - HAETAE

Horangi is a haetae (해태) which is a beast in Korean mythology that typically comes in the form of a horned lion or dog. It's prevalent in a lot of cultures in East Asia actually, although it goes under different names depending on the region - kaichi for Japan, xiezhi for China. I made Horangi a tiger variant on the creature because...well...'horangi' means 'tiger' in korean. It just made sense to me to put that little twist on it.

Typically, haetae are seen as spirits of judgement, that decide on innocent and guilty parties in disputes and punish the latter. It's also considered a guardian against fire (hence the fire immunity and cloud manipulation powers I gave him).

GAZ - HARPY

Gaz is a harpy which, I won't lie, was purely inspired by the fact that he seems to keep falling out of helicopters. But it's also because...yeah, I did neglect Gaz in the soapbox saga. But I think I neglected...everyone in the soapbox saga who weren't directly involved in the main ship. I sort of just tunnel visioned on the main three, so my exclusion of characters isn't just limited to Gaz, it was included Price, Laswell, Alejandro, Rudy, Graves etc.

I just want to make clear that my treatment of Gaz in particular isn't reflective of any inner preference against him. And to make good on that, me assigning Gaz wings of all things was to help me spend more time on him in the Monster AU! I think the contrast between Gaz being an upstart harpy, and Price being a one-winged dragon has a lot of potential as a mentor/protege relationship (and perhaps even something more) and it's why I assigned this monster to him. I really wanted to establish a connection upfront, but just making Gaz another dragon felt cheap - the harpy thing felt a little more in turn with his character :)

--

I really hope this cleared up any remaining frustrations with my designs for the Monster AU. I hope you can see that I never meant anything demeaning by assigning these monsters to their respective characters - in fact, I earnestly tried to go out of my way and be respectful to their backgrounds.

In any case, if you have any more questions I'd be happy to answer them - I'd just ask you to please ask politely :)

[brookslostarm]

Regarding the dinostar hate recently, I don't really think Darius did anything wrong. I get why people might think his confession was unhealthy, but put urself in his shoes. He got stranded on an island full of dinos at 12 and had to become the leader of a group of people older than him, a few months after his dad's death. He saw his best friends- Brooklynn and Kenji, get together and was 100 percent fine with it, even happy for them. A few years later, they break up and Brooklynn comes to stay with him for a week or so. He's never had feelings for anyone at this point, but that was because on the island, he never had any time for romance- always focusing on protecting his friends, and even after getting off the island- focusing on his mental health and DPW. But now, his dealt with all that and is at a good place in his life, likely ready for a relationship and focusing more on people he's interested in. Coincidentally, his girl best friend recently became single and stayed at his place for 1 week. It isn't like living on nublar since it's just the two of them. Feelings are bound to develop.

Now, his confession, a lotta people r saying that Darius is putting Brook on a pedestal, because he said something about supporting Brooklynn's work no matter what, but I don't really think that's true. The reason some of the audience is mad is because we know the extent of Brooklynn's obsession with her work, and so does Kenji, but does Darius know? It's not very likely, since Brooklynn doesn't talk much about her work. Also, when u get a crush, that too for the first time, ur gonna wanna impress them- say nice things to them, support them, etc. and that's literally what Darius was doing. He loved her and felt comfortable around her enough to say those things without putting much thought into it.

Another thing I've noticed is people saying that the "if he loved you half as much as I do" line is invalid because he left Brooklynn when she got kidnapped. In my opinion, that's just not true, he didn't want to leave her, he was just following Brooklynn's directions, and knew that if he stayed, him and yaz would also get captured. Also, didn't Kenji betray and lock his friends, including Brooklynn, in a room? I get that it wasn't his fault as he was manipulated by his dad, but I don't think it should be glossed over if we're using the "Darius left Brooklynn, and Kenji went back for her" argument against Dinostar.

As for the "he's dating his best friend's ex!" Thing, I get it goes against bro-code, but Brooklynn isn't just his best friend's ex, Brooklynn is also one of his best friends. They've supported each other through thick and thin and had SO much chemistry in season 2,3 and 5 of cc. Also, Kenji seems to be okay with him having feelings for Brook, based on s2 of ct. He doesn't seem to have any anger or resentment towards Darius and jokes with him like he normally would, even after knowing Darius' feelings. Also, a large portion of the fandom seems to enjoy dinostar more than kenlynn, and dinostar wouldn't be introduced in the first place if it wasn't going to be endgame. I don't think it was introduced just for drama, because if it was, it's gonna make even plantonic dinostar extremely problematic and unlikable, in my opinion.

That being said, I'm honestly fine with whatever route they decide to go through, whether Brooklynn ends up with Kenji, Darius or single, though I would prefer she end up with Darius. To the people who don't agree, I don't mean to cause any drama or anything lol, this is just my opinion. Ig we're gonna have to wait till season 3 to find out what happens😭

Maybe Brooklynn x Soyona tho🤔 their enemies to lovers potential is 📈📈📈

[balkanradfem]

Learning more about animals made me think about an interesting comparison on how we decide to reproduce, compared to how animals do it.

