#so research may take longer than i'd hoped

[theliteraryarchitect]

Hi! I wanted to say, I read that you are a professional editor, and think it's amazing! You also give very logical and well explained advice. I was wondering; would you say being an editor is a job you can support yourself with? I actually aspire to become one someday, but I'm not exactly sure if it's a good plan.

Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a good day/night

Hey there. Great question. It's totally possible to support yourself as an editor. I've done it, and so have other editors I know. However there are a few important things to consider before choosing editing as a career path.

Your chances of being a self-employed freelancer are extremely high. The number of in-house editing jobs in publishing are low and getting lower. While being self employed can give you a certain amount of flexibility, it also comes along with a lot of hustle and hassle, namely fluctuating income, a stupid amount of confusing tax paperwork, and the need to constantly promote yourself to clients in order to maintain steady work.

You probably won't make as much money as you'd think. Editing is one of the many skilled jobs that suffers from market saturation, which has sadly driven down the price the average client is willing to pay for editing services. I can't tell you the number of overqualified editors I know charging barely more than minimum wage for their work. Personally I've stuck to my guns about charging what I'm worth, but I've sometimes suffered by not having as much work as my colleagues who charge less.

Robots have already chipped away at the future of editing as a human occupation, and will continue to do so at exponential speed in the years ahead. They will never obliterate the job completely, as there will always be humans who prefer to work with humans instead of machines. But the outlook will become ever bleaker as more humans compete for fewer gigs, which in turn will drive down prices even further.

If you are also a writer, editing may adversely affect your writing. I don't mean that you'll become a worse writer, quite the opposite. My editing work has brought new depths to my writing, and I'm grateful for all I've learned by working with my clients. However, editing takes time, uses creative energy, and requires staring at a screen (or paper), and personally the more I edit, the less time/creativity/screen-staring capabilities I have left for my own writing.

If you mention you're an editor, someone will troll your post for a typo, grammatical error, or misused word, and then triumphantly point it out to you in the comments. This is mostly a joke. But it does happen every single time.

I hope this hasn't been too discouraging. If you feel a true passion for editing and really enjoy the work, none of the above should dissuade you. However, if you think you might be happy in any number of occupations, I'd honestly advise you to explore other options. Choosing a career path at this point in history is a gamble no matter what, but the outlook for editors is especially grim.

If you'd like to work with writers and aren't attached to being an editor, there are a few jobs (still freelance) that I believe will survive the coming robot apocalypse. Do a little Google research about "book coaches," "writing coaches," or "book doulas." These are people who act primarily as emotional supporters and logistical helpers for writers who are trying to get their book published or self published. Some of them do actual editing, but many do not, and due to the therapeutic nature of their work I believe they will flourish longer than editors in the coming robot apocalypse.

If you do explore editing as a path, the further away you can lean from spelling and grammar (e.g. proofreader or copyeditor), the longer your skills will be useful when competing with robots. AI still struggles to offer the same kind of nuanced, story-level feedback that a human can give. (Speaking from experience here--I'm a developmental editor and have yet to see a dent in my workload because of robots.) They'll catch up eventually, but it could be a while, and as long as there are human readers, there will always be humans who are willing to pay for a human perspective on their writing. Human spell checkers maybe not so much.

Hope this helps!

[kindaconfusingme]

JULY UPDATE (master's thesis)

2nd Update (July):

Hello, hello!

Just thought I'd give a little update on how it's going, it's been a while since the first and last update so far. I'm still working with the data, it's taking longer than I thought it would (mainly because I am an anxious person with the wish to do everything to the best of my ability, leading to a lot of insecurity and sometimes procrastination. Hurray.) But everything is moving forward, which is a good thing, and I currently hope I'll wrap things up in a few weeks. Can't promise anything though, because if things went as I planned I'd be finished by now.

I'll keep you posted!

___________________________________

1st Update (March or April, I don't remember)

Hello!

I hope you can tell by the smiley little me above how thankful I am to everyone who helped share this survey and participated in it. And to everyone who wished me luck with my thesis!! (Oh, and to my friend Jojo, who took this little colored pencil drawing I sent her and digitalized it for me.) I know that this topic is very emotional to people, so I am extra appreciative that you took the time and energy to help me out. Since I seem to not know how tumblr works despite being here for nearly 10 years (as already said in my comment in the notes of this post that might have led you here), I am not yet sure how to efficiently ensure that everyone who would be interested in the results will be informed when they are “presentable”. This post for one will be updated when there is news (which will take an amount of time I can’t specify yet, the data analysis and putting it all into a written thesis will take its’ time) and I will leave it pinned on my blog until my thesis is complete so it is hopefully easy to find.

Thank you all so much and I wish you a great day, where- and whenever you exist at the moment.

___________________________

(Original post)

Hello, folk of tumblr!

I’m a german psychology master’s student and currently in the process of gathering data for my master’s thesis. Therefore, I’m searching for people who are interested in participating in an online survey. The study addresses how current and former Harry Potter fans deal with J.K. Rowling’s views regarding trans people.

For this purpose, a study was created that consists of questionnaires and a few open-ended questions. If you are over the age of 18 and are/were a Harry Potter fan, your participation would help me a lot! It would support both my master's thesis and the expansion of the state of research on this topic in general.

Due to the format of the questionnaires and the open-ended questions, it is advisable to work on this study on a PC. Especially because of the open-ended questions, the time it will take you to complete the survey may vary greatly, estimated is a time between 20 and 40 minutes.

The attached link will lead you directly to the study if you are interested.

Greetings and virtual thank you cookies to you!

Note: This study deals with an issue that causes a great deal of distress to many individuals. If you are one of those people, please handle it in a way that is safe for you.

Click here for the English version of the study

(https://survey.aau.at/index.php/199547?lang=en)

Click here for the German version of the study

(https://survey.aau.at/index.php/495548?lang=de)

[yanderes-galore]

Skyrim yandere paarthurnax concept? Platonic cuz He is like a grandpa

-☢️ Anon

Sure, still super new to Skyrim so I'm learning the characters through research. I hope I got things somewhat right. Made Darling a Dragonborn for plot reasons.

Yandere! Platonic! Paarthurnax Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Dubious companionship, Thoughts of kidnapping, Paranoia, Familial yandere.

Paarthurnax is one of the most friendly dragons in Skyrim, having kept his natural habits in check via meditation.

His purpose is to train the Dragonborn certain shouts to defeat his brother, Alduin.

In terms of how he'd meet you the only way I can think of is you yourself are a Dragonborn.

That way you'd have a reason to meet with the wise dragon and form a connection.

Paarthurnax hasn't talked to others for a century by the time you meet him, instead he passes the time by meditation.

However he is a dragon that loves conversation.

Being a Dragonborn would make it easier for Paarthurnax to form a connection with you.

You have the blood and soul of a dragon like him, even if you are a mortal.

Speaking with you and being your elder teacher makes him understand you more and more.

This is the way I imagine Paarthurnax could be a platonic yandere towards a mortal darling.

Like in the game I imagine he'd talk to you like family whenever he saw you.

He acknowledges you like another dragon, a student to take under his wing.

He's a teacher, a wise old dragon who wishes to speak to you about old tales and lessons.

Paarthurnax would definitely act like some sort of parent/grandpa/teacher to you.

He wants to train your powers, even if you may be the one to slay his brother (or not).

I'd imagine he'd talk to you for hours, even if the mountain's cold air appears to freeze your skin.

No matter, he'll teach you how to create a fire to warm yourself.

He seems so kind despite his past nature, which he still keeps in check.

However his past nature and craving for domination may still spark up at times during his obsession.

I imagine what make Paarthurnax attached to you is it feels like he's talking to his own kind when he speaks to you.

You eagerly listen and learn from him... is it so wrong to feel a bit possessive?

He likes your attention and doesn't mind keeping you close to him to stay warm on the mountain.

Paarthurnax never leaves the mountain, he's always close by.

The dragon mediates when you aren't around to entertain him with conversation, even when you do come to speak he offers you to meditate with him.

Paarthurnax loves your presence and feels at ease due to your old soul within you.

The old dragon tends to worry when you leave for long periods of time but he cannot blame you.

You have your own duties, he is just an old dragon hiding from those who wish to kill him.

However he does try to convince you to stay longer with him.

He uses his teachings as an excuse to keep you around.

You're like a young child... one that still has so much to learn.

Which is why you need him.

The dragon is most attached to you more than anything, seeing you as family to keep him company.

He doesn't mind lighting a fire for you or allowing you to huddle closer to his large frame.

In his eyes he must take care of you, raise you, and guide you.

If anything ever hurt you that behavior he tries so hard to hide sparks up in momentary fury.

Yet... the old and wise dragon keeps himself calm with meditation.

You are strong, dragon blood runs through you.

He must not worry about you.

Paarthurnax is not a yandere to kill in his current state.

He's given up such behavior to teach mortals.

That's why he dedicates so much time to meditation.

As much as the idea appeals him internally, he forces himself to just protect you.

He'll teach you how to protect yourself.

He'll bestow great strength onto you so you may thrive.

Paarthurnax has potential to cause chaos for the one he cares for.

But he never does in the end.

He's content with watching you stroll up his mountain for chat.

He eagerly encourages you to stay longer and longer so he may influence you.

You make him happy... yet he must keep you free.

As much as he would love for you to stay at the mountain forever, it cannot be done.

Paarthurnax is a calm dragon who's willing to wait for you to return to him no matter how long it takes.

The thought that you might never return, however, strikes unpleasant feelings in the dragon.

What if you never come back to him?

For one reason or another... he dreads the idea of you never returning.

These thoughts continue to spark violent thoughts in the dragon that he can't seem to silence.

If he doesn't do something to prevent such a fate for his student... his family... his fellow dragon blood, then he might cause more carnage to the rest of the mortals in blind rage.

So if that's the case... would it really be all that bad if he planned to keep you here with him next time you came to visit?

[himbosuplex]

Mais, talk about! (Gambit/Rogue/Magneto)

Mais, talk about! [X-Men '97 (Gambit/Rogue/Magneto)]

Premise:

Remy LeBeau stands outside Magneto's room, unable to forget an impromptu kiss earlier that day and wanting to finally put an end to the uncertainty that lingers between he and Rogue.

But the answer isn't quite as simple as he thought...

[Link to the fic on AO3]

Notes:

Posting this at near 3am before X-Men '97 inevitably kicks over my sandcastle and declares it wrong in every way.

Please take the references to off-screen events with patience, as this is but a portion of a much longer fic I'd like to write but simply just don't have the energy to at the moment, so the most you get of prior events is a spicy comic I made recently. I wanted to, at the very least, float the idea of "Romyneto" to more people, as surprisingly few folk have considered that maybe you don't need to fracture a love triangle... Maybe you just need to make it into a heart.

Hashtag let Rogue have both the spicy chaos bisexual AND Sexy Grandpa... she's been through enough and deserves it.

Also a final author's note: I'm from Texas, not Louisiana, so pardon my clumsy use of Cajun French. I did an embarrassing amount of research for this short of a fic, but hopefully it'll pay off in the future. Anyway, keep reading for the actual fic!

-----

Remy stood outside the door to Magneto’s room, resting his forehead on the rich stained wood. He had been mustering up the courage for close to ten minutes to knock. The only thing propelling him forward was the fear of being seen loitering.

All he intended was to check if Magneto was awake and willing to talk. It was the early hours of the morning, but who the hell had a normal sleep schedule anymore? He briefly considered waiting for Rogue to return, which would likely be the wiser choice. However, Remy wasn’t always known for making the most prudent decisions, especially after a drink or two to calm his nerves. Waiting for Rogue wouldn’t alleviate the intense anxiety he felt at that moment.

After all, he was dealing with someone who was intellectually superior and more powerful in every aspect. Magneto was someone who seemed to excel effortlessly at everything, akin to a character from one of Jubilee’s video games. Moreover, Magneto could actually touch the woman Remy loved. Perhaps it would be easier to just give in or give up. It wasn’t that Remy opposed being in an unconventional relationship with Rogue, or even being intimate with another man. It was simply the fact that it had to be him—a person who felt threatening on multiple levels and made him feel inadequate whenever he was around.

Clenching his fist, he rapped on the door before he could chicken out and leave. He had never been this gêné, this easily embarrassed. It frustrated him to feel this way and it frustrated him that of all aspects of his life that he could feel insecure about, it was this. He always had so much confidence with Rogue because he did truly think any physical hurt he experienced was entirely worthwhile. Now he wasn’t even sure if she felt the same about him anymore.

Maybe he should just wait and talk to her like an adult, like Jubilee said. As much as he hated being called out by a teenager, he did have to begrudgingly admit she was right. No one answered the door, so he assumed that some people did indeed have a normal sleep schedule. Or at least, he hoped so. Turning to leave, he managed only a few steps before the doorknob clicked, and the door slowly opened.

Qu’el tonnerre m’écrase.

