#Breaking news in Kenya

[e-news254]

Kenyan known gay gets jumped by unknown individuals

[pxlheaux]

I.... the drama, y’all. Not even one day into staying in the hotel after Rue, Kane, and Kenya all decided running away from their parents and living their own life off of a combined 3k simoleons was going to work, Kenya starts feeling an itch and smelling a fishy smell... down there. Seeing as she is pregnant currently, she used her insurance to take a trip to the OBGYN just to find out that not only does she have a yeast infection, but she also has herpes.

(I manufactured none of that, sis just has herpes and idk from who or from where but omg like girl why... none of my sims ever get the WTDS, the most they get is a yeast infection or a UTI or crabs, never the permanent ones) Nervously, she decides to let Kane know for his safety and the safety of his baby, and in a turn of events Kane tells her that he accepts her for who she is and what she has. He loves her either way and he’s all in. They’re really in love y’all, I can’t.

[kenyastax]

Kipchumba Murkomen opens up on his KSh 50k belt, KSh 900k watch: "I want to be honest" https://kenyastax.com/kipchumba-murkomen-opens-up-on-his-ksh-50k-belt-ksh-900k-watch-i-want-to-be-honest/

[wanguya-muturi-jesse]

MY SPECIAL CARS SHOULD NOT BE DRIVEN DURING THE KENYA FLOODS 😰 🇰🇪💦💦💦

ONLY MY TOYOTAs CAN BE DRIVEN😊

W̶͓̜̖͔̋͌̈́̑͌̊͠A̷̡͕͓͕͙̝͎̰͗̃N̵̖͔̼̦̥̪̥͐̃͆̇̍G̷̛̰̏̊̍̐̆͝U̷͇͔͔͙͓̎Y̴̡̲͔͎̙̫͈̳͙̑͗̒͑̌̀͑̿ͅA̷̙̘̥̜̻̺͇̖̮̥͐̇̉͂̃̍̀͝

[fatehbaz]

was thinking about this

To be in "public", you must be a consumer. Or a laborer.

About control of peoples' movement in space/place. Since the beginning.

"Vagrancy" of 1830s-onward Britain, people criminalized for being outside without being a laborer.

Breaking laws resulted in being sentenced to coerced debtor/convict labor. Coinciding with the 1830-ish climax of the Industrial Revolution and the land enclosure acts, the "Workhouse Act" aka "Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834" forced poor people to work for a minimum number of hours every day. The major expansion of the "Vagrancy Act" of 1838 made "joblessness" a crime and enhanced its punishment. (Coincidentally, the law's date of royal assent was 27 July 1838, just 5 days before the British government was scheduled to allow fuller emancipation of its technical legal abolition of slavery in the British Caribbean on 1 August 1838.)

---

"Vagrancy" of 1860s-onward United States, people criminalized for being outside while Black.

Widespread emancipation after slavery abolition in 1865 rapidly followed by the outlawing of loitering which de facto outlawed existing as Black in public. Inability to afford fines results in being sentenced to forced labor by working on chain gangs or prisons farms, some built atop plantations.

---

"Vagrancy" of 1870s-onward across empires, people criminalized for being outside while being "foreign" and also being poor generally.

Especially from 1880-ish to 1918-ish, this was an age of widespread mass movement of peoples due to mass poverty and famine induced by global colonial extraction and "market expansion", as agricultural "revolutions" of monoculture/cash crop extraction resulted in ecological degradation. This coincides with and is facilitated by new railroads and telegraphs, leading to imperial implementation or expansion of identity documents, strict work contracts, passports, immigration surveillance, and border checkpoints.

All of this in just a few short years: In 1877, British administrators in India develop what would become the Henry Classification System of taking and keeping fingerprints for use in binding colonial Indians to legal contracts. That same year during the 1877 Great Railroad Strike, and in response to white anxiety about Black residents coming to the city during Great Migration, Chicago's policing institutions exponentially expand surveillance and pioneer "intelligence card" registers for tracking labor union organizing and Black movement, as Chicago's experiments become adopted by US military and expanded nationwide, later used by US forces monitoring dissent in colonial Philippines and Cuba. Japan based its 1880 Penal Code anti-vagrancy statutes on French models, and introduced "koseki" register to track poor/vagrant domestic citizens as Tokyo's Governor Matsuda segregates classes, and the nation introduces "modern police forces". In 1882, the United States passes the Chinese Exclusion Act. In 1884, the Ottoman government enacts major "Passport Nizamnamesi" legislation requiring passports. In 1885, during the "Tacoma riot" or "expulsion", a mob of hundreds of white residents rounded up all of the city's Chinese residents, marched them to the train station, kicked them out of the city, and burned down the Chinese neighborhood, introducing what is called "the Tacoma method".

Punished for being Chinese in San Francisco. Punished for being Korean in Japan. Punished for crossing Ottoman borders without correct paperwork. Arrested for whatever, then sent to do convict labor. A poor person in the Punjab, starving during a catastrophic famine, might be coerced into a work contract by British authorities. They will have to travel, shipped off to build a railroad in British Kenya. But now they have to work. Now they are bound. They will be punished for being Punjabi and trying to walk away from Britain's tea plantations in Assam or Britain's rubber plantations in Malaya.

---

"Vagrancy" amidst all of this, people also criminalized for being outside while "unsightly" and merely even superficially appearing to be poor. San Francisco introduced the notorious "ugly law" in 1867, making it illegal for "any person, who is diseased, maimed, mutilated or deformed in any way, so as to be an unsightly or disgusting object, to expose himself or herself to public view". Today, if you walk into a building looking a little "weird" (poor, Black, ill, disabled, etc.) or carrying a small backpack, you are given seething spiteful glares and asked to leave.

"Vagrancy" everywhere in the United States, a combination of all of the above. De facto criminalized for simply going for a stroll without downloading the coffee shop's exclusive menu app. "Vagrancy", since at least early nineteenth century Europe. About the control of movement through and access to space/place. Concretizing and weaponizing caste, corralling people, anchoring them in place (de facto confinement), extracting their wealth/labor.

You are permitted to exist only as a paying customer or an employee.

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #19

May 17-24 2024

President Biden wiped out the student loan debt of 160,000 more Americans. This debt cancellation of 7.7 billion dollars brings the total student loan debt relieved by the Biden Administration to $167 billion. The Administration has canceled student loan debt for 4.75 million Americans so far. The 160,000 borrowers forgiven this week owned an average of $35,000 each and are now debt free. The Administration announced plans last month to bring debt forgiveness to 30 million Americans with student loans coming this fall.

The Department of Justice announced it is suing Ticketmaster for being a monopoly. DoJ is suing Ticketmaster and its parent company Live Nation for monopolistic practices. Ticketmaster controls 70% of the live show ticket market leading to skyrocketing prices, hidden fees and last minute cancellation. The Justice Department is seeking to break up Live Nation and help bring competition back into the market. This is one of a number of monopoly law suits brought by the Biden administration against Apple in March and Amazon in September 2023.

The EPA announced $225 million in new funding to improve drinking and wastewater for tribal communities. The money will go to tribes in the mainland US as well as Alaska Native Villages. It'll help with testing for forever chemicals, and replacing of lead pipes as well as sustainability projects.

The EPA announced $300 million in grants to clean up former industrial sites. Known as "Brownfield" sites these former industrial sites are to be cleaned and redeveloped into community assets. The money will fund 200 projects across 178 communities. One such project will transform a former oil station in Philadelphia’s Kingsessing neighborhood, currently polluted with lead and other toxins into a waterfront bike trail.

The Department of Agriculture announced a historic expansion of its program to feed low income kids over the summer holidays. Since the 1960s the SUN Meals have served in person meals at schools and community centers during the summer holidays to low income children. This Year the Biden administration is rolling out SUN Bucks, a $120 per child grocery benefit. This benefit has been rejected by many Republican governors but in the states that will take part 21 million kids will benefit. Last year the Biden administration introduced SUN Meals To-Go, offering pick-up and delivery options expanding SUN's reach into rural communities. These expansions are part of the Biden administration's plan to end hunger and reduce diet-related disease by 2030.

Vice-President Harris builds on her work in Africa to announce a plan to give 80% of Africa internet access by 2030, up from just 40% today. This push builds off efforts Harris has spearheaded since her trip to Africa in 2023, including $7 billion in climate adaptation, resilience, and mitigation, and $1 billion to empower women. The public-private partnership between the African Development Bank Group and Mastercard plans to bring internet access to 3 million farmers in Kenya, Tanzania, and Nigeria, before expanding to Uganda, Ethiopia, and Ghana, and then the rest of the continent, bring internet to 100 million people and businesses over the next 10 years. This is together with the work of Partnership for Digital Access in Africa which is hoping to bring internet access to 80% of Africans by 2030, up from 40% now, and just 30% of women on the continent. The Vice-President also announced $1 billion for the Women in the Digital Economy Fund to assure women in Africa have meaningful access to the internet and its economic opportunities.

The Senate approved Seth Aframe to be a Judge on the US Court of Appeals for the First Circuit, it also approved Krissa Lanham, and Angela Martinez to district Judgeships in Arizona, as well as Dena Coggins to a district court seat in California. Bring the total number of judges appointed by President Biden to 201. Biden's Judges have been historically diverse. 64% of them are women and 62% of them are people of color. President Biden has appointed more black women to federal judgeships, more Hispanic judges and more Asian American judges and more LGBT judges than any other President, including Obama's full 8 years in office. President Biden has also focused on backgrounds appointing a record breaking number of former public defenders to judgeships, as well as labor and civil rights lawyers.

[reasonsforhope]

African poverty is partly a consequence of energy poverty. In every other continent the vast majority of people have access to electricity. In Africa 600m people, 43% of the total, cannot readily light their homes or charge their phones. And those who nominally have grid electricity find it as reliable as a Scottish summer. More than three-quarters of African firms experience outages; two-fifths say electricity is the main constraint on their business.

If other sub-Saharan African countries had enjoyed power as reliable as South Africa’s from 1995 to 2007, then the continent’s rate of real GDP growth per person would have been two percentage points higher, more than doubling the actual rate, according to one academic paper. Since then South Africa has also had erratic electricity. So-called “load-shedding” is probably the main reason why the economy has shrunk in four of the past eight quarters.