In the wild, animals will usually reproduce less, or simply survive less and thus do less populating, if the habitat isn't suitable for them, temperature is wrong, and if they don't have enough reliable food sources. Sometimes they will be able to adapt to a different habitat and temperature, like having their reproduction cycle delayed or done in a different time of year so that their young would survive, but if there's no food source, they'll reproduce in smaller numbers.

This is why sometimes animals will overpopulate the areas near humans, if they're able to access people's food storage, trashbags and pantries, it will give them a great, fulfilling source of food and thus an incentive to reproduce as much as they want to - after all, there's food for everyone.

But with humans, it's like we don't even pay attention to that. Or rather, our reproduction is governed by culture that isn't built around human needs and quality of life. We're taught that we need to reproduce, especially if we're women, because:

everyone else is doing it and it's the only normal thing to do

if we don't do it we're failing to contribute to future society

we're going to be an outcast if we don't do it

we're going to end up alone and unloved if we don't do it

there's a limited time frame in which we can do it, and if we don't we might regret it later

there's intense pressure all around us from our peers, relatives, family, cousins and others to do it, and they are all assuming we will and ask us why

if we don't we're contributing to extinction of the human species

we're supposed to want to do it

we're threatened of missing out on a fulfilled life if we don't do it

we're depicted as wasted potential if we don't do it

we're told it's what we exist for and it should be our only purpose to do it

And this fails to take into account absolutely everything that comes into being with creating human life. We aren't supposed to pay attention to the amount and quality of food that we have, to the state of the habitat all around us (if we can even access the information about it), the amount of energy, free time and willingness we have to nurture and raise a human child, or what kind of life this child can have in a world like this. It's almost like we're pushed to be more mindless than animals, reproducing simply because it's the thing that is done, rather than assessing the situation and making a reasonable call of whether someone should be living in a world in this state.

So whose idea was it to create a culture like this, who benefits from it? The answer is very simple, m*n. Just from looking at the culture they developed, it's obvious they don't care about the quality, length, or resources put into a new human's life, all they care about is producing as much offspring as possible, regardless of circumstances. All of the beliefs I've mentioned above, that are forced onto women, come from that simple-minded desire: let us multiply uncontrollably. That's also where the idea of taking away womens choices comes from; it makes it all male choice. They can decide for a woman, whether she'll have a child or not, giving them absolute control over human reproduction, while they clearly do not care what kind of society this builds or what are the consequences for the said children.

When this control is put into women's hands, all of these circumstances are taken into account. Quality of environment, available funds, food, energy, human influence, the amount of danger and threat to the child, the climate, the chance of that child having a safe and happy life, woman will be aware of all of this, because she is the one who will make sure that child stays alive and well. Fathers can ignore all of this because they know mothers will take on this labour on themselves if given no other options.

I've read recently, on how human lifespan increased so grandmothers would be able to take care of their grandchildren, giving the parents more time to work and care for themselves, and isn't it interesting? How only women were ever expected to do that. Every grandfather I've heard of was not only incapable of taking care of a child, but also incapable of taking care of himself, burdening his wife with his every need until his death. Often, they were also a danger to the children (not every single time, but often enough to be mentioned).

And we're stuck in the world where they're the ones making the calls to create more children endlessly, all while ignoring the circumstances of that child's life, and doing massive acts of violence, wars, terrorism, destruction and devastation of human life worldwide, ultimately killing both mothers and children.

It feels wrong on every level that anyone except women should have authority on human life, when to reproduce and in which circumstances. We have to endure devastating trauma and pain, intrusion in our own bodies and risk of death to make just one person. We evolved to live longer in order to take care of children, to create a better environment for them to live in, and we should let someone else make the call? It's insane.

Not only women should have the ultimate say in this, for the sake of quality of human life and the environment, but all of the culture surrounding reproduction should change. Making children in a world where we can't care for, feed and protect them isn't normal. Not paying attention to whether a creation of a child will only cause extra suffering to the child, is not how we create a future our children can live happily in. Males spreading their broken dna is not worth creating a human society that is built up on suffering, and will lead into more suffering.

[ribbonbite]

I WISH YOU ROSES ₊♡₊˚ [FOLLY X READER]

she misses them so dearly

♡ gender neutral reader, hurt no comfort, song fic sort of?, poor folly can't catch a break, no happy ending sorry!, really vague cause of death ♡

notes!・₊✧ : made a fic for my beautiful girl because i rarely see them ooouu... anyways sorry if she's incredibly out of character 😔 i tried my best (also i know i put the reader as gn, however this MIGHT be doomed yuri...)

based off : "I Wish you Roses" by Kali Uchis

She despised when people would throw those awful red petals at her. The annoying players around her often threw them to be nice, but Folly always reacted negatively, even more than before. It was like these petals were greatly offensive to her. She would threaten to harm those who even dare to get close with the cone.

Folly would never explain why, though. She never stated the reason why these harmless red flowers made her so upset. Not until one day, when all of the people that once boarded the elevator left. All except for Wallter.

They were the only ones in the elevator at this point. The humming of the lift made everything worse, filling Folly's head with more agony. She started rubbing her forehead as to get the awful noise out of her mind.

"Folly?"

Wallter had interrupted the god awful noise, thank the lord. "Are you doing alright?"

He already knew the question he asked was useless. it was clear to him that she wasn't doing good at all. Her behavior had been so different recently.