He leaned towards the partially open door, peering into the dark room. There was nothing. Could it have opened by itself? He knew the chances were slim, but he held onto hope. As he moved to leave, some invisible force pulled him back towards the door. Merde. It seemed better to comply than to be dragged in like a child. Gingerly pushing the door open with his index finger, he entered the dark room.

“So you awake, eh?” he said as casually as he could manage, adjusting to the dimness. The door clicked shut behind him, and the curtains parted slightly, allowing a sliver of moonlight to illuminate the room better. “You gonna talk or just gimme frissons?”

“Do you make a habit of waking people up at three in the morning?” Magneto’s voice carried an edge of irritation as he gestured for Remy to take a seat on the edge of the bed. Sitting upright, his hair tousled from sleep, and his chest bare, Magneto exuded a commanding presence even in the dim moonlight filtering through the room. The sheets draped luxuriously around him hinted at more than just his bare chest, drawing Remy’s attention despite himself. While his usual skintight uniform left little to the imagination, Magneto’s well-sculpted physique was even more striking when unclothed.

“Non.” Remy took the indicated seat, unable to suppress a smirk. “Only when Gambit feeling particularly vindictive.”

Annoyance briefly flashed across Magneto’s face before he regained his usual icy composure, his features settling into a mask of stoicism. “Did you intend to discuss anything or were you just being ‘vindictive?’” His cold eyes bore into Remy, reflecting the moonlight with an almost ethereal glow.

Remy felt the urge to respond with his usual charm and sarcasm, but he knew better than to try such tactics with Magneto. He was just as immune to this as he was to Rogue’s abilities. Nor did such banter seem conducive to actually hashing out anything going on between them. Clearing his throat nervously, Remy ran his fingers through his hair, searching for the right words to broach the subject weighing on his mind.

“Why Magneto go and kiss Gambit, huh?” Remy’s question hung in the air, heavy with tension.

“I’ll acquiesce, but first I wish for you to answer my question.” Magneto’s sneer was evident even in the dim light.

“What dat, den?”

Magneto’s piercing gaze filled him with unease. “Why did Gambit kiss Magneto back?”

Remy felt a weight press down on his chest, as if the air had been sucked out of the room. He should have anticipated this question, especially after bringing up the kiss from earlier that day, but he still wasn’t prepared for it. The shame of his desperation hadn’t abated at all since it had happened. An overwhelming urge to flee flooded his mind, urging him to make a dash for the door in the hopes it would yield. Excuses and cop-outs ping-ponged across his mind, and he was ready to try anything to avoid answering the question.

“Ah,” Remy began, shaking his head. “Maybe we gon wait til Rogue gets back, yeah?” He attempted to shrug off the weight of the conversation, rising to his feet in an attempt to retreat to the safety of his own room. But once again, he was met with resistance, pulled back with enough force that he stumbled and flopped onto his back, legs still dangling over the edge of the mattress.

“Do you require a reminder?” Magneto’s voice was low and commanding as he leaned in closer, silver hair falling around his face. At such close proximity, his intense eyes were mesmerizing, and Remy could feel the warmth of Magneto’s breath against his skin. “You never gave the impression of someone who would flee so easily.”

Remy wanted to respond with one of his usual comebacks or snide remarks, but his brain failed him. Clutching the bedsheets tightly, he attempted to quell his frayed nerves. The offer of warm lips was tantalizing, his loneliness making him feel touch-starved and desperate. From such close proximity, he could better appreciate just how attractive Magneto truly was. With sky blue eyes framed by strong brows and accentuated by thick, dark eyelashes, Magneto’s features exuded a captivating allure. Rather than detracting from his sharp features, the creases and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth seemed to enhance them, giving him a distinguished air. It was the kind of face that anyone, regardless of preference, could acknowledge as objectively handsome.

Clearing his throat, Remy shifted uneasily. “Man gets tres lonely sometimes, yeah.”

“This is true, yes. Therein lies your answer.”

Once more their lips touched, this time without Remy giving any pretense of resistance. Heat surged through his body, his fingers digging into the bedsheets as he held on tighter. Initially, he had attributed his resentment of their first kiss to the realization there was merit to Rogue’s attraction. But now, he knew the reason was far more primal: he wanted to be kissed again.

There was a comforting strength in the way Magneto kissed him. While Rogue possessed raw physical power, their rare moments of physical contact held a delicate yearning—a desire to be held and protected in ways her power denied her. But with Magneto, it was different. His unwavering confidence manifested even in moments of intimate affection, a man who was more than capable of taking what he desired. As their lips parted, Remy couldn’t help but feel vulnerable and consumed by a deep longing.

“You say dat the answer, but it don’t make sense, no.” Remy pushed himself back up, turning around so that the two of them sat face to face. “Mais la, why would you ever be lonely?” The tone of his voice implied what he left unsaid: ‘You have Rogue.’

“It is not mine I speak of.” Magneto extended his hand, reaching towards Remy’s arm. The movement caused the sheets around his waist to slip downward, revealing the bare skin of his hip. Only the bed linens separated his unclothed body from the cool air. The moonlight played off the contours of his body, accentuating every curve and muscle.

Remy hesitated, his mind racing with thoughts of how Rogue might react to the situation. It was evident that she and Magneto had been spending considerable time together, reigniting whatever bond they shared in the past. However, he couldn’t assume that their relationship had progressed to the extent his insecurity insisted. Would he truly be any better if he acted behind her back? He couldn’t deny the attraction he felt towards Magneto, nor could he ignore the tantalizing prospect of exploring a relationship unburdened by the complexities of their current love triangle. And yet, he couldn’t shake the guilt that gnawed at him, the fear of betraying Rogue’s trust and the uncertainty of how she would react when she found out.

As he looked into Magneto’s piercing blue eyes, he saw a depth of understanding that promised something more than just physical intimacy. It was a proposition of mutual respect, a chance to be seen and valued in a way that most around him failed to do. Despite the taunts and deliberate attempts to antagonize, he got the distinct impression that Magneto thought more highly of him than it seemed at face value.

Perhaps it wasn’t about choosing between having Rogue for himself or letting her be with someone else - but about embracing the complexity of all their desires. Though their exchanges were often fraught with confrontation, there were moments when Remy caught glimpse of a softer side to Magneto. It was in the way Magneto’s gaze lingered longer than necessary, the soft way he looked at Rogue, and the subtle hints of approval that slipped through his stoic facade.

“Gambit don’t know…”

“You came here tonight to talk, so let us talk.” Magneto interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. He continued to offer his extended hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Remy accepted, allowing himself to be pulled down beside Magneto into a supine position.

“When we talk before, you said… you could help Gambit make tings work.” Remy continued, his fingers fidgeting nervously as he played with the hem of his crop top. “How you gonna help if Rogue already choose you? How I gon’ compete wit Magneto of all people?”

“As I explained before, I have no interest in competition - nor do I wish to force Rogue to make a choice. Given that you are here, I presume you considered my words.” Magneto’s gaze was steady and unwavering.

“Been considered, yeah. But dat don’t make ‘em easier to reconcile, no.”

Magneto ran a coarse hand up Remy’s stomach and under his shirt, eliciting a sharp inhalation from Remy in response. Despite their similar size and stature—identical in height and nearly in weight—Magneto exuded an aura of all-encompassing dominance and strength. Every movement carried with it a sense of purpose and intentionality, from the firm grip of his fingers to the deliberate pressure applied when touching intimately. It was enough to convey a degree of authority and dominance, without crossing the threshold into discomfort.

“I am disinterested in forcing you to do anything you do not wish to participate in,” Magneto spoke, his voice low and measured. “No matter what you may have assumed, Rogue does care about you deeply. It is evident that we both share affection for her.”

With a subtle shift of his hand, Magneto gripped Remy’s waist firmly, pulling their bodies together. “Facilitating the two of you to touch without the barrier of her power would be effortless for me, a mere afterthought. However, I have no desire to be but a third wheel or to ‘share’ that which cannot and should not be treated like a belonging to be passed around.”

Remy’s body trembled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, his mind racing as he tried to process the implications of Magneto’s words. He wished he had chosen to wear something less revealing than gray sweatpants for this visit, something that didn’t tent so easily under the pressure of Magneto’s touch.

“Do you accede?” Magneto’s voice cut through Remy’s thoughts, drawing him back to the present moment.

“Got me too much an envie to fuss. Maybe Magneto make a good cher, yeah?”

“I will interpret that as a yes.” Magneto spoke with a hint of amusement.

“Mais talk about! Got a lot to learn you if you gonna be with Gambit!”

“Very true,” Magneto conceded, wrapping his arms around Remy and pulling him close. “Apropos of nothing, you may call me Erik. In private, at least.”

“I like dat, me,” Remy murmured, nuzzling his face into Erik’s strong chest. He looked forward to when Rogue would return from her trip and couldn’t help but anticipate the surprise that awaited her.

With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the warmth of their shared moment. For the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope that he could find happiness in this unconventional arrangement. Remy found himself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Erik’s heartbeat beneath his ear. As he succumbed to the embrace of slumber, he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn of events that had brought him here.

[xelasrecords]

Thank You for the Food

Han Jumin x Reader

Living alone is fun and liberating until you fall sick and there's no one to ask for help when you're too tired to cook or fetch your own food. This is a lighthearted wintry story for anyone who needs a holiday pick-me-up.

In Another Story, when Jumin texts you "text denied", you can get a heart from him if you reply with "denial denied". That's when I know this man got verbal sparring potential, which is to say, my kind of man. The banter here is 100% powered by that.

Words: 3.5k

Masterlist Read on AO3

Jumin likes you. You don't know this yet, and perhaps his feelings haven't grown that deep to be labelled as love, but he has a very strong inclination towards you.

Jumin wants to do almost everything for you. You're an important member of the RFA, as he likes to remind you, so he wants to cook for you when you fall sick. It's a reasonable thing to do, so please don't read too much into this.

Jumin is atrocious at cooking. His list of experiences consists of making instant pancakes, and that's it, really.

But it's late and he's here after a hectic work day, arranging the steaming soup he'd personally packed from home on your dining table. He's here, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, winter coat hung by the door, concern knitted into his face. He's here, standing as awkward as the bare Christmas tree in the room that you haven't had the chance to decorate, but you don't feel uncomfortable because he's here. He's here, he's here.

Your heart makes way for him.

Jumin sets down a spoon by your hand. "Is your headache persisting? If you need to see a doctor, I can refer you to a specialist in the area."

You shake your head. "It's fine, I just need to rest. I'm only like this because I overworked myself. The holiday season is always rough. And yes," you say, holding up a hand before he could protest, "I've taken a break from work." If you don't stop him in time, you know you'd be subjected to a slew of nagging, fully backed up with scientific research.

"How about your fever?" Jumin asks while sliding into the chair opposing you. After a beat, he leans across the table with an arm stretched out. "May I?"

It's an opportunity to engage in physical contact with Jumin, and you are an opportunist when it comes to him. Your hand reaches for his and presses it to your forehead. Your skin burns against his cold palm, but the fault isn't entirely on your fever.

Jumin stands up immediately and places his other hand on the side of your neck. "Your temperature is still very high. Are you sure you can take care of yourself like this?"

You give him a pointed look. "If it's low I'd be a corpse."

"If it's lower you'd be normal."

"Are you saying I'm abnormal, strange, odd, peculiar, et cetera?"

"I'm referring to your current biological state. Only with a healthy body, you can function with optimal productivity." Jumin is very determined to share his wisdom. "If you'd like a caretaker…" he trails off, frowning. "Actually, I'm available to stay over if you need me to," he enunciates his offer carefully, letting it hang like a question.

Though every cell in your body screams in agreement, you set your hopes aside. He could have meant nothing by it. He could have only been extending his hospitality as a friend, nothing more.

His hands are still on you for longer than necessary.

"I'll decide based on how good your masterpiece tastes." It was a safe answer. As you shift your attention to the soup in front of you, Jumin pulls back, seemingly too aware of what he has let happen.

The soup is still hot, its swirling steam brushing your face. It has a muddy texture and a stuffy aroma with a note of coarseness, which you doubt it's how it's supposed to smell, but you're willing to give Jumin the benefit of the doubt.

"Masterpiece? Well, I suppose it is." He straightens his vest and slides back into his chair. "My chef said ginseng chicken soup is an effective remedy to fever, so I would have to thank him later."

"Wait." Your mouth hangs open, spoon hovering. "This is supposed to be chicken soup?"

"Yes."

You blink. "Then where's the chicken?"

"I burned it." Jumin clasps his fingers on the table. "I didn't have time to boil another one, but I'm sure its essence has seeped into the broth. Chicken essence also has medicinal qualities, I heard."

"Medicinal," you echo. Perhaps you should retract the benefit you extended to him.

Jumin gives you a confident nod and you smile hesitantly, raising the spoon as a cheer then take a sip. Then fight back a cough. Then fight to keep your expression straight.

Not to be dramatic, but it tastes like death. Did Jumin pour the entire ocean tainted by factory waste into this soup?