Solar power is increasingly seen as the solution. Last year Africa installed a record amount of photovoltaic (PV) capacity (though this still made up just 1% of the total added worldwide), notes the African Solar Industry Association (AFSIA), a trade group. Globally most solar PV is built by utilities, but in Africa 65% of new capacity over the past two years has come from large firms contracting directly with developers. These deals are part of a decentralised revolution that could be of huge benefit to African economies.

Ground zero for the revolution is South Africa. Last year saw a record number of blackouts imposed by Eskom, the state-run utility, whose dysfunctional coal-fired power stations regularly break down or operate at far below capacity. Fortunately, as load-shedding was peaking, the costs of solar systems were plummeting.

Between 2019 and 2023 the cost of panels fell by 15%, having already declined by almost 90% in the 2010s. Meanwhile battery storage systems now cost about half as much as five years ago. Industrial users pay 20-40% less per unit when buying electricity from private project developers than on the cheapest Eskom tariff.

In the past two calendar years the amount of solar capacity in South Africa rose from 2.8GW to 7.8GW, notes AFSIA, excluding that installed on the roofs of suburban homes. All together South Africa’s solar capacity could now be almost a fifth of that of Eskom’s coal-fired power stations (albeit those still have a higher “capacity factor”, or ability to produce electricity around the clock). The growth of solar is a key reason why there has been less load-shedding in 2024...

Over the past decade the number of startups providing “distributed renewable energy” (DRE) has grown at a clip. Industry estimates suggest that more than 400m Africans get electricity from solar home systems and that more than ten times as many “mini-grids”, most of which use solar, were built in 2016-20 than in the preceding five years. In Kenya DRE firms employ more than six times as many people as the largest utility. In Nigeria they have created almost as many jobs as the oil and gas industry.

“The future is an extremely distributed system to an extent that people haven’t fully grasped,” argues Matthew Tilleard of CrossBoundary Group, a firm whose customers range from large businesses to hitherto unconnected consumers. “It’s going to happen here in Africa first and most consequentially.”

Ignite, which operates in nine African countries, has products that include a basic panel that powers three light bulbs and a phone charger, as well as solar-powered irrigation pumps, stoves and internet routers, and industrial systems. Customers use mobile money to “unlock” a pay-as-you-go meter.

Yariv Cohen, Ignite’s CEO, reckons that the typical $3 per month spent by consumers is less than what they previously paid for kerosene and at phone-charging kiosks. He describes how farmers are more productive because they do not have to get home before dark and children are getting better test scores because they study under bulbs. One family in Rwanda used to keep their two cows in their house because they feared rustlers might come in the dark; now the cattle snooze al fresco under an outside lamp and the family gets more sleep.

...That is one eye-catching aspect of Africa’s solar revolution. But most of the continent is undergoing a more subtle—and significant—experiment in decentralised, commercially driven solar power. It is a trend that could both transform African economies and offer lessons to the rest of the world."

-via The Economist, June 18, 2024. Paragraph breaks added.

[coochiequeens]

I know this blog focuses on TIMs invading women’s sports and locker rooms but Saving Women’s Sports means more than that. Like calling out sexist bs when companies give men real clothes to compete in and women get basically underwear.

The Nike Air Innovation Summit in Paris on Thursday.Credit...Dominique Maitre/WWD, via Getty Images

By Vanessa Friedman April 12, 2024

Ever since the Norwegian women’s beach handball team turned the fact that they were required to wear teeny-tiny bikini bottoms for competition into a cause célèbre, a quiet revolution has been brewing throughout women’s sports. It’s one that questions received conventions about what female athletes do — or don’t — have to wear to perform at their very best.

It has touched women’s soccer (why white shorts?), gymnastics (why not a unitard rather than a leotard?), field hockey (why a low-cut tank top?) and many more, including running.

So it probably should not have come as a shock to Nike that when it offered a sneak peek of the Team U.S.A. track and field unies during a Nike Air event in Paris celebrating its Air technology on Thursday (which also included looks for other Olympic athletes, like Kenya’s track and field team, France’s basketball team and Korea’s break dancing delegation), they were met with some less-than-enthusiastic reactions.

See, the two uniforms Nike chose to single out on the mannequins included a men’s compression tank top and mid-thigh-length compression shorts and a woman’s bodysuit, cut notably high on the hip. It looked sort of like a sporty version of a 1980s workout leotard. As it was displayed, the bodysuit seemed as if it would demand some complicated intimate grooming.

Citius Mag, which focuses on running news, posted a photo of the uniforms on Instagram, and many of its followers were not amused.

“What man designed the woman’s cut?” wrote one.

“I hope U.S.A.T.F. is paying for the bikini waxes,” wrote another. So went most of the more than 1,900 comments.

The running comedian Laura Green posted an Instagram reel in which she pretended to be trying on the look (“We’re feeling pretty, um, breezy,” she said) and checking out the rest of the athlete’s kit bag, which turned out to include hair spray, lip gloss and a “hysterectomy kit,” so the women would not have to worry about periods.

When asked, Nike did not address the brouhaha directly, but according to John Hoke, the chief innovation officer, the woman’s bodysuit and the man’s shorts and top are only two of the options Nike will have for its Olympic runners. There are “nearly 50 unique pieces across men’s and women’s and a dozen competition styles fine-tuned for specific events,” Mr. Hoke said.

Sha’Carri Richardson

Women will be able to opt for compression shorts, a crop top or tank and a bodysuit with shorts rather than bikini bottoms. The full slate of looks was not on hand in Paris but more will be revealed next week at the U.S. Olympic Committee media summit in New York. The Paris reveal was meant to be a teaser.

Anna Cockrell.Credit...Dominique Maitre/WWD, via Getty Images

Mr. Hoke also pointed out that Nike consults with a large number of athletes at every stage of the uniform design. Its track and field roster includes Sha’Carri Richardson, who happened to be wearing the compression shorts during the Paris presentation, and Athing Mu. And there are certainly runners who like the high-cut brief. (The British Olympic sprinter Dina Asher-Smith, another Nike athlete, told The New York Times last summer that while she opts to run in briefs, she also leans toward a leotard style, rather than a two-piece.)

What Nike missed, however, was that in choosing those two looks as the primary preview for Team U.S.A., rather than, say, the matching shorts and tanks that will be also available, it shored up a longstanding inequity in sports — one that puts the body of a female athlete on display in a way it does not for the male athlete.

“Why are we presenting this sexualized outfit as the standard of excellence?” said Lauren Fleshman, a U.S. national champion distance runner and the author of “Good for a Girl.” “In part because we think that’s what nets us the most financial gain from sponsors or NIL opportunities, most of which are handed out by powerful men or people looking at it through a male gaze. But women are breaking records with ratings in sports where you don’t have to wear essentially a bathing suit to perform.”

The problem such imagery creates is twofold. When Nike chose to reveal the high-cut bodysuit as the first Olympics outfit, purposefully or not, the implication for anyone watching is that “this is what excellence looks like,” Ms. Fleshman said.

That perception filters down to young athletes and becomes the model girls think they have to adopt, often at a developmental stage when their relationships with their bodies are particularly fraught.

And more broadly, given the current political debate around adjudicating women’s bodies, it reinforces the idea that they are public property.

Still, Ms. Fleshman said, “I’m glad Nike put this image out as the crown jewel of Olympic Team design,” because it may act as the catalyst for another conversation that has been long overdue.

“If you showed this outfit to someone from the W.N.B.A. or women’s soccer, they would laugh in your face,” she said. “We shouldn’t have to normalize it for track and field anymore. Time’s up on that.”

[sonotpattismith]

we hereby conduct this postmortem.

(Yuta Okkotsu x Reader)

WARNING: MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS BELOW

word count: 7.8k (oops)

warnings: angst, mentions of death, mourning, smut, Yuta in Gojo’s body, manga spoilers 18+

summary: reader attempts to cope with Yuta’s new body, mourning the loss of his previous one

a/n: Hi!!! No one really requested this but Yuta is my man fr and this idea has been heavy on my heart 😮‍💨 Yuta is aged up in this as it made more sense for the point in their relationship they were already in. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I loved making it!

Life as a sorcerer was one littered with pain, fleeting hope, loss, and regret. These pitiful factors could practically be named the pillars of the damned lifestyle. You knew what you were getting into right when you joined, and you were reminded of it as your love held you close to his chest, his large hands secured over your head as if to cement you into his memory. Yuta pulled back just a hair, still clutching your head between his hands to look at you, fingers digging into your scalp gently as his long eyes fluttered around your face.

Through the haze of your tears, he appeared blurred. Still, you could make out the inescapable expression of fear that clutched his features. It wasn’t the battle he feared— far from it. He felt as though he could slash through an army at the moment. What gripped his mind and soul so fiercely though, was the thought of leaving you behind. His warm, dark eyes regarded you with care, taking in the way you clutched at his white shirt as if willing him not to go. It broke his heart.

“Everything’s going to be alright, my love.” Yuta assured gently, trying to keep his trembling voice leveled. He was well aware of the countless sorcerers surrounding them, allowing them the privacy of their intimate moment. They pretended not to watch— not to listen, but their hearts were collectively breaking for the pair before them. “It’ll be over before we know. We’ll go home. I’ll cook you something nice— maybe not burn it this time, huh?”

A laugh escaped you despite your tear soaked face. He smiled softly at the sound. The pads of his thumbs reached out to swipe the surface area of your cheeks before pulling you in softly. Your eyes closed as he placed a soft kiss to one eye, moving to the other and doing the same.

“I want the special rice—” you choked out, attempting to pull yourself together for him. Reaching out to run your fingers gently through the end of his hair, you clarified. “The one you had in Kenya.”

“Yeah? The pilau?”

You nodded softly and forced a smile. He laughed breathily at your reply and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Okkotsu?” Their peer that called out to him sounded apologetic to be interrupting the delicate moment, but, then again, there was a war to be won.

Without tearing his gaze from yours, he nodded in understanding. Leaning down with a certain determination in his energy, Yuta captured your lips in his. It was powerful, rough— desperate. His looming figure hunched over you, as if attempting to swallow you whole. Perhaps you would have been happier if he had.

It was the last time your lips felt those of Yuta Okkotsu.