As Folly continued to massage her temples, she took a deep breath, then sighed. "I'm alright." She replied, her voice shaking subtly. She normally looked into Wallter's eyes as they spoke, but this time, she was looking away as if ashamed.

"Hm, but it's very obvious you aren't okay." Wallter pointed out. "You seem to hate when others toss those pretty petals around. You're more violent then ever, I would say."

"I..." The mention of the petals made her stop. Folly removed her hand from her head, her expression unreadable. "I don't need to explain anything to you, Wallter." The concrete man frowned at her words. Crossing his arms, he spoke again.

"This isn't like you at all. What has happened?"

₊♡₊˚ ( ╥﹏╥ )・₊✧

"Hey Folly! Do you like flowers?"

The said woman looked over, a cheesy grin plastered across your face. It looked like you were planning something.

The both of you were relaxing in a forest, somewhere in the world where no one would bother you two. A strong smell of roses from the bushes nearby wafted through the air. Folly squinted her eye before looking back up at the bright red and blue sunset.

"They're weak. One swift of the hand and they're gone," She said. "Just like that."

"Hm, well you're gonna hate my gift then." You mumbled before sitting up from your laying position. You turned your back to her, fumbling around in the bag you brought along. "Where is it..."

She seemed confused at your actions but didn't say anything. Suddenly, with a loud 'Aha!', you turned to face her.

You were holding a flower crown made out of the roses that were nearby. "These flowers reminded me a lot of you so I thought I could make something out of them!"

Without warning, you placed it on the top of her beret. Or rather attempted to, as the crown was threatening to slip off. You giggled at the sight of Folly with a sloppily placed rose crown on her head. "You look nice with it!" You exclaimed.

She looked very unimpressed by both your gift and laughter. Deep down, however, she was grateful for all of it. It made her chest feel warm, her heart was pounding. Guess even a figure of hatred and malice could feel these emotions too.

"Hm..." Folly hummed, grabbing onto the crown gently yet firmly to inspect it. She glided her fingers across the soft petals. The vines still adorned a few leftover thorns you seemingly forgot to pluck off. The rose petals were a similar color to her, a bright crimson red. The crown was large enough to fit her head too. 'They put thought into this', she pondered. She began to get lost into the details.

"Do you like it?"

Your voice brought her back to reality. She looked at you for a moment before letting out her usual sinister laugh. "It's pretty, mortal... but its useless to me." She responded.

"So you DON'T like it?" You pouted slightly, a bit sad at her words. "Well, I guess if you don't like it, you can hand it ba-"

"No." The mere thought of handing the flower crown back when all of your hard work went into making it made Folly feel even more inclined to keep your gift. "I'll keep it... For now..."

With a big sigh of relief, you smiled. "I'm glad..." You grabbed the crown from her and set it aside before going in to wrap your arms around her larger frame.

"Please keep it forever." You muttered into her sweater. "Promise."

Folly normally hated when people hugged her, but you? You were the only person allowed to hold her. Your touch was soft and gentle, like a warm blanket.

With the sun setting even further into the horizon, this moment felt like a dream. She wanted it to last forever.

So then, how did it come to this?

Folly cursed whatever higher being was up there when she saw your lifeless body laying in that same spot just days later. You passed so suddenly. No one else knew what happened, it was so out of nowhere. It was like someone was playing a sick joke on her.

Weeks had passed since you were gone from this world. She stared at the rose crown in her hands, the last thing you gave her. "Please keep it forever" echoed in her head over and over again, your voice sounding so happy that she accepted your gift. Oh how she missed the sound of your voice.

Suddenly, a single tear had fallen onto one of the petals which deepened the color. Another tear came, then another, then more droplets. Folly rarely ever cried, and yet here she was, silently crying over the only thing she had of you. She missed you so immensely, it hurt.

From then on, the sight of red roses and petals made her sick. Her thoughts were only of you whenever she saw them, the sight of your body laying cold and still on the ground.

But even with her grief, Folly fulfilled her promise of keeping the roses forever. Occasionally, when no one else is in the elevator, she'll take it out of her pocket and inspect it. Though, one day she noticed the flowers starting to wilt, but she didn't care. All she could think of was you.

Folly never did moved past the mourning period, even years later with the dead flowers still in her pocket. But inside, she secretly wished that you were well, wherever you were.

[trappedinafantasy37]

There is a trend that I've noticed amongst fandom spaces around games, and it isn't a trend that is unique to Baldur's Gate. I have seen it happen in my other fandom spaces like Fallout, Cyberpunk, Dragon Age, etc. But people have a habit of having very strong opinions about companions/characters that they do not know.

It is comical to watch the abject lies people create about companions and use them as justification to dislike said companion because they know they don't have a valid reason to do so. This isn't unique to Minthara, this happens to ALL companions (ironically, the funniest and most egregious lies I've ever heard actually aren't even about Minthara). It's just glaringly obvious when it comes to Minthara as she is the least recruited and most killed companion in the game and is thus the least known. So the lies and mischaracterizations pop up more often, and there is an abundance of them. And it gets exhausting having to constantly fight these lies all the time. Especially when so few people actually know her and thus there are few who are able to defend her.

