#I've been trying to stop but it is a very hard habit to break

[pb-dot]

It took me until episode 3 of Junior Year, but I've finally found out what I found kind of strange about the Theological (mis)Adventures Of Kristen Appelbees. To get ahead of the Kristen Discourse train for a second, this isn't a criticism of either of the show or Kristen, just an observation about cultural differences that might be interesting for someone who isn't me maybe? Fantasy High spoilers for all three seasons below the cut.

Ok, so this is about what religion is in the Fantasy High universe, and I suppose in D&D in general. At the start of Junior Year in particular, much hay is made over how Adaine's last deity YES!/YES? has ceased to be on account of being abandoned by its first and last follower, Kristen, who also did a so-so job at getting the good word out there. This ties in with the larger mechanics of the divine, which I will concede is very consistent, in that the gods rely on mortals for their ongoing existence, and also are shaped by their followers, see how Galicaea is a bit of a self-hating mess because her (majority high elven) worshippers would Very Much Not Prefer to talk about that whole werewolf/animalistic aspect of their goddess.

Now, this is a very human/sapient mortal/sapient almost-mortal-centric way to structure the universe of your story, which is what we've come to expect from Brennan and his knack for character-centric storytelling and general humanism. It is also, however, the structure that ends up putting what I would argue is an unreasonable amount of weight on the shoulders of the clerics of the world, including our favorite disaster lesbian.

Now, as a teen, I suppose it isn't unusual to feel like the whole world is on your shoulders. Hell, I suppose it's a feeling Kristen is very much used to as the ex-chosen of Helio. Still, even the abstract "my child will do everything right"-pressure kind of pales in comparison as far as mental stress is considered compared to "if I do not Class Well Enough this living thinking entity that functionally lives in my head and who I have personally picked a name for and now have a bit of a fraught relationship with will capital D-die and it will be my fault," which is frankly such a heavy narrative sword of Damocles that it makes me, as a viewer, too stressed. The stakes are too high, and for a school to require a teenager to navigate a relationship with the divine for a passing grade feels unreasonable even on a level past "getting your own school supplies and the school supplies are a frankly unreasonable amount of diamonds and other rare arcane items," or even "Fig has to start going to class" for that matter.

Granted, I'm sure this will read a lot closer to truth or storytelling-friendly truth simulacra for those who have gone through school with a learning disability or autism, ADHD, or other challenges that school has historically not been great at making allowances for, and the way the third episode, in particular, was very good at leading the thoughts in that direction did a lot to assuage my anxiety. "Relax, you're supposed to think this is a bullshit sort of situation to strand poor dear Kristen in, and her ending up in a similar holding pattern as she started Sophomore Year is a sign of her still not getting the help she needs, not an unflattering reflection on her or an unreasonable dickishness of the plot."

Now you may be asking "Hey Peebs, wasn't this supposed to be about some cultural stuff, what's with all the soul gazing?" and yes, you retain stuff well, at least as it pertains to rambling quasi-essays on streaming content. I'll get to the point I'm making anon.

Part of why the above situation and interaction between worldbuilding, character, and plot felt so gravely upsetting to me, I think, is because it does seem to follow what I've come to understand as a uniquely American understanding of religion, or perhaps if I were to make a less sweeping statement, an understanding of religion that differs from my own and from most models of religion in Europe that I know of personally.

Just to lay my cards bare before I go on, I am not religious myself, in most aspects I'm staunchly atheist and/or agnostic. I have, however, grown up around religion, as being religious, and Protestant Christian in particular is viewed as the norm in Norway. The Norwegian Monarch is required by law to be protestant Christian, no-one's forced to go to church as a part of schooling but at least when I was young it was heavily encouraged, leading me to Christmas vacation being heralded with a school-sponsored semimandatory church service where one might sing psalms with lyrics like "Gud Er Gud om alle mann var døde/ Gud Er Gud om alle land lå øde" (God is God if all men were dead / God is God if all fields were barren [alternatively: all lands were desolate]. My translation.) Granted, Norway is a bit of an outlier in Europe in that much of our adherence to religion can be viewed as an adherence to tradition, although I will concede that might be the atheistic contrarian in me speaking.

Either way, this idea of "god's there whether you believe in Him or not, dude" seems typical of the European approach to the Abrahamic religions to me, and to the degree that the individual is considered at all it is in the "ok, so how do I save my own sinful ass in all of this" sense, whether the saving is in a vague uplifting sense Protestants seem to favor or the "or God is going to kick my ass most severely..."-vibe that Catholics seem to go for.

American religion, especially the practice of evangelical protestant Christianity, seems to be a lot more invested in the role of the individual. God needs soldiers as the worrying rhetoric will occasionally go, and to be a good soldier one must not only be A Good Person and Do Good Things, but one must also seek to proselytize and grow God's ranks. The question of religion and its role in society has little to do with tradition and is only interesting in the fate of the soul as a passing concern in the form of cosmic justice or retribution. On a societal level in evangelicism, religion is a question of the soul of society, and the only way to countenance the sources of evil in the world, be they real or imagined, is to spread the word, to convert, and to maintain a level of purity and cohesion that seems to always be just outside of reach.

