#writing is fun but exhausting

[bamjammy]

My stupid half asleep ideas inspired by a bunch of various tumblr posts about them

[benevolenterrancy]

hi!! I think your art is *so cool* o(≧∇≦o)

do you think you could draw more moshang? either post canon or that au you did last time?? (baby mobei has my heart and all I own)

(˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) oh! how about return to childhood—moshang flavor?

don't question this king, shang qinghua, he knows what he's about

[vacantgodling]

ngl i get that people hype up hating writing for the bit but like. idk. yall i Do actually really like writing. it is so satisfying and fun and rewarding and i get to look back what i made over and over again and get joy every single time.

yes writing is hard but if you hate it more than you love it im kinda like. idk. find another hobby?

[expelliarmus]

[sunnixsunshine]

"how would Sanji deal with the eating habits of a toddler?" I ask myself. And then I remember Zoro is there too and how he would absolutely eat whatever it is their kid doesn't because he knows Sanji's hatred of food waste so yeah he jumps ahead of Sanji and eats off her plate most meals. And if he doesn't eat it either then Luffy does of course! Sanji rarely does it himself because it is always either Zoro or Luffy who gets to it first.

Though he does struggle A LOT to adapt to the ever changing flavor palette of a toddler. Like one second their kid really really likes yogurt so oh yeah totally, he's gonna pick up a few things of yogurt on their next stop! Oh don't tell me you hate yogurt now, the stuff is expensive 😫 you like pudding now? Since when do you like pudding!? You haven't had pudding in, like, WEEKS!?!?!?

[crazy-hazy-sims]

▌│█║▌║▌║🄽🄴🅆 🄱🄰🄽🄳 🄸🄽 🅃🄾🅆🄽 🄷🄴🅁🄴 🅃🄾 🅂🄴🅃 🅃🄷🄴 🄴🄳🄶🄴🅆🄰🅅🄴 🅂🅃🄰🄶🄴 🄾🄽 🄵🄸🅁🄴▌│█║▌║▌║

[seraphimankh]

Dream Designs for Chapter 35~

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

PLEASE write some stevepop where soda sees steve maybe defending or secretly being kind to ponyboy!

i love steve and ponyboys friendship

AGHH the scream I screamt when I got this request ABSOLUTELY! Adore these boys I am HAPPY to provide! fic under the cut!

"Ponyboy get your ass out here or I'm leavin' you!" Steve slams on the horn 'n Darry appears in the kitchen window to shake his head firmly. Ah, it was seven thirty in the mornin'. Steve had forgotten. Pony ducks past the open screen door to flip him off 'n Steve has to fight the urge to throw the door open 'n drag the kid out by his hair.

"I'm gonna kill that kid. I swear to God." Steve hmphs, kicks a foot on the dash.

Soda leans through the rolled down window 'n chuckles to himself. "Glory, Steve, ain't there bigger things in the world to be mad at? The injustices 'n all are a tad more serious then a bitchy kid brother, dig?" Soda snorts 'n Steve rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well, the injustices aren't about to make me fuckin' late!" Steve hollers 'n Pony makes an indignant noise from somewhere in the house. Soda cracks up. "You comin' to school today?"

Soda tilts his head to the side, opens his mouth but before he can say anythin' Darry cuts in from the porch, "He better be takin' his lil' ass or I'm gonna bust it." Soda hoots a laugh 'n wiggles his hips from where he's bent down to talk to Steve from outside the car.

"Well, I think the decision's been made for the safety of both me 'n my ass." Darry rolls his eyes, grabs Soda by the back of the shirt 'n hoists him up, plantin' a kiss to the top of his ruthlessly messy waves. He releases him 'n turns to climb into his truck.

He's halfway in when he stops 'n turns. "Pony come out yet?"

"Fuckin' no-" The screen door slams 'n Pony leaps off the stairs, hair ungreased 'n curlin' around his eyes, backpack slung over one shoulder 'n unzipped, a piece of burnt toast bit between his teeth.

He skids to a stop to let Darry drop a kiss to his temple 'n then whack him one up the back of his head. He whines wordlessly, mostly 'cause if he tried to speak he'd lose his breakfast, 'n rips open the back door to Steve's beater, crawlin' into the back seat.

"If you get crumbs in my car I'm gonna kick your ass." Steve twists around 'n Pony takes his toast from his mouth just to stick his tongue out.

Soda takes one good leap 'n slides across the roof of the beater to get to the passenger side, slammin' the door shut 'n kickin' his feet up on the dash. He idly flips the radio station until Jimmy Gilmer and The Fireballs Sugar Shack starts playin' 'n he grins 'n cranks the volume.

Pony groans 'n leans over the seat to change it 'n Steve puts an elbow up 'n shoves him back into his seat. "Shotgun picks the music 'n last time I checked you weren't even in the front, brat."

Pony narrows his eyes, scowls, 'n breaks off the crumbliest end of the bread, grindin' it into Steve's carpet where he can't see. "You don't even like this song!"

Soda twists around, throws a hand out the window, grins with his whole mouth. "Nuh uh, Pone. This is Stevie's favorite song. Know why?" Pony stops scowlin' just long enough to look confused.

"Why?"

"'Cause it's mine 'n Steve loves to please- OW!" Steve howls 'n jabs Soda in the ribs. Soda jumps, whoops 'n scrambles to the side to avoid Steve's fingers. Pony groans theatrically 'n drops his head to the window.

A horn blares 'n all three of them look up 'n realize their still blockin' Darry in the driveway. Darry leans out the window with an exasperated sigh, "Steven Thomas, I thought you were so worried about bein' late!"

...

Steve rolls into the parkin' lot goin' so fast he nearly spins out, throwin' the car into the first empty spot he finds. The clock on the dash reads seven fifty- already twenty minutes late.

"Pony move your ass." Steve snatches the keys from the ignition, spinnin' to grab his bag from the back. Pony flips him off again but wiggles out, draggin' his stuff across the seat. Soda jumps out, not even a pencil on his person.

Once they're out of the car, however, none of them hustle across the lot. It was the principle. You couldn't look too eager headed into a school buildin'. They had a rep to protect.

"C'mon." Soda leans around the corner when they get to the top of the steps, watchin' for the lady at the front to turn her back. "Pony go." Pony skids through the door, squats down low under the desk 'n tries to slip by.

So, of course, the woman takes that exact moment to look up.

"Excuse me, young man, you're late. Do you have a note or a parent with you?" Pony freezes like a deer in the headlights 'n both Soda 'n Steve groan.

"Uh-"

"Sorry, Mrs. Baker." Steve doesn't stop to think, just hoists his bag up on his shoulder 'n strolls over to grab Pony by the shoulder. "I gave him a ride today. Him 'n Soda. Sodapop Curtis, that is." He turns around to jerk his head at Soda. Pony looks back at him, frown lines of confusion knittin' between his brow.

"Ok." The woman folds long fingers together 'n looks at him expectantly. "Do you have a note?'

"Naw, I'm just sayin' it ain't their faults. I was-" He grits his teeth together, digs his fingers into Pony's shoulder, "runnin' a little late today. My fault. Traffic was a real bit- uh mess." He offers his best charmin' smile 'n wishes he had Soda's stupid big eyes 'n innocent long lashes that could let him blink his way outta anythin'. Maybe he shoulda thrown Soda under the bus. She raises one thin eyebrow but sighs.