I remember there was a poll a few months ago that overwhelming voted Minthara as the least loyal and most likely companion to cheat on you. To me, that just screams that the people who voted for her in that poll have never had a conversation with her outside the goblin camp. Minthara is the most loyal companion. That is not an opinion of mine. That is a fact. That is canon to the game. She is canonically your most loyal companion. And it's not that she's the least likely to cheat. She never will. Again, not an opinion. That is canon to the game. But this is information people don't know, because they've never spent a single moment getting to know her. This is a lie being spread about her that will be used as justification to dislike her and to justify not recruiting her or justify killing her.

I have also seen people admit that their opinions about her is formed solely on social media posts from YouTube, TikTok, Twitter, Reddit, or Tumblr because they just can't stomach having her in their party. As ironic as this is going to sound, but your opinion about a character should never be based on social media alone. The people who do this are missing out on the context of that post and often fail to use it in comparison with the rest of the character (especially since there is a high risk of a social media post containing misinformation or just straight up lies). People will take this one snippet of a character, and use it as if that it is all that character is. Posts on social media, including mine, are meant to be supplementary to your experience of a companion, not the sole foundation.

When it comes to these social media posts, no two people are going to have the exact same interpretation, which may cause confusion for an outsider looking in. Even amongst us Minthara enjoyers, we do not always agree, and that is to be expected. We are all different people who have lived different lives and thus have different experiences informing our interpretations. Even amongst my mutuals we do not always agree, and that's normal. But at least we have taken the time to get to know her and come to our own conclusions and can understand how someone else came to a different one. My posts, or anyone else's, should not be your sole source of information about Minthara or any other characters. You still do need to form your own opinion and that can only be done by actually spending the time to get to know them.

Recently, one of my old posts in which I talked about the relationship with Minthara and Karlach has exploded again. And I see the tags that people are attaching to it. The game has been out for 10 months now. And it makes me sad that people still have the wrong opinion about Minthara. It makes me sad just how little people actually know about her. It makes me sad that people are only now going to go recruit her for the first time, even though the knock out exploit has been here for months. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that my post has changed the way people see Minthara and encouraged them to want to get to know her. But it breaks my heart that I have to use another companion to convince people to get to know Minthara, because to them, Minthara alone just isn't good enough. They have already made up their mind about her, even though they don't even know her.

People are allowed to have whatever opinions that they want. But don't get online and share those opinions about a character you don't even know to people who do. It's like highschool level petty nonsense where people would rather believe and spread rumors about a person, rather than getting to know the person themselves and forming their own opinion. And, no, I don't care if your opinion is a positive one because even positive opinions can be inaccurate and wrong if you don't know the character. Again, this isn't just about Minthara but all characters and companions. And I'm only scratching at the surface level here. This essay would be significantly longer if I actually took the time to talk about how implicit bias, racism, homophobia, and sexism have all had a negative impact on fandom perception of Minthara and the other companions.

I will never tell anyone to do anything with their game they don't want to do, I will only encourage people to try new things. If you truly do not want to recruit Minthara or interact with her, that's fine. It's your game, your world, your rules, your vision.

But, I will say this. If the only conversation that you have ever had with Minthara is the one in the goblin camp, shut the fuck up about her. This cruel, heartless, evil person that floats around is a twisted version of Minthara that only exists on social media and was created by people who do not know her. This bastardized version is nothing like the version that actually exists in the game. And you would know that if you ever spent a single second of your time getting to know her.

[jxngs]

FUUBUTSUSHI | 風物詩 — 2

· . ༄࿔ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Snow whispers softly, Blind eyes in winter's embrace, Curse king's frozen game.

⤿ or in which a blind girl is forced to play shogi with the king of curses.

Sukuna / Ryomen Sukuna | Original Female Character(s)

Tags: Slow Burn × Size Difference × Heian Period × Romance × Violence × Enemies to Lovers × kind of lol × Canon-Typical Violence × Betrayal × Disabled Character

[Ch. 1] | [AO3]

"Let's make a wager today."

Yukina felt excited about the idea. She was already having fun with the King, and he somehow made it even more interesting. Perhaps it would motivate him to try harder to win. If that's the case, so be it! She and Sukuna have been playing shogi for a while, and he was never close to winning.

Outside of playing, the young female didn't do much. Eat, play, eat, sleep. At first, she needed to be escorted by Uraume every time. It took her almost three days to memorize the paths that led her to her room, the kitchen, and the room where she played with the King. It wasn't his chambers; that's what she knew for sure.

She also met a couple of the servants and even one of the concubines so far. They didn't engage in conversation with her that much unless they had to directly interact with her. Even the concubine didn't bother with her once she found out that her stay was temporary.

Well, it's temporary until Sukuna wins.

If you asked Yukina, she'd tell you that her stay is permanent, given the way things are going.

Loss after loss.

It didn't matter to her, though. She was having fun.

"Sure! That'll be fun," she responded to him.

"If you lose, you'll have to give me your eyes as a keepsake."

Oh.

That was definitely one of the weirder bets she had; why would someone want something so useless? It didn't make sense to her at all. Perhaps if she saw some value in it, she would be weirded out by the whole idea rather than being confused.

"You can just take them," Yukina said a few seconds later.