I can imagine this is a deeply stressful way to live your life, just the thought of not being good enough for a divine being strikes me personally as absurd, but I digress.

It's not exactly a stated dogma of evangelical protestantism that God Needs Humans, but it is very easy to extrapolate it from the way the evangelical movement seems to answer the Problem Of Evil with the seeming cosmically ordained need for human struggle, I.E there is evil because god wants to/needs to test us and/or because god can not rid the world of evil without also ridding humans of their free will. It is perhaps related to how the evangelical blocs will have convictions with religious zeal about otherwise secular questions, such as women's healthcare and foreign politics, albeit part of that is no doubt just good ol' fundamentalism, which isn't a uniquely American idea but boy howdy has it taken root over there.

So that sure was a lot of words to say "The idea of the Cleric being a necessity for a divine being/god to exist in FH seems strange to peebs because Peebs grew up in a culture that's dominated by a version of Christianity that doesn't believe in a personal relationship with God or in the possibility of affecting any change on the divine or His Plan (TM)" huh? Well, I've been trying to dissect my own reaction to the initial Junior Year storyline for a bit now. It has been an interesting journey of discovery since I haven't really been blindsided by an aspect of American culture for a while now. I guess this one snuck under the radar because a lot of American media strives to be secular but not too much so, to not alienate potential viewers and as such ends up being kind of mealy-mouthed and centrist when it comes to questions of faith.

I guess this is another notch in the belt of my "give serialized storytelling that isn't inherently absurd or abhorrent to you three episodes to stretch its legs before you make any judgments"-approach, huh?

[xllizs]

thinking about touya todoroki who after waking up from his coma, has HORRENDOUS HAND WRITING. now believe me, he has great grammar. Endeavor definitely made sure during touyas training that he could write well, had good grammar, etc. but after a 3 year coma, (and practically being burnt alive), he kinda had to get used to writing again.

cw: none, fluff but like not at all..? idk just a ramble

.......

texting is easy for him. he definitely uses capitals when he starts sentences.

“Hey, I’m stopping by the gas station for cigarettes. You need anything?” - a message from touya

very formal - even as a villain, it’s just a habit.

but when you saw his hand writing… it was… something.

“stop being an asshole.” he scowls, “it’s been like 3 years”

You try to hold in a giggle, but it’s too hard. “touya, is that a ‘P’ or an ‘F’? i genuinely can’t tell.”

“the fuck you mean? its a p.” he rolls his eyes

“how about you just tell me what you want from the store and i’ll write it?”

“whatever.”

————

- MESSAGES -

Touya: Shigaraki is pissing me off, I don’t know what time I’ll get back.

You: awww okkk oh btw i got u smth 4 dinner earlier so js lemme know when u think ur coming back

Touya: What the fuck did you just say to me?

You: wdym

Touya: Do you know how to speak like a normal fucking person? Read 8:47 PM

Touya: Hello?

You: i don't wanna hear it from someone w/ handwriting that nobody understands.

-----

xllizs notes: I've awakened from my writing break, i have like 20 fanfic ideas - hope u enjoyed this little thing <3

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Rough Waters ~ P.P.

A/n: Added a little bit more than what the request asked for. Hope you like it!

Request: “Tasm!peter x male reader, where Pete and reader been having a rough time in their relationship to where Peter asks if reader wants to break up” by anon

Word Count: 1700+

MASTERLIST

"Where have you been?"

Peter frozen, mask in hand as he heard his partner's voice. He turned slowly - like a teenager caught coming home past curfew. He hesitated, analyzing their expression and body language to try to grasp whether they were anxious or angry. What time was it? He was in costume - they knew exactly where he'd been, which meant the problem was something else. Had he forgotten an anniversary or birthday? A performance? Had he stayed out too late and forgotten to message his boyfriend?

There were too many possibilties.

Y/n was especially hard to read tonight, which meant he was even more upset than usual. Peter braced himself. "Out."

That was not the right thing to say. Y/n's face turned a light shade of red as he tried very hard to keep calm and talk slowly. Calmly. "Okay. I'll give you that one." His eyes dropped to Peter's suit and for a second the most visceral rage crossed his face, before he smoothed it out again and met Peter's eyes. "I'm assuming you forgot then."

Peter shrugged, defensive. Always defensive. "I've got a lot going on Y/n, I forget."

"You forget," Y/n scoffed. The words curled from his lips like they were almost laughable, almost offensive. "I know you forget Peter. You forget, a lot."

He swallowed, wringing his mask. He felt cornered and he never responded well when he felt cornered. "What did I forget? Don't just leave it up in the air."