"Well, alright then. I'll write them passes. You, however, will have to get a mark on your record." Steve does his best to look apologetic, waits 'til she turns, 'n flips her off. Soda snorts 'n tries to, poorly, hide it behind a cough. The woman glances over her shoulder 'n Soda lets his dimple show.

He definitely should have let him take the fall.

She tears two slips off a pad 'n hands them across to Pony 'n Soda. Soda shoots him a little apologetic grin 'n Pony begrudgingly mutters his thanks. Steve flicks him in the forehead 'n before Pony can open his mouth 'n say somethin' smart, Soda grabs him 'n pulls him along.

"Name?" Steve frowns, watches as Soda 'n Pony horse around, splittin' at the end of the hall to go to their respective classes. Steve has a sudden pit in his stomach.

"Huh?"

"Your name, hon?"

"Sorry, uh, Randle. Steve." She makes quick work of the papers, handin' Steve over his own pass.

"Alright, Mr.Randle," Steve cringes internally but doesn't let it show, "get to class, now. 'N don't let me see you again, today."

...

Steve's supposed to be skippin' third period with Soda but the knucklehead hadn't shown where they had agreed. Steve had hung around the bleachers for as long as he dared before sighin', concedin' he wasn't gonna show.

He pushes off the rail he'd been leanin' on, debatin' his options. He could head straight out to the beater 'n call the day a wash, come back for Soda 'n Pony when school let out. But Pony, the little shit, was just as likely to tattle as he was to keep it to himself. Plus he was supposed to have fourth with Soda, assumin' he showed.

He hesitates a moment more, hedges his bets, 'n figures he might as well just head to class 'n beg off bein' late. His English teacher was a real doll, she might even turn a blind eye.

He slips the back door open 'n ducks his head through, lettin' his eyes adjust. The hall's deserted, though he can hear some kinda ruckus bein' kicked up somewhere nearby. Some real brawl by the sounds of it.

He creeps the rest of the way in, easin' the door shut. Steve turns the opposite way as the noise, figurin' they were bound to get busted 'n if he was anywhere nearby so would he. He's just creakin' the door to the stairs open, idly listenin' when he catches somethin' that makes his pulse rocket up.

"How do you like that, huh, Curtis?" Steve doesn't even bother to catch the slam the door makes as it shuts. He's movin' before he can think, down in the direction of the voice. Someone groans 'n Steve picks up the pace.

The voices sound too young to be Steve 'n Soda's age. Which really only left-

Steve rounds the corner fast, slidin' a little on the tile 'n the scene he comes up on has him clenchin' his fists so hard half moons carve into his palms. Oh, Jesus.

Here's the thing. Pony ain't half bad in a scrap. Somethin' about growin' up with two brothers 'n a house full of boys made you either sink or swim when it came to gettin' pounded. 'N maybe the boys currently beatin' the ever-lovin' hell outta the kid knew that. Considerin' it was five on one 'n Pony was still on his feet.

Steve doesn't hesitate. One of 'em has Pony's arms pinned behind his back, Pony writhin' 'n strugglin' for all he's worth, 'n another is sluggin' the hell out of him. Landin' sloppy, wide punches along the kid's ribs.

Pony groans at each one but nothin' more. God, maybe the kid was tougher than Steve gave him credit for. When he wasn't bein' a baby.

"Hey, asshole." Steve catches the wrist of the kid sluggin' Pony 'n for a second both of them just blink at Steve in surprise. "Leave my fuckin' kid brother alone, yeah?" Then Steve cracks his fist across the kid's face 'n he goes down, hard.

Pony wriggles out, immediately turns to swing on the boy behind him. Steve catches his shoulder, gives him a hard shove. "Beat it."

Pony freezes, chest heavin', blood tricklin' down his temple that makes Steve want to put whoever did that's head through a goddamn wall. "No!"

One of the others steps up, lands a punch under Steve's elbow 'n Steve jams his palm into the kid's nose. "I'm not havin' a fuckin' conversation go." Pony scowls 'n a kid goes to sock him one. Steve grabs him by the shirt front, easily sends him careenin' into the wall.

"Fine." Pony hesitates a moment more 'n Steve gives him another push. He whips around 'n vanishes down the hall 'n around the corner.

Steve's losin' track of who's who 'n where's what, throwin' punches 'n easily manhandlin' the younger boys steadily backward. "Look at the baby run!" Steve's vision goes red 'n he grabs the boy by the hair 'n slams his head into the goddamn lockers. Tears instantly spring to his eyes 'n Steve yanks him close.

"What are you gonna do? Cry?" He throws him down 'n the kid crawls back 'n away from him, runnin' a hand over his face.

Before he can go for him again, someone's got a hand around his wrist, jerkin' him backward. Fully on instinct, he swings around to slug them one before he realizes its a teacher.

He shakes his head to clear it, bares his teeth at the group of kids now clustered together. The fight's over now 'n it's fuckin' clear who won. But Steve can't help but dig his heels in 'n lean toward them again.

"If I ever hear about you goddamn punks layin' another finger on Ponyboy, you're not gonna be able to walk your pantywaist asses home to your mama's. Got it?"

The last thing he sees before he's dragged off to, presumably, the office, is the blood drain from their faces 'n the flash of a familiar form duckin' through the crowd.

...

Steve rubs a hand idly over his achin' knuckles 'n sighs. He was acutely familiar with the view from the hall outside the office. He'd spent enough hours there they should probably put his name on a seat permanently.

He can hear the Principal as he calls Darry, hell it's quiet enough he can hear Darry's irritation from behind the shut door. Steve sighs again, picks at his cuticles. There was a good chance Darry wouldn't be mad about this, considerin' the circumstances, but he'd be spittin' nails about it until he could get him the full story. 'N he wasn't particularly lookin' forward to it.

"Fancy meetin' you here, Randle." Steve jars 'n whips his head up, but it's just Soda. He plops down in the chair beside him, sprawlin' his legs out in front of him.

"Yeah, real rare sight." Steve scoffs, dryly.

"Heard you got into some fight, huh?" And here's the thing. Maybe, maybe, Steve gave a shit about the goddamn brat that was Ponyboy Michael Curtis. But he had no interest in admittin' that. Hell, he wouldn't even be tellin' Darry if he thought he could get around bein' whooped without it. So he's not real interested in tellin' Soda. No matter how stupid it probably sounds.

"Yeah. Somethin' like that." Soda rolls his eyes, produces a folded paper frog from somewhere 'n flicks it at the wall.

"Man, aren't you just Michelangelo this afternoon." Steve shoots him a confused look from the side of his eye 'n Soda huffs. "Full of words."

"You mean like, Alan Ginsberg or somethin'."

"I'll call ya Romeo if it means you spill what happened." Soda blinks his stupid big eyes at him 'n Steve feels his ears go red.

"Nothin' happened. Just a lil' scrap. Some assholes said the wrong thing 'n so I beat their asses. End of story. Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart." Steve ribs him back 'n Soda just giggles, the bastard.

"Yeah, didn't take you for a child beater, though." Soda cackles to himself 'n Steve shoves him hard in the shoulder. "I heard they were Pony's age." Somethin' in Soda's sharp eyes gives Steve the impression he knows more than he's lettin' on.