His creation should be on the Guinness record. It's a miracle how it can be excruciatingly salty and bitter with none of the usual earthy sweetness from the ginseng. This is best served for your worst enemies, except you aren't sure if your current worst enemy is the soup or Jumin. If he told you this is an elaborate plot to worsen your health to prevent you from returning to your hellish routine, you would probably believe it.

It would be an insult to thank the chef for this.

But Jumin's watching you eagerly and you can't bear to stomp on his spirit, so despite how your stomach is very much stomping in protest, you force a wide grin. "It's very unique and flavourful! I can still taste the chicken on my tongue. It's like its poor burnt soul had never left the pot. The power of phantom chicken, truly." You cover your mouth, attempting to hide a cough. "Did you follow the exact recipe?"

Jumin seems relieved at your reaction. "Actually, I took some liberties. I may be a beginner, but it would be boring if I followed the chef's instructions precisely, so I put my own twist and innovated a brand new dish."

This innovation could invent a new illness in people.

"Wow, I didn't know you're creative too. Good for you!" You can feel your grin evolving into a wince, so you quickly scoop more soup into your mouth. Better finish it fast than let it grow cold. Who knows how it would taste then.

"May I give it a try? I'm curious how it managed to warrant such high praise from you," he asks.

Your throat is as rough as asphalt when you croak, "You didn't try when you made this?"

"I was rushing to get to you. As you already know, I'm good in all my endeavours, so I was confident this would turn out well." Jumin sits back with arms crossed, a smug smile tugging his lips. "It appears that once again, I'm right."

Look where over-the-top lying and grade-A bullshitting got you.

"No," you briskly say.

His smile turns into a frown. "No?"

"No! You're not suggesting we share a spoon, are you? That'd be unhygienic."

"Surely you have another spoon at home?" He looks around the kitchen and sees the cutlery rack. "Oh, it's there. Please sit down, don't exert yourself. I can get it on my own."

As Jumin walks towards the rack, you quickly jump off your chair while ignoring the pounding headache that follows. "Jumin, wait." You grab at his arm desperately. "You made that soup for me, yes? That means it's mine to finish. Don't even think about stealing my food."

He turns to you almost just as fast. "Don't jump like that. Are you all right?" He holds you by your shoulders, grey eyes flitting up and down to examine you. Only when he's reassured of your wellbeing that he relaxes. "I find it surprising that you don't want to share food. When have you changed?"

"Since you made that soup with your whole heart." You motion at the bowl beside you. "It's mine, all right?" Without waiting, you swipe it off the table and try to gulp down the rest.

Keyword: try.

It's a fantastically failed attempt. They say the more you grow, the more you know yourself. Well, it's true. The questionable things you'd do for a crush know no bounds. Turns out, it's you who deserves an award for being the best fool in love.

You're about to finish when you begin to choke, and what a sight it is. You, trying to dial back the coughing to a minimum to avoid spreading the virus and embarrassment, yet visibly cringing from swallowing the contents. Jumin, his whole body frigid in alarm before switching the bowl out of your grasp with a glass of water, which you gratefully gulp down.

So much for pretension.

"Okay, fine, it's horrible," you give in, tears blurring your sight. Would it be too much to declare your taste buds to be damaged?

Jumin's expression is a slow-motion picturesque of horror. "You lied to me."

"I can't mock your hard work to your face," you hurriedly say. "I love the, um, texture? It's soupy. Transported me to the seaside. Very refreshing."

If the seaside is engulfed by a tsunami, that is.

"Soup is supposed to have the texture of soup," he says.

"It could've gone worse! It could've been so lumpy it's chewy."

Jumin looks affronted. "Has the fever gone to your head? What kind of liquid is chewable?"

The salt has.

"The fever is in my head. And in my other body parts. Don't you know how fever works?" You cross your arms. "And, insinuating me of delirium and therefore incapable of forming coherent thoughts just because I'm slightly sick only makes you sound all the more condescending. Maybe your soup has transformed me. Maybe your soup has dissolved my brain into mush. Maybe your power of cooking has transcended science."

"Then stop eating it if you hate it so much. Just how bad could it be?" Jumin fetches a spoon from the cutlery rack and tries it himself.

To no one's surprise and probably Jumin's only, he instantly sputters it out. You watch him. Then, with an attitude fuelled by a hundred I-told-you-so's, you calmly pass him a glass of water.

"Why," he gasps, "would you put your body through this? This is inedible."

You pat the edge of his lips with a tissue—a wonderful disguise to touch him again—and decide to test him. "Why do you think?"

"If you're doing this to spare my feelings, you're only wasting your energy. I don't get easily offended and I'm excellent at receiving feedback. I would've improved this soup if you had told me the truth."

You wrestle the bowl out of his hand and place it on the table. "Jumin, from the bottom of my heart, I'm begging you not to do anything more to it. Ever heard of what doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result means?"

"The very definition of improvement means implementing different methods to make it better."

"Not when those methods have one thing in common: you."

"You seem to have lost your pleasantries, but I'll excuse it since you're ill," says Jumin, tone totally pleasant.

"Do you know how aggravating you can be?" you retort, not at all pleasant.

Jumin nods solemnly. "I've heard Zen accusing me with more colourful insults. It also appears that Assistant Kang often shares his opinion." Then he puts on a neutral expression so carefully crafted that you know it's anything but. It's an expression designed to boast. "Of course, I'm one of a kind. It's natural that not everyone can get along with me. It'd be a privilege to gain my courtesy."

And yet here you are in my house. "I wouldn't say it's a privilege to be personally poisoned by you."

Jumin grunts. "That's not what you implied when you doled out those high compliments."

"If you'd read into the subtext, you'd know I wasn't praising you." You pick up the bowl again and sigh. "Let's move on to something else after I finish this."

"Are you serious?"

You mimic his deadpan tone the best you can, "I'm always serious."

"So now you drink poison."

You shrug. "You said it, not me."

This time, Jumin touches you first. His fingers splay out on your arm, halting you from doing another stupid thing. As you proclaimed earlier: the best fool in love.

"Pardon me if I still can't comprehend why you're so adamant to finish that," he says. "Unless you're trying to prove that the fever has infected your brain?"

You aren't going to let Jumin push you to confess first. Not when you're in your worst shape, complete with ashen lips and bird-nest hair from lying in bed the whole day. Your nightmare before Christmas has arrived too soon.

"Are you asking because you really have no idea or are you looking for confirmation?"

Jumin tilts his head. "What are you insinuating?"

"Don't play coy, Jumin."

"I'm not playing anything. It would be cruel to play with a sick person."

Sometimes, a person could get a sharp zing of epiphany and it would feel like this is it, this is what you're meant to do. And sometimes, that moment comes when the man who stirs up a flurry of emotions in you is so infuriating that it has become your new mission to make him confess first.

The visit, the food, the dancing around the truth. They all click. The fever has not gone to your head.

Who visits a random woman's place on a freezing night, during peak season at work, when the said woman is only felled with a mild illness, nothing medication and rest can't cure?

Not Jumin.

"Let me ask you one thing. Why are you here?" you prod.

Jumin looks at you as if it's something you should already know. A common answer to a common question. "You need to eat a proper meal and no one's around to take care of you. I'm not going to let you drag yourself out for food when it's a blizzard outside."

Glancing out the window where snow is falling rapidly, you won't deny that trudging alone in that weather would be a poor survival method. Zero out of ten doctors would suggest it.

You snort, eyeing the soup at hand. "And this is a proper meal?"

"Accidents happen, but my intention remains the same."

"You could've ordered something for me, sent over a chef, or asked Jaehee to check on me. Aren't you too busy to waste your precious time like this?"

"No time is wasted if it's spent on you. You're an important person to me, so I needed to make sure with my own eyes that you're all right." Jumin's forehead creases with worry. "All I could think about at work was you. I was afraid you might faint and no one would be here to help."

You don't bother to hold back a small smile. "Well, you're here now, so what's your assessment?"

At least he has the decency to look contrite. "Moderately alarming upon first look, worse after consuming my soup. My alarm is on full blare now, so please, stop this madness." Jumin pries the bowl out of your hand and sets it back on the table before fixing his posture. After a moment, he pushes the bowl farther out of your reach for good measure.

You shake your head at how adorable he is. "I also have an assessment on my own."

"Go on."

"I think the things you said and did are a roundabout way to confess your feelings for me. You like me."

You let it float between you, trying to gauge Jumin's reaction, but he's still, too still for your liking. You know you aren't wrong, but could this be the wrong time to poke at his feelings?

"And would it bother you," Jumin asks slowly, "if I tell you that you are correct?"

Bother you?

Bother you.

Jumin must think that his feelings could disrupt your peace, but if they could, then you don't want to know another moment of peace. He's the one who gives you the sense of calmness that you long for. His mere presence brings you comfort. He's the one you rely on to lift your spirits. It's appalling how your feelings that are so palpable to you could be invisible in the eye of your direct affection.

You take a step closer, studying him. Black hair thoroughly mussed by the wind, ruddy cheeks, and a tender expression that you've never seen him wear with other people. "Do you really think you're the only one with a crush?" you whisper.

Jumin stares at you in disbelief, but it slowly morphs into relief when the truth dawns on him. "I didn't want to be," he murmurs. "Truth be told, I've had my suspicions since you insisted to eat that cursed dish, but I couldn't be sure until you give me a clear sign."

"So you admit that you're searching for a confirmation." A smug grin appears on your lips. "I literally swallowed poison for you. If that isn't a clear enough sign, then I don't know what is."

He clears his throat. "I wouldn't go so far as to call my cooking poison. It was a beginner mistake at worst. Can't you spare some mercy on my first trial?"

You gawp. "To hell with mercy. I was your experiment subject?"

"I thought it'd be more special if you were the first person to try my cooking."

"It was certainly nothing like anything I've tasted before," you say.

His lips pressed into a smile. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I was responding to your sarcasm with sarcasm. Do keep up." Jumin's eyes twinkle with mischief, and it makes you want to strangle and kiss him at the same time.

You rake your fingers through your hair. "Should I kick you out?"

He raises his dark brows. "You wouldn't want to do that."

"I want to do a lot of things to you, Jumin." You hoist yourself up the table and smirk at him. "Shame they'd have to wait until I recover."

Carefully, he slots himself between your legs, arms kept to his sides so he won't touch your bare thighs by accident. It's endearing how cautious he is. "Is there anything I can do to make your illness go away faster? I can't wait to see what you've got planned."

You laugh. "You'd be scandalised."

You close your legs just a bit more so they brush against his trousers. Jumin's breath hitches and you arch a brow, a silent dare for him to make his next move. He chuckles, then settles his hands on your thighs. A light touch that turns into a reassuring grip.

"I doubt they could rival my desires against you." His tone takes on a sultry cadence that draws your body in.

"Stay the night. You made the offer earlier, and the weather is too harsh to go home. So, stay."

Jumin lights up at your request, and you feel giddy with how transparent he is. Look at the joy you can spark within him. "Are you going to pour wine for me while putting on the records too?"

You crack up laughing. "I can't believe you just quoted 'Baby, It's Cold Outside'!"

"Paraphrased," he corrects. "It's unfortunate that they don't mention wine in the song. Didn't they know wine is the most fitting drink for the holidays?"

"You think wine is the best fitting drink for any occasion."

"Red wine contains antioxidants that are helpful in preventing coronary artery disease and has been proven to reduce stress and anxiety. It has countless qualities that are beneficial for your health," says Jumin.

"Like your ginseng chicken soup?"

He sighs. "I see you're fond of reminding me of my failures."

You make a show of cleaning invisible dirt on his shoulders. "I'm fond of seeing you admitting defeat," you say. "And you haven't given me an answer. Will you stay or do I have to belt out the whole song to persuade you?"

The corner of Jumin's mouth twitches up. He's always been fond of your theatrics, and now, finally, he knows that you want to be with him as much as he does. "Of course I'll stay, I'd be a fool to turn you down. In any case, I'm glad everything works out."

The triumph in your chest transforms into suspicion. "What works out?"

"My overnight clothes are packed inside that briefcase." Jumin gestures at the leather briefcase on your couch.

"You planned for this?" you ask, partly in awe, mostly in surprise.

"I simply prepared for all the possible scenarios."

"And one of them is to sleep with me."

Jumin rubs his lips. "I never mentioned anything about sleeping together."

You roll your eyes. "Fine, but don't ask me to sleep with you later, because I won't."

"Is this the game you want to play?" Jumin braces his hands on the counter, trapping you between him. You have to keep reminding yourself not to make out with him when you're still sick. "Very well. For your information, I never lose. If you don't want to sleep with me, then don't." He leans in, lips nearly brushing your ear. "See how long you can last."

But just because you're ill doesn't mean you've lost your touch. You tilt your head to meet his gaze and smirk. "Game on."

-

Footnotes:

Wanted to title this "Jumin's Bullshit" as a reference to Tyler's Bullshit from the film The Menu, but alas. Holler if you've watched it tho!