The calm coming from Peter seemed to make Y/n angrier. "No. I'm not going to remember everything for you. And don't you dare-" He rushed as Peter went to argue again, cutting him off before he could. "-start with me about how busy you are. I know you are busy Peter Benjamin." Ooh, middle name. This was very bad then. "If it was something I at least cared about I'd let it slide. I'm more than used to that. But May?"

His words hurt, but nothing knocked the breath out of his lungs like thinking he'd let May down. "What? Y/n you can't hold this from me, what did I forget?"

Y/n scoffed, turning away and heading further into the apartment. He seemed done with the conversation.

Peter wasn't though. He chased his boyfriend, his own anger growing. This wasn't something they could work through together - May was waiting for something from him. Y/n was holding him back from doing something for his aunt. This wasn't a small thing - this was huge. May didn't know Peter was Spider-Man. Had Y/n given him an excuse again? Was she okay? "Y/n-" He reached out, grabbing his boyfriend's arm in a desperate attempt to get him to stop.

Usually Y/n would pull away from him, spin around and start going off. Reprimand him and tell him everything and then they'd argue and after a while maybe cry and then they'd hold each other because it felt like their relationship was falling through their fingers. They did it every time anything went wrong - it was habit. Easy to play out. Every step was expected. Pre-written.

Except Y/n just stopped walking away. He froze, feet together, still looking away from Peter. It was so unexpected, so cold and far away, that it made Peter panic more than he'd ever panicked in their relationship before. He was stiff solid for a beat before he was falling forward, feet tripping to keep up as he made his way around Y/n. The man's eyes were blank. Empty. There was no anger on his face anymore, just... emptiness. He look exhausted.

"Y/n-" Peter began.

"It was May's birthday."

There was a long silence. It went on maybe even too long as Peter's will to fight suddenly left him. It was immediately gone - like a light switch turned off. He had been forgetful recently, scattered and distant. But.. surely he wouldn't forget that. Not something so important. He'd always rushed to keep himself busy. Work, Spider-Man, relationship. Or... arguing. Fighting. Had that really been every part of his life recently? Sure he did other things -

But, no. He couldn't think of a single other thing he'd done. Sleep, eat, shower, brush teeth, work, Spider-Man, come home and argue. When had arguing become part of the routine? When had the days started to blend together, every single one identical to the last? How had so much time passed without him even realizing it?

How long had they been like this?

He looked at Y/n, a horrible feeling sinking in his skin, settling in his rib cage. An ache. "We're not working anymore, are we?" He knew why Y/n didn't fight this time. Why he'd given up. There was nothing to fight for. Not when all they did was argue.

Y/n didn't even sigh, or shrug. He just sat on the bed. No hands through his hair. He didn't seem angry of frustrated or even sad. Just tired. It was more of an answer than he could have ever given with words. "We haven't worked for a very long time, Peter."

Peter sat on the other side of the bed, mask still in his hands, dangling between his legs. They sat like that for a very long time, backs to each other. It seemed silly, but he had to ask it out loud. "Do you want to break up?" His voice sounded heavy, hollow. It didn't even shock him. He realized it still hurt... but he'd seen this coming for a long time. That was why he was avoiding it, after all. He didn't want to address it. He had always been one to bury his head and pretend nothing was wrong.

This time Y/n did sigh. "Yeah." No argument. No fight. Just one, single word. It was so final, Peter didn't say anything else. He didn't even look up as the weight on the bed lifted and a few sounds here and there began to be made. A zipper, drawers opening and closing, a few doors opening and closing. Until - "You were worth it. In the end. I'm glad we got the time we did." A pause and then, "Peter?" When he didn't say anything, Y/n went silent. Then the bedroom door closed, and the apartment door opened, and then closed again.

The rest of the night was silent.

-

The daycare was loud. Peter was only here because May had asked him for a favor. Her neighbor had been caught up with something and needed someone to pick up her son. The first time had been a few months ago, and he had volunteered to pick the kid up for her as often as he could since then. It helped her out and... and...

Y/n was helping Michael - the child Peter was supposed to pick up - with his jacket. Y/n had kneeled down, and was laughing at some story Michael was telling. He looked breathtaking. All the weight from his shoulders gone, seeming to have slept very well. Brighter than before. He looked up when Peter approached, and not a lick of recognition was in his eyes. Peter thought back to the other world, with the two other Peters and the villains they'd fought together. The spell that would send everyone home and make everyone forget about Peter Parker.

Everyone.

He swallowed, forcing himself to collect himself. Y/n's eyes light up in the way they always did when he was looking at something he found wonderful. Or someone attractive. They'd seen each other from a distance so often. Y/n was usually busy with one of the other kids who favored him, a little girl with green eyes that always begged him to help her get her shoes on. Today she was with one of the other teachers though. Peter tried to dismiss the thought that Y/n might have arranged this on purpose.