"Yeah, what about it? Do I need an age limit on lettin' someone be a dick?"

"Nah, I'm just sayin'. You know. Kids can be cruel. To each other." Steve narrows his eyes 'n Soda just grins. "All I'm sayin' is I saw Pony. 'N I was wonderin' if you had." Steve opens his mouth to answer 'n the door bangs open, the principal takin' a long stride out into the hall.

"Steven Randle?" He catches one look at Soda 'n his shoulders drop a little lower. Soda just beams at him. "Sodapop Curtis, what are you in my hall for?"

"Well, no reason. But now that we're all here I figure you'll wanna send me to the office for skippin'. Say, think you can get ol' Dar back on the phone or d'ya think twice in one day is excessive?"

...

Darry couldn't get off for the remainder of the day so the principal elected to let him stay in the office for the final period. Fourty-five minutes had never felt so long.

Steve was nearly tearin' his hair out by the final bell. He jumps up immediately, swingin' his bag over his shoulder 'n jettin' out to the parkin' lot. Pony's already there, leanin' against the car, dejectedly.

"Hey, Pone. You ok?" Steve goes to push his bangs back from the spot on his temple that had been bleedin' 'n Pony bats his hand angrily away. "Jesus, kid, what's the problem?"

"I don't wanna fuckin' talk about it." Steve feels a hot rush of anger slips through his veins 'n he clenches his fists.

"Fine. Whatever, kid. Get in the fuckin' car." He unlocks the door 'n Pony practically throws himself into the back seat with a huff.

Ohh, he was never goin' down for that kid ever again.

Soda comes bouncin' across the lot just as Steve's lightin' a kool, nearly snappin' the match in two with short, angry movements. "Well, hey good lookin'." Soda shoots him a questionin' look 'n Steve waves a hand dismissively.

"Hey, Pep. C'mon, let's go." He ducks into the driver's seat 'n Soda climbs into the shot gun. He twists to look at Pony, the backseat clouded up with Pony's own smoke.

"Hey, Pone, how was your day?" Pony scowls 'n shoots daggers at the back of Steve's head.

"Why don'cha ask him." Soda cranks the window down 'n sticks his head out.

"Well, glory, aren't the two of you just a blast."

...

Soda's got a shift down at the DX, a rare one Steve's not on. Though, he's got an inklin' that's on purpose. They had a habit of havin' too good of a time when they got shifts together. Though, it never stopped the one not workin' from boppin' on down to bug the other, work or no.

Steve floors it so he has time to take the back roads with the farms. Soda always loved to see the horses out in the field 'n Steve had no problem obligin' him. Usually, he would hit the hills goin' fast enough to make your stomach flip just so Pone could stick his stupid head out 'n whoop but he's sulkin' too hard to notice.

Whatever. Soda still points out each 'n every horse 'n that's good enough for Steve.

When they pull up to the DX Soda jumps out before the cars even come to a stop 'n Pony tries to slip out behind him. Steve slams a hand down on the lock 'n so Pony's just yankin' on the handle.

"C'mon Steve. Let me the hell out." Steve resolutely pretends he doesn't see him.

"See ya, Soda. D'ya want a ride home later?" Soda leans through the window again 'n snatches his DX shirt from the seat.

"Sure, Stevie." He raises his eyebrows 'n jerks his head at Pony, not subtly at all. "Assumin' you two haven't killed each other by this afternoon."

"I dunno. This afternoon ain't a lot of time to work with. Maybe tonight?" Pony scowls 'n Steve makes a face at him in the rearview mirror.

"Alright, you two. I'll catcha on the flip." Soda winks at Pony through the back window 'n Pony stops lookin' like the most put-out kid in the world to grin back at him. The second Soda's turned around Pony sinks back into his seat 'n goes back to poutin'. Good God.

Steve waits for the DX door to close behind Soda, 'n then he floors it again. "Where are we goin'?" Pony's sunk so low Steve has to stretch to see him in the mirror.

"Home, dumbass. You got some shit to say. Clearly." Pony hmphs but falls silent.

Darry's trucks not in the driveway when they pull up, to be expected. Pony snatches his stuff off the seat 'n marches inside without a word, slammin' the car door behind him. Steve has to force himself to take a long, slow breath to keep himself from finishin' the job those goddamn kids had started 'n cavin' in Pony's skull.

Glory, Darry must be wearin' off on him.

After a moment, he pulls the keys out of the ignition 'n trudges into the house behind Pony. When he gets through the front door, Ponyboy's already standin' in the livin' room, spine pulled taught, jaw all set like he's bracin' for a fight.

Steve has to fight the urge not to scoff at him. He's got a bandaid over his temple 'n bruises along his ribs that make him huff every time he moves 'n he thinks Steve is gonna square up with him. God. The kid was smart but he was also incredibly stupid sometimes.

"Well, c'mon. Out with it. What's with the attitude?" Pony bristles 'n scowls, clenchin' his fists up at his sides.

"I don't have a goddamn attitude."

"Yeah," Steve rolls his eyes 'n Pony makes a low, angry noise in the back of his throat. "Sure. None at all."

"Why can't you ever mind your own fuckin' business, Steve?"

"You are my business you fuckin' idiot." Steve can feel himself gettin' pissed off, he's clingin' to his patience by his fuckin' fingernails. "So this is what I get for stoppin' some assholes for stompin' you into the curb?"

"They weren't!" Pony explodes, stamps his foot so hard into the carpet the picture frames quake. "This may surprise you, Steve, but I can handle myself. I don't need you treatin' me like a goddamn kid."

For a moment, all Steve can do is blink at him. Then he feels the last shred of understandin' slip straight out of his head. "Pony are you stupid? You know what? Sure. You can handle yourself. Handle yourself so well you end up with a busted eye 'n a broken rib you idiot-"

"It wasn't that ba-"

"Sure!" Steve throws his hands up in exasperation. "It wasn't that bad. But it was about to be! Since when do you not want backup in a fight?"

"It's not that!" Pony's red in the face now, hair floppin' down in his eyes, knuckles white.

"So what the hell is-" Oh. Oh, alright. "Is this 'cause I didn't let you stay?"

Pony's wicked glare tells him all he needs to know. Glory God almighty.

"Pony. Look. I know you're smart. Give me one good reason why I wouldn't want you to stick around." Holy fuck, Darry really had been rubbin' off on him. He gives an involuntary shake.

"Because you're an asshole." And you know what? Darry was a fuckin' saint for not stranglin' the kid years ago.

"Yeah. A huge asshole who was coverin' for your ass. Pony think. If you had been there when that fight was busted up how the fuck do you think Darry would have reacted?"

Pony bites down hard on his lip. "I-"

"Yeah, I'm sure you didn't start it. But you couldn't have gotten into it at all if you had been in class. Y'know. Where you were meant to be."

"I was just-"

"Yeah. Sure. Save the I was just goin' to the bathroom, I was just gettin' some water, I, I, I for Darry. You were skippin'."

For a moment, Pony just glares at him. "And you were just playin' hall monitor, right?" Pony mutters, but he doesn't sound mad anymore.