You had been sent out as support, patrolling the area. Realistically, you knew there wasn’t much that you could contribute. While you served as a perfectly decent sorcerer— your techniques were nothing to be put up against the horrors that lied beyond the culling games. It was mainly a distraction. Your peers didn’t want you to watch the fight. They didn’t want your eyes to have to bear witness should your lover be slain that night.

For a few hours, you would get updates from them. First, it was that Kenjaku was dead. A silent tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly swiped it away as you thanked them for telling you. It was a victory— one of astronomical proportions, but the fight was far from over. After the second hour with no update— a small part of you already knew. After twenty more minutes of radio silence, you forced yourself to go back inside, despite the fear raging in you of what you may find.

As you entered silently, all heads snapped toward you. You knew. Without a word, you made your way back to where Shoko had set up her make-shift infirmary. It ended up being Kusakabe that called out to you— subtle warning in his tone. As if motivated by his attempted persuasion, a few more of your peers began to step forward, but, before they could reach you, you slipped into the dimly lit hallway. Yuta’s katana was leaning up against the wall beside the infirmary, unsheathed and bloodied. Through the sound of the blood rushing through your ears, you faintly heard a commotion stirring from outside the hall. Your mind was miles away from the beloved friends and colleagues gathered just outside though. Your fingers delicately grazed the hilt of his precious katana, wondering if they had to pry it from his stiff fingers.

One more step. It was terrifying— the sense of impending doom that echoed within the chasms of your mind. Just beyond this door frame, it would no longer be a fleeting ghost story whispered between two lovers— a worst case scenario— a horrifying ‘what if’ that was consistently followed by reassuring kisses and desperate love making. The shouting behind you was growing louder now, rushed footsteps pounding down the hall, screams of your name to not go in there, you don’t need to see it.

You took the final step. The healer stood in the middle of the room and seemed to be busying herself with cleaning. She was cleaning a body. Its mid section was cut off from your vision by her somewhat tense figure. Still, laid unceremoniously at the end of the steel stretcher, the unmistakable locks of dark hair your fingers had been buried in just hours prior. As if sensing your presence, Shoko shifted to see who had been watching her work. Her movements faltered when seeing the face of the stiff corpse’s lover. It was too late though, no matter how quickly she tried to adjust her position once again, the image had been burned into your mind— branded.

The body of Yuta Okkotsu lay bare on the examining table— or what was left of his body. It had been mutilated; your beautiful love’s temple disgustingly desecrated. The cavity of his chest was practically split open, slashes running down his once gorgeously cream skin. Even worse though— his head. It was split down his forehead. His paler than usual head was turned just fractionally toward the door. Your lover stared back at you, eyes unmoving, unloving, gone.

There was blood in your mouth. The iron tinging your taste buds was the only way you realized the visceral shriek that emitted from deep within your gut. Your realization didn’t stop you though, and neither did the pain in your throat as you ripped it to shreds once again, knees buckling underneath of you.

“Yuta!” You sobbed, voice eviscerated raw already. The hurried footsteps from outside seemed to finally reach you and, before you could process what was happening, there were hands everywhere. They were on your shoulders, at your elbows, over your eyes— doing anything to attempt to shield you from the sight before you, which you assumed they never intended for you to see in the first place. It was overwhelming: the attempted, hushed coos of comfort that all merged together to sound like the humming of angered bees just waiting to strike at you; the varying grips all pulling you in separate directions, all with the intent to just get you out of that room. Still, despite their efforts, through the gaps of their fingers and shoulders, Yuta’s dead eyes still stared hauntingly back at you.

Pushing against them all with a newfound strength, you fell against the unforgiving floor on your hands and knees, determined to reach him.

“Please, he wouldn’t want you to see him like this.” Kamo attempted to get through to you, his hand once again reaching for your shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” Your wavering, sliced whisper caused his motions to falter for a moment before reaching out anyway. Another sob was ripped from your mouth at the feeling of hands everywhere again. “Please, please, I just need to hold him. Please. Let me hold him.”

“I told you all to make sure she didn’t come in here.” The commanding voice that spoke up had all five or six desperate individuals looking toward the door. Had you been more present in the moment, you would have recognized the voice. With your peers distracted, you crawled forward once again.

“My love,” The term of endearment reached your ears, making you pause. Wide eyes staring at Yuta’s still lips, you gaped silently. Shoko suddenly moved to cover his body with a sheet she’d retrieved, breaking you from your haze. Reaching out with trembling hands, you attempted to fist the sheet between your fingers. “Please, don’t do that.”

The individuals whose hands had been grappling with you just moments prior released you all together, before another set of firm, purposeful arms slid around your midsection. In mere seconds, you were being hauled up off the floor. For a moment, you were suspended mid air by unfamiliar arms. You thrashed around furiously until they set you down on your feet once again, and you turned to smack whoever it was that was still holding you back.

When the eyes of Satoru Gojo met yours— your movements faltered. A phantom, right before your very eyes. He was real though, you could see his chest rising and falling with his steady breaths, and the warmth radiating from his arms that were still wrapped uncharacteristically around you.

“Gojo—” It was all too much, as you tried to make sense of the scene before you, all the while in the midst of mourning— or attempting to come to grips with the fact that you should be mourning. You suddenly felt as though you might pass out. Steadying a hand on the firm chest before you, your face began to pale a bit. “How are you— what’s—”

Your words failed you though— and so did your body. Satoru leaned down quickly just as you began to slip away. It was too intimate— the way he was looking into your eyes, and the manner in which he held you to his chest. You wanted to push him away, but you felt weak. The snowy whisps of his white hair swayed as he scooped you up and brushed the hair from your forehead. You flinched away from him. As you looked up incredulously at him to question his inappropriate behavior, your eyes caught the scar running along his forehead.

“Everything is okay,” he murmured, but the voice wasn’t comforting, it was confusing as it fell upon your ringing ears. “I’m here, my love.”

The term snapped you from your chance, the murmuring and shuffling around the two of you coming at you in full force as if you’d just come up from underwater. Staring unblinkingly at the man before you, you watched as his piercing, blue eyes drooped softly and uncharacteristically into a haunting stare that was so unmistakably—

“Yuta?”

Following the closure of the grueling culling games, most sorcerers were granted substantial time to rest, and both you and Go— Yuta, were unarguably granted as well. After what you’d seen, what Yuta had subjected himself to for the sake of everyone’s safety, there was a quiet understanding that the pair needed time to adjust to one another again— to heal. As you walked into your shared apartment with the unfamiliar body behind you though, you couldn’t help but gulp down the lump in your throat.

Relieved wasn’t the sufficient word to use to describe how you felt upon learning Yuta was still alive. Granted, he was certainly alive in a very different way than he had been previously— but his soul was still with you. He was still there. Still, the anxiety and grief was eating you alive. You had seen his corpse, seen his lifeless eyes staring back at you. Yet you were still expected to latch onto him once again, resume your bond as if it hadn’t already been irreparably changed. It made you feel selfish— being so uncomfortable by the means by which he remained alive. You wouldn’t say it to him, not after all that he’d been through and the selfless way he sacrificed so much for his peers.

The door of your shared apartment shut behind you. A soft sigh of relief left you. When you last exited this familiar apartment, the two of you were unsure if you’d ever return to it again. A lone tear slipped down your cheek as Yuta set his katana against the wall and came up to grasp at your shoulders. His grip was firm— firmer than you ever remember it being. Feeling the tension in your muscles, he rubbed soft circles into them.

“You want me to start a shower for you, love?” He offered in that unfamiliar voice, his cheek grazing yours as he leaned down to meet your ear. Unable to speak, you simply nodded. With a soft kiss against your temple, he made his way down the hall and disappeared into your shared bathroom. The distance eased some of the pressure building in your chest, and you leaned back to rest against the wall.

How could this ever go back to normal? Gojo was a man who had watched your love grow together from the moment the both of you were introduced as mere teenagers. He’d given a horribly anxious Yuta advice on how to talk to you, given him money to take you on a nice first date before the boy had received his first stipend from the school. And now— now you were expected to live with him, to wake up to him every morning, make love to him. He wasn’t a stranger, but in a sense of closeness and intimacy, your body saw him as just that.

With a shaky sigh, you pushed off of the wall when you heard the shower running. Entering the bathroom with your towel folded over your arms, the steam from the shower enveloped you like a warm blanket. It invited you to wash away all the atrocities you’d faced in the past weeks. You placed your towel on the sink, but your pre-shower routine was cut short when you felt fingers grasping at the hem of your shirt to pull it up. A startled gasp escaped you, and you whipped around to face Yuta. He abruptly halted his attempts to undress you, staring at you with wide eyes. Much to your mortification, he was naked.

“Oh—” You stuttered out, staring up at the ceiling, at the wall behind him, anywhere but him. “Sorry. You— you can shower first.”

Yuta stopped you with a soft hand on your wrist as you moved to exit the bathroom. You were stiff before him, flinching away just barely noticeable as your arm made contact with his bare chest.

“Hey,” he said softly with a chuckle. It sounded a bit forced though— he sounded scared. “It’s just me, love. You can— you can look at me.”

Your head was still turned away from him as he pulled you closer against the stranger’s body, leaning down to press a delicate kiss against your cheek. Your eyes drifted and were met with your reflection in the mirror, wrapped up in the arms of Satoru Gojo. Following your gaze, his icy blue eyes met yours in the reflection. As if recognizing the apprehension in your expression, his face dropped a bit. Your heart clenched guiltily.

“S’okay,” Yuta attempted a nonchalant laugh, his strong arms loosening their grip on you. He gulped down the nausea that began to stir within him along with the pang of rejection. “Umm… I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you pick out a movie for us to watch, yeah? We’ve probably missed out on a bunch.”

With a soft nod and forced smile, you couldn’t have exited that small bathroom quick enough.

Time. You just needed some time.

Following your own, mind numbingly relaxing shower, you made sure to dry off and dress in the safe confines of the bathroom. You smiled softly at the feeling of the fluffy rug against your toes as you stepped into your very missed room. Yuta was already under the covers, remote in hand as he read the description of the movie you’d picked out. He was chewing absentmindedly at his bottom lip, a habit you’d never seen Gojo partake in before. It made you smile softly— something that was uniquely Yuta still shining through. His gaze snapped toward you while you stood hesitantly on the side of the bed. Smiling warmly, he opened up the blanket on your side of the bed in invitation, a faint glimmer of hope sparkling in his blue eyes.