"Hey little dude," he greeted Michael first, grinning as the toddler waddled up to him, hands reaching up. Peter scooped him up. Michael launched into a story about play time where they'd pretended to be Spider-Man. Peter felt his heart warm. He'd only been back from the other world for a year - and undoing his tarnished reputation had been hard work. But some people saw the old Spider-Man, and they were slowly opening up to him again. Glad to see him doing better. Some people didn't - but some people never would have in the first place, so he didn't hold it against himself too harshly.

In the middle of the story, Y/n chuckled. "Right?" Michael asked the teacher, as if remembering he was there for the first time. "You got the bad guy!"

Y/n blushed. The way Michael had been telling the story, Peter had assumed the boy had been playing Spider-Man. But, in that moment, it clicked that Y/n had been playing the hero, leaving the mischievous villain to the youth. "Spider-Man always gets the bad guy. That's what heroes do." Peter's breath caught. he hadn't heard Y/n call him a hero in a very long time. His unknowing ex looked over, suddenly sheepish "Sorry, I know- um- not a lot of people approve of Spider-Man. I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," Peter was quick to reassure. "His mom is a fan of Spider-Man. But even if she wasn't, I wouldn't rat you out." He winked, as if they were conspirators, and he watched Y/n's face turn red. It was so easy to pick up on all their little hints and expressions - they were still so familiar to him. He hadn't forgotten a single detail of them, even after all this time. He had gone to another world, cleaned up his act, and even started therapy.

Maybe a second chance wouldn't be too out of the question. He could do it better this time.

"A trust worthy guy," Y/n mused. "Does he keep his promises?"

Peter thought on it. Y/n had said something similar the first time he had flirted with Peter too. He'd follow it up with, 'maybe you can promise me dinner then?' or something. But it was a real question - one Peter hadn't taken seriously enough the first time it was asked. "I try to."

Y/n's face light up with a smile. "Maybe you could promise we a coffee and if you succeed keeping that one, we can make a few more after that."

It was better than last time, so quickly on a better foot already. Peter smiled. "Yeah. I'd love that."

Y/n had been right the night he'd left. Peter was glad they'd met, and their love was worth all of the mess they'd gone through to experience it. This time, Peter would try harder though. This time it would work. He was sure of it.

-

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

[eggtartz]

a/n : inspiration from that one scene in bj alex 🤭

masterlist

summary : trying to stop hanma's habit

cw : slight smut, established relationship, hanma loves your tits

you see, you loved your husband so much but the thing is his habit is getting out of hand. being concerned for his health is one thing, another thing is you were getting annoyed with the tobacco scent too. in one of your heated arguments, he did said that he's trying very hard to break the habit he has developed since he was a teen. so you two has settled down for him to try and reduce the amount of cigarettes he smokes in a day rather than stopping the habit at once.

the thing is, hanma isn't bothering to try anymore.

"honey can you grab the lighter for me?" he said while eyes are still attached to the movie. your glares go unnoticed by him but you reached for the lighter anyway that is until you got an idea. since he was so distracted with whatever the television is showing him, you bit your lip and slipped the lighter inside the padding of your bra then sat quietly there.

"doll?" you gave no care so hanma reached out to your side so he touched your stomach perfectly for you to execute your plan. you grabbed his hand and straddled him now he's under you while you're on his lap. "it's not there shuji, you can find it somewhere here though" you said while guiding his hands to your chest, his hand now grabbing on of them.

hanma smirked while adjusting his long limbs to his comfort and took off his glasses. "someone's needy tonight?"

"not needy shuji, just need you off the cigarette"

he grabbed your boobs againts the silk shirt and massaged them, making you moan in relief. he then pulled the shirt off you and massaged them again, as if your boobs are stress balls customized for him. "hm, the girls are sensitive doll. has it been that long since i've given you any attention?"

you nodded and gasped when your husband unclasped your bra and latched his mouth on your nipple. the lighter that fell out from the bra was cared less as your hand went to pull his hair, not to hard but enough pressure to turn him on. the other hand was still massaging your tits while his mouth exchanged between your nipples making you cry out of pleasure.

breathing for air, he looked up at you and gave your neck purple hickeys while you rubbed your clothed pussy on his bulge that made him hiss with the contact. "yeah mama, ride me just like that? use me to get off"

you rubbed againts him harder while he peppered kisses on your boobs, your nipple now hard again. "fuck love your tits so much, they say your tits get bigger when you're pregnant. wanna try having kids mama?" he stated while nudging his bulge againts your sensitive core that snapped the knot, you screaming as you overstimulate your release with slowly riding him again.

"oh it's all wet now. wanna take it out and clean it for me doll?" say less you were already on your knees, tits bouncing in the process.

hanma thought this might be your plan to get him away from the smokes. and it's fucking working.