"Yeah, kid. Someone's gotta do a tour to make sure someone's not beatin' your head in." Pony rolls his eyes but Steve just grabs him by his shoulder 'n pulls him in. "Look. I know you can handle yourself, man. You don't need me or Soda or Darry intervenin' for your ass. But just humor me, alright? Im tryin' save us both some grief from the big man."

Pony scuffs his toe in the carpet, runs a hand up the back of his neck. "Yeah. Alright. Deal. But you can't tell Darry I was skippin'."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Tell you what. If you keep my secret, I'll keep yours."

Pony narrows his eyes, hesitates, 'n then drops his head against Steve's shoulder. "Deal."

...

"Stevie! Pony? Any bodies need to be buried?" Soda bounds in, screen door flappin' closed. He sticks his head into the dark living room.

Pony 'n Steve are curled up on the couch, Pony's head in Steve's lap, Steve absently rakin' a hand through Pony's dark hair. The second Soda appears, Steve jars Pony so hard he slides right off the couch 'n onto the floor with an indignant wail.

"Well, hello, you two." Darry follows Soda inside, droppin' his keys on the table with a heavy sigh.

"Soda! What are you doin' home?"

"Darry picked me up." Soda wiggles his eyebrows at Steve 'n Steve hurls a throw pillow at his head.

"Speak of the devil." Darry crosses into the living room, fixes Steve with a stern look. He glances down at Pony, double takes the bandaid, the way he's rubbin' at his ribs. Looks back at Steve's raw knuckles.

"Y'all got somethin' to say? I got a call about a fight." Pony twists to look up at Steve 'n Steve shoots him a little grin.

"Yeah. You know me, Dar. Can't keep me outta trouble." Darry puts a hand on his hip, looks between the two of them, his face softenin'.

"I do." He rolls his eyes 'n turns towards the kitchen. "Glory, I do."

Pony 'n Steve shoot each other a look, bite back on a laugh. "C'mon, you brat. I'm cold. Get up on this couch." Pony kicks him hard in the shin but clambers back up, leanin' his weight on Steve's shoulder 'n fixin' his eyes on the TV.

When Steve looks up again, Soda's watchin' him with a sly little grin. "Hey, Stevie?" He plops down on his other side, yankin' one of the blankets from the back of the sofa. "Pony should make us late more often. It sure puts you in a real sweet mood."

[swordsmans]

your fics makes me want to kill myself!!!! 🫶🫶🫶

hi genuinely thank you for reading—i’m very grateful—and i’m sorry to use your message as an example but i’ve been sitting on this for a minute because it’s very succinct so it’s the easiest way to say this—

please stop sending me anon messages or leaving fic comments like this. i know im an “angst with a happy ending” type of writer so at a certain point im basically asking for it, but these type of comments are some of the worst to receive and ive gotten so many (along with “this fic ruined my life!!” and “i hate you!!!<3333 what the fuck” and “im sobbing pay for my emotional damages 😭😭” type asks, dms, and comments) over the last two years across all of my fics with a big burst recently that it’s just. it’s not fun, it’s never been fun but it’s especially not fun anymore. it was a pretty rough year and it does not make me happy to think that art i’ve spent months at a time working on is actively hurting people, even if it’s meant as a compliment. i recognize this is a sensitive response especially after i’ve done my best to laugh and brush these things off “publicly” (idk how else to word that) or just quietly delete these, but i dunno, maybe its after midnight and im jet-lagged or maybe im just not especially thick-skinned anymore.

thank you to everyone who has been very kind and effusive since my return to fanfic—truly, you are the beloved majority and you’ve made the last two years a gift and a miracle—but i’ll be finishing up a couple of projects throughout the spring so i can close the book (heh) on my wips and then focusing on, idk, touching grass for the foreseeable future. maybe it’ll be a few months or years again, maybe i’ll post things on anon for a while or just write for friends, maybe i’ll pivot entirely and write kindle unlimited hockey dark mafia dinosaur erotica novellas. i don’t know. i love writing, and i want to write in a way that builds connections with people by exploring deep emotional catharsis etc etc etc, but it’s very hard to feel like it’s worthwhile when the more stories i post, the more comments like this come around.

[aquanutart]

She is offering water to any lost travelers! However, it's so hot that the water has become tea, so she's adjusted accordingly!

[fishyartist]

Ui idea tests, thrown together bc im eepy. Was planning on doing more but I spent all my days energy on the second one oops

[fallenwhumpee]

For the prompt game:

Medic whumpee (1), Caretaker Leader (1), Medic whumper (as in it's self-inflicted), team dynamic (6), Magic exhaustion/self sacrifice trope (19, 1), "Thank goodness, you're finally awake" dialogue (8)?

I'm thinking of a cleric pushing themselves too far with their healing magic and fainting, and coming to maybe days later to everyone (but mainly Leader's) relief 🤭

if that's alright, ofc!

Here you go!

Warnings: Aftermath, magic whump, magic healing. -> From this ask game <-

The worst part about the after wasn’t the pain. It wasn’t even the smell of blood and magic in the air — thick, acrid, suffocating. It was the silence that followed it. The kind of silence that didn’t feel like relief, but like the world holding its breath, waiting to see who made it out.

Leader staggered over broken ground, each step a harder than the former. Their side ached like it had caved in, ribs cracked or worse, but that didn’t matter. Not right now. Not when the dust was still settling, not when the wreckage of the ambush sprawled around them in smoking ruin.

“Healer,” they called. They had to get back before Healer decided to do something stupid.

No answer.

Leader fastened their steps, ignoring the pain. Then they caught movement—across the debris, knees in the dirt, hands trembling, aura burning white-hot and flickering at the edges like a candle too close to dying.

“Healer!” Leader rushed forward, nearly tripping over a half-buried stone. “Talk to me.”

Healer didn’t look up. Their hands were pressed tight over Youngest’s chest, breath stuttering like their own lungs couldn’t remember how to function. Light bloomed between their fingers, erratic, sputtering. Leader dropped to their knees beside them, catching sight of Youngest’s shallow breath, the wound in their stomach half-sealed.

“I’m fine,” Healer rasped, voice paper-thin. “They… needed it.”

They didn’t look fine. They looked like a shell of themselves—eyes unfocused, lips pale, arms trembling like every ounce of strength had been wrung out and replaced with pain.

“Where are others?” Leader asked, casting a quick glance over the ruins. “Where’s—”

“Down. Hurt.” Healer swayed. “I stabilized them. Then Archer. Then… Right Hand.”

Leader froze. “You already—”

“Only you left,” Healer whispered. Their hands moved again, away from youngest, who just went limp, but breathing. Healer reached for Leader’s side, and light sparked to life once more. “Then I’m done. Just one more.”

“No,” Leader said, backing up instinctively. “No, not like this. I’ve had worse. You need to stop.”

But Healer shook their head. “You’re bleeding inside,” they whispered. “If I stop, you won’t make it through the night.”

“I’d rather risk it than watch you drop, I can wait until you catch your breath.”

“I’m not—” Healer wavered and nearly collapsed forward, barely catching themselves on one hand as Leader helped them to keep still. Healer's voice broke. “Please… just let me do this.”

Leader cursed under their breath. They could see it, plain as day: the way Healer’s magic was peeling pieces off their soul. Too much too fast, the raw force of it leaving burns on their skin and glassiness in their eyes.