"You want me to take them now?" Sukuna asked incredulously.

Isn't that what he wanted...? Did she misunderstand his words?

"It's not like I use them." She giggled—as if that's the most normal thing to say. "I usually wager with my life."

"Why would you? Are you that confident in your skills?"

"Well, once a shogi master loses, they're considered to be a normal human. And I..." Yukina gripped her kimono and tilted her head down, hiding her face. "I can't live with that."

The King was silent.

This pathetic human managed to catch him off guard every single time.

In his eyes, she was already a 'normal human', yet to see her think so highly of one board game to the point of losing her life over it... It's truly pathetic. So pathetic that he wanted to laugh. Laugh at how she was going to lose her life whether she wagered on it or not.

Yet, the way that she was willing to give up her eyes without any reason made him feel puzzled. Weren't humans oddly attached to their things? Whether it was a limb, a house, a wisdom tooth, or even a teapot they had only recently bought, they would never let go of it.

Yukina, on the other hand, offered them with no hesitation. Her body was relaxed, and she had her usual small, guileless smile gracing her face. Her demeanour didn't change at that, but the idea of losing her status as a shogi master disrupted her features.

Was it because it was the only thing she found value in in herself?

Sukuna couldn't handle it.

He couldn't handle how she was getting him to overthink. He couldn't handle how a young, disabled woman like her was willing to lose her life over something she valued when most people didn't do half of that. Sorcerers of all kinds had their pride, and they would never admit to such a thing.

His own pride wouldn't allow him to be less than her.

With a hand movement, his lower set of eyes was sliced, splattering blood on her and the floor. 

"W-What?" Her timid voice stuttered.

Her slender fingers reached to her cheeks, trembling. Her seraphic smile no longer graced her face. She was scared. Terrified and confused.

And he loved it.

It made him think if she was the same when he attacked her hometown. Was she crying and trembling? Yelling for her father in broken words? Oh, she must've felt so lost and so confused.

Seeing her break like that reminded him of how human she is, after all. 

Yukina was not an angel.

"King S-Sukuna," her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "What happened?"

"Let's start the game." The King shrugged her off, already picking up a piece.

A bloody hand suddenly covered the board, hovering over it to not dirty it. Her pale complexion made the crimson red on her fingers pop more, and it made him wonder if it'd look just as good if her entire body was covered in it.

"No!" Yukina protested. "I-I don't know why you hurt yourself, but— but we're not playing till you treat it."

Sukuna chuckled at her. She didn't know that he had healed himself to stop the bleeding. She was just so dumb that it was entertaining him beyond his expectations. 

Suddenly, she reached behind her head. Yukina started to untie her blindfold, though her movements were shaky. She then extended her hands with a thin, long piece of fabric resting on her palms.

"I don't w-want you to bleed more." She said.

His gaze flickered between her hands and face, his face blank and neutral. Did she really think that he was like her? It almost made him scoff.

Her eyes were shut, but he could see the concern and worry in her expression. It was as if she was pleading for him to take care of his self-inflicted wound. It had him pause for a second, but...

Sukuna took the blindfold from her; however, he held it in his lower left hand. He didn't take his eyes off her, and he could see her smile at him in relief.

"You're dismissed for today."

Yukina slowly nodded her head at him.

Was she upset?

It was painfully obvious how she wore her heart on her sleeve. Her lips were pouty while she started to tap the floor around, trying to find her white cane. The glowing halo around her dimmed, and she was mindlessly searching. He could hear how slow her heartbeat was compared to earlier. 

Sukuna found himself puzzled by her again. He knew he should've taken it as it is. Yukina was a simple-minded woman who was overly trusting. Her intentions were clear, and she lacked the deceit that people had.

So, why couldn't he think of her in a simple way?

He took the cane that rolled away a bit far and handed it to her silently. Her head snapped up toward him, and it suffocated him.

"Thank you," she breathed out, gently grabbing it from him with a small bow.

She stood up from her place, leaning on the wooden pole for support. Her thick, white lashes rested comfortably against her skin as she began to walk out. The soft tapping filled the silence in the room. It had a rhythm and a specific pace, and it swayed from left to right.

Honestly, Yukina was obviously upset about how their playtime was cut short. 

The only thing she looked forward to in her current days was her time with the King. She got to talk to him and explain sequences with ease, and over time, he began to indulge in her talks more and more.

Did she do something wrong? 

Just as her mind was about to convince her of that, his voice rang through the room.

"What did you want in case you won?" he asked her.

Her tapping came to a stop, and she turned around to face him.

"I wanted... to visit the gardens here."

The King didn't say anything in return, and thus, her tapping continued. 

Yukina walked through the halls with a quickened heart rate. The corners of her lips were tugging upwards, though it looked odd with the blood on her face. The King was an odd person in her eyes, but he was still kind nonetheless. She couldn't understand why he would injure himself so suddenly, or why he decided not to play with her for the day. She didn't sense any sort of negative emotions from his voice, so it wasn't like he was angry or upset, right?

Nonetheless, she hoped that things would be better tomorrow. Perhaps they'd wager on something again, but the consequences wouldn't end up like how it did today. Her request was tame in comparison to his: to visit the gardens or to lose her life. It didn't matter anyway. The outcome would always be the same.