[pagannatural]

2.13 Houses of the Holy

- Religious plot begins in earnest. Sam is Able and Eve and original sin and also Christ dying for those sins. He is Dean’s disciple. Dean is Cain and Adam and the Holy Spirit and God. Their conflict is destiny/blood/family vs free will/choice/love, the pure vs the tainted vs the merely human. The muddy non-dichotomous nature of love and of good and evil.

So far the question of the brothers saving each other and the world has been self-contained: only Dean can save or kill Sam, and in doing so, himself. In other words only Sam can succumb to evil and damn his brother or retain his humanity and his brother. Their struggle is religious by definition. Religion in supernatural is characterized by the trinity of good, evil, and human, and the brothers are twin souls who need each other to stay human. Sam needs to overcome his shame and belief that he isn’t chosen, that he doesn’t belong; Dean needs to overcome his guilt and belief that he can never be enough. The threat of them losing their humanity and free will is literal as they will learn they’re destined to become vessels, but they don’t know that yet.

- Dean is lying on the motel bed listening to “Hair of the Dog”. Right when Sam walks in these lyrics are playing in his ears:

Heartbreaker, soul shaker/I've been told about you/Steamroller, midnight stroller/What they've been saying must be true

These lyrics pertain to Sam and his fate. This song was chosen very intentionally, it’s shown on Dean’s iPod screen. It’s foreshadowing. And Sam is Dean’s heartbreaker soul shaker.

Sam stands there next to a partition decorated with burlesque silhouettes of women, watching Dean’s body being shaken on the bed. It’s kind of a weird image. Dean looks like sleeping beauty the way the bed is lit. Or like a main course.

“You’re enjoying that way too much, it’s kind of making me uncomfortable” Sam says while looking up at the wall behind Dean exactly like he did when he was trying to avoid staring at Dean’s ass in an earlier episode. Very heaven-help-me.

His discomfort seems like attraction. I want to break down this scene because it’s played as a joke, like it’s funny that Dean is so hedonistic, but he’s essentially just using the massage function on the bed. He’s fully clothed and he’s listening to music, just chilling. He’s bored. So the joke is either that this isn’t really that intimate and yet Sam is so uncomfortable for Some Reason that he’s having a hard time looking straight at Dean, or that Sam really has walked in on an intimate moment and he responds by staring and going up to Dean all flustered and asking him to stop. Either way, Sam is watching Dean experience pleasure, and gulping because of it.

It highlights that Sam is uninterested in sex, and food, and pleasure in general, and it bothers him that Dean is. Sam later calls it Dean’s “sick habit” and tells him he’s like one of those lab rats that pushes the pleasure button instead of the food button until it dies.

I noticed recently that even in the pilot, Sam is shown kissing Jessica and acting loving with her, but the shot of them in bed has them apart and Sam facing away from her in his sleep. It’s Dean who ogles her in her underwear. Sam has been shown clinging to Dean, sleeping facing him, checking him out, and chastising him for his womanizing. The one woman he kissed was for Dean’s benefit. Sam’s relationship with his sexuality is consistently shown linked directly to Dean. Maybe exclusively to Dean at this point.

After this exchange, Sam goes into the bathroom and washes his hands for Some Reason. Because he’s feeling unclean?

-interesting how the killers’ houses shake like there’s an earthquake before what they think is an angel appears to them- the second guy is even lying on his bed when it starts shaking. Dean is on his shaking bed when Sam appears to him at the motel, like Sam is his angel.

-Dean says Sam has him on lockdown. So Sam insisted that Dean stay back for his safety. He’s looking out for him, always asking Dean to stay safe.

-Sam believes in angels and god because of the monsters they hunt, Dean doesn’t believe in angels or god because of the monsters they hunt. The difference in the way their beliefs developed is that Dean believed in angels as a small child until his mom burned to death and he learned monsters are real, whereas Sam was certainly never encouraged to believe in religion and had to find something to cling to in the chaos and uncertainty of how he was raised. Sam felt unclean or like something was wrong with him so he tried to separate himself from the monsters. Dean believed he wasn’t good enough so he chose not to believe in a god that was a disappointment and that he believed he would surely disappoint.

- Sam tells Dean he prays every day, which Dean didn’t know. He acts like this is some kind of betrayal. I think the betrayal is literally just that he didn’t know and he wants to know every single thing about Sam.

-Sam collapses after seeing what he thinks is an angel, and Dean gets on his knees to put both hands on him. He keeps touching him when they’re walking out. He hauls Sam to his feet bodily.

This frame is so good because Dean is glaring at the angel statue and Sam is looking up at Dean.

Sam wants to be chosen by an angel. He thinks that would mean he’s good. He felt left behind and second-best by his dad, and felt that Dean would choose hunting and John over him for much of his life. He realizes now that Dean chooses him.

-Dean makes sure the woman he saves is okay and has a cell phone and tells her to call 911 before he runs after her assailant. He cares more about the wellbeing of the victim than he does about catching the bad guy.