Still, they let Healer press trembling fingers to their side.

The magic seeped in with a sharp sting, chasing out the agony, closing the breaks. Leader hissed but didn’t move. They couldn’t—not when Healer was leaning so heavily against them, when the energy surging into them twnsed them as if they were struck with lightning.

It took longer than it should have. Seconds felt like hours. Leader felt their ribs knitting back together, the internal bruising fading and leaving them with a burning pain

Then, the healer exhaled, one long shudder of breath. The glow went out.

And they collapsed.

Leader caught them before they hit the ground.

“Healer—hey, hey—no, no, no—” Their hands shook as they pulled Healer into their arms “Stay with me. Open your eyes.”

Healer didn’t respond. Their head lolled against Leader’s chest, deadweight.

Leader didn’t panic. Not yet. They pressed fingers to the pulse point at Healer’s neck. Still there. Fast. Weak. But there.

“Right Hand!” Leader’s voice rang out sharp, clipped. “I need you here now.”

A groan from behind the rubble. Movement. Right Hand limped into view a moment later, eyes going wide.

“Oh no,” they breathed. “What happened?”

“Burnout,” Leader muttered. “Too much magic. They healed all of us. Take Youngest, we're done.”

Right Hand didn’t need to be told twice. Soon, they caught up with Youngest between them and Archer, both looking banged up but a lot less hurt than they were supposed to. Then, Leader led them back home.

-•-

Leader didn’t leave Healer’s side.

Not that night. Not the next day. Not the one after that, either.

They took up residence in the infirmary, chair dragged close, arms crossed tight, eyes never straying far. Others got back to their feet eventually. Right Hand recovered quickest, already back on duty, keeping them busy with small tasks. But Leader—Leader couldn’t move on. Not when the person who kept them alive lay silent, motionless, draped in blankets that couldn’t keep the cold from seeping into their skin.

Time blurred. They lost track of meals. Of sleep. The others came and went, offering updates and reassurances, but nothing stuck. None of it mattered.

Then, after a week, Youngest walked in.

And didn’t say a word. They just stood there, arms crossed, staring at Leader until Leader finally looked up with a sigh.

“You need to sleep,” Youngest said.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Youngest snapped. “You’re pale. You smell. You’re shaking. You’re not helping.”

Leader looked back down. “I’m not leaving them.”

Youngest moved forward, jaw tight. “They wouldn’t want you like this.”

That stung. More than Leader expected.

“I can’t just leave.”

“I’ll sit with them,” Youngest tried, softer now. “I promise. Just for a few hours. You can come back.”

Leader hesitated. But exhaustion was clawing at their throat, their limbs, their bones.

Finally, reluctantly, they stood. “If anything changes—”

“I’ll tell you first.”

Leader nodded once, slow. They rested a hand briefly on Healer’s shoulder, then turned and left.

The door clicked shut behind them.

-•-

Everything was heavy.

Healer floated somewhere between awareness and absence, a dull hum buzzing under their skin. Their body wasn’t quite pain and wasn’t quite numb, but a tangled mess in between. The first thing they noticed was the weight—not of their own limbs, but of quiet.

No shouting. No tension. No pain.

Then breath. Then, a heartbeat. Then, the pressure of fabric against their skin. And they realised slowly, they were lying down. Somewhere soft.

They blinked.

Slowly.

The ceiling was familiar. Pale, slightly cracked. They stared at it, trying to gather their thoughts, but everything moved sluggishly. Like they were swimming through syrup.

“Hey,” someone whispered.

Healer turned their head, and the motion sent a stab of dizziness straight through their temples. They winced.

Youngest sat beside them, slouched in a chair that looked far too big for their small frame. Their face was pale, shadows under their eyes like bruises, but when they saw Healer move, something in their expression cracked open.

“Thank goodnes, you’re awake,” Youngest said, voice trembling with the relief they were trying not to show.

Healer licked their lips. “Leader.”

Youngest blinked. “What?”

“Did I—” Healer coughed, throat like sandpaper. “Did I heal them?”

The panic came in all at once, icy and cold and clenching in their chest. They sat up—or tried to. Their arms gave out halfway, and they collapsed back onto the bed with a sharp breath.

“Whoa, hey—don’t move,” Youngest leaned in immediately, hands hovering uselessly. “You’re okay. They’re okay. Everyone’s okay. You did it.”

The words barely registered. Healer stared at them, their thoughts moving in sharp, jerky bursts.

“I remember Archer… and Right Hand… and you…” They looked at Youngest again, uncertain. “You were bleeding.”

Youngest winced faintly. “Yeah. You got me, too. Hurt like hell, thanks.”

Healer’s voice dropped. “But Leader…”

“They’re fine.”

Healer didn’t believe it. Not really. “You’re sure?”

Youngest nodded. “I’m sure. They wouldn’t leave your side for a whole week.”

A beat of silence.

“Wait,” Healer rasped. “A week?”

“You passed out. Hard. No waking, no twitching. It was bad.”

Healer frowned. “And Leader…?”

“Sat in that chair, same one I’m in, barely sleeping, definitely not eating. We had to drag them out a few minutes ago, actually. Right Hand was tempted to tie them down to their bed and get them to rest.”

Healer closed their eyes for a long moment, exhaling slow and shaky. “I didn’t mean… I just didn’t want anyone to die.”

Youngest softened. “You saved everyone. You hear me? Everyone. Don’t you dare regret that.”

Healer didn’t answer. But something in their chest eased—slowly, haltingly—like a muscle finally unclenching after being clenched too long.

They opened their eyes again.

“Tell them I’m awake?” they asked, quietly.

Youngest smiled faintly. “Sure. Leader will probably come sprinting.”

Healer huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. Then lay back, eyelids already fluttering closed again. This time without fear.

-•-

They drifted again—half-asleep, not quite unconscious. A warm kind of haze, gentle and almost safe, like floating underwater just beneath the sunlight. But something tugged at the edges of that calm.

“Hey.”

That voice.

Soft. Raw. Too familiar to be a dream.

Healer's eyes fluttered open again. Slow. Heavy. The light hurt less this time, and they pushed through the sting. Blinked until the shape at their bedside came into focus.

Leader.

They looked wrecked.

Not in the bloody, battlefield way Healer was used to. No, this was worse. Leader looked frayed. Like the world had been clawing at them constantly. Hair a mess, eyes rimmed with red, exhaustion carved into every line of their face. Their shirt was rumpled, stained, sleeves rolled up like they’d been preparing to fight sleep itself rather than any enemy.

They sat in the same chair Youngest had occupied. Except Leader didn’t slouch—they leaned in like they’d been poised on the edge of it for hours, refusing to let themselves relax even for a breath.

Healer tried to speak. Failed.

Leader’s hand shot forward. Not to touch—just to hover. A trembling thing, unsure of its welcome.

“Don’t,” Leader whispered. “Don’t move. You’re okay. Just… stay still.”

Healer’s throat worked, the panic from earlier stirring faintly again. “I don’t remember.”

“You saved us.”

Healer blinked slowly. “Good.”

Leader let out a quiet, shaky breath like they’d been holding it this entire time.

“You scared the hell out of me,” they muttered.