Went with ginseng chicken soup because it's a traditional Korean healing food and I thought Jumin would want to cook something with a homemade feel to comfort you. Also, I was craving it.

[corvidcircus]

If you're still taking requests maybe how vergil and dante's s/os react to them coming back from hell eventually after the end of 5? :) I don't know how long they spend there but I know I'd go crazy if it was more than a few months... Love your writing! ❤

The Return

(post-DMC5, by roughly ten months)

Vergil's S/O-

you've been outwardly calm, and internally screaming

you were actually V's S/O

V told you about the whole situation just after he told Trish

the qliphoth was the first time you met Vergil, but he looked at you adoringly, just like V did

he softly assured you they'd be back, and leapt into the underworld within seconds of ending his bout with nero, leaving you scrambling to understand what was happening

you've been working to distract yourself from the fact that he's gone, and the fear he may not come back

you never really got to meet him, and he might be gone for good

it hurts

you hate it

the crew have noticed

you dont sleep well, you wont eat much, you're irritable and distracted

10 months later you are very close to giving up hope

youre on a job and suddenly both twins are just... there?

it throws you off balance and if it weren't for them covering you, things would've gone very poorly

you finish destroying the portal and the stragglers

you stop and actually see him for the first time

you don't remember moving, but you blink and you're across the room, crying, face shoved into his chest, clinging to him for dear life

he stiffens and then slowly returns the embrace

it takes a minute for you to get your breath back

you recognize pieces of the poet you knew, enough to gently tease him

"You're late, and in a lot of trouble," he winces apologetically

"but goddamn did I miss you."

that earns a small smile

("And I, you, my dove.")

Dante's S/O-

you're pissed, at first. mainly because before the Vergil fight you told him not to do anything ridiculously stupid.

mans had 1 job: he failed

after about 5 weeks, you start getting a little worried

the tree is mostly gone, so they must have succeeded in taking out the roots

the longer that goes by the more you think about something Nero said when he told the crew what happened

that they never said they had a plan to get back, in fact he seemed to think they may not be able to get back out of the underworld

the whole arcane research thing is not typically your go to for dealing with demons

why bother when hitting them with a sword is more effective

but without yamato, portals are hard to create, and even harder to control

you spend months running down any option you can think of to at least get to or from the demon world

it takes another 8 1/2 months to finally find something that you think might work

it doesn't

then after passing out, upset and exhausted, you startle awake at the sounds of the doors flying open

you must still be dreaming, because that looks like your devil

who's trapped in hell

right?

cue a dante patented stupid joke to diffuse tension

you quite literally vault over the desk into his arms and just feel that hes back

*hug*"I'm so happy you're back!"

and exactly 4 seconds later

*hitting him repeatedly* "Never fucking do that again!"

Bonus Nero's Reaction-

he's super fucking pissed off

ah yes lets leave the kid (with severe familial abandonment issues) suddenly without his family

remains fairly angry when the topic of either twin is brought up

but the longer that goes by, the more anger becomes distress, and eventually resignation

concerned, but unsure how to help Vergil's S/O

very bothered by the 'empty look' when he does jobs with VS/O

confused, exasperated, but not surprised at Dante's S/O's actions

a little tiny bit scared of the non-stop manic energy DS/O is embodying

first time seeing the twins back, he has way to many emotions to deal with so defaults to anger

likely throws down with either/both

the rage burns hot and fast this time, so the fight is messy and short

basically ends in him storming off and giving them the cold shoulder until someone makes the first move

(probably nero or dante lets be honest here)

*this is the headcannon version, there may end up being fully written one shots later

[athletearrhythmia]

You sound like an eager research subject for sure. It would be fun to put your heart through the paces well beyond what an ordinary stress test would entitle. What would it take for you to tap out do you think? Can you take everything that the doctor may want to throw at you?

I mean I do bruce protocol stress tests as a workout if I'm bored doing sprints haha. For all the macho bullshit I do have upper limits but they are very, very high- just reading stuff off like reddit from nurses, I'd be the "best ever score" most clinics have seen. But even I can only sprint uphill for so long.

One of the more exciting things about my heart, athletically, is how it recovers and "reloads". Doctors don't test that. Basically if I maxed out my heart rate for 20 minutes straight, then walked it off for 2-3 minutes, I could max out 20 straight again no problem - I do that a lot. And it's super weird. Most athletes can't hold 95% max for longer than a few minutes at best and certainly couldn't keep going back to back to back. (Granted some can!)

I would be disappointed if the doctor didn't try to push my heart to its breaking point. I'll do anything until my body forces me to stop. Truly I pull back on workouts far more often from joint problems than over taxing my heart. I just hope the doctor will let me push through scary levels of intensity. I get pretty loud and very sweaty getting a heart this large working.

[hdowlpost]

OWL GIFTS for @uncannycerulean

"Dining with the Devil" - The Daily Prophet Summary:

THIS JUST IN!!

Harry Potter was Spotted with none other than the dazzling reformed advocate, Draco Malfoy inside a seedy cafe at Diagon! Is this just another case-related meeting? Or is there something more brewing under the surface!? Find out more on page two of our latest issue, along with Rita Skeeter's new scoop on the mysterious mistress of Mr. Marington (page 17).

Don't miss out on the exclusive, brought to you by the greatest wizard magazine in the UK!! Art Medium: Digital Art Rating: G Contains: Exclusive article, advocate!Draco Malfoy, newspapers Notes: It is safe to say that I've had the greatest time of my life creating this piece! XDD To dear @uncanny_cerulean, I know this is not fully in line with the specific prompts you gave, but you mentioned you like our boys with unusual jobs and my mind just went with it. While Auror Harry is no new trope, I know for a fact that we have rarely seen advocate Malfoy in action, so I thought why not? I hope you like it! Merry Christmas and happy holidays! I'd like to take a moment to thank my amazing beta L, who came to my rescue at the very last moment with their very detailed insights and constructive suggestions to improve this piece as a whole. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversations and in general, am excited to continue our newfound friendships over fics and art! A big thank you also goes to the mods for being the most understanding and helpful people I know. You guys are frankly the reason why I keep coming back to this fest every year. Know that you all are amazing!!

A Missing Mug and Mysterious Memos Summary: Draco is already dejected about the prospect of not spending Christmas with Harry. He did not need his favourite mug to go missing too. Word Count: 800 Rating: G Contains: Established relationship Notes: Dear uncanny_cerulean, I couldn’t go past your first prompt, ‘Who keeps stealing Draco's mugs from the ministry kitchen?’ I had lots of fun planning and writing this little mystery for you. Hope you enjoy the cryptic clues! Thanks to the Owlpostmasters for their enduring patience and my beta B for saving my behind.

From Antarctica, Love Draco Summary: Draco had known that he would be gone for an extended period of time in the remote wilds of the Antarctic circle without any way to contact home. He wouldn't get to enjoy any of the comforts of his cozy London flat, with its adjustable heating and cooling charms or king sized bed with silk sheets and a dozen pillows for even longer. Draco had been fine with that. Welcomed it, even. Yet Harry’s eyes haunt him, even in the most remote of places. Word Count: 2.3k Rating: Mature Contains: climate specialist Draco, Antarctica, Antarctic expedition, lovable scientist ocs, getting together, pining, Harry falls first, Draco falls harder Notes: For uncannycerulean, I hope you enjoy this little science meets magic fic from one biologist to another. I honestly quite love this universe, and may have to write more! Happy holidays! Huge thanks to Teii for the beta and additional research! And as always, thank you to the mods for all you do!

[imflyingfish]

Hi fish hi fish!! :] hope you're doing swell- wanted to ask for some advice

I've been trying to learn how to draw wheelchairs for a while now, hardest part has been finding refs with people in em, do you know what terms to search up to find stuff like that? All good if not, just know you're pretty well acquainted with drawing em so figured I'd ask

First off I'm going to state that I'm not a wheelchair user. I have researched them in the past and have asked a family member who uses one for advice, but still don't take my word as absoultely reliable. The majority of my knowlege/observations comes from watching family members with chairs so it may be biased. I'm going to be mostly talking about manual chairs but the same suggestions should apply to powered.

Searching up "wheelchair drawing reference" can help, but I discourage using google images. Often the images will be unrealistic due to them being stock images, or of the wrong type of wheelchair for what youre drawing. (One that comes up a lot are foldable wheelchairs which are more associated with hospitals than practical life).

Instead, try to use reference collections made by wheelchair users. This is a really good collection by Criptid Cosplayer in both manual and powered wheelchairs. They also have a small guide to designing fantasy wheelchairs which was interesting.

I also reccomend learning what the different parts of a wheelchair are and do. This will make it easier to understand how the user uses the chair, the shape of the chair and make it easier to remember the different parts while drawing. I don't have a specific source for this using photo reference since I looked at real wheelchairs for this. However @/calvin-arium has a good guide to drawing chracters with wheelchairs with drawn diagrams here.

Also ensure you observe how real people use wheelchairs. I find that tutorials for using wheelchairs are a good source for this since they break down how each movement works. This will make it easier to draw Wheelchairs in montion/natural posing. Wheels2walking has a good video explaining rolling and one here for wheelies.

Other tips:

Give your characters wheelchair gloves, especially if they're going to be going longer distances than just being inside. Not all users use gloves but they do help protect the hands.

Consider if the character needs additional support/what type of chair they're needing. E.G. Seatbelts, cushions, cupholders, additional storage space, hight of handles/if they have handles, back height ect.

Check what type of wheelchair your character needs. One of my OC's needed to always hold a megaphone as her main weapon, so I gave her a powered wheelchair with a headrest to ensure that I could still have her move around the battlefield without taking away her disability. Other times you will need to consider the type of chair around their disability rather than design/character function. Make sure you research the type of chair for the disability and adjust if needed.

Wheelchairs have different functions. Sports wheelchairs and off-road wheelchairs look very different to regular wheelchairs so keep that in mind. Always research the right wheelchair

Also consider if your character can move their legs or not while posing.

To draw the wheelchair start with a circle with the figure to get an idea of the pose. Treat the chair as an extension of the character while drawing. Don't worry about the anatomical accuracy of the chair before you have a good idea of the pose/a basic sketch or thumbnail

Remember to draw the wheelchair using perspective. or dont.

Wheelchairs are even cooler decorated. Some people use stickers, covers, lights, fabrics, spikes.

It's okay to draw wheelchairs badly. I see a lot of people avoid drawing them for fear of getting them wrong but thats just. counterintuative. Make sure you research (even further than this post links to) and stop avoiding them.

Okay yeah, thats all I can think of for now. Keep in mind that I'm not disabled and so not everything I say is guarenteed to be accurate. But this should be enough to help you out I think.

If anybody else wants to add on to this feel free

[brighteststar707]

Fic request for Jumin and White Chocolate for @altaluneslair!

the direction I'd like it to go in is having a date with him for the whole day in cheap and commoner places without travelling by his car~ So, the date may go: travelling by public transport, eating street foods in the market, playing in arcade game center, dining in small gopchang restaurant, attaching love padlocks in Namsan Tower, just strolling around somewhere, or etc.

I'll be honest, I spent a long time watching Seoul vlogs and reading travel pages to write this fic 😅 I tried to get the details and setting right but my skills are limited by the fact that I've never visited Seoul or done any of these things.

That being said, I like how this fic turned out. It's nothing like anything else I've written for Jumin and it was a lot of fun to research and write. I hope you enjoy!

✧ White Chocolate ~ Going on a Date

Jumin and his wife stand side-by-side at a subway station, looking for all the world like any other commuters. Since they arrived at their station, she has been talking to him excitedly about how well-connected they are, that her commute used to be so much longer before she moved into the penthouse. Jumin listens to her talking, content for any information she gives him about her life before. The idea of doing this several times a day is something he can’t imagine. Sometimes, he forgets how different her life used to be, how much has changed for her since marrying him.

The idea for today’s date had started as a simple conversation over dinner just this week. He had stayed back at the office later than usual, so to make it up to her he called in the chef to make them a nice dinner to share when he got home. Over dinner, after talking about their day, their discussion had moved to weekend plans.

“How do you feel about visiting the vineyard? The weather is supposed to be lovely this weekend, we can just relax."

She had nodded slowly, as if in a daze, then her face broke into a good-natured laugh. He looked at her, perplexed.

“Sorry, that sounds wonderful! I didn’t mean to laugh, it’s just that hearing that out loud… it’s still a little bit surreal. Going to the vineyard for the weekend as if it was as easy as crossing town.”

“Probably easier, we wouldn’t have to deal with traffic,” Jumin replies.

“Thank goodness for the plane.”

“So, what would you have us do on our day off?”

“Well, I used to keep a list on my phone of places to go and things to do when I had time off in the city. I haven’t gone through it in a while, but I’d probably have picked some things from there?”

He tilts his head to the side inquisitively. “Like what?”

“Oh, things like trying out new food stalls at the market or playing in the arcade.”