-when Sam says “you were right” Dean gives him this look that’s so full of love, it’s plain that Dean doesn’t care about being right. He just sees his little brother in pain and wants to make it better.

-Sam sits down so that he’s looking up at Dean during their conversation. He has tears in his eyes talking about wanting to be saved. Dean tells Sam “I’m watching out for you”

Sam doesn’t doubt Dean’s dedication to him and desire to protect him. But doesn’t think Dean can save him, and more importantly he’s afraid he can’t save himself. He sees Dean as fundamentally good and strong but he also harbors judgment toward Dean for needing him. It’s protective for Sam to not need anyone, which is why his arc deals with the isolation of shame. Religion can’t save him because it doesn’t make him believe he is good, and because ultimately it leaves him alone.

-Dean tells him that he witnessed “God’s will” the way that the perp was just killed in front of him. He’s letting himself hope and giving Sam hope. They’ve both seen so much chaos and evil, they need to believe there’s good and meaning in the world. Dean’s doubt challenges his beliefs about the world and himself, and it’s his words that give Sam the hope he needs.

-episode is about lost souls and purpose. A series of people who the show depicts as lost are given a sense of meaning and belonging to something bigger than themselves, but the problem is that they don’t question it—they simply obey, acting as if without free will. They’re wrong, but they’re happy and full of certainty. Sam and Dean are lost too, but they’re unable to have blind unquestioning faith. The result is that they do good: Dean protects and shows kindness to a woman who was attacked, Sam facilitates a way for a spirit to be put to rest. But they have doubt, which means they also have fear. And they’re left knowing that they have themselves and each other. It’s meant to be complicated and frightening and painful because that’s what it means to be human, and that’s where love and compassion live.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

wibta if i refused to help my classmates going forward?

i am in university for a science degree. i have been struggling for almost my entire degree due to undiagnosed ADHD and autism, as well as my habit from grade school of working myself too hard. i went into burnout from 2020-2022 and failed most courses i took. i had to cut down on my work significantly so i could stay in university and finish my degree. it's been 5 years and i'm just over halfway finished. the end's not in sight yet, but it's getting there.

this semester, i'm taking two courses that i've struggled in previously and am retaking actually. the term will most likely be over once this is posted. one i've finished twice but didn't have a high enough grade to move forward (chemistry) and the other i've dropped 2 times before to avoid failing (calculus). the subject areas might give more context, and my chemistry course isn't introductory. they're also notoriously very difficult, and most people end up retaking this chemistry course several times. they're both needed for my degree and a similar degree. someone in both classes (2 different people) made group chats specifically so we could help each other. at first it was a very good idea, and i myself benefitted from them, managing to get a really high mark on a math assignment because of the group chat and sharing our work/processes.

this term is the one term we have a mid-semester break, and while the details are irrelevant here, i went away during this break, and i came back in a fairly poor mental state. i didn't want to share my work anymore, and said i was uncomfortable doing so. this got me mocked (i believe, but no one's commented on it or said anything to me about it) in my math class group chat when i asked for the notes after having to leave class early due to the noise. i have misophonia, and i was incredibly close to shouting "shut the fuck up" one say when they honestly just wouldn't stop talking. it's been a problem this term in this class where several groups in the class have been chatting amongst themselves during lecture. my friend (i think we're friends?) emailed our professor (i think i was named in the email), and he addressed the class about it, but as a whole, has told me directly that there wasn't much else he could do about it since they might be talking to each other to understand better.

at this point, there's only about 3 weeks left of classes and then finals, so it's not worth dropping out, especially since i don't think i'm in danger of failing. but that was all kind of just background info. it's been a rough semester for me.

in my chemistry class, we have weekly lab reports. they aren't huge, 10+ page reports, and i can usually do them in about 2-3 hours of work total. i usually work on them in small pieces throughout the week, so i can focus on other assignments as well as lectures. they're due at the beginning of lab, and we have lab on friday afternoons. this wouldn't be an issue if not for thursdays.

at the beginning of the semester, i made myself kinda known as Someone Who Has Answers. i like to help people when they're struggling, and i know that these are difficult classes, and i have past experience taking them with these instructors specifically, so i helped in any which way i could. after our mid-semester break, i was in no mood to help anyone. but on thursday evenings and friday mornings, i would get text messages from a few people asking me about the lab report. but not just a few messages. i would get asked on EVERY BIT of the lab report. i try to be patient, as i understand hidden struggles. but i was at the end of my rope. i never snapped, and i always tried to help them, but sometimes i was very frustrated because on thursdays, i have 2 classes (doesn't sound like a lot, but at my school, my lectures are 2-3 hours long, so it's about 5 hours total of lectures) at two different campuses, so i leave at about 7:30am and get home at about 5:30-6:00pm. it's my night to clean the kitchen as well, so my patience is very thin at the end of the day. i never agreed to help them, and they are texting me. i don't know how to tell them "i'm in no mood to help" but it made me so upset to the point that i was saying that next semester, i wouldn't give my number to anyone. i'm not a tutor, and i'm struggling to stay afloat myself in these classes. i don't have all of the answers, and tbh i'm not even confident on most of my answers. i've tried to make this clear, but they still come to me for help. next semester, i'm retaking ANOTHER course that i failed (not failed, but didn't get a high enough mark to move forward) and i honestly feel like a dick for not helping when i could and should help.

this is probably a nonissue tbh. i'm on the verge of dropping out myself because i took on too much this semester and this just kinda feels like it's all more than i can handle.