She was so deep in her thoughts that she found herself already in front of her chambers. Sliding the door open, she stepped inside and closed it behind her. Since they didn't play a single match today, she had a lot of free time. The problem is she didn't know what to do. Yukina didn't have friends to chat with, and there wasn't really a hobby she could do while blind.

With a sigh, she sat down on her futon and placed her cane to the side. Her hands fiddled with her kimono sleeve in boredom as she thought of what she could do.

Back at her family's house, she would try to do embroidery in her free time since she could rely on her tactile senses for that. However, she didn't have anything to do so, and she'd need someone to sort out the colors for her first. It wasn't her place to ask the King for such a thing either.

Yukina decided to start braiding her hair. Normally, it'd be left down, reaching her mid-thigh, with her signature clip holding some pieces behind. Her hair was too heavy to be wrapped in a bun, so she would rather braid it instead.

Her nimble fingers were already threaded in her long locks, and she started to softly hum a tune to ease her boredom. From what she knew, no one lived in a room near her, so she didn't have to worry about being loud and annoying. It made her feel a lot more comfortable to do so.

Her fingers worked rhythmically, weaving strands of her hair together with practiced ease. The gentle hum of her voice filled the quiet room, a melody that echoed softly off the paper walls. It was an old tune, one her mother used to sing to her when she was a child. The notes carried a sense of nostalgia, a comfort that eased the restlessness in her heart.

As the braid grew longer, Yukina found herself lost in the repetitive motion, her thoughts drifting like leaves on a calm stream. She wondered what the gardens looked like. She had never seen them, but she imagined them in her mind: the flowers would be hidden beneath the white, the trees bare and skeletal, yet there was a serene beauty in that stillness. She could almost hear the soft crunch of snow underfoot, the crisp air filling her lungs as she wandered through the frozen landscape.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she tied off the end of her braid. Yukina still continued to sing and hum, deep in her thoughts. The King had been strange today, stranger than usual. She couldn't shake the image of him, the way his voice had wavered when he spoke to her.

The King was a mystery, one she had yet to fully understand. But there was something about him, something that drew her in.

The hum of her tune faded, leaving her in a silence that was almost too loud. She wished she could see his face, read the expressions that she could only imagine. But all she had were his words, his voice, and the emotions she could sense but not see. It wasn't enough, and yet, it was all she had.

Her train of thought was cut short when she heard a knock on her door.

"Come in," she said, pushing her hair back.

The door slid open, and they entered. The footsteps sounded heavier and different from usual. Uraume was the only person who would visit her, often to give her food or clothes, but it didn't sound like them.

"... Who is it?" Yukina asked.

There was a pause, then.

"Your playmate." A familiar deep voice rumbled through her ears, but it sounded unusually close now.

Oh?

The King never visited her before. She didn't expect to hear from him until tomorrow.

She turned her body to face him, head tilted upward. It was amusing to see her 'gaze' on his torso rather than his face, but she was blissfully unaware.

"King Sukuna," she greeted him, shocked. "Can I be of any help?"

A large, calloused hand touched her cheek, and it made her flinch from the sudden touch. It always surprised her whenever people touched her suddenly; deep down, she didn't like it. She didn't show any of that, though.

His thumb ran over the same spot many times before doing the same on her other cheek. Yukina was frozen in place—cheeks red and hands gripping her clothes. What is going on?

"You didn't clean your face well." The King finally clarified to her once he pulled away. You can hear the amusement in his voice.

It made her cheeks burn more in embarrassment, and she said, "I didn't know. Thank you."

If she was able to see, she would've averted her gaze.

"Follow me." He said after a round of silence.

Yukina couldn't even process it until she heard him already walking away. She scrambled around to find her cane to quickly go after him, not questioning where he was taking her.

The walk was fairly silent until a small sneeze escaped her, her nose scrunched up. Another one rang through the halls before she was able to apologize. God, she hated it whenever she sneezed. It was common, and she had done it in front of the King multiple times already. She simply didn't know why it happened so much, but it was a lot worse during spring.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her ears pink.

He didn't say anything in response and continued to walk. It was hard for her to figure out where he was walking. Sometimes, she would end up going the wrong way, and she wouldn't know till she heard his footsteps start to fade away. If it wasn't for her actively thinking about it, she would've ended up lost.

Just as she was going to turn to the right, something tugged on her clothes from behind, and she was stuck in place. 

"Huh—"

"Not that way." The King said with a flat tone.

"O-Oh!!"

Yukina stopped trying to walk forward and turned around to where he was. He still held on to the back of her kimono, and if he used a bit more strength, it would lift her up off her feet. It was similar to how a mother cat would hold her kitten. She felt too flustered and helpless to say anything. At least they didn't waste time because of her.

Soon enough, she heard him slide a door open and let go of her clothes. She smoothed it out the best she could, but her movements came to a stop when she felt cold air hit her face, blowing her hair away. Her hands came to a stop, and she gasped when she realized where they were.

"Woah~!" Yukina breathed out excitedly once she stepped out on the engawa¹.

In a second, she was already stepping off and walking around. Her steps were faster than normal, as she breathed in the crisp air. It was snowing, but she didn't care. All that mattered to her was how nice it was to feel it reach her body softly. The young woman was too mesmerized by the smells and sounds of nature to realize that he wasn't there with her.