That was what got his attention. He always found himself fascinated by things so common to the everyday person.

“Well, why don’t we do some things from your list? The vineyard can wait until next week.”

And just like that, the idea for their ‘commoner date’ was born. She managed to get him to agree that they’d go out like she used to before, no personal driver, no security team following them (though just a call away and monitoring their locations at all times), no fancy restaurants or exclusive events. She instead took the time to plan out a full day of activities she would have done on a date if she weren’t married to Jumin Han.

Jumin, of course, wasn’t allowed to know about any of them until the day of their date itself.

The subway arrives right on time, and he follows her close behind as they step on. They find a single free seat, and  Jumin automatically stands aside to offer it to her, but she hesitates.

“I admire your chivalry, love, but are you sure you don’t want to sit?”

“Of course I am.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Are you doubting my ability to stand?”

“Of course not! If you’re sure, then I’ll take it, thank you.”

She sits down and watches as he stands resolutely in front of her and holds on to the bar (after just a second's hesitation at the idea of the germs). It’s not a bad sight. She convinced him to swap out his usual suits for something more casual and comfortable, so today he’s dressed in black simple trousers and a linen white shirt. His hair is less styled than usual and is floppy and soft over his head instead of combed neatly.

Perhaps she was wrong to worry. He’ll be fine.  

The subway doors shut and it pulls out of the station. The people have crowded closer around each other, and Jumin stands stiffly. The momentum of the train moving makes him wobble dangerously and he receives some dirty looks from the passengers around him.

 “Jumin, I’ll ask you one more time.”

“…Perhaps I should take the seat.”

She slips out of the seat and he sinks into it ungracefully. She stands up opposite him, holding on to the bar a lot more steadily than Jumin was a minute ago. He huffs at the sweet smile she flashes him.

She keeps a mental note of the stops they’re passing and her eyes linger Jumin as he people watches. He has spent so much of his life kept at a distance from people, and she has noticed that he enjoys any opportunity he gets to watch people going about their lives. It’s one of the reasons he likes the charity parties so much, for the wide variety of people he gets to meet.

Finally, they reach their stop and join the crowd of people stepping out and onto the platform.

“So, are you going to tell me what you have planned yet?”

“Well, first of all, I thought I’d bring you out for some of my favourite street food. We can't spend a day out without lunch.”

The entrance to the market is only a few minutes away from the subway exit (and Jumin is starting to understand her earlier excitement at their central location). Entering the market feels like entering another world. Garlands are strung from the ceiling, and the walls are lined with food stalls. It’s almost overwhelming, but he can’t stop looking around.  

Of course, he has known about the food markets in the city for a long time, heard his employees talking about them between themselves and even recommended them to clients looking to experience the city. However, he has never had the chance (or reason) to visit one himself.

It's full of people: groups of friends chattering while in line for food, people clustered around tables and conversing with the salespeople. She doesn’t let go of his hand as she leads him down the line of food stalls and stops at a specific one.

“Oh, Jumin, you have to try this!”

It’s a pancake, by the looks of it, fried in oil. She orders them one each and bring them to the table by the stall. He sits down next to her and she pushes the little aluminium dish towards him to taste.

He takes a hesitant bite and tries to ignore her gaze on him as she waits for his reaction. He concentrates on the pancake instead. It’s crispy and flavourful, and probably has got more oil in it than anything he has eaten recently. It’s delicious, and he tells her as much.

She smiles, satisfied, and starts eating her own pancake. They chat, and he asks her about visiting the market and her favourite foods. As he listens to her speak, he slowly grows less conscious of all the people surrounding him. He isn’t used to being alone – without security – in crowds like this. But despite his face being plastered on magazines and tabloids frequently, it seems like nobody here has recognized him. He even starts to relax a little bit. Clearly, nobody is expecting to see Jumin Han and his wife in the middle of a busy food market in the city.

When they both finish, they get up from the table and keep walking around the market. They stop at one more stall for drinks and keep walking, cups in hand.  

When they leave the market, Jumin is full and content, even excited for their next activity.

“So,” he says, “Are we taking another subway?”

“Nope! This time we’re taking a little walk to our destination.”

And so they do. Hand in hand, they walk down the street. Jumin likes the anonymity being in a crowd of people lends him, likes the security that her hand gives him at the same time.  

His first reaction at the arcade is a sort of shock. It’s dark, full of neon colours and loud noises coming from the machines. It’s overwhelming, to say the least.

They linger in the middle as she surveys the array of games she has to choose from. Jumin stands close to her, eyeing the machines warily. They’re loud and bright, and he isn’t sure what to make of them. Sure, he plays video games at home sometimes (a secret that’s well-kept from the RFA members), but surely this is different. For one thing, his games are not this loud.  

She spots a machine, and as Jumin follows her gaze, he starts to laugh. It’s a car racing game, complete with a steering wheel and gears. He knows what she’s thinking without her having to say anything.

“Come here, Jumin, I want to test out something.”

She ushers him over to the seat, instructs him to get ready to race, and puts a coin in the slot. He sets off, jerking the wheel back and forth with more force than she'd expect from such a machine. She stands behind him so she can watch the screen and cheer him on. For a second, it looks like he’s doing pretty well. That is, before the car slams into the barriers and he gets overtaken by the rest of the racers.  

Jumin doesn’t even wince.

“You’re going too fast to control the car, slow down!”

“The objective of a race is to be the fastest.”

“Yes, but you cannot be the fastest if you keep getting stuck.”

He finishes the race in last place, and she is reminded once again to never let him behind the wheel of a car.

From there, they move on to a few rounds of air hockey (which she ends up winning, despite his best efforts), then a round each on a platformer game (where Jumin actually gets a high score). On their way out, Jumin gets distracted by a little soft toy in one of the claw machines that looks a lot like Elizabeth the Third and insists on trying to win her.

After going through half of their coins, she decides to take over and try her luck. Jumin hovers over her shoulder, giving her instructions and encouragement. After going through nearly the rest of the coins, she gets lucky and catches the little cat toy. She takes it out of the slot and presents it to him like it’s an expensive piece of jewellery.

He holds it gently in his hands, admiring the little toy.

“We’ve freed you now, don’t worry. Just wait until you meet Elizabeth. She’ll love you.”

When they finally leave the arcade, his ears are ringing and the light outside feels too bright. He isn’t sure how Yoosung and Seven manage to visit so often without getting headaches, but he has started to see the appeal of the occasional visit.

He looks to his wife, who is looking out at the street expectantly. He still has no idea what she has planned for the rest of their day. Before he can ask her what she’s looking for, a taxi pulls up to the pavement and she walks towards it to say something to the driver.

“This is for us, Jumin, get in!” She must have ordered the cab when he was busy at the claw machine.

“Isn’t this cheating?” He asks after slipping into the backseat.

“Well, let’s call it a grey area. It’s getting close to rush hour and I don’t think that’s an experience you’re missing out on.”

He agrees.

She refuses to tell him where they’re going next, so he can only guess by trying to identify the streets they’re passing. Luckily for him, their next destination is one he recognizes.

They step out of the taxi and find themselves at the Namsan Tower cable car station. This is another city landmark he has often recommended to business partners, and one he often hears about from others.

He already knows he’s going to like this part of their date. They buy their tickets and wait for their turn to board (he prefers this to the subway). Once they've boarded their cabin, he holds onto one of the railings and she wraps her arms around him for support. He puts his arm over her shoulders and holds her close as they watch the city grow smaller and smaller from the windows.

It's definitely better than the subway.

The sun has started to set by the time they reach one of the viewing platforms. The city stretches out beneath them, but the view is different to the kind Jumin sees from his office. At work, it sometimes feels like he can reach out and touch the city with his fingertips. Even worse, sometimes it feels like the city below is reaching up for him to pull him down to them. As much as he loves his job, the people it sometimes brings to him are the kind who would do anything for a taste of his world. They both know that better than others.

From over here though, he feels untouchable. It’s calming, to have it at a distance for once, instead of being in its centre.  

“I have one more surprise for you, Darling.”

She wriggles free from his arms and starts rooting through her bag. She finally pulls out a padlock. It has their initials engraved on it, and under it a small inscription.

He takes it from her hands and examines it carefully.

“You had this made?”

“I had it engraved for us on short notice. I thought we could do one better than the ones the souvenir shop offers.”

He chuckles. "It's perfect."

They take their time looking for the perfect place to hang it. Walking around the perimeter of the viewing platform, stopping to admire the view as the sun slowly sets, then finally settling on a place.

It’s on the outside of a railing, on top of layers of other locks (a hundred other promises that were made before them) that they choose to fix theirs. They close it together, hands over hands, and then take a second to admire it.

The sun has almost set, but in the soft light, they can still make out the little engraved inscription.

Dedicated to old sunsets and new experiences, I'd follow you anywhere

[merilaurecus]

Silly little story to add to my newest headcanons!

So Tav learned she can't return to Earth and is spending an evening with Gale (well I fall for him every playthrough soo).

I may or may not add the confession night?

I was shattered. My home which I was not meant to see again. All the friends, family... it was lost. I was lost to them. They'll keep looking for me, report me as missing and then police will mark me off as dead in few months or years.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to claw my way out of here. Of course I grew fond of friends I made here, but I really wanted to return to the people I knew for years. Thinking about them worried about me made me sick. If nothing else, I wanted them to know I was alive. But even that option was taken away from me.

Not much thinking happened when I stormed off from the group. I needed to be alone and at the same time I wished for someone to come to me and tell me it was possible for me to get back. But I was met only with the silence of the night. The wind quietly brushing the trees, water running silently in Chionthar with the Crown still waiting to be found and returned to Mystra. And the extra silence of the city waiting to be rebuilt. Not many people were around, most sought shelter in the taverns or Rivington.

So lost in thoughts and feeling of hopelessness and tears I didn't even hear the footsteps. I buried my head in my knees, knowing that I'm staying here for good.

Little did I know someone did not give up hope on me nor the topic.

At first, I just noticed someone sitting next to me, not even checking who came to me in this time of despair. Whoever that was I didn't want that person to witness my crying in its most ugly state. I managed to calm myself enough not to sob every few seconds, and wiping my tears away I dared to look up.

I was met with the saddest pair of brown eyes and even more sad look. Gale. Of course it had to be him. Someone able to research the topic at stake would come to comfort me.

Or maybe he found a Wish spell somewhere in the rubble?

- I... I didn't want anyone to see me like this - I started sobbing again - but this... this is too much. So many people will think I just vanished into thin air and then that I'm gone. I didn't want it to end like that... - I couldn't hold myself any longer and started crying again, instinctively burying my head in my knees again.

All I felt was an arm over my back as he got closer to me. I felt the robes and the warmth of its owner next to my body.

- I was torn away from what I knew. To think I would not be able to return, which almost happened, gives me an idea of the situation you found yourself in - he began with understanding resonating in his voice, perhaps louder than his words - but even in my darkest times there was someone who never gave up on me. And now it seems only fair I return the favour - he gently lifted my head from my knees, forcing me to look at him - I'll not give up on looking for anything related to your situation. Even if it means getting through the most dangerous of places. We'll manage - he paused with a heavy sigh - but should it come to that... you've got a place to stay. Not only one I wager, I overheard Shadowheart, Halsin and even Jaheira talking about taking you in to stay with them. I offer you my tower, although you'll choose the best option you see fit. Every one of them is capable of teaching you about Faerûn, but, and I'm not saying that because I'm full of myself or anything, if I find out the way to get you back to Earth, I'd prefer you to be there, so we can do it quickly.

I was so much invested in listening to him I forgot to cry. He was ready to help me in every way necessary. Though he kept in mind it could not work and knew he could keep me safe.

And... close to him.

I felt something else stir in me. I shouldn't be thinking about it given the situation, but my heart skipped a beat. If I really had to stay here without a way home...

No. It's not the right time, not now, I told myself. Maybe tomorrow, maybe when the situation is better than now. And maybe when I'm actually sure I can't get back. But I couldn't brush the thought off from now on.

I smiled weakly, I had no strength for anything more.

- Well... - I began, nervously drawing circles on the ground - if you really insist I'd be most glad to go to Waterdeep with you, if that's what you mean. Unless you want to stay in Baldur's Gate and help...

- Baldur's Gate has abundance of hands to help. You need something more... specific - someone, I thought to myself, quickly banishing the thought as it was not the proper time. But hells, my heart was already set if Waterdeep was meant to be my home.

- You're right - I looked him in the eyes. His face displayed a faint smile, almost like mine. Then I spied an opportunity to think about something different than my current situation - I'll go with you. Can't wait to meet the other ladies from your life. Tara must be fun from what I've managed to learn about her. Quite beautiful creature she is - only slightly over a month here and my vocabulary has already switched to local customs. Quick learner I could say.

I could see his face light up, his smile widening.

- You will? Gods, it's most gratifying to hear. And yes, my mother will be extremely happy to meet you, I'm sure you'll find a common language sooner than you can think! As for Tara I'm sure she already likes you. I spied that in her eyes already.