“Yu, this shirt is…” Your comment drifted as you fingered at the tshirt spread too tightly across his broad chest. It clung to his bulging arms unnaturally, straining against the muscles.

A blush painted his pale cheeks, and you were once again put off by seeing the innocent expression on the face before you. He smiled sheepishly, looking down at himself.

“I know. None of my stuff really fits me anymore.” He explained bashfully, reaching up to scratch his head awkwardly. “Guess that means we can go shopping, and you can pick out all my clothes like you always wanted to, huh?”

You giggled softly at the idea. Truthfully, you were grateful he’d put the shirt on despite its tight fit. For the past few days, he didn’t even smell like himself anymore. But now, as you timidly shuffled closer to him and buried your head into his chest, you were able to inhale the lingering scent left behind by his previous body. It was the only thing keeping you huddled closely to his new one that night.

You dreamt of him that night— the old him. He was wrapped around you, his grip merciless as he clung onto you, as if you might float away. When you turned to look at him, the sight of his big, warm, puppy dog eyes filled your chest with butterflies. You recognized the scene, it was the first time you’d tended to him following a mission. Both of you unaware of the other’s feelings, timid in the way you brushed against one another, hyper aware of every breath and stare. As you dapped the alcohol-soaked cotton against his cheek, his shaky hands came up to grip innocently onto your waist. In truth, though you teased him relentlessly for it, he really just didn’t know what to do with his hands in the moment. When he saw the way your face burned under his touch, something had shifted between you— an understanding.

Your head burrowed deeper into the pillow below you as you were pulled from your slumber by the heavy hole in your chest. The arm strewn across your waist tighter around you, drawing you closer as he hummed. You smiled softly at the sound of him awakening. Shifting to catch a glimpse of those warm eyes that had just been plaguing your dreams, you were ripped from your trance. A startled yelp escaped you, sending you flying to the other end of the bed at the sight of the electric blue eyes staring back at you. In response, Yuta jumped out of bed with a start, staring at you in bewilderment.

“I— I’m sorry,” you cried breathlessly, not even feeling it when tears began to fall down your face. It was as if you could hear his heart break as he watched you. Running a trembling hand across your damp face, you attempted to calm your breathing. “I’m sorry, Yuta. It’s not your fault, I just—”

“You need time.” He finished softly for you.

For the following weeks, Yuta slept on the couch of your shared living room. It made you feel awful, coming out every morning to see him twisted uncomfortably on the furniture that was far too small to hold him in this form. You insisted that it should be you sleeping on it, given it was you who was so startled by the arrangement, but he refused to even hear of it. He said he’s always found the couch comfortable, but you knew that was about four inches and fifty pounds of muscle ago.

With the guilt knawing away at you, you made every effort to adjust to the dramatic change. The two of you watched your usual television shows on the couch together every night before he’d give you a longing goodnight kiss on the cheek and forehead. He never pushed you for more. You had just begun feeling somewhat comfortable enough to press quick, timid kisses on his lips every now and again, and he relished in each and every one of them like a man starved. It was evident in the way his eyes remained close and his lips chased yours each time you’d pull away.

He really did mean it when he said he wanted you to go shopping with him. After one too many ripped pants and boxer briefs in the trash, you insisted it be sooner rather than later. His wispy hair did a good enough job concealing the fading scar across his forehead while you two stepped out in public for the first time again. Being out of the stuffy apartment helped to ease the underlying tension that had grown between you. Yuta was making you laugh, charming you with his sheepish jokes and shy charisma— the type only he could pull off. It was good for you. You two walked from store to store, and you felt his pinky finger graze hesitantly against yours.

Looking up at him, you found his blue orbs already focused on you. They were wide, hopeful— asking for permission. Smiling softly at him, you silently carded your hand into his large one. It felt foreign, but the wide, excited smile that he tried to conceal seemed to mask any apprehension that bubbled within you. For the remainder of the day, Yuta walked with more confidence in his stride, pulling you giddily along with him wherever his attention drew him to.

It was a much needed break from the awkward push and pull you two had found yourselves in. So, when you returned to the apartment that night, you were almost scared to break that bubble. The two of you fell into your new routine, regarding each other friendly, showering separately. You were just gathering your things when he emerged from the bathroom, a towel hung loosely around his waist. Quickly averting your gaze, you muttered an apology as you attempted to step past him.

“Hey,” he called softly, stepping to the side to block you from entering the restroom. You felt his fingers clutch your chin and turn you to face him. His platinum hair clung to his face, droplets of water spilling onto his chiseled face. A blush rose to your cheeks at the sight. An amused smile fell easily on his lips. “You haven’t blushed like this looking at me since we were in high school.”

Your brows furrowed at his words, envious on the way he seemed to be unable to find the insanity of the situation. His damp hand ran down the side of your neck, creeping over your shoulder and arm until he grasped one of your hands in his. His intense gaze stayed focused on you as he brought your hand up to place on his chest, softly running it down his abdomen.

“I want you to… be comfortable with me again. Be able to look at me again.” He mumbled, his chest beginning to rise and fall more dramatically at the sensation of your hands exploring him once again. You gulped, your fingers catching on the scar that circled all the way across his stomach, sides, and back. It made you tear away from your hesitation, finally allowing yourself to look down at his sculpted body. You circled your finger tentatively around the jagged scar, your other hand creeping up to test the waters in feeling the wet ripples of his abs. Yuta seemed to tremble under your touch, a soft moan falling from his lips at the sensation. It snapped you from your haze. It felt wrong, hearing Gojo’s voice like this, thinking of his body in such a way. You withdrew your hands from him.

“Time.” you quickly reminded him, refocusing your gaze on his face again. His lips were parted, eyes half lidded but blown out with a lustful haze. You darted past him and into the bathroom, hearing him repeat it breathlessly as you closed the door.

“Time.”

You were still a bit shaken up when you exited your shower, pacing the room pensively as you clung to your towel. Looking around, you noticed the small, discarded pile of Yuta’s old shirts that he’d likely just removed from his drawers to make room for his new ones. You smiled fondly at the sight. Picking one up, you brought it up to your face and inhaled deeply. Though evidently fading, his smell still clung to it. It was faint though, so faint that it made your eyes water as you clutched desperately at the material. He was slipping away, every part of him, and all you could do was watch as each bit was replaced. Shoving the discarded shirts into your own drawer for safe keeping, you shed your towel and slipped one over your head before climbing into bed, relishing in the soft, familiar smell that graced your senses.

After a moment or so, there was a gentle knock at the door. Yuta poked his head in and smiled hesitantly at you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he greeted softly, stepping fully into the dim room. “I just… I wanted to say goodnight to you. You okay?”

You nodded with a sad smile, blinking rapidly to stop more tears from manifesting in your traitorous eyes. Humming softly, he sat on the edge of the bed and grasped your head between his large hands before leaning in to press a gentle kiss against each eye.

“Goodnight, my love. I love you always.”

You couldn’t stop the silent sob that wracked your body as he turned to return to the living room for the night. It was pathetic, the way you continued to mourn for the man sat just outside your grasp. Just moments ago, you stood in tears, willing him not to slip away, yet you were allowing just that.

“Yuta?” Your meek voice made him turn around in question. “Can you… can you come to bed?”

His face lit up the dark room, moonlight illuminating the way his blue eyes seemed to spark at your request.

“Y-Yes, yeah!” He stammered out, looking around eagerly. The man seemed to trip over his own legs as he made his way to the door, holding a reaffirming hand out in front of him. “Hold on, I’m gonna grab my pillows— don’t move!”

Even through your tears, you couldn’t help but laugh at the way he still didn’t seem to have full control over his new body yet— at least not when he was buzzing with the excitement of a teenage boy. Just seconds later, he barreled back into the room, slamming the door behind him and eagerly jumping into his side of the bed. The both of you giggled at the way the bed creaked under his sudden weight. As the laughter subsided, he stared breathlessly at you, eyes gleaming.

“Do you think it’d be okay if I held you tonight?”

Your lips began to tremble at the pained vulnerability in his timid request. Without answering, you scooted closer to him, and he quickly opened his arms for you to tuck yourself against his chest. His chest heaved with a sigh of relief at the feeling of holding you close again. All too soon, he felt his eyes begin to droop despite his burning desire to stay awake and just be with you for a little longer. You were both fast asleep within seconds.

With his old shirt and scent wrapped around your frame, your subconscious couldn’t help but manifest him just as it had remembered him. Again, it was a familiar scene— the night before you two left your apartment for the final time. Before— what happened to him. His dark hair hung lazily over his face as he desperately grinded into you. A gasp over took you at the feeling of him entering you. Your fingernails raked mercilessly across his chest, squeezing the firm slab of muscle there. Yuta whined at the soft stinging that accompanied this action, but it only spurred him on. He wanted to mold himself to you, become one with your body. You helplessly moaned out his name.

Back in reality, beside you, Yuta was stirred from his own peaceful slumber by your shallow, whiny breaths. Your body practically trembled against him, your fingers grasping at the arm that circled your waist.

“Yuta.” Your soft moan filled his ears, making all the blood in his body rush down to the uncharted territory below his waistband. The manner in which you writhed desperately against him did nothing to calm the storm brewing in his pants. Gulping roughly, he allowed his hand to wander from your thigh up to your side, slipping under the thin fabric of your shirt— his shirt. It was the only thing donned on that trembling body of yours save for your underwear. You looked ethereal with the barely risen, morning sun kissing at your supple skin. Leaning down, he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, dragging his lips down to peck and lap aimlessly at your neck. You arched into him, rousing from your sleep with a gentle moan of his name.

“Yeah?” The man mumbled against the back of your neck, gently rutting into your ass from behind you. The wandering hand that had slipped up your shirt grazed over the lush skin of your breast before squeezing it gently between his fingers. A whimper fell from your lips. “Let me take care of you, my love, hm?”

You could only nod breathlessly, and, in an instant, he disappeared under the covers, eagerly shifting you onto your back. Typically, Yuta was a soft, gentle lover— slow in his care for your body. He loved taking his time with you, savoring each sound he could pull from you with each inch of skin he explored. Now though, as he found himself face to face with one of his favorite parts of you for the first time in weeks, he had no patience.

Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, he shoved his face into your clothed core. A high strung moan ripped up your chest and out your throat as he mouthed lazily over you for a while, wetting the already damp fabric with his drool. Getting tired of the damned barrier, he wanted to taste you for real. In hasty motions, he ripped your underwear down your legs before settling against his breakfast once again.

“Yuta!” You gasped, face reddening with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. He moaned against you at the sound of his name falling from your lips again. His hips involuntarily rutted against the mattress, but he stopped himself. This was about you.

Your fingers trembled, making their way under the sheets to grip his hair firmly. His head swayed side to side as he ravished you, drinking up everything you were willing to give him. Your hips bucked up to grind against his face, making the sheet fall down his back. Looking down, you were met with the sight of Satoru Gojo between your legs, lapping lewdly at your sensitive core as if it gave him life itself, as if it made the sun and the moon and brought all the stars to the night sky.

His eyes opened upon feeling your gaze on him. Those piercing blue eyes that you were becoming so accustomed to regarded you with a deep lust, a carnal desire that had your release creeping up your toes, into your legs and torso, to the very center of your mind.

No, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t come undone like this. It was so wrong, and you felt as though some part of you was betraying Yuta, despite the fact that he was the very man currently worshiping you with his tongue. You partly wondered if he knew what was going through your head right now, watching as his brows suddenly furrowed and his grip on your thighs tightened with a newfound determination. With a harsh, loud suck to your clit, his gaze demanded to be met as you tipped over the edge. Your back arched up with a deafening cry, all the while Yuta’s lips hungrily laid open mouthed kissed against your core as you came down. He caught your clit gently between his lips, pulling at it a fraction before releasing it.

You were gasping for breath, trying to catch yourself before you passed out in an overwhelmed haze. Yuta licked a final, loving stripe up your folds before peppering kisses up your trembling body. Sliding a hand under the arch of your back, he abruptly sat you up with a strength unfamiliar to you. You landed atop his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck to catch yourself before you fell back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whimpered, capturing your lips against his desperately. They were still wet from their assault against you. Between rushed kisses, he gasped out against your lips. “So beautiful, my love. You’re everything to me.”

You moaned against him at the sound of his familiar praises, pressing your chest against his. He broke from you for barely a millisecond, tossing his shirt over his head before grappling for you once again. His hands found their natural place on your waist, gripping firmly as he brought you down to grind against his straining manhood. Gasping at the sensation of your folds sliding against his thick length, you reached up to grasp at the ends of his hair as you always did. It hit you then, as your fingers grazed the slowly growing hairs of an undercut, that you were about to make love to someone else. Breaking from him with a gasp, you looked at the man before you. His eyes were practically glowing, drinking you in in a manner that told you his thoughts were positively filthy at the present. Closing them once again, he chased your lips with a determined hand against your jaw. You flinched away. Slowly opening his eyes again, he watched in horror as you climbed off of his lap and stood from the bed, looking around for a pair of shorts.

“W-Wait!” Yuta gaped, practically tripping over himself to follow you out of the bedroom.

You pretended not to hear the desperate confusion in his tone, pretended it didn’t squeeze at your chest with guilt. Opening the fridge, you busied yourself grabbing ingredients to make you two a quick breakfast. He called out your name softly, dejected. Bracing yourself, you glanced back at him. His massive frame was hunched in on itself, and his eyes looked so hurt you could practically shoot yourself in the foot for being the cause of it.

“What are you doing?” Yuta breathed quietly, watching as you spread all the ingredients onto the counter.

“I’m making omelets. You want cheese on yours?” You asked over your shoulder, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet for mixing.

“What? No, I—” He could feel the irritation rising in his chest, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing. Stepping closer so he was right behind you, he grasped your wrist softly to halt your rushed movements. “Baby, I miss you.”

“I’m right here, Yu.” You whispered, unable to meet his unwavering gaze. You heard him sigh in frustration at your response.

“No, love,” he pleaded, grasping your hips to press you roughly against the ever present bulge in his sweatpants. Releasing a shaky breath, he snaked a hand across your collarbone before lining it with hot kisses. “I miss you.”

“Yuta,” you protested, slipping away from his grasp. “I’m sorry, I just need—”

“Time?” He cried out, tears welling up in his sad, wide eyes. “You can take all of my time— have all of it! But please just— please look me in the eyes and tell me I’ll still get you back at the end of it.”

“I’m trying!” You sobbed, smacking at his bare chest. He took it all without so much as a flinch. “I’m trying but every time I look at you all I can see is—”

“I’m not Gojo! I’m right here, I’m me. Look at me!”

“Well I don’t recognize you anymore, Yuta!”

His response got caught in his throat. Those glittering blue, six eyes watched as you fell to the floor, clutching your hands to your face. Gentle sobs shook your frame as you curled in on yourself. Yuta stood before you, unsure if touching you would be helpful or not right now.

“I saw your body, Yuta. Your head was split open. Your eyes were lifeless! I accepted that you were dead!” You felt a hesitant hand come down on your back. He slowly sat beside you on the floor. “And then you come back, and you have a new face, a new voice, you even smell different. You’re bigger and you’re stronger, and you’re not my Yuta anymore, okay? You wanted everything to go back to normal but it’s not.”

“I just… I don’t see Yuta anymore.”

Both of you agreed that you needed some time apart that day. Yuta insisted that you be the one to stay home, but you convinced him that you needed time outside of the apartment.

You found yourself in front of Shoko, who regarded you with surprise at your sudden request.

“I want to see his body.”

She blinked a few times at you, slowly. Not even Yuta himself had bothered asking what it was that they did with his body. When he came to, the only thing that was on his mind was the overwhelming relief that he’d be able to come back to you. As the healer looked over your bloodshot eyes, and the dried tears on your face as you clutched at the old t-shirt covering you, she understood what you really needed.

You blinked down at the simple grave before you. It was large, marbled and domed. It had Gojo’s name on it.

“Is this some sort of joke?” You asked breathily, your brows furrowing in anger. A fiery glare was shot in the direction of the woman standing beside you. “Where is his body?”

“Right in front of you.”

“Then why isn’t his name on here?”

“Because Yuta Okkotsu isn’t dead.” Shoko stated flatly, eyes steady on you. “Satoru Gojo is.”

The words sank into your soul as you slowly looked back up at the name etched onto the grave. It was the name of the man you were sure you had been betraying your lover with for a month. Yuta— his former body rested here, but no one mourned for him here. No, this is where they came to mourn Satoru Gojo. You were the only one who had ever mourned for Yuta.

“Satoru Gojo is dead, and the man waiting for you at home loves you— no matter the flesh that wraps his soul.”

You cried the whole way home, but, this time, your tears weren’t being shed in mourning. Rather, they fell down your face in hot streams of guilt. Yuta had been so understanding, so patient with you. He had gone through so much, lost his body, lost his mentor, his friend. The only thing he asked in return was to live the rest of his life with you once again— and you couldn’t look past the flesh attached to his kind heart.

Slowly creaking open the door of your apartment, there was music flowing softly through the air of your shared apartment. Over the rhythm, you could hear the clashing of pots and the clinking of utensils. There was a faint smell of smoke filling the room as well. Shutting the door behind you, you cautiously made your way to the kitchen, gaze melting at the scene before you.

There was an apron tied haphazardly around Yuta’s waist. It was too small on him— straining against his broad, muscular chest. The smell of smoke seemed to be coming from the large pot that was practically vibrating on the stovetop, angrily hissing at the chef, who was too distracted trying to set a pair of plates and cutlery neatly on the small dining table. He was cursing under his breath, white eyebrows pulled up and together in a concerned, puppy-dog like stare. You giggled from behind your hand. His head shot up at the sound.

“No, babe— gah!” Your lover was cut off as he tried to grab the lid off the top of the smoking pot before abruptly dropping it, seemingly burned from its hot surface. It clattered against the stove noisily. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet— shit!”

He paced the length of the kitchen, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet as he ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. The mannerisms— they were so undeniably Yuta Okkotsu. Smiling fondly, you stepped forward to turn the stove off, making him grumble in disapproval.

“I-I was trying to make us pilau.” He pouted, those wide, puppy dog eyes taking in the sight of you. Despite the commotion you had walked into, he was relieved that you came back to him.

“Yeah?” You questioned with an amused smile, reaching behind him to untie the apron from his back and pulling it over his head. Your hands replaced the ties around his neck, pulling him down toward you. It was gonna take you a while to adjust to this sudden, more exaggerated height difference. “What happened to you not burning it this time?”

The pale skin of his neck and cheeks flushed under your intense gaze, making him chuckle nervously. It was evident in the tentative manner he slid his hands around your waist that he was unsure of what you’d be comfortable with.

“Are you gonna come down here, or are you gonna make you climb all six feet of you?”

His Adam’s Apple bobbed against his taut neck, a boyish grin spreading across his lips as he shook his head.

“I have a better idea.”

In one quick motion, he squatted down to grab the backs of your thighs and toss them high around his waist. You gasped at the abrupt motion, clinging around his chest like a spider monkey. He wasn’t even holding onto you as he began walking the both of you to your room. No, his hands were instead grasped on the sides of your head, pulling you into him for a desperate kiss. Shutting the door behind him with his foot, he turned to sit on the edge of the bed, your comparably smaller frame still attached to him.

You fell slowly into his lap, biting at his lips with an unanticipated fervor. Your hands grazed under the hem of his shirt, palms freely exploring the planes of his chest and shoulders. He whimpered under your delicate touch, breaking away from you only to allow you to pull the fabric off of him. Pushing back on his firm shoulders, he fell back against the bed with a huff, watching with bated breath as you kissed each inch of new skin you were presented with. You wanted to commit him to memory— learn the new ways to make him gasp and whimper in that way only Yuta could pull off. As you traversed down his abdomen, he reached down and yanked the hem of your loose shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of your bare chest that he’d missed so much.

Just as your lips grazed the hem of his sweatpants, he sat up abruptly to stop you.

“No, I can’t— I just need you right now.” He rasped, grasping at your waist to toss you down onto the bed.

“Jesus, Yu!” You gasped as your body bounced with the impact. He grinned sheepishly at you as he stumbled out of his sweats before crawling over your body.