What are these acronyms?

[f1orza]

Austrian GP thoughts, sorry if I'm not very articulate 🤓 just rambled really not proofread cause I'm busy

Do I think the collison was Max's fault? Yes. Do I think that the contact was inevitable and BOTH of their faults? Also yes.

Max shouldn't have moved during the breaking but they were both driving aggressive. They both wanted to be first, they both know what's it's like to be first and they won't settle for second now. I think in Lando's case he seen that if he wants to be first he has to try harder? Or that you actually have to be "agressive" to get onto that top step.

Do I think Lando was being childish? Yes. And I'm saying this as a McLaren fan.

Though I also think that any sport where you're fighting for first is inherently a bit childish. Might just be because I have siblings and we always used to fight over first place as kids 🤷🏽‍♀️idk

That doesn't justify Lando's response. Even when you're upset and running on adrenaline, you should be able to be handle your emotions I think. (I know as humans it can be hard) but if you're on live tv being broadcasted to millions of people...you should have a better handle on you're emotions; even if you feel you've been wronged, because no one will listen to you if you are acting like that. If you're levelheaded about it people are more likely to listen,(woman experience this all the time.) He needs to work on that and on taking responsibility as well, because the blame isn't 100% on Max.

That's one thing I can say about Max, I wasn't here for the "Mad Max" era but from videos and word of mouth, I can tell he's matured a lot and you can definitely see it. Max had every reason to be upset after this race (but not really), he had a good lead against Lando until RB's slow pit stop and then he went from first to fifth and some might say that's not bad, he still got points, and etc. That's not the point - his race was still affected but he did not go on live tv and speak badly on his friend.

They need to - like Max said - cool down and speak about it afterwards. I personally don't think it is worth ending a friendship with someone I considered a good friend but maybe they see it differently idk. It's something they need to talk about before the next race. And if they believe that it was worth losing a friend over, especially when they know this is situations that happen in racing then....

And I've seen a lot of people mentioning Lando still wouldn't have been first, even with the 5 sec penalty, he would'v been second with George being over 10 secs behind, I can understand why he believed Max ruined his race.

Some of y'all have a very bad habit of taking things fans do out on the drivers. If the FANS keep voting him DOTD that has nothing to do with him, if you want others to win then yall might need to vote more ig 🤷🏽‍♀️ and the chanting on the podium is again rude and nasty behavior but that again has nothing to do with Lando, I can promise you even if he would speak out it will not change anything, people will do what they want and what they feel they are entitled to do. I've seen it happen in so many fandom spaces, some people just don't care. Lewis has told people not to hate George after last race and I can guarantee that there is still people that do.

Now I've also seen people talking about Lando's attitude, I agree on some things and disagree on others. And this isn't me being a "Lando crazy fangirl" trying to justify his actions but I'm just telling it how I see it. So if you disagree okay, but do not start shit with me okay? 🙃 cause I know y'all like to fight around here 🤥

I think Lando feels stuck in that wasted potential. Where people having saying for years you have the potential to be a champion and even with all the hardwork you do, it doesn't feel like it's being shown. And especially as someone who went so long without a first win. Everyone's saying McLaren made a mistake by re-signing you or that your teammate is more deserving of the first seat. You feel like you're letting people down: you're team, family, fans and yourself. Not to mention all the hate you've been getting for NOT winning, then you'll definitely be in a bad headspace. And now that's he's won and KNOWS he can win, he'll want it all the more. He has the fastest car on the grid right now, he IS a good driver (contrary to what some of you believe), and he is a bit more optimistic than last year. Now that first is within his grasp, he's been hungry to get a second one. And I think he's been a bit overconfident about it, but that's honestly all drivers, I think if you are upset about Lando's ego but not other like Ocon than you dislike Lando for other reasons and are just finding excuses now. Even more so knowing he is second in the championship standings. Now that you know you're capable of being first you wouldn't want to settle for second, just like Max. Max constantly talks about not being there for second place but many of the other drivers feel that way, Lando is clearly one of them.