Sukuna stood on the wooden porch, his face void of any emotion. His gaze rested on Yukina; he watched her from afar for a few seconds, then walked away. Humans were too boring and pathetic sometimes, and he couldn't bear to see it.

It was such a stupid request, and if it wasn't for her winning at a game of wits—unintentionally, he wouldn't have granted it.

If anything, his hatred for her grew more and more. And seeing her smile and blend in with the white-covered landscape further strengthened his hate. Sukuna hoped that she would accidentally die out there so the vow would be nullified. He would do anything to get her out of his face. To go and slaughter her village for binding him to a weak, dumb mortal.

Her innocence frustrated him beyond belief. How can someone be so ignorant and foolish to trust anything?

Despite being far from the garden now, he could hear her talking to herself. It took him a second to focus and realize that she thought he was still there, too.

Hah.

That made him laugh more than he had expected.

Yukina's mood was completely different from earlier—that was evident from how she excitedly talked about her surroundings. How she loved winter and its calmness. How the coldness in her lungs made her feel alive. How apparently everything was covered in white. She even asked him if that's true, but she was so into her rambling that she didn't think twice of his silence.

He heard her sit down and go quiet for a second.

Did she finally realize that she was alone? Oh, he would've loved to see her reaction to that.

Instead, she began to talk softly about how she wished she could see, and it made him stop in his tracks. Yukina had never brought that topic up before.

With curious ears, he listened.

She was so soft-spoken, but she didn't sound weak. It was as if she wasn't bothered by her disability as much as he thought she would be. She simply accepted it long ago, yet he could pick up on the yearning in her voice.

"I bet it's so pretty," she said. "I often long to see everything around me. The mountains and its rocks. The moon and its stars. Apparently, even the sun and its skies look pretty during sunset."

Sukuna couldn't recall the last time he paid attention to his surroundings. Or if he ever did.

"You know... My mother used to always say how she chose my name because I reminded her of the snow during winter."²

Yukina's words rang in his brain, and he remembered how she looked earlier. Her hair was braided this time, yet her front pieces fluttered and moved with the wind. Pink dusted her cheeks and nose, and her light blue kimono made her stand out even more. Her skin was so white it was a few shades away from matching the white fabric that covered her eyes.

For a second, it made him wonder what her eyes were like. Was it brown like the girls in their era? Or did it have that milkiness that some blind people have? Did they stand out with her white lashes?

The image of her twirling around under the falling snow kept relaying in his mind. It made his usually hot body drop in temperature, feeling the coldness grace his skin. Engulfing him and wrapping itself from behind.

She really did look like she was winter personified.

And he hated how he agreed with that. How he kept thinking of her.

With a sneer, Sukuna walked away. He was no longer interested in hearing her realize his absence.

Notes:

¹. Engawa: A covered corridor which runs around the outside perimeter of a building, similar to a porch.

². Yukina's name: The 雪 (yuki) in her name means snow.

[karenandhenwilson]

About Coming Out

I've seen some discussion about "how disrespectful and misogynistic it was of Buck to come out at his sister's wedding". And at first I laughed about that take, but after some consideration, I became pretty sad. Because I feel this is one of the most queerphobic takes I've seen in this whole fandom discourse taking place since May.

What does this take imply about being queer and coming out? It tells us that coming out is a big thing. Something that you need to do with great care and put a lot of attention to, that you need to expect everyone else to put a lot of attention to. But not because people might react poorly and it's a decision a queer person needs to make carefully for their own safety's sake (which is the very reality for most queer people in any given situation) and instead because everyone else has the right to make a big deal about it and demand to talk about it and fully concentrate on it no matter what else is going on.

Coming out should not be big thing. It should not even be necessary.

That it is necessary to tell people "hey, you know, I'm not straight" or "hey, you know, I'm not cis" or any other thing people assume about others is a problem of our society. We are living in a heteronormative world. People complain about children being exposed to queer themes, but at the same time the toddlers in the sandpit--one a boy the other a girl--getting along great for the afternoon they are playing together, are called boyfriend and girlfriend. And then they are teased about their "crushes" (at least as long as it's a crush of the oposite gender, of course. In any other case they just really close friends and isn't nice to see such close friendships?).

No one should assume about any real person they see on the street, or in class, or at work, or on the news, or on TV what or who they are. But in the end all of us, the queer community just as much as everyone else, assume about people they don't know that they are straight and cis. Or they assume just by their appearances that they are decidedly not straight or not cis. (I just recently saw a meme: A picture of Christina Aguilera on a stage, and a comment beneath about "the horrors of men dressing as women" or something along those lines. That’s sad for so many reasons, but I think it very much showed the mindset of many people about how their perception is more important than anything else.)

It shouldn't matter. But sadly, it does. We live in a society where I was nervous at 16 when I told my mom "I like girls more than boys at the moment" because I had a horrible crush on a girl in my class when she asked me about dating boys (to then be told by my mother that it was a phase and would go away eventually. I haven't told her yet that it wasn't a phase but that I do use another label now). We live in a society where I used a friend's struggle with her family concerning her girlfriend to very carefully see how my dad would react to me talking about this at 21 and then blurted out "I know how my friend feels because Mom was horrible when I told her I'm bi" (to then break down in tears when my dad just shrugged, said I hadn't told him anything new about myself or my mom and if my friend and her girlfriend needed any help).