“I’m sorry… not used to it yet.” He apologized before grazing his hand over your clothed core, sighing pathetically at the wetness that met his digits. Your teeth were clashing together as the two of you sloppily kissed each other— a bundle of gasps and moans. He molded himself against you as he dragged your soiled panties down your legs before standing up to remove his boxers. You tried not to stare— you really did. The last thing you wanted him to think was that you found his previous parts insufficient. Lord help you though, because— now? Yuta was massive. Watching your apprehensive expression as you took in his new, bare body, he grabbed your hips.

“Come here.” He commanded gently, easily lifting you up to sit on his lap. You both gasped as your core bumped against his painfully hard length. It was a bit embarrassing— the way he was able to wrap one arm around your waist to hold you up as the other gripped his length. The thought of all the different ways he could use this newfound strength sent bubbling excitement straight down to your core. “Take what you can, pretty girl.”

His compassionate words, even as he had you hovered over his desperately touch deprived cock warmed your heart. You nodded wordlessly, mouth falling open as he slowly lowered you onto him. Your nails dug into his shoulder to cope with the slow burning sensation that filled your core as he unconsciously bucked up into you. Before long, you were fully sheathed over his weeping member.

A long whine fell from his lips as your ass met his thighs. The sound was deeper than his usual, pitchy moans that you’d come to love, and it made a heat spread through your chest. You shifted to adjust your thighs in order to begin moving against him, desperate for any sort of friction after the long period of waiting for you to adjust to his new size, but he stopped you. Large hands came up to grip under your ass, lifting you up with ease to grind you against his already twitching length.

“Allow me, my love.”

Okay, maybe you could get used to this Yuta.

[ssrleona]

homecoming (I)

pairing: leona kingscholar x fem!reader

warnings: slight angst, allusions to childhood mistreatment

word count: 1.5k

s: at your insistence, you finally visit the afterglow savannah and meet Leona's family

a/n: this was written before the tamashna muina event released. and since I haven't read the trans yet, how I describe the savannah and its culture may not be the same as it was described in game. I'm East African, and since the lion king was essentially a mishmash of East African culture (mostly Kenya, Ethiopia, and for some reason some stuff from W. Africa), most of what I describe comes from my own cultural background + light research. enjoy!

It starts with a letter.

It’s not unusual for Night Raven College to be overrun by its unruly student body, but the coming summer holiday brings a new level of restlessness that hums through the walls. Hasty stops at the school store, last minute assignments, bittersweet goodbyes. Even the faculty seem on edge and ready to end the semester.

Ruggie all but collapses at your feet when he spots you in the hall of mirrors, heaving a woven basket twice his size. It’s filled to the brim with an assortment of different packages; mailers, bags, miniature boxes wrapped in newspaper clippings and assorted wrapping paper. A neat ivory envelope tied with a golden ribbon at the very top.

He gives it to you. “Could you hand this off to Leona? I have enough on my plate as it is.”

“Is it usually this bad?” You ask, eyeing the precarious stack that’s leaning just a little too close to the floor. You turn the envelope in your hands. The words on the front are written in a script you can’t make out, only recognizing ‘Leona Kingscholar’ in the far left corner. It’s bulky, like someone crammed multiple letters inside, but doesn’t take away the luxurious quality of the paper. It’s silk between your fingertips.

“It’s from his family, so I doubt he’d read it anyways,” Ruggie comments. He hefts the basket from the floor, “Throw it out if you want.”

His family.

Besides bitter remarks thrown in passing, Leona never speaks of them. Or his home. What you’re holding in your hands is the only piece of the other Kingscholar’s you’ve ever gotten so close to. The letter is tucked away before you give the suggestion a second thought. 

“You came all this way, I might as well.” 

“You just wanna read it, huh?” 

“And you wouldn’t?”

Ruggie laughs at that, turning to the door with a shake of his head. “There’s a reason curiosity killed the cat. Something’s I’d rather not know.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Took you long enough.”

Warm arms circle your waist as you enter the room, dragging you backwards until you hit the plushness of his sheets. He’s practically on top of you. Flush against him, back to chest. His head finds its way to the crook of your neck and you can feel the sigh he releases on the wisps of your hair. The softness of his tail curling around your ankle.

Leona’s tone is scalding, but the delicate possessiveness of his actions tell you otherwise.

You turn your head. Heavy olive irises sharpen as you place the letter between the both of you. “I got caught up.”

Groaning, he’s quick to toss it on the nightstand before burrowing himself further into your neck. With you two so close, sheets ballooned around you, a drowsy warmth fills you. It’s hard not to fall into it.

“That’s the last thing I need right now.” He huffs.

You raise a brow. “You haven’t even read it.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s the same old shtick. Naggin’ me to come for break.” 

He sighs. “If it was up to me I’d just stay here.”

“Aw, you’d miss me that much?” You tease, yelping as he pinches your side. The laugh pulled from his lips ease into a yawn.

“In your dreams.” Leona exhales. His breath evens out, warm against the shell of your ear as he’s lulled into sleep. 

And that was that.

In your position on the bed, you have a perfect view of the nightstand, eyes catching the glimmer of gold ribbon in the dim light.

Coming to Twisted Wonderland, you’ve constantly been thrusted into the most asinine of situations all while being told to keep your head down and leave things where they lie.

But you're a curious sort by nature. It’s a hunger, insatiable in its pursuit to pick everything apart, examine every crack and rough edge, feel the grain against the pad of your fingers, piece by piece. You’ve disrupted the debased philosophies of Night Raven College’s elite because you’re always pushing for more, not settling for less.

This is not something you are ashamed of.

Yet, as you stare at the envelope in front of you, you can’t help but feel hesitant.

Leona is an enigma, an ever changing labyrinth. The moment you think you have him figured out, the layout changes and you’re back at square one. And it leaves you starved.

You want to know him, yearn to trace his patterns like the dips in the back of your hand; know where each curve started, why it ends, and swallow it whole to keep wherever you go.

 You also know this: if you push too far Leona will close himself away and never let you see these parts of him ever again. And you’ve grown greedy.

(Something’s I’d rather not know)

You grab the envelope.

The ribbon gives easily enough, and you’re met with letter after letter, all scrawled in messy print. You realize these were written by Cheka– asking his uncle how he’s doing, when he’s coming to visit, and what he’s been up to at the palace since the last time Leona saw him. On the bottom of some of the pages were crayon drawings: portraits of his parents and scenes of Leona and him together, exploring the palace or traveling through the city. 

As you sift through, a paper falls into your lap. 

It’s a photograph of Cheka and who you’d assume to be his parents. The man in the photo is laughing, light smile lines gracing his face. Cheka’s in his arms, and the woman beside them looks at the sight with fondness. The background is flooded with the country’s namesake- an assortment of orange, yellow, and pinks kaleidoscopes together in a painting of the setting sun. It looks homey, tender and inviting, and you can’t help the smile that curls around your lips.

You’d love to be there, surrounded in that warmth.

 Leona’s scoff makes you jump, looking over at him, and his bleary eyes meet your stare. His expression was mostly hidden in the depth of your shoulder but he didn’t look pleased. You didn’t realize you said the words aloud, or that your movements woke him.

“Go be a comedian if you wanna start telling jokes.” He grunts. You turn yourself in his grasp to face him fully and his arms tighten their hold. His hair is mused with sleep, blanketing the pillows beneath. Your hands itch to touch it.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” You insisted. He scowls at this, tail shifting back and forth beneath the sheets. “ I want to see the Afterglow Savannah, the palace, your family. It'd be nice to know where you grew up.”

The message is quiet. You do not tell me enough.

Leona grows silent. Contemplative. He knows when you get like this, stuck on an idea that overrules your every action, close to nothing can convince you otherwise. 

He told you once that’s a trait he liked about you in the best of times. 

( ‘But half the time it just makes you hard headed’ he said, and snickered at your glare.)

Leona knows you well, too well. Usually this would bring a coy flush to your face, but you couldn’t help but grimace at the thought.

“I just want to know more about you.” You admit. 

“You could just ask.”

“Like you’d tell me.”

He says nothing, looking through you, deep in thought. Leona doesn’t seem annoyed by your probing, but something about the furrow in his brows looks resigned. Bitter.

“There’s nothing worth seeing.” He bites out. “It’s a bunch of royals too stuck up to see past their ivory towers.”

The photo; the honest smiles and laughter.

“I’m sure there’s more than that.” You contend.

Something bubbles forth in him. A dark quality you haven't seen before. He growls deep in his throat. It’s too low for your ears to catch, but you feel it reverberate through the bed and into your chest. 

“ Yeah, the stupid age old rules they hide behind–and they're sure to ostracize anyone who steps outside it.”  He meets your gaze.“Birth order is the only thing that matters. If you’re not first then you’re nothing.”

 The vitriol in his tone catches you off guard, and the words fall away from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“Do you hate the Afterglow Savannah?” 

Instead of the eruption of anger you expected, the brewing storm leaves him sullen.

You regret it as soon as it passed through your lips

“You really don’t let up do you?” He sighs. Leona’s voice is oddly gentle. You wait for the other shoe to drop; anger, arrogance–anything. But it never comes. His arms move you so you’re in your original position, back to chest, as if the conversation never happened. Except this time, he curls himself into you– his body hiding you away, swallowing you whole.

“Stop worrying about it.” He mumbles. “Hurry up and sleep.”

You don’t. You spend that afternoon staring at the photo, tracing over their juvenile smiles.

Leona’s was not one of them.

TBC

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from the New York Times:

What’s in a name? It’s more than a sound people make to get your attention — it’s a seemingly universal hallmark of human society and language, the specifics of which set us apart from our fellow animals. Now, scientists say they have found evidence with the help of artificial-intelligence-powered tools that elephants call each other by names too.

“They have this ability to individually call specific members of their family with a unique call,” said Mickey Pardo, an acoustic biologist at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and an author of a study published Monday in the journal Nature Ecology & Evolution.

Elephants’ trumpeting calls might be their most recognizable sounds, but these “are basically an emotional outburst,” Dr. Pardo said. Lower-pitched rumbles, he said, are more meaningful, as they make up a majority of elephant vocalizations and are used in a wide variety of social situations. “A lot of interesting stuff is going on in the rumbles,” he said.