Healer frowned faintly. “I’m the healer. Scaring people isn’t my job.”

Leader huffed a quiet, humorless sound. Almost a laugh. “Then next time, don’t collapse on us.”

Healer winced. “Is that what I did?”

“Pretty much. You were out for a week.”

Healer’s brow furrowed. “That’s excessive.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a moment. The kind of silence filled with a thousand things unsaid. Healer could feel the weight of it pressing down between them.

“I tried to stop you,” Leader said at last, softer than before. “Next time, do as I say.”

Healer closed their eyes. “I had to. You’re the Leader. You’re—” They swallowed. “We don’t function without you.”

Leader's voice cracked. “You think I function without you?”

That silence returned, heavy and thick.

“You always think it’s your job to take the fall,” Leader scoffed, quieter now, rougher. “Like it’s fine if it’s you. Like it doesn’t count. But you’re not expendable, Healer. You never were. I would’ve given anything to stop you from pushing that far. I just—I didn’t get there fast enough.”

Healer turned their head slightly on the pillow, finally meeting Leader’s eyes. They looked so tired. Like they'd been holding themselves together with threads.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered.

Leader shook their head. “Don’t be. Just… don’t ever do that again. Not like that.”

Healer almost smiled. “No promises.”

Leader exhaled hard. “You're grounded.”

Healer’s eyelids drooped again. Warmth tugged at them. Not just sleep, but comfort. The knowledge that they were safe. That Leader was here.

“Are you going to sit there another week?” they mumbled.

“I don’t trust you not to jump out of bed and try to fix someone.”

“Can’t even fix myself right now.”

Leader stood. Walked the two steps to the bed. Then, cautiously, they reached out and brushed Healer’s hair back, hand lingering at their temple.

“Then rest,” they sighed. “And don't do again. I won't let this repeat.”

Healer let themselves slip back under.

This time, they believed it.

[quirkle2]

wanted to make a takenaka art dump to practice for potential fic art but i ended up just doing a full piece after the first sketch.whoopsie

[tethered-heartstrings]

2025 may be almost halfway over but 2025 is the year i get back into writing! not just fleeting bouts of writing. consistent writing. and its the year I work on not caring about how I think a fic will do or how people will like it. the year I write what I want to see and share what I created anyway. fuck creativity and escapism feeling performative. fuck perfectionism or fear of judgment or disappointment getting in the way of a hobby I miss and love and feel good doing

[snzydarling]

ooooo, prompts you say??~

knowing how much I love when someone requests one of my lil guys so I can write them in a fun situation, I'm gonna toss you a f/ukuzawa, aaaaaaand add to it a side of cat allergies +M/ori involvement

do with that as you will, you can choose if the M/ori involvement is minimal, antagonist, helpful, anything you want, just gives you a lil thing to work with~ <3 excited to see what you may cook up if you so choose to!!~

hello !!! you gave me this and i ran with it so hard. thank u for the ask and i def had a lot of fun with this,...... i hope u enjoy it too !!

Nothing Beyond my Grasp

fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs characters: Fukuzawa Yukichi, Mori Ougai cw: sneezing kink !! mess, vouyerism, implied character with kink notes: hi it is 3 am i am so tired goodnight. you guys are lucky imm too tired to be embarrased rn because this is the horniest thing ive written so far !!! its a little kinky. i really like to explore their dynamic in a kind of unconventional way. i dont know if alot of people know about fukuzawas ex-assassin stuff because it was never really directly stated in anything besideds the novel but thats !! why !! hes basically silent throughout this whole thing. in the novel it says he walks compltelty silently most of the time so i think thats such an unconcious habit and it also splays out through most of his life. enjoy. iam going to pass out now gutten night !!!!

Very quickly, Fukuzawa had turned into one of Mori’s favorite people to study. In his unique line of work, he met plenty of unusual people, but none quite like him. Fukuzawa was mysterious- nearly silent, prone to snarling when provoked, and reminded him altogether of a caged wild dog. Really, ‘Silver Wolf’ was the perfect name for him. 

Earlier in the evening, Elise had dragged in a bedraggled-looking stray, and entirely susceptible to her, he allowed her to keep it until she got bored with it. Not that they had much choice, anyway- it had taken to whipping its tail about in the corner and hissing as soon as she released it. Mori found himself glancing at the time more often after that. This was a new chance to study Fukuzawa. How would he react? Would he open his heart to another stray? He already had one. 

Ever habitual, punctual as a means of politeness, Fukuzawa swings the door to his humble office open as soon as the clock strikes 9 p.m. He looked weary, the combination of preparing to open his agency and body guard work clearly taking its toll. Mori liked to see it- it lowered his guard. 

As Fukuzawa moved to his usual spot he passed the spot where the cat had chosen to reside, which took his closeness as a threat and started to hiss and swat. Mori honed in on Fukuzawa’s face, watching the softness in his eyes. He kneels down, palms open, posture soft. 

Mori snorts as Fukuzawa slips a treat from his sleeve, holding it out in offering. He doesn’t expose his hands very often, so Mori studies them closely. Calloused from years of sword fighting, etched with fading scars and an array of scratches. Clearly, this is a hobby of his. 

He watches as one hand slowly stretches the treat forwards as the other one seriously knucks the underside of his nose, pulling at a particularly long scar. Mori wants to know what its from, but he knows better than to ask. He would never receive an answer. Fukuzawa appears to be making some progress, as the cat starts slinking along nervously, gaining confidence, until Fukuawa twitches into himself. It hisses and jumps back, pressing into the wall as he does it again. The movement leaves Mori quirking an tebow. Fukuzawa moves in a way that is meticulous and calculated, and something so unintentional is novel. Is exhaustion getting to him that badly? The thought sends a shiver down his spine. 

Regardless of whatever is weighing him down, Fukuzawa appears to be undeterred. He fully sits down, placing the treat on his lap, and fixes Mori with his usual cold stare. “Where did she come from?” he asks, sounding almost.. Concerned? It's hard to tell with him, and Mori’s not quite familiar enough to parse every micro-intonation, yet. He gives a lazy shrug. “Elise brought it in. Feel free to take it, I dont like dirty things.” He lets the implications hang in the air, relishing the way Fukuzawa’s brow furrows. Always so easy to push. He might not be the only source, he realizes, because he soon scrunches up the bridge of his nose too, and shutters into a raised hand, twice in succession, before sniffing and giving his head a small shake.

Suddenly, Mori realizes what happened the first time. He decides to stay silent, and 

feigns interest in his work while watching Fukuzawa from the corner of his eye. He observes him as he tends to his nose repeatedly, staring off with a hazy kind of expression. He also bears witness to the stray bringing itself to Fukuzawa again, settling in his lap, and makes sure to note down the look of joy. 

He chuckles at the absurdity of the scene in front of him. “Looks like you’ve got quite a way with strays.” he muses. Fukuzawa starts, apparently haven forgotten about him altogether. How irresponsible. “Are you going to manage to keep me safe like that?” He teases, tiring of this silent treatment. Fukuzawa scrubs at his nose again, answering with a curt “I’ll manage.” that’s a bit fuzzy around the edges. He doesn’t bother to bring up what they both know- Mori doesn’t need his protection. 