I wish we lived in a world where sitting at a café with a relatively new friend and just mentioning "this woman I once dated" without it interrupting the conversation at all was normal. And where it is just as normal that this friend shared a little while later "that's why I mostly dated women before meeting my husband" again without it interrupting our conversation in any way. Our hug when we said goodbye might have been a little bit longer and a little bit tighter than is usual, but other than that it was not a big deal coming out to each other at all. I, for my part, didn't even think about it being a big thing because I feel comfortable and secure with this friend.

I wish we lived in a world where coming out wasn't even necessary.

I wish we lived in a world where others wouldn't make assumptions based on what others look like under their closes, or about who they love, or about who they find attractive, or about who they fuck. Where people wouldn't judge how people style themselves and how they look and what the scale might show about their weight. I wish we lived in a world where none of that mattered. I wish we lived in a world where a man showing up with a boyfriend or showing up single to any event would be as much talked about as a man showing up with a girlfriend: that there would be no talk about it at all.

We don't live in such a world. And when I look at people saying Buck was disrespectful and misogynistic (really, what??? Are people once more just throwing around random words to see which of them will stick?) by coming out at his sister's wedding, I know my nieces and nephews and probably even my grand-nieces and grand-nephews won't ever experience such a world. Because instead of working to normalize being queer, people are doing exactly the opposite. (And then of course the anti-queer laws we are seeing pop up again at the moment, but that's another topic.)

All that despite 9-1-1 showing us at least a glimpse of that world I wish we could live in.

We saw Buck struggle with some internalized homophobia, of course. Because I think that's exactly what his nervousness during the first date and his panic when Eddie showed up was about. We know that Buck isn't homophobic in the slightest. We have seen him interact with enough queer people in the course of the show to know that about him. But clearly, there was a tiny voice in his head--and I'd bet money it sounded very much like Margaret Buckley's voice--telling him it was shameful to date a man. He worked through it very quickly and I think that's a testament of how much he did work through the bullshit his parents planted in his head in therapy. And it might also be a sign of how much he really likes Tommy and wants to be with him that he managed to work through that hateful voice in his head in just a couple of days.

But then we also saw that coming out is very much not a big deal at all at the wedding. I fully believe Buck knew about the soot on his face (Come on guys, he's been a firefighter for over seven years. He worked in a forest fire at least once. Buck knows exactly how soot travels and how difficult it is to get rid of it again.) He chose to have the soot all over his face to show everyone how he had greeted Tommy. He dragged Tommy into the room holding his hand. He took that slight breath to prepare himself for any reaction and then beamed over his whole face. There was no spoken announcement, but it could still not have been louder. I'm sure, if everything had gone according to plan (and Tommy hadn't been stuck fighting a fire) there wouldn't have been any big announcement then either. They'd just have danced among all the other couples dancing at the wedding and let everyone else make their assumptions about it.

And everyone else just reacted like I wish it would always go: They smiled, happy to see Buck happy, and turned back to the main event. No one talked about Buck and Tommy. No one asked Buck and Tommy any questions. No one turned to Buck and said "But you've always liked women!" or asked "Were you hurt by a woman? Is that the reason you are turning to men now?" or accused "You should have told us an age ago! Why didn't you tell us? How dare you not to tell us!".

It was such a fucking beautiful coming-out scene. Because it was full of acceptance and support. And at the same time, it also showed that coming out really isn't a big thing. It showed to beautifully that it doesn't matter who he loves or who he dates.

Buck coming out to the rest of his friends and family was not noteworthy at all among all the events of that day. Because he's found great friends and a great family in LA and all that matters for them is that he is happy with the person he is dating.

So, I would like to ask those people who say that Buck should have gone around and come out to everyone before the wedding because doing it the way he did was stealing his sister's big day (and why only his sisters, anyway? Why not also Chimney's big day?) something: If Buck had brought a new girlfriend, should he have gone around to everyone to inform them about that first? Maddie knew about Tommy, I think Chimney might have known before getting sick. Aren't those the two important people on that day and the only ones who need to know, at least that he was bringing a date?

And also: Should have Hen and Karen gone around to all the guests who don't know them and come out to them? Which includes the Buckley parents. If Josh brought a date, should he have gone to everyone and inform them first about bringing a man as his date? Or to take his one ridiculous step further: Should have Athena and Bobby gone around to everyone who doesn't know them closely to tell them they are an interracial couple? (Because there are people who would still find that scandalous and could have made a scene! No matter that they are currently attending the wedding of another interracial couple.) Why have these couples the right to assume that no one will talk about their relationship when the focus should be on the bride and groom, but Buck and Tommy don't have that right? Just because it's new for Buck? Rally?

(And I'm aware that the people who I'm asking this question probably quit reading this text after the first 100 words or so. They probably didn't get 1.7k words into my essay to get to these questions. And that might just be another problem in this fandom discourse: Certain people are just not open to take the time and energy to openly and honestly deal with opinions that don't agree with their own opinion. Because that could mean having to change their own opinion, right?)