To decode these rumbles, Dr. Pardo and George Wittemyer, a professor of conservation biology at Colorado State University and chairman of the scientific board for the nonprofit Save the Elephants, analyzed 469 vocalizations made by family groups of adult elephant females and their offspring recorded at Amboseli National Park and the Samburu and Buffalo Springs National Reserves in Kenya.

Elephant rumbles can be difficult for the human ear to differentiate, so the researchers used machine learning analysis: Essentially, they relied on A.I. to break down different elephant calls.

Individual elephants seemed to respond to certain rumbles from other elephants, and the researchers fed those sounds into their A.I. tool. “If the calls have something like a name, you should be able to figure out who the call is addressed to just from the acoustic structure of that call alone,” Dr. Pardo said.

So far, the scientists are not sure precisely which part of a vocalization might be the elephant’s “name.” But they found that their A.I. tool’s ability to identify the intended recipient of a rumble far exceeded what random chance would dictate.

They supplemented these analyses with fieldwork conducted by Dr. Pardo and David Lolchuragi, a co-author of the study and a research assistant at Save the Elephants. The researchers played recordings of rumbles to elephants and filmed their responses; they found that the individual elephants reacted more strongly to their “names” than to other calls, perking up their ears and rumbling back.

[batbabydamian]

DC April 2024 Solicitations - Comics Featuring Damian! 🦇

BATMAN AND ROBIN #8

4/9/24

Written by Joshua Williamson

Art and Cover by Simone Di Meo

Variant Covers: Kael Ngu, Ejikure, Jim Lee, Nikola Čižmešija (1:25)

As Batman finds himself in the clutches of a new cult that worships Man-Bat, Robin continues his own investigation into his High School's connections to Shush! Can the father and son dynamic duo uncover Man-Bat and Shush's master plans before Gotham pays the price?!

WONDER WOMAN #6

4/16/24

Written by Tom King

Art by Daniel Sampere and Belén Ortega

Variant Covers: Julian Totino Tedesco, Pablo Villalobos, Joshua “Sway” Swaby (1:25)

Wonder Woman vs. The Sovereign! After being captured by a team of villains, Diana finds herself at the mercy of the scariest of them all. Unbeknownst to our hero, the Sovereign has been pulling her strings since the very beginning of our tale, and now it's time for her to see the world his way as she falls under the influence of the Lasso of Lies! Plus, Trinity visits the past and unexpectedly changes the future!

NIGHTWING #113/Legacy #300

4/16/2024

Written by Tom Taylor

Art by Various

Variant Covers: Bruno Redondo (original cover+1:25), Dan Mora, Jim Lee (Artist Spotlight), Jamal Campbell, Serg Acuna

Since the 1940's, you've seen him go from acrobat to orphan; from Dick Grayson to Robin; from Robin to Nightwing. You've seen him work alongside the universe's most powerful heroes, against existence's most sinister villains. You have seen Dick Grayson do so many things, but now, in his 300th issue, you will see him.. well, you'll just have to pick up the issue and find out. Join us for this legacy 300 milestone!

*DC’S SPRING BREAKOUT!

*Cover feature - Damian hang gliding in the bg :)

4/30/2024

Written by Meghan Fitzmartin, Cameron Chittok, Joey Esposito, Morgan Hampton, Patrick R. Young, Tom Krajewski, Mike Barr, and more!

Art by Kenya Danino, Vasco Georgiev, Paul Pellietier, Nico Bascuñan, and more!

Cover by John Timms

Variant Covers by Dan Mora

Spring has sprung! Flowers are blooming, bees are buzzing, Harley is breaking King Shark out of Belle Reve prison. all is right in the DCU as both heroes and villains face all sorts of different spring breaks. Breaking out of a coffin? Lex Luthor has that covered. Spring break training? Send in Superman! Breaking out of your shell? Batman and Mr. Freeze explore that possibility through a connection in their shared past. Breaking down a worthy adversary? Katana and her sword of souls might just be able to tackle that. And it wouldn't be a spring break without a Teen Titans beach trip! All these and more in DC's Spring Breakout! -eight breakout stories to put a spring in your step (is there a zit breakout story? You'll have to read to find out!)

TEEN TITANS: STARFIRE

7/2/2024

Written by Kami Garcia

Art by Gabriel Picolo

Kori Anders' summer job at a ritzy Santa Monica beach club is fun, but she doesn't care about keeping up with the current trends, and she's not interested in rushing around to all the parties. She'd rather explore her inexplicable draw to the stars or hang out with her new friend, Victor Stone. Her sister, Kira, on the other hand, is the most popular girl around. With the hottest clothes, an even hotter boyfriend (the Tate Fairweather), and a take-no-prisoners attitude, she's Kori's opposite in every way. Their summer heats up when Tate's uncle asks the girls to participate in an EDS study his pharmaceutical company is running. During treatment, Kori develops some strange powers she never had before...and she might not be the only one. Can Kori persuade her sister to trust her before it's too late? And when a carload of teens with their own powers come looking for her to warn her about a creepy stalker, she'll learn that trust is a two-way street!

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: In Need

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Ship: Joel Miller x you (cishet f reader)

Tags/warnings: Joel is hurt!, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Assault.

Summary: Ellie and Joel return to Jackson after their failed atempt to find the Fireflies. Joel is hurt and you're so scared for him that you almost miss Ellie's trauma. Kind of spoilers for S01E08.

Words: 1,522

A/N: Look I just need Joel and Ellie to return to the safety of Jackson after episode 8, OKAY??? I don't care that it probably won't fit the show's storyline. I needed this. (Could be seen as belonging to the same verse as The Birds and the Bees.)

It’s a late, icy afternoon when the gates of Jackson open to let in the hunting party – and with them, Joel and Ellie.

You are helping out with the recently born lambs. The type of sheep that the Jacksonites have often have more than two lambs at a time, making bottle feeding necessary. You’re holding up two bottles, one in each hand, for greedy little lambs when the door to the sheep pen opens, and Kenya runs in, startling the little ones.

”Joel and Ellie are back!”

You barely take time to reflect on the and Ellie part: you just hand the bottles over to Kenya, scramble to your feet, and rush out.

The party is dismounting, Ellie throwing herself into your arms as soon as she sees you. You’re too confused about her presence to say anything, just hug her close, happy to see her again. But she was supposed to be with the Fireflies...?

Your gaze goes to Joel, who’s staring at you from the back of the horse he’s still on. He looks pale and weak, and you slowly untangle from Ellie.

”What happened?” you ask, just as Joel slides down from the horse. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he wobbles, and has to hold onto the saddle to stay upright.

”Joel!”

You’re by his side in a heartbeat, your hands on his scruffy cheeks. Meeting his eyes, you can see that he’s feverish.

”Joel,” you whisper, hands going to the back of his neck, fingers losing themselves into his hair. When his forehead comes to a heavy rest against yours, he sighs deeply.

”I’m fine,” he says, before his kneees buckle and he collapses into your arms.

~

As Pearl, one of Jackson’s three physicians, examines Joel, you pace back and forth in the next room while Ellie tells you and Tommy, who’s sitting down and looking austere, about what happened. You shake your head at her story, your teeth clenched together so hard that you’re unable to say anything.

”Jesus,” Tommy draws a hand through his hair. ”Fuckin’ crazy. Are you okay, Ellie?”

”I’m good,” the girl immediately dismisses him, instead looking at you. ”Will Joel be alright?”

You want to reassure her, let her know that of course Joel will be okay, but a tremor has begun to travel through your body, and if you force your mouth to open now, you will break down.

”I’m sure he’ll be just fine.” Tommy comes to your rescue, his keen eye recognizing the first signs of shock in your behavior. ”Ellie... why don’t you go get yourself a hot meal? We’ll stay here, wait for news.”

”No way,” Ellie plants herself steadily in the chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest. ”I’m not going anywhere until I hear Joel’s okay.”

You can’t look at her, can’t fall to your knees in front of her, hug her, comfort her, tell her that everything will be okay. If you look at her, you’ll lose it, and you can’t do that, not in front of Ellie, this brave young girl who has already shown courage and strength beyond her years. She needs you to stay strong for her now, needs to know that you’re going to be strong for her and for Joel.

The door opens, and Pearl steps out. You’re in such a state that you don’t even see that she looks completely untroubled.

”He has an infection,” she begins, ”and he’s lost a lot of blood. I put him on antibiotics and we’ll see in a day or two if they work. If they do, there is no reason for him not to make a full recovery.”

”So he’ll be okay?” Ellie wants clarification. Pearl nods, an encouraging smile on her face.

”I don’t see any immediate risks. He’s weak, but stable. I’ll keep him here tonight just to make sure, but he’s a sturdy one.”

You don’t even hear the last words as you impolitely push past her into the room. On shaking legs, you make your way to the bed and sink down on the side of it.

Joel is awake. His eyes have a medicated drowsiness to them, but they’re fastened on your face as he pulls his hand from under the blanket, seeking out yours. Taking it and bringing it to your lips, you notice that his skin tastes salty. Then you realize that you’re crying.

”Darlin’,” he drawls, ”it’s fine. I’m fine.”

”Like – hell – you – are,” you hack in a strangled voice, your throat hurting from having held back the tears.

”Come ’ere...”

Very carefully, you lay down next to him and let him wrap his arm around your shoulders, as you wrap yours around his torso. Head on his shoulder, you let your tears wet his flannel. He says nothing, maybe because of the drugs, maybe because there is nothing to say as he patiently waits for you to run out of tears.

When you do, you notice Ellie and Tommy hovering in the doorway. Sitting up, you pass your sleeves over your face, take a deep, sniffling breath, and clear your throat. Ellie takes it for the signal it is, and comes up to the bed. She looks a little lost when she takes Joel’s hand.

”The doctor said you’ll be fine.”

”Of course I will,” Joel agrees, ”and that’s all thanks to you, kid.”

Ellie blinks, looking a little surprised.

”You saved my life,” Joel specifies, his voice thick. ”Twice. You risked your own life to save mine.”

”Just took a page out of your book,” she smiles a little bashfully, but you can see that she’s affected. Her sheepishness changes into alarm when Joel tries to sit up.

”The fuck are you doing, man?”

”Joel!” You stop him from moving any further with your hands firmly on his chest.

”What the hell, man?” Tommy chimes in from the foot end of the bed. His brother grunts in dissatisfaction.