The moment of despair and tears turned into planning a future I never thought I've had. This man just offered me everything in his power to help me.

He almost got up when I stopped him.

- Wait, we need not to hurry - I put a hand on his shoulder then cross my legs above his - just because I'm smiling more now doesn't mean I couldn't use a hug. My situation is still a bit... bad - a single tear ran from my eye.

- Sure - he understood as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

His warmth was everything I needed in that moment. I ran my fingers through his hair only to understand what I'm doing seconds later. I took my hand away but he put it back where it was mindlessly wandering.

None of us had to say a word nor a spell. It was almost like a silent agreement we were yet to say out loud.

[iniziare]

Hi!! I've been seeing your stuff in Gui's tag and I was wondering if you're okay with questions? If not, please ignore this :) But what do you think of Guiping as a ship? I've seen a lot of artwork that says its the ship that's 'closest' to be her canon ship or something like that. Thoughts? Have a nice day!!

Hi 'non! Thank you for this, and I never mind questions, if anything, I welcome them any day, as they kind of force me to test my knowledge unexpectedly (best way to do it really). I actually have a fair bit of thoughts on this topic, so I'm glad you asked! I took a bit of time to do some additional research so that I have my facts straight, or, straighter, but all of it kind of confirmed what I'd already come to the conclusion of.

So, my answer to this may be a bit of a hot (and sensitive) take, but please do know that this is based on analyses and quite some thorough research throughout months of writing Guizhong, because the 'Guiping outdoes all else' is discourse that I've absolutely been unable to avoid. So yes, let's talk about Guiping, and why I think that people's hyperfocus on the dynamic as immediately and inherently romantic is a take that comes with numerous problems. Not only do I think that it sorely takes away from at least three characters (of which two are female) in multiple ways, but it also absolutely disrespects the cultural significance tied to linguistics, all simply for the purpose of 'representation'. I think we live in a world where people are so big on representation that they're quick to label things unjustly. And aside from that, I'm also personally concerned with how quickly people see things as being 'romantic' in today's age and preach it to be the 'irrefutable canon', but I digress, I'm rambling, so let's actually get into it. I apologize, for this'll get long and ramble-y, if there is one character that I will type essays about for days and days, it is Guizhong. I don't know what it is about her, but she is the dearest to my heart in entirely different ways. So this will touch on more than just 'Guiping', and instead will talk about Guizhong, Ping, Cloud Retainer, and of course, also Zhongli. But I'll speak in what we can actually see, and hear, instead of what we might feel, and envision, and hope.

While I'll explain what I mean with the disservice to numerous characters soon, let's touch on my first point, and let's actually talk about why Guiping is so fiercely shouted from the rooftops, and put under a spotlight as it is. All of it, yes, all of it, stems from how Ping uses the translation of 'soulmate' to refer to Guizhong in the original Chinese text, along with the following quote, during Guizhong's reveal in 2023's Lantern Rite:

"When the one attuned to my soul is no longer here, who else could hope to understand this tune?"

Without some critical thought, many in today's would consider this to be a reference to someone Ping would have likely been in love with, but I think (and I don't even mean this with genuine disrespect) that it's a shallow take for multiple reasons, but let me explain why. I think the best way of doing so, is to actually look at the terminology used in Chinese that people then translate from. In the original Chinese text, Ping uses 知音 (pronounced as zhīyīn in Mandarin) when speaking of Guizhong, and after some research, I found this thread. Now let me quote a little from it, because why try to put it into words on my own, when this author and translator's explanation is really quite formidable:

zhī 知: to know, knowing yīn 音: music, sound Literally, a zhīyīn is someone who "truly understands your songs." The term zhīyīn comes from a story about finding a kindred spirit through music. There are many versions of the story, and here is one of them: One day, the musician Yu Boya was playing a qin in the wilderness, when he met Zhong Ziqi. When Boya played one song, Ziqi immediately understood it and described it as reflecting the mood of soaring mountains (高山). When Boya played another song, Ziqi also comprehended immediately and described it as creating the mood of flowing waters (流水). Ziqi could understand all of Boya's songs. When Ziqi passed away, Boya felt so distressed that he destroyed his qin and never played it again. Boya thought of Ziqi as a "zhīyīn," and that term continues to be widely used to this day.

With its origins and explanation behind us, let's actually look at its definition and how it is modernly translated into the West's English language, while retaining its actual meaning:

In a modern context, the term of "zhīyīn" is often translated into English as a soulmate, a kindred spirit, or a very close friend, but at its core, it's a term that refers to a type of intensely emotional, spiritual, and platonic connection with someone.

In truth, the term 'soulmate' has never in any language, even in English, been irrefutably tied to a romantic love, but current times seem to have people conflate it with such a concept. But in reality, it's never been an automatic deduction. A soulmate refers to a kindred spirit, someone who understands an element of your person (or your entirety) in a way others might not. It means that there is a connection that defies the norm, a connection that's deeper than that, but 'deeper' does not equate 'romantic'. A romantic connection is not, by default, a representation of the deepest connection that you can have with a person. Hot take, but your partner in life is not automatically your soulmate, nor your kindred spirit. That's an addition that is rare in existence, it's not the foundation. Making that assumption is an incredibly modern takeaway, and it removes all weight of the word. But you know, let's actually take the origin of the word zhīyīn to move onto and into my next point, which is actually something that is most important to me as a writer of Guizhong.

Ping and Guizhong were, by all accounts, rivals in their area of music. The former found music to be an endeavor of the heart, while Guizhong invented an instrument that was able to compose melodies of its own accord (though also made note that it could never replicate or outdo human composers), a bit like 'AI' but in the olden days, which Ping opposed, so they clashed. Enough so that Morax had to intervene as to put a stop to it. But in this same element of musicality, they found a kinship with one another, something that they both understood (despite their differences) and bonded over. Yes, it went to a point where Ping felt like only Guizhong could understand the melodies that she composed. Only one that feels how you feel about the world around you (which is an immense thing), could come to comprehend what you mean to convey, or achieve with your song(s). We also know that they spent time together, but that isn't actually specific to their dynamic at all, and thinking so is an absolute neglect to a fundamental part of Guizhong's character. Well, you know, let's get into all of that. Because if we apply importance to all of these details, then we need to take into account that Ping was not the only one, and there is another who shared, honestly, the exact same connection with Guizhong, but over a different field of expertise.

Yes, I'm talking about our very own Cloud Retainer, the one who first properly introduces us to Guizhong as an individual (even if we technically already 'meet' her indirectly during Liyue's archon quest with Zhongli, more on that later), and the one that's entirely overlooked in this grand talk of 'those who sorely miss Guizhong'. Cloud Retainer's story with her is also described as being one rooted in rivalry, which, exactly like with Ping, is also put to rest by Morax' interventions (although this one is requested). They were both incredible inventors, and as Cloud Retainer notes in her 'Something to share' voiceline, she rather believes only Guizhong to be capable of helping her complete the larger version of her mechanical bird for all of the purposes she wants for it. Would another engineer/inventor with a similar understanding of the profound nature of mechanics (and how said inventor thinks), perhaps not be... the only one to 'understand' another? The origins of their stories— very similar, no? And yet, it doesn't stop there, and we also, at this point, need to take Morax into account as well (yes, I am pointing at the little laughing lines, just for a lighthearted addition to this long ramble of mine), but more on him as I continue.

Noting that Guizhong's time spent with Ping to be 'superior' or most meaningful is taking away, and immensely so, from the former's intricately extroverted nature. I invite you to listen to the tale Cloud Retainer recounts about her in this part of Lantern Rite's 2023 quest, so that you refresh your memory (or learn) on just how intense Guizhong was on her social gatherings, and in that, how much she thoroughly enjoyed all of the characters of Liyue, from the more known adepti, to other known gods (Marchosius) and adepti. These social gatherings, by all accounts, seem to have been entirely instigated by her, 'Guizhong often invited her friends to visit her home (...)', and it is noted that these banquets would last well into the night, until the sun rose anew. Guizhong was exceedingly extroverted, with all of the adepti, with all those she held dear, this was in her nature, and this was an incredibly common occurrence. What I'd like to point out at this point however, is that there's one place where such socializing was preserved, and that was right outside of Cloud Retainer's abode. And it's not just any 'spot', but let me explain.

For those unaware, the stone table at the beginning of the Echoes of the Heart cutscene, is still there, and can be found right outside of Cloud Retainer's abode. But it isn't just any table, its stools each bear an engraved name, one for Cloud Retainer herself, one for 'Rex' (Lapis), and one for Guizhong. It is also the only one that seems preserved, as if frozen in time. I say that, because the utensils are explicitly noted for each stool when you interact with them in-game. 'There is a bowl and a pair of chopsticks in front of the chair on the north side. Engraved on this chair is: "Here sits Guizhong."' These utensils are either replaced countless times in the 3700 years since her passing, or they're protected by adeptal energy. Both of which, I don't know about you, weaken my heart, because that to me shows an unwillingness or inability to let go, that's a continued form of mourning. That is right outside of Cloud Retainer's own abode. Tell me that this woman does not grieve the loss of Guizhong still, dare tell me that Ping outdoes everyone else's so entirely, that it should be negated or worse, neglected entirely. I know all of this is a bit of a mess, but to return to this video for a moment, tell me that Cloud Retainer does not sound as if she's still grieving, that she doesn't sound wistful. And tell me, as you read the following, what I've written so far, and after what I'm about to write still, that Ping is the only one who 'grieves' Guizhong's loss:

Paimon: Or are you saying that... it was Guizhong? Didn't she, um... already, um... Cloud Retainer: Alas... Long has one avoided this place for precisely that reason. The sights here are a reminder of a time long gone, and evoke much sorrow.

For anyone's recollection: it has been 3700 years since Guizhong died. Now, to also touch on Zhongli here, and I want to begin by reminding people of Shenhe's voiceline about him:

That gentleman claims to be a mortal, yet is very familiar with my master, who is an adeptus. Master once said: "If you see him drinking on a stone stool in front of my abode, do not disturb him. Let him sit quietly for a while." And that's precisely what I did.

And if you want your heart to break just a little bit more after you read that, then have a look at 'The Divine Stone Sees the World', the Genshin Impact EP made specifically for Zhongli by Hoyoverse, to see the visual tied to this little voiceline. Not just that, but look where he sits, look what's in front of him to find out whose seat that is. I'll let you find out for yourself, but I will say that he's not seated on his own stool. Outside of this, even while Zhongli, as one who enjoys recounting tales, hasn't spoken of her at the time of me writing this, there is so much in him that shows that he, too, is mourning or is at least remembering times long past, times that included her. I will raise the topic of the Rite of Parting that we helped him prepare during the Archon Quest, the one where we had to collect Glaze Lilies, and Noctilucous Jade, and a perfume for an older woman. All ingredients that are either directly or indirectly tied to Guizhong, no? If you agree, tell me that the Rite of Parting was for him, still. Tell me that Ping's mourning outdoes that of his, or Cloud Retainer's, like I see people on X and Tumblr respectively claim.

But then, in that light, I know that a common take to Guizhong, too, is that of polyamory, instead of acknowledging that perhaps, she was simply one who bore incredibly deep friendships across the board. Romance is not, by default, the deepest form of connection, and what saddens me more, is the willingness to make one character's being about romance. Guizhong is fundamental in the values that you see in Liyue to this day, she is more than just ship fodder, and she is more than just a character to use as 'F/F ship fodder, because I'm still waiting on a proper explanation as to why I should condemn other characters for it, or see it as canon, if there even is such a thing in Genshin Impact, outside of 'it's an F/F ship, Sae, let us have this.' No, why? If you insist on shoving it down my throat as the be all, end all, and it outdoes the connection between Cloud Retainer and Guizhong, and Morax and Guizhong, then I want more than that. Because quite frankly, I could make a better argument for the other two (not that I am, despite my bias towards the latter after a lot of crumbs all over the place, but that's a topic for another day). If people are going to make a claim for a ship, and are prepared to hate on other ships for it, then I'd love to know proper substantiation. And don't worry, 'non, I'm not talking about you whatsoever. I actually appreciate the question a lot, because this is a topic that I've been wanting to touch on (albeit, I wish I was more coherent, but I'll sum this up for Guizhong's navigation page soon). I'm just easily frustrated when people start throwing hate, and I'm tired enough that I'll verbally build castle walls to counter it.