He finds himself developing a particular interest in Fukuzawa’s nose, which has started to crease, and develop irritated redness around the rims. The abuse is certainly doing him no favors- he watches it be crushed against a palm when it starts to twitch. Fukuzawa even, almost meditative, breathing has started to stutter, just barely visible underneath all of his layers, but Mori knows better than to think he’ll get a show that easily. He’s going to have to work for it. 

“Got a tickle?” Hw pried, not like he needed to confirm it. His response comes in a rough head-shake, and he rests his head in his hand, sighing. “Use your words, Fukuawa.” He chides. The man in question curls his lip, but obeys anyways, a breathy “No.” that catches in his throat. He presses another harsh knuckle to the side of his nose, eyelashes fluttering, and flinches into his hand again. A breath escapes this time, stuffy and unsatisfied, and Mori has to swallow down his delight. Fukuzawa is so easy to manipulate- he can’t help but try his luck. 

“Really? You look awfully itchy, though. What's gotten into you?�� Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get a response, though the more accurate notion is that he can’t, because Fukuzawa jolts into his shoulder again. 

“hH'EHSCHHh-!” it’s greater than any other sneeze Mori has heard out of him, desperate to break free. Fukuzawa’s whole face sparks with irritation, and he pinches the next one between his thumb and forefinger. It squelches with the pressure. 

With another shuddering exhale, he glares at Mori. “Nothings wrong.” he declared, but with congestion thick in his throat, so it came out all wrong. Mori scoffs. “Use a tissue, atleast.” He doesn’t get a response, unless a ticklish, smothered cough counts. 

Mori actually focuses on his work for a couple of minutes, and when he turns his attention back to Fukuzawa, he can’t contain his shock. His condition has considerably worsened. He’s mid sneezing fit, crushing release after release between pinched fingers, and a tear rolls down his cheek. He looks so utterly pathetic, heat starts to pool in Mori’s gut. Fukuzawa manages to quell the fit without a single noise leaking through, a rather impressive feat. He tends to his nose again, now a dark pink. When he angles his face just right, Mori can see wetness threatening to spill over. 

All this abuse seems to do him more harm than good, because not even a minute after his previous attack is he hitching again, canine teeth catching the light, and choking down another volley. He’s not as lucky this time- sound starts to leak out between his fingertips, a preview of what is surely soon to come. Husky gasps and stuttery exhales announce the start and end of each sneeze, only agitating Fukuzawa more. He almost seems to growl as he pants for breath, scrubbing at his nose once again, like it’s offered him any relief thus far. Mori watches the skin crinkle and stretch. He frowns down at Fukuzawa, itchy and irritated and so extremely allergic. What a fool. 

“You really shouldn’t stew in an allergen. Really, Fukuzawa, I thought you were smarter than that.” He bites his cheek, watching how the word alone is enough to make his breath catch again. Oh Fukuzawa, the master of self-control. He’s waging a war against his own nose, fighting tooth and nail to maintain his usual mask of indifference. It makes every quiver so much more noticable. 

When he’s promptly ignored, Mori makes an effort to remove the mangy cat himself, but Fukuzawa quickly shifts back. The sudden movement breaks his concentration on wrestling control over himself, because he tears forward with a “eH'RSCHHh-oo!” What an incredible sound. So desperate and unrestrained. Mori wants to hear it again, wants to watch Fukuzawa hopelessly to himself, wants to pick apart every piece of it. And he’s always been one to make sure he gets what he wants. 

Fukuzawa straightens his spine, face flush with irritation and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. He stares at Mori with a challenge in his expression, like he’s daring Mori to come after him. Mori’s not afraid of him, however, especially not in that state. He just needs to make him crack. 

“I can’t believe you’re so willing to put up with such a tickle for a stray like that. Look at all of the fur, Fukuzawa. It’s all across your robes.” he’s smart enough to know what Mori’s doing, and make sure he knows it, but that means nothing. His breath still stutters. “It’s on your hands, too. You’ve been rubbing it all over your nose.” Mori clicks his tongue, scolding. “How careless.”’hiH-!” Fukuzawa’s eyes flutter closed, hands rising towards his face. The anticipation is almost too much. 

“That must tickle, Fukuzawa. You look awfully itchy, like there’s fur in your nose.” That sends him over the edge. Mori’s stomach twists with anxiety. Fukuzawa takes in a ragged gasp, head tilted back towards the light, and gives Mori a glorious show. 

“eH'RSCHHh-iewh! ‘RSZHHIh-! hiA'ESZHHUh-! hH’RSZHHh-oo!!” With each wretched sneeze, Fukuzawa is thrown further forward, bringing in more dander with every inhale. He’s hopeless to it, hands hovering uselessly, giving Mori a full view of the mess he’s made. 

“e'ETSZHHh-! ‘ESCHHUh-! heH'RSZH-! ‘rRSZHHh-oo! hiH-! hiA'ETSCHh-!” They’re pitchy and vocal, unconstrainable. One particularly sonorus “ ‘RSCHHEUHh-!” sends the cat scampering off, and Mori almost purrs when its bushy tail runs directly under Fukuzawa’s nostrils. Oh, he's helpless. 

“ hI'RSZHHh-! ‘ESCHHh-oo! hH'RSZHHEUHh-! ‘RSZHHih- hH'ESCHHh-oo! ‘DSCHHhih-!” He’s entirely doubled over now, and some small, still human part of Mori worries he might smother himself. He makes no motion to help. He never wants this to  end, each release so pressure inducing. It’s simply too much. 

All good things must come to an end, though, and Fukuzawa manages to wrangle himself under control. Raw, desperate sneezes are replaced by clipped stifles that still rock him forwards, and almost a full minute passes before he emerges, deeming himself out of the woods. Lord, he is wrecked. If Mori were a weaker man, his arousal would’ve been much more obvious. He manages to keep himself under control. 

Fukuzawa’s face is flushed and swollen, his eyes red rimmed and eyelashes heavy with fat tears. Every panting breath he takes in has the slightest wheeze, so Mori takes pity on him and deicides to play his role as doctor. He makes short work of acquiring an anti-histimine, holding it out like a dog treat. 

Fukuzawa doesn’t meet his eyes as he takes it, but hes polite enough to nod his thanks. He swallows it dry, throat clicking, and there’s silence once again until it breaks it with a snarling “‘RSZHHh-oo!” that escapes his clutches. 

“Silver Wolf” was most certainly a fitting name. 

[sol-consort]

It’s summer! Any thoughts on seasons for the alien’s?

moisture and how much humans subconsciously seek water to heat regulate in the summer. Ice cream, cold drinks, the beach, frequent showers, playing in the pool, juicy fruits, and just good old sweating.

It's easy to forget we're ~60% water in the winter, it's easy until you absentmindedly recall how no human can ever survive without water for more than 3-5 days. How abysmally short is that? With starvation your body dips into its storage of fat, then muscles when things get really dire. But with dehydrated, there are no water piggy banks tucked under our livers for us to crack.

As for recorded cases, it's hard to find an isolated incident of starvation since if someone is stuck somewhere without food, chances are there is no water fountain around, either. But theoretically you can stay alive for months on water alone—fatigued, malnourished, and mostly likely unconscious, but your heart still beats.

But water? less than 100 hours and you're done for. That's how essential it is to our life. Why we constantly bug each other to remember to drink it during summer.