”I’m going back to the house.”

”The doc said you gotta stay here,” Tommy admonishes him.

”I’m fine, I just need a good night’s sleep, and I want that in the comfort of – ” He stops there, not knowing what to call the bed that you shared for one night only before he continued alone with Ellie. He looks at you, as if seeking assistance.

”Joel, no,” you tell him softly. ”You need to stay here so that the doc can keep an eye on you.”

”Don’t need anyone but you.”

”We’re fucking exhausted,” Ellie tells him sharply. ”All of us. I sure as hell am not gonna scrape you off the floor when you fall over in the middle of the night.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you feel the corners of your mouth pull up. You look away in an attempt to hide it, but Ellie catches you, and starts to grin as well. Joel looks from you to Ellie, and then to Tommy, who shrugs.

”You’re outnumbered. I’ll tie you down myself to just keep you here.”

Joel grunts and lies back down – with some relief, you notice.

Pearl comes back in to usher you all away so that he can sleep, but Joel won’t let go of your hand.

”She stays,” he stubbornly insists. ”She stays, or I go.”

Pearl agrees, and Tommy and Ellie take their leave. Ellie stops by the door for one last glance back before pulling the door shut. The despondency in her eyes shakes you to the core.

”Ellie, wait.”

You rise from the bed and hurry after her, see the insecurity flicker in her eyes as she expects you to maybe be mad at her. Instead, you get down on your knees and embrace her tightly.

”Thank you,” you whisper. ”Thank you, Ellie, for saving him. Thank you for not leaving him.”

She draws a quivering breath against your neck, and hugs you back.

”You’re my family,” she murmurs, and you’re sobbing.

”Yes, we are.”

When Ellie leaves, you return to bed. There’s a spare blanket at the foot end of the bed, and you remove your boots and your coat before wrapping yourself in it, snuggling up to Joel. Finally alone, you kiss his dry lips, then his clammy forehead.

”She’s not okay,” Joel mumbles. ”She needs someone to talk to.”

”I know,” you nod, ashamed for your inability to deal with it right away. ”I know, I just... Joel...”

He blinks, desperately trying to stay awake for a just a while longer.

”I understand.” He knows your history, your experiences, your traumas. ”Stay with me... until I’m asleep. Then go to Ellie, okay?”

You nod, an odd sense of calm slowly filling you. Joel always had that effect on you.

”You’re my brave girl,” he now tells you, his voice growing more distant as he starts to drift. You scoff softly.

”She is. She’s so much braver than I ever was.”

Joel doesn’t reply: he’s out like a light. You stay nestled against him until you’re sure he’s asleep. Kissing his forehead one more time, you get up, get dressed, and go out to find Ellie.

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 28 June 1830, Joseph Grantham became the first officer of the new London Metropolitan Police to be killed in the line of duty, in an incident which was later deemed to be "justifiable homicide". Grantham tried to stop a fight between two drunk men in Somers Town, North London, and was then kicked to death. At the subsequent inquest, the jury determined that his killing was "justifiable" and that Grantham himself was responsible due to "over exertion in the discharge of his duty". The Met were the world's first modern, professional police force, created in 1829 and based in part on the experiences of the Royal Irish Constabulary, responsible for enforcing British colonial rule in Ireland. They were specifically designed to control the growing numbers of working class people, and break up strikes and demonstrations ideally without massacring people – as occurred in Peterloo 10 years prior, and which caused protests to escalate. As such, they were extremely unpopular, especially in working class areas of London, where a popular game for children was to hide in doorways until an officer walked past, at which point they would throw a brick or stone at him. Other police forces began to be created elsewhere, often by colonial authorities. For example in Kenya, the first police force was created by the Imperial British East Africa Company to protect their stores, and other police forces were established across the British empire. After colonised countries gained independence, in most cases police forces remained relatively intact. In the United States, the first forces in the North were set up to control working class crowds. In the South, many forces emerged from slave patrols, which were responsible for pursuing enslaved people who escaped, and deterring resistance by doling out brutal violence and terror. If you appreciate our historical work, please consider supporting us and accessing exclusive content here: https://patreon.com/workingclasshistory https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=651804640326088&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[fanaticsnail]

I remember you mentioned having a Mihawk playlist, and the way you manage to find songs that perfectly fit the vibes of your fics and enhance the reading experience is one of the things I love about your writing

So I was wondering if you could share some of the songs on your playlist? Or even some songs that you associate with certain characters/tropes/scenarios?

I always love it when you send me asks, @sexc-snail.

I absolutely DO have a Mihawk playlist. I share the playlist construction with another creator on Tumblr who I love, cherish and adore: @sordidmusings. We add to it as we write, recommend songs as they come to us to help with words in works.

I could get into a long, long rant about music so I will add a page break here ❤. Lots of song recs to follow for the OPLA cast so far.

I am a violinist; have been playing for 25 years this year (I AM GETTING OLD, JEEPERS CREEPERS). Music is a great, passionate love affair for me and I adore learning about songs and pieces new and old. Here are some recommendations for songs and vibes I associate with the characters and the tropes.

I never add lyrics to my fics so the readers can visualize their own favourite melodies where they see fit, but I do have tunes in mind when I write them. The only fic I've really centralised a song about is the "You Should Be Sad" Mihawk fic I wrote a while back and the Koby series I'm writing.

Here are some song recommendations: all songs are Spotify linked. Enjoy a peek into my madness.

For the Characters

Luffy:

Long Way Home: Walk off the Earth, Lindsay Stirling

Following the Sun: SUPER-Hi, NEEKA

La Isla Bonita: Madonna

Zoro

Work Song: Hozier

Promise: Voyager

Cold Shot: Stevie Ray Vaughan

Sanji

Love Story: Indila

Know You Girls: Franz Ferdinand

Family Line: Conan Grey

Nami (She gets four, because she's amazing and I love her)

Runaway: Aurora

My Mother Told Me: NATI, Cullen Vance, Jonny Stewart

Outside: Ellie Golding, Calvin Harris

Queen of the Kings: Alessandra

Usopp

Mechanical Instinct: Aviators

The Higher Ground: Red Hot Chili Peppers

Eastside: Benny Blanco, Halsey, Khalid

Buggy

Be Your Shadow: The Wombats

Gasoline: Halsey

I Wanna Be Your Slave: Maneskin

Shanks:

The One that Got Away: The Civil Wars

Atlantis: Seafret

Barton Hollow: The Civil Wars

Mihawk

Seven Nation Army: Postmodern Jukebox

My Heart With You: The Rescues

The Snake: Lana Lubany

Koby (He also gets four, because he deserves only good things, and because Morgan Davies is Aussie like me)

Grieve No More: Patty Gurdy

Siuil A Run: Ella Roberts

Mad World: Jasmine Thompson

Again: Flyleaf

Helmeppo

Fighter: Christina Aguilera

Torn: Natalie Imbruglia

Elastic Heart: Sia

Garp

Sharp Dressed Man: ZZ Top

Under a Violet Moon: Blackmores Night

Billie Jean: The Civil Wars

For the Tropes

Unrequitted Love (My all time favourite thing)

Wrecking Ball: Beth

Can't Help Falling in Love: Tommee Profitt, Brooke

I Found: Amber Run

Comptine d'un autre ete l'apres-midi: Yann Tierson

Derniere Danse: Indila

Only in my Mind: Kenya Grace

Over and Over: Three Days Grace

Broken Pieces: Apocalyptica Lacey

Too Close: Alex Clare

Stupid Heart: Sorana

Enemies to Lovers

FMLYHM: Sether

Closer: NIN

Hella Good: No Doubt

Play With Fire: Sam Tinnesz, Yacht Money

Why'd You Only Ever Call Me When You're High: Arctic Monkeys

For when they give into their feelings:

Surrender: Natalie Taylor

As the World Caves In: Sarah Cothran

Freeze You Out: Marina Kaye

Say Yes To Heaven: Lana Del Rey

For when they give up but feelings are still there

Lose you to love me: Selena Gomez

Liar: Camilla Cabello

Darkside: Alan Walker

Say My Name: David Guetta, Bebe Rexha, J Balvin

Only Love Can Hurt Like This: Paloma Faith

I See Red: Everybody Loves an Outlaw

If you made it this far, thank you. This was a labour of love. Happy listening ❤

[sky-daddy-hates-me]

Twelve Malawians have been deported from Israel after leaving the farms where they were working, to get higher salaries elsewhere. The 12 Malawians were among more than 40 foreign workers who were arrested while working at a bakery in Tel Aviv last week. The workers, who were part of a labour agreement between Israel and Malawi, were unhappy with working conditions in the agricultural sector and found work in a bakery instead. Israel's ambassador to Malawi Michael Lotem told the BBC: "Anybody who violates his visa terms will be deported – as easy as this, as in any country. "I hope it will be a sign for others that it is better to stick to the job. Nobody forced them to come, they came to do a job, they should do the job that is all." Last week, Benzani, a Malawian working in Israel, told the BBC that some of his compatriots working on other farms were being paid less than the minimum wage in Israel.

"The minimum wage in Israel is 32 shekels ($8.60; £6.85) an hour, but some of us are being paid 18 to 20 shekels an hour." Benzani said many of them had signed contracts which said they would receive $1,500 a month. Benzani is not one of those who were deported. Mr Lotem said that rather than leaving the farms and breaking the conditions of their visas, they should have lodged a complaint. “If someone thinks that he is not getting what he deserves, there is a hotline and a phone number they can call "Violating the law is not the answer. "The Israeli police shows zero tolerance to illegal activity especially these days when we have so many other troubles,” Mr Lotem said. Those deported were part of a labour drive by the Israeli government last year to fill a shortage of agricultural workers following October's deadly attacks on Israel by Hamas. This led Israel to stop giving permits to Palestinians to work on its farms, while 10,000 migrant farm workers - mostly Thai nationals - left Israel after war broke out. More than 200 Malawians went to Israel, while Kenya agreed to send 1,500 workers. The announcement of the deal sparked mixed reactions in Kenya, with some concerned about their safety. The two governments said it would help reduce unemployment in their countries. Mr Lotem also said that a new agreement had been signed for another 3,000 Malawians to go and work in Israel.

Imagine deporting someone because they wanted a job that actually paid the minimum wage