But I'll leave you with one more point, which isn't specific to Guiping exactly, but to remind people of something fundamental about Liyue, that no other nation has done. What Liyue, and 'previously' the Guili Assembly, is so representative of, is how two 'forces' that should oppose one another, actually worked together willingly, and peacefully in perfect harmony. The 'adepti' in Liyue, outside of those who were referred to as Gods (Morax, Guizhong, and Marchosius), are elemental beings that are native to Teyvat. From what we know, outside of humanity and the 'Seelies', all life on Teyvat stems from its seven sovereigns (as we learned from Nahida's second story quest). Which means that by all logic, they should oppose everything that the Gods are, as they are, in essence, usurpers (indirectly through the Primordial One), and yet, look at what Liyue achieved that no other nation has in any such way: harmony. And not just that, but they found active, and willing cooperation with one another. And that is also what makes the concept of incredibly deep friendships between these adepti and gods that should dislike one another, incredibly beautiful. And I think that turning those dynamics into something immediately romantic, takes away from that. I think too many people forget about what makes Liyue so unique, and so gut wrenching.

P.S.: Before it's potentially pointed out, yes, I actively ship Morax/Guizhong, but I tried my best to keep that out of my opinion against Guiping being called 'canon', as it is not the reason why I oppose it, which I hope my answer made obvious. I will happily go into why I believe that those two did have a dynamic that went past a deep friendship and alliance one day, because my beliefs for it are quite vast and very deeply substantiated, and no, it is not because it is a 'hetero ship' (they're gods, I firmly believe that they defy sexes). But I'll save that for a different day.

[yanderes-galore]

could I request platonic yandere Henry emily hcs? 🌹🦢

Thats about all I have, thank you!

Hope you have fun writing

Sure! I got a photo of him from the wiki for the banner :) Hopefully I get his character right with my research. May be short as there isn't much we know about Henry but I tried? This is very... rambly (?) so I hope you like it!

Yandere! Platonic! Henry Emily Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Overprotective behavior, Obsessive tendencies, Cold behavior, Manipulation, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Mentions of death/murder, Delusional behavior, Projecting, Dark themes, Mentions of child darling/Overprotective father.

I feel Henry isn't as good as a character as we think, in any media.

I'd say he's a gray character, he isn't necessarily good or bad.

He has his imperfections, especially after the death of his daughter at the hands of William.

He isn't the best father and certainly would project onto you.

In terms of being a platonic yandere, he'd definitely be more parental.

Henry would still not be the best before and after the death of his daughter.

Maybe you're a friend of Charlotte or even a sibling.

Before Charlotte is murdered, Henry is an okay father.

He's still rather distant due to working on his animatronics, yet he feels his heart melt when you play with Charlotte.

He loves you both, regardless on if you're a family friend or sibling.

Although a sibling would make more sense.

Henry's behavior wouldn't increase until the death of Charlotte.

This way, if we're going by the younger child darling route even though I don't do it often, then he'd definitely project onto you.

He'd treat you like you're the only thing he had left.

In fact, in many ways you are.

He becomes protective and paranoid at the idea of William taking you too.

It's weird behavior... even if he is a grieving man... everything is completely unhealthy.

He doesn't like you out of his sight, even as a teen he's still an overprotective father.

He gives you small mechanical robots as gifts.

When he isn't drowning himself in work then he's paying attention to you.

Henry is a broken man and not the best father.

He fears the idea of you growing up and maybe getting caught by someone.

If we take this route he'd be a helicopter dad and very protective due to the trauma of losing his daughter.

There's another way to look at a platonic Henry, too.

This version you can be older and he still projects onto you.

Maybe he takes you in as an apprentice and due to your young age, he starts to wonder if Charlotte would've been like you when she grew up.

He sees you as a replacement for the child he lost.

If he still had contact with William he keeps you far from him.

Henry wouldn't really murder like his coworker William.

He's protective, paranoid, and unstable.

Yet when/if he snaps... it's more self-destructive than anything.

Honestly, Henry just wants revenge for Charlotte.

He wants to put an end to things.

You help him get through things.

In fact, it's canon he's depressed after Charlotte.

You both make things better and worse, since he treats you like he'd treat Charlotte if she was alive.

The most "yandere" thing about Henry I can think of is him being delusional.

In this AU he can't get over the murder of his child and uses you as a stand-in.

Regardless of your origin or gender, you become the new "Charlotte".

He wants to correct his failure to prevent her fate.

As a result you're treated like a different person.

The longer Henry is around you, the more he tries to fit you into the role he wants.

Henry, even without the dark twist I gave him, is a selfish and twisted man.

He may not be as bad as William, but he is the lesser of two evils.

You become his coping mechanism, his form of comfort...

While you slowly begin to lose your independence and sense of self.

[deannagrey]

A Mendell Christmas: Part Two

A/N: I meant to have this up so much sooner! The end of the year was far busier than I expected. And because I had to take care of some personal things, my writing became a low priority. Thankfully, I finally have time to sit down again.

This Christmas project became far longer than I expected (I still have one more part to post). When I finished this part, I hesitated to share it because it didn't feel exciting or interesting. It felt too cheesy. But then I remembered how much I used to write when I was younger. And how much I used to just want to have fun. So, I've decided that's what all my posts on this Tumblr will be: simple fun. The characters might be all over the place, the dialogue might sound weird, and there probably won't be any real plot. But I want a space to have fun again. Writing as a job has been a blessing but it's not my escape anymore. I miss it being my escape.

So, for the year ahead I want to post random writing on this blog! Stories, shorts, and snapshots of characters that may or may not be in my published books. This is my sandbox. My place for quiet moments with the characters I love. I hope you enjoy this quiet moment with Finn and Sam. I had so much fun being back in their heads and spending more time with them.

Happy New Year! I hope 2024 brings you everything you desire. I hope you enjoy these small moments too.

(Also apologies for any inaccuracies! I'm Florida-born & raised, I don't know how frozen lake fishing works and didn't want to do research for such a small piece of writing lol)

Finn 

“We’re going on a road trip,” Sam said as he joined me in the kitchen.

“When?” I stirred sugar into Naomi’s morning tea.

“As soon as you get your shoes on,” he said. 

I looked up, noting how he was already dressed. “Are we in a hurry?”

“Oh yeah.” Sam glanced at the time on his phone. “Should have left here an hour ago.”

“You’re not going to get everyone else ready on such a tight schedule. You know Henrik’s going to need at least an hour to make food to pack.”

“Well it’s a good thing they’re not invited, isn’t it?” 

I raised my brow at Sam’s smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen his smile reach his eyes since Aderyn asked for space and time. There’s a lightness to his energy. An excitement I’ve been trying to draw out of him for weeks. I kept failing over and over until disappointment became an all too familiar feeling. 

Being there for Naomi felt like putting on custom-made skates with the blades perfectly sharpened for a smoothed rink surface. When trying to comfort the guys, I was in secondhand skates, trying to stay upright on an uneven, frozen lake. 

Maybe today could be different. Sam was already primed for a good time. All I had to do was lean in and try to summon a bit of old Finn energy. Some part of me must remember how to be a good friend to him. If not, I'd learn. I'd already learned how to talk to people again…kind of.

“What’s the destination?” I asked while topping off Naomi’s drink with oat milk. 

“A trip down memory lane,” Sam said. “It’s my not-so-secret Santa gift.”

My stomach jumped, curiosity making me more alert. I’d been vehemently against learning about my past earlier this semester. But after finding my own rhythm and becoming more confident in the person I was now, I couldn’t help but harbor a bit of wonder about what I’d left behind. What memories I’d once shared now only belonged to one person. 

“That cool with you?” Sam asked just in case. “It’s fine if not. I know you’ve been hesitant but figured—or maybe hoped—you were more comfortable with it now that things seem to be better for you. You're more settled.”

“Umm…” My mind was trying to catch up to everything. 

“I got a far more traditional gift option as a plan B,” Sam offered. 

“No, I mean, yeah, I’m cool with that. With the memory lane,” I said quickly. My curiosity evolved into nerves. What if I didn’t like it and that fucked up his mood again? I wasn’t good at faking happiness. Hell, I was barely good at expressing happiness even when it was genuine. 

“Relax,” Sam said gently. “If you hate it we’ll come right back, no questions asked.”

The muscles in my shoulders loosened a bit. 

“Sound good?” he asked.

“Sounds great,” I assured.

Sam

Whenever Finn was keeping something to himself, he became an excessive throat clearer. Even after his accident that hadn’t changed. On the ride out of town, I listened to his symphony of nerves. And let him go on until I decided to throw him a line.

“It’s a good memory,” I promised and smiled over at him. “If that does anything to help your anxiety.” 

Finn grunted, pretending to be more interested in whatever he was doing on his phone. 

“A memory that'll make you feel all fuzzy and warm,” I teased. "Like the teddy bear, you truly are thanks to Naomi."  

He rolled his eyes. “That so?”

“Yup.” I put on my turning signal, pulling off of the busy highway. 

Finn and I used to be inseparable when we were in middle school. As we got older we were far less codependent but still close. Close enough for it to sting like hell when I realized he wasn’t going to remember most of what we’d been through. 

Sometimes, when I looked at Finn, I saw the guy who used to sneak me an extra Jello in the lunch room because he knew how rough the first half of my day was. Sometimes I saw the hothead who’d threaten anyone who hurt me even though most of the time he was far outnumbered. Sometimes I saw the guy who told me I’d be the best choice for captain despite my then doubts. Those parts of him were still there and alive. So even if the parts of him we shared were forever gone, I found comfort in those memories. 

“It’s not my goal to try and spark something,” I said gently. “Today is just for fun. We really loved this place. I still do and I figured you should see it and maybe…I don’t know, you might find some joy here too. What was that thing you told me about muscle memory?” 

“I can always count on it.”

“Exactly. I wanted you to feel that this year. Remember you can have something to count on and a place to go if you need.” 

It was quiet for a minute as I made our final turn. Finn cleared his throat once more before saying, “Thanks…for letting me know you’re not trying to trigger a memory. I like the idea of just being here…with you.” 

“Look at us, a couple of assholes with hearts. What have Naomi and Aderyn done to us…?” My mood shifted slightly at my mention of Aderyn. I chewed on my bottom lip, hoping Finn didn’t sense my brief dip in energy. Unfortunately, he’s getting better at reading between the lines. 

“I don’t know how to get you to talk about it,” Finn confessed. “I’m sure there was a method I used before.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I usually mope around until one of you guys gets pissed enough to drag it out of me. You weren’t the only one to try and help.” 

“I know but…I was your person, right? Your main person.”

My main person. That’d shifted over the years. I bounced between all the guys. And now, Aderyn was in that mix. She could have probably been at the center of it if things hadn’t gotten so twisted. 

“You still are.” I pulled into a parking spot that faced the river. 

“I just have to figure out how to make you talk,” he said. 

“Don't stress about it too much. I'm good. Or, will be good eventually." 

Finn followed my lead out of the car. He watched as I unloaded a gym bag and a couple of folding chairs from the trunk. He was quiet until he saw me check the bag for my ice pick. 

“We’re not secretly murderers, are we?” he asked when he saw my stash. 

I snorted. I'm sure he was joking but Finn’s deadpan delivery often left me with some uncertainty. 

“Nope. Just two fishermen are about to waste their time while the sun comes up.” 

Finn frowned when I tossed him the extra bag of supplies. “We’re going out there?” 

His finger pointed toward the frozen lake. Snowfall had been sparse this morning. The lake would be picturesque once the sun leaked over the horizon. We were already getting a sneak peek of what the morning would have to offer, so I decided to hurry Finn up. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong but we don’t feel like people who fish,” Finn called after me. 

I laughed as I continued our trek forward. The snow crunched underneath my boots. “We weren’t until we met Mr. Meyers."

 Finn paused for a second. "Mr. Meyers?" 

I froze too, my stomach jumping with excitement. "You remember?" 

"Not at all."

It was hard to mask my slight disappointment. Sometimes – when I least expected – it hurts to hold memories on my own.

 "Meyers was an old guy who spent all his free time over there during the summer." I pointed to the boardwalk about a half mile away. "And around here in the winter." 

I gestured to the middle of the lake. At our backs was the parking lot and to our front a dark, thick tree line that was covered in frost. It smelled like sixth grade out here, all pine needles and frozen earth. 

"We met him out here when we decided we would become Boy Scouts." I unfolded the chairs and pulled out our Thermos. Henrik had enough time to force me into packing something warm to drink. I was grateful for his persistence now that the cold wind was biting at our skin. Finn let out an agreeing sigh when I offered him the Thermos. 

"We were Boy Scouts?" Finn asked. 

"No, not officially." I chuckled at his look of confusion. "We wanted to be but your folks couldn't afford the annual membership at the time and wouldn't accept the money from my dad."

He nodded. "I suppose I wouldn't have either. At least not now…it doesn't feel right."

"You're stubborn. Always have been, always will be," I agreed. "But I would have convinced you to take it if your parents didn't have the final say. But, anyway, we decided we'd be Boy Scouts on our own. And that meant earning badges on our own. Of course, our first attempt couldn't be something simple like learning to tie a knot. No, we wanted to fish in the dead of winter. Like someone in a post-apocalyptic Arctic landscape, as you put it – you were really into post-apocalyptic books back then." 

"Was I?" Finn nodded and undoubtedly tucked that information away for later like he always did with tidbits I shared. 