We're not special in that regard; the body water percentage of animals on Earth usually hovers around the halfway mark. With jellyfish sitting at the top with 95% body water and desert tortoises hanging in the bottom tier with their 20%.

Plants (and whatever the fuck fungi are) are their own breed of eldritch beings so I'm not including them.

Side Note: as a last measure, tardigrades are known to enter a tun state which allows them to survive on only 3% body water and a metabolism of 0.01

The Earth is 71% water, it makes sense. If something is in overabundance why not incorporate it into your biology? All life on Earth has in some way. The dependency on water as a crutch is a common trend, a shared thread in the tapestry of LUCA's descendents.

Well, kinda of shortsighted on our biology's part. Not much water in space :) The Thing We Die Without In 72 Hours

"but" you say "not much oxygen either!"

WELL OXYGEN IS FAR EASIER TO GET THAN WATER!

Much easier to pack canisters of oxygen or repurpose co2 back into a breathable state (just carry a mossball dammit!) than to load ungodly gallons of water into the already heavy spaceship. We shot ourselves in the foot by having water as a mandatory tax of living. Good for a type one civilisation (which we're not even there yet!) not great for a type two.

Actually it's much more worse than that because we don't even use plants to generate oxygen in spaceships! We use water :D we are very clever monkeys. We electrocute the oxygen out of water BDSM style. If you have water, you have oxygen; H2O <-🔍 bada bing bada boom.

At the very least the hanar body can purpose salt water, while the pampered human body will die from dehydrated if given anything but filtered fresh spring water. Maybe their kidneys filter out the salt and makes the water useful somehow? Maybe they use salt glands like albatross or are pumped full of urea like sharks. Maybe it passes through them like jellyfish.

But... the jellyfish are... well, jellyish. And the hanar do have bones, a brain, a skull, and a digestive track. So it's probably more complex. Maybe hidden gills that they flush out the salt through?

Anyway I'm assuming we're using Earth summer as a point of reference?

Krogans

They have radiation storms. Our summer is not only a breeze It's literally a paradise. It only reinforces their believes that humans are weak when we complain about nonexistent problems. Neither of our coldest or hottest temperatures phase them, our deathtraps of arctics and barren deserts are their varren parks.

-

Drell

Would absolutely love it, especially the deserts and dry climates. While we slather ourselves in sunscrean and never touch any exposed metal that's been cooking under the sun, the drell are as happy as a lizard sunbathing on a warm rock. Our sun loves them and they love her back. The seasonal fruits that ripen in the summer are the cherry on top (literally! cherries are a summer fruit)

Whenever visiting, they stay near the equator. Don't enjoy the beaches much tho.

-

Asari

While the whole of Thessia is weather controlled and kept at the perfect temperature, I doubt anything we have to throw at the asari would actually phase them. Like yes they are coddled... much like a greek god is coddled. They are incredibly sturdy and hardy, by human standards at least.

We are nothing in comparison to Tuchanka's blazing wasteland or The turian's radioactive sun. You'd be drowning in a puddle of your own sweat while the asari next to you is literally staring directly at the sun with zero consequences. Like the krogans, it's just another Wednesday to them.

-

Turians

Cute. Absolutely cute how humans think a puny sun like this would do anyone any harm. Look at them and their ozone layer! HAH! Come to Palaven and you'll see what a real sun looks like.

But seriously, you soft skins need... sunscreen? And what is that weird liquid you're exerting from your skin... eugh. Although you've been strangely chipper since we landed, any particular reason w—huh you what?

YOU GET VITMANS FROM THE SUN?

LIKE THE FUCKING PLANTS?

HUMANS NEEDED THE SUN TO SURVIVE? BY THE SPIRITS HOW THE FUCK YOU PUNY THINGS COULD EVEN LAST A SECOND IN SPACE. The sun is an obstacle, something to be protected from, not form a parasitic relationship with! Honestly human get a grip.

Also... actually can I borrow that sunscreen? Been planning a home visit for a while.

-

Hanar

Aquatic seasons are generally indistinct from one another. It makes little difference to deep sea creatures if it snows or if the sun rises in the west. Much like our atmosphere layers filter out the pesky asteroids and space debris, water acts like a secondary safety bubble wrap around anything below its surface.

The deeper down you go, the calmer it gets, until you reach an eerie static void on the ocean floor where a creature could spend an entire lifetime and never cross another living soul. Nothing ever happens where no light could penetrate. The temperature constantly regulating itself by the very equilibrium nature of water.

As for the sea surface dwellers and occasional visitors, there are three distinct seasons: Oceanic, Upwelling, and Winter Storm.

Using "season" very loosely here. They are less of seasons and more of reoccurring phenomenons that are secondary consequences of surface conditions usually present or a result of specific seasons and weather conditions occurring in said seasons.

For example: while the Earth tilting causes the surface temperature to rise because we literally are closer to the sun, the ocean creatures remain indifferent to it, BUT not the air which heates up causing an increase in wind actively during that time.

You ever blew air on a hot cup of tea to cool it off? Did you notice what happens when you do blow the said air? The tea "dips" in a particular spot where the air of our blow meets the surface.

What you're doing is breaking the water tension and pushing the surface tea away and into the back of the cup, creating a gap in the water for a split second in time. And liquid hates gaps more than anything, so the surrounding liquid rushes in to fill it.

That is precisely what the wind does to the ocean during upwelling season. As the name suggest, the deep water is literally welling up to the surface to take the place of the water the wind just pushed away. And those waters are liquid gold of nutritions for planktons breeding ground, creating a rippling effect up the food chain. An explosion of life and food.

And the fishies, aquatic mammals, and sea birdies go haywire breeding and nesting as the room service is set out. An open buffet at the shores! Fuck and Eat speedrun!

So they are unaffected by the major temperature and wind changes, they only care about the side consequences that just happen to work in their favour. Or sometimes, against, as is evident by the season called Winter Storm season or the commonly known as Poseidon Demeter catfight season causing the migration of grey whales.

Lastly Oceanic which is a poetic way of saying "lazy bumfuck season where nothing ever happens and the currents are weak and we should've booked a resort instead and ugh all the food is cold and soggy I don't feel like leaving my warm water bed to go grab a bite and can't believe we got new Deltarune chapter before silk song it's so over skongers."

Also all of the above generally is only relevant to marine life, while the deep ocean creatures remain unbothered, moisturised, happy, in their lane, focused, flourishing, and locked in nibbling on those scrumptious whalefall bones.

Why is any of this relevant?

BECAUSE! HANAR!

THEY HAVE NO CONCEPT OF SEASONS!!

Imagine you spend all your life living in an static environment bubble then suddenly have to walk on the surface just to engage with these weird terrestrial creatures and oh my god what the fuck is a sand storm. This is beyond hell. Chaos! Entropy! What do you mean the sun is a deadly laser! What the hell is a hurricane! Who the fuck is freezing water and throwing it up from the sky! Not Cool!!!! AND WHY DO TEMPERATURES SHIFT SO DRASTICALLY AND SUDDENLY.

Like no wonder they employed the sturdy drell to do their field work. Weather has always been this vague far away concept buried in dusty books and only ever relevant in the infansy stages of spaceship launches.