ma chaleur du midi / sous ton ciel toujours gris

I can't believe I just spent an hour making giddy noises at posts of Disney icons.

Ahem.

Back to serious medical homework now.

through the miracle of red wine

There are mornings when Sakura wakes up feeling like the years have been wiped away with the clouds; her heartache and Naruto's anger and their fragile, ductile hope seem just as illusory as the idea of being cold, of being poisoned, of being stabbed through the gut. The body has no memory of pain.

Actually! writing! fic! I love this feeling, I love it, and although I doubt I'll have time to do more than finish this particular story before the tidal wave of med school sweeps me up and drags me along again, I think I need this. The simple act of bringing something -- anything -- to completion.

Not-really-relatedly, Ji and I talked once about the fact that I have a weird squirmy complex when it comes to my female characters being vulnerable, and that the very idea of writing a girl getting her heart broken makes me deeply uncomfortable.

So of course I'd like to try writing that now.

(Well, not NOW, but...soon.)