"Hardcore. So you had me out here hammering away at the ice with a screwdriver." I laughed at the memory of us on our hands and knees, trying to chip away the ice with runny noses and burning ears. "Mr. Meyers saw and got on us until he was blue in the face. When we finally got a word in, we let him know that we weren't trying to crack through the lake and drown. But we were trying to be resourceful members of society. He folded then and decided as a former boy scout himself, it was his job to teach us everything he knew." 

Finn smiled and I motioned for him to come closer. I talked him through how Mr. Meyers showed us the way to create a clean circle in the ice. I explained how we were supposed to pick a spot where the ice was thickest and the cracks were little to non-existent. 

"He made us badges," I said when we settled into our seats. "Whenever we learned something new and proved ourselves to him, he'd have these incredibly unique badges that'd he designed from scratch. The guys at school got so jealous that some of them quit the Boy Scouts and wanted to be taught under Meyers." 

"Did they?" 

I shook my head and pulled out our fishing rods. "Meyers wouldn't teach anyone but me and you. Said he only had enough time and energy for two pupils. And he only had enough extra cash for two sets of badges. For a moment, we were the cool kids…until people decided Boy Scouts were dorky and gaming was everything." 

"Sounds like we had a lot of fun." Finn smiled. Maybe he was playing the spoken memory over in his head, trying to fill in details to construct something he'd be able to recall. Or maybe he was simply smiling because I hadn't stopped. I felt good today. Better than I had in a while and that's because I enjoyed being outside. I enjoyed the open sky, the chilled air, and being able to sit across from Finn. I loved my friends but these quiet moments with Finn were few and far between. After almost losing him, I cherished this. 

"I'm sorry," I said, my smile fading when I realized what I'd done. 

"Huh?" Finn frowned. 

"I…I brought you here as a gift but just realized–" I sighed and ran my hand over my head. "This was more of a gift for me than you. I was being selfish bringing you here. I thought it'd be nice to get away and be like we used to but this doesn't mean much to you." 

"Sam, this is good. This is fun," Finn said firmly. "I'm having fun." 

The tightness in my chest loosened. "Really?"

"I'm not a good liar just yet," he reminded me with a smile. 

"True." I laughed in agreement and leaned over to bait my hook. Finn did the same, listening to my instructions on how to do it. He watched me toss the line in before mimicking my motion. 

"I have something else for you," I announced once our hooks had sunk. "You didn't get to earn your last badges because, like the other guys at school, you thought Boy Scouts were dorky." 

"Really?" Finn's forehead furrowed as if he was disappointed in himself. 

"Yeah, but I kept coming to hang out with Meyers," I said. "Got a couple more badges until he got sick." 

"Is he…" Finn paused, not sure how to finish. 

"He's fine," I quickly confirmed. "Lives in Florida now with his granddaughter." 

Finn nodded, relieved for a man he didn't remember but would forever be tied to through me. 

"I got him to send over the badges you didn't get to earn." I dug through my bag and pulled them out. I'd wrapped each one in green and red striped paper. They were misshaped and poorly taped up presents but Finn accepted them like they were precious pieces of gold. 

"You can't open them yet," I reminded him. Lincoln wanted all of us to open them together. Since a fishing trip couldn't be wrapped, I figured it was best to do it before Christmas. But, the tangible gifts were to be kept for later. 

"But you when do–" I shrugged and laughed, feeling silly all of a sudden. "--we could finish earning them together. Like, gradually, throughout the year when we have time. I already have mine so I could make sure to teach you how to do it. Teach you in a way I'm sure Meyers will be proud–at least, I hope. You could finally fill up your sash–even though it's probably collecting dust in your family's basement and you don't care like that. But lately, you've been really into renovating the house and you look like you used to when we were kids." 

"That's why I like doing it," Finn said as he took a deep breath. "I think the muscle memory part of me liked figuring out the practical." 

I smiled. "I think so too. It's a part of you." 

"This was perfect, Sam. I…thank you." Finn looked back down at his badges, which now felt like pieces of himself he didn't know were missing. "I can't wait to earn these with you." 

"Not too dorky anymore, is it?" I teased. 

He shook his head. "Not in the slightest." 

We were quiet for a moment, enjoying the sun's heat as it crawled up in the sky and the warm tea that I'd accidentally put too much sugar in. The fish never bit. Finn never remembered Meyers on his own. But none of that mattered. We were happy. We were once again on track to earn badges. Once again trying to figure shit out together. 

[bittersweetblasphemy]

what made you decide to have a go at making zines, and how did you find the process? fun? frustrating? new hobby unlocked?

it's been a lot of fun and is super satisfying to hold a finished booklet in my hand. new hobby unlocked for sure.

in fact i'm going to ramble about it under the cut.

i'd been looking into on and off for over a year, and, frankly, i've been going slowly mad at having normal levels of focus and productivity dangled in front of me, only to be snatched away AND put on bed rest without even jacking off as an outlet.

i did a bunch of painting, but i've run out of canvases and focus. and while i really wanna sculpt, 1) i just haven't gotten my brain to switch to that track, 2) i've only just recently been able to tolerate standing at my usual work counter again, 3) having a small child who wants to mirror everything i do is fun when i'm physically able to handle it, but i am not physically able to handle it. i can do a craft myself OR i can set them up with supervised craft time. not both.

that leaves my writing, but i haven't been able to focus enough to write. so what to do with all my old stuff? may as well take that last leap into making zines! it's also an excuse for me to break out my drawing tablet to make cover art (i'm not good but they're small and it adds to the charm i think).

overall it's been shockingly easy. the hardest part was making a format template, but once i had that figured out i was set. i conveniently already had a laser printer, and considering i can't go anywhere (like a place with a public printer) i wouldn't have been able to do this otherwise.

the most expensive thing i had to buy for this was a nice paper cutter, which was $24. it honestly wasn't necessary. i could have just folded the paper or cut them with scissors, but imo it really goes a long way in making them look nice. i also have a long reach stapler that's made for making booklets and magazines coming in that will be really nice for putting them together neatly and consistently.

i still dont know what i'm going to do with them tbh. i have some friends that are gonna get free copies of their favs, and at least the poetry one i'm going to have out if i'm able to do the craft fairs this year (fuck me i hope i'm better by then), but i need to see what kind of stuff they allow. even if they allow sexually explicit material, i'll probably still leave stories like Red Hot at home.

i could do an online shop for the rest, but i'm not sure where. i already have a kofi account for commissions, and they have a shop feature, but at the same time they say in their TOS they don't allow any form of sexually explicit material. and last i heard about etsy they were being shitty about charging for advertising you didn't opt into. so i'd need to do more research into that.

say what you want about whether or not i should be able to make a profit off of little homemade porn booklets, but i'd at least need enough money to buy the toner for my printer by the time i ran out, which is hella expensive. i think back when i got this thing it was like $70 a pop. it lasts a lot longer than ink but it's more expensive up front.

[spocks-husband]

vulcan has no moon.

Words: 1,255

Genre/Tropes: Fluff, old married Spirk <3

Summary: Spock is overwhelmed, but thankfully he always has his favorite person with him to make sure he's alright <3

Notes: This was originally published on my AO3 (link included lol), but I thought I'd put it here too :) this takes place like. Sometimes post Search For Spock?? Idk it's during the TOS movies. Enjoy !!

When he was still in the academy, a hopeful young Starfleet trainee with a fervent ambition for his studies, Spock had stayed up late one night writing an essay for his astrophysics class about the sort of force it might take for two astronomical objects that had orbited each other to fall out of that orbit. It had, of course, been many years since then-- several decades, in fact, which made him feel exceedingly aged-- and he scarcely remembered the essay or the assignment themselves... but he did remember his findings. Not because he had much interest in astrophysics-- in all honesty, the subject had rather bored him during the time he spent studying it-- no, that wasn't it at all. In fact, Spock found that the way the subject seemed to stick in his head the way it did, periodically rising to the surface accompanied by flashing images of his husband's timeless, smiling face, had very little to do with the content of his report itself and much more to do with the conclusion he'd found in his research. 

"Simply put, two celestial bodies in orbit, unless influenced by a massive and most likely artificial source of gravitational pull will not fall out of orbit from each other. Of course, should this happen regardless it would result in disastrous consequences for both astronomical objects in question, but considering that it has already been established that the chances of this occurring are nearly if not impossible, it is not a concern relevant for modern scientists to attempt at preventing as it would be illogical to do so."  

Spock thought about those words as he sat stiffly at the Kirk family dinner table, his face neutral and strangely calm, yet his mind somewhere else entirely. He held no resentment toward his husband's family-- his in-laws, as Jim called them (which was not a term Spock understood in the slightest), had been nothing but kind and loving to him, albeit in their own, somewhat unfamiliar way. He appreciated them, he respected them, but... 

Surak help him they were loud.  

Spock really did not mean any sort of discourtesy in that, hence why he would never announce such a thing aloud (he had learned over his many, many years working with humans that they tended to be... finicky... when it came to certain statements of bluntness and as such he'd found, mostly through trial and error and long, patient, confusing discussions with his husband, what it was that he was socially permitted to say around humans-- or, actually, come to think of it, sometimes even other Vulcans. Maybe he just wasn't good with social cues across the universe.). In his mind-- which is where he had elected the statement would stay, it was more of an observation than anything. Still, though,  he found it rather overwhelming. He didn't mind spending time with Jim's family-- he wanted to, even, it was only fair considering the odd amount of time Jim had spent around Sarek over the course of their relationship-- but Spock couldn't help feeling that the Kirk family could be rather... exhausting. He tried not to think about it, but as he felt that steady, familiar sensation of overwhelmedness creep up his spine he feared that any longer in this house may kill him. 

Suddenly, he felt Jim's hand rest over his own, the slightly cold sensation of his husband's ring touching gently to his skin. 

"Hey, Spock and I are gonna head out for some fresh air," Jim announced, standing up and gently moving aside two of his younger nephews who'd been at his side questioning him about anything they could think to ask about the final frontier. James took his husband's hand gently, and Spock didn't argue as they walked out the front door and into the cool nighttime air. 

Spock felt himself let go of a breath he hadn't known he was holding, the door shutting behind them and leaving the two men in a comfortable evening silence. 

"I could tell you were getting a bit antsy in there," James chuckled, taking Spock's hands in his own carefully. 

"Vulcans do not get... antsy," Spock mumbled, slightly embarrassed.

"Vulcans don't, maybe, but my husband does," James snickered in response. "Come on, let's go for a walk." 

Spock was quiet for a long moment before, slowly, he nodded, a subtle smile creeping onto his face. It was a slight change, something barely even there... that only James Tiberius Kirk would've noticed. There were a lot of things about Spock that only Jim ever saw. Small things, nearly inconsequential things... but, when it came to S'Chn T'Gai Spock, Jim didn't think anything was inconsequential. Every movement, every twitch, every glance... it meant something. Jim had known his husband for far longer than he'd known himself, he knew better than anyone that nothing Spock ever did was purposeless. 

"I am feeling rather... lightheaded," Spock said quietly. "Earth's atmosphere has far more oxygen than the atmosphere of Vulcan, and although I have been here many times my body has yet to  have grown accustomed to the change." 

Jim hummed softly. "Do you want to sit down?" He asked gently. Spock seemed like he wanted to protest, but slowly he seemed to pause and reconsider before agreeing. Jim smiled softly at this, leading his husband off the path and into a nearby field, laying down next to him and staring up at the dimly lit stars above.  

It was strange, really; the two of them had seen the stars at far closer a glance, and yet here they were, admiring them the same way Earthlings had done for thousands and thousands of years, long before the idea of space travel was even considered. They had traveled the universe together. They'd nearly died a thousand times out in the vast, cold depths of space-- hell, once one of them had died and it took more sacrifice than either of them liked to think about to bring him back. There was something romantic in that tragedy. Something tragic in that romance. Yet, like they had as younger men who'd fallen in love on a starship that became more home to the both of them than either of their native lands, they chose not to let such things linger on for too long. The philosophical questions of their love, of their lives, could perhaps be explored another day, in another galaxy. They would have time. 

"... Spock...?" Jim asked quietly, almost hesitant in his voice. Spock found it curiously... uncharacteristic. 

"Yes, Jim?" Spock responded, still holding onto his husband's hand with an almost desperate conviction. 

"... Do you think we're ever going to be... you know... separated... again...?" 

Spock paused to consider the question. 

"Perhaps we will," he whispered. His eyes found themselves drawn to the full moon laying lazily in the sky, its shimmering light twinkling gently down onto them. He thought once again of that essay he'd written during his academy years. For a moment, he wasn't certain why the thought had appeared in his mind... but suddenly he knew. And suddenly he found a small smile once again creep onto his face. He squeezed Jim's hand in his own. "But it would be illogical to prepare for an event which has a nearly if not impossible likeliness of occurring." 

Jim was quiet for a long moment-- but after the breeze that whipped carefully around them in the grass seemed to urge him to respond, he found himself smiling too.

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Spock."