Do I think Max should have just let him go by? no. Because this IS racing and if you want to be first and become a champion you have to work for it. Max has never been the kind of guy to just let you pass him, not even for a friend. So Lando needs to understand that if he wants to keep fighting Max in the future. If you want to prove everyone right or wrong, only YOU can do that and by being overly eager and dangerous, well it clearly doesn't work in your favor 😭 (sorry lando 🤧). Only thing is you do is improve yourself and I'm not surprised that Max is a champion when he is always driving be it racing or sim. If your competitor's are doing a 100% you need to be doing 200%, that's the only way to get to the top.

[hai7ani]

CHERRY BLOSSOMS haitani rindou

sfw, nothing happens

home collection | playlist

part ii / i just want you to take me where your heart is.

Rindou is having trouble falling asleep.

He's got a 10 o'clock with the higher ups first thing in the morning. Rindou vividly remembers asking his direct supervisor, Kimura-san on what the meeting is about as soon as he was notified about it.

He’s thought it through -- there is no reason for them to want to see him personally (he’s sure he’s never given them one), nor does he remember doing anything that might have seem out of line, or perhaps appeared a little too out of place in the company. A meeting of only him with the higher ups? It's scary even for someone like Haitani Rindou to face.

"That's exactly it, Haitani. You've been a bit too out of place lately."

Fuck-

"And by that, I mean, you've been showing off brilliant work."

" . . . Excuse me?"

Kimura-san chuckles and brings a wrinkled hand up to pat his junior's back as they walk side by side together through the long corridor that leads to the break room. Rindou fixes his tie out of habit and holds a sealed envelope tight in his hand -- the paper almost crumpled -- as he brings himself together to listen to his senior's words.

"You've been doing great, Haitani. Awesome performance, extremely satisfying work and you're very punctual. Believe me, I'm glad I chose the right person to nominate for this promotion. I've been watching you ever since you started working here as a clerk, and I have to say, I'm proud of you, boy. You've been working hard every day for . . . How long has it been? Five months? Your dedication is worth congratulating. Keep it up, young man. And don't worry about the meeting, it's all part of the promotion process. You'll be fine."

Though Kimura-san's attempt at comforting him worked that day, it certainly failed miserably today. It's less than 7 hours to when he'll soon be standing in front of a conference room facing the Chief Executive and his subordinates, and he doesn’t know why.

What if it goes bad and it's not the kind of meeting that Kimura-san said it would be? What if they're there to tell me I'm rejected for the promotion? Or even worse, fired and-

Rindou suddenly hears a certain conversation of Ran and himself echoing in his head. The loud yet timid 16 year old Rindou and the childish and arrogant 17 year old Ran, that is.

"Keep up that long face and I'll smack you right square, bro. I've taught you better than this. Stop doubting everything and believe it'll go well instead. Determination pays off, you know."

"Idiot. You think everyone in the world is capable of chasing a girl their first time? Especially someone like me?"

"Why wouldn't they? Why wouldn’t you? Look, I've made sure that she likes you back. Shion even told her about how you'd waited 2 hours for her to get off work jus’ to walk her home the other day. Trust me, shitty brother, she's definitely into you too."

"Shion did what?" "You heard me."

"And about that, of course everyone is capable, because I did it." Ran proudly flashes a hardcopy of him and a girl hugging with a cheeky grin. The older boy never misses a chance at showing off, especially to his younger brother who is absolutely sick of him. Rindou moves closer to get a proper look and immediately recognises her as the girl in Ran’s class he’s been courting for months. They’re high school sweethearts now? Unbelievable.

He scoffs at the older boy, "you really did it, huh?"

There’s a certain warm and proud feeling swarming in Rindou’s chest as he gapes at the lovesick grin stuck on Ran’s stupid face. It’s what he deserves, Rindou thought. Ran’s been through hell and back trying to court this girl.

Neither young Ran nor young Rindou knows that in 15 years time, Rindou would be calling Ran's high school sweetheart his sister-in-law and stealing recipes and life hacks from.

"Fuck yeah, dude. So like I said, just do it now or you'll miss your chance and regret it for-fuckin'-ever. Also, just for your information, 'cause I'm Haitani Ran and I'm also your big bro and feel the extreme need to tell you," Ran nods his head to the direction behind Rindou. "There's a guy hitting up your missus at the counter."

Rindou has never snapped his head back so fast.

He sees a man who's about a year or two older than him holding a piece of paper and pen to you by the counter, his mouth moving a lot and you’re listening intently.

Rindou immediately regrets not learning how to lip read.

Though he is certain the man must have said something out of line because he sees you adjusting the collar of your uniform and you’re biting your lip nervously. He knows you by your habits and by looking at that, he's sure you’re feeling uncomfortable by the man’s presence. Rindou wants nothing more than to smack the sly smirk off the man’s face right away, so he stands up.

He'll win this fight.

The loud creak of the wooden chair sliding against the marble floor catches your attention and you shake your head at him with a frown.

I’m fine.

Rindou understands that much from your eyes and sits back down again, with Ran who has an arm hooked behind the chair observing he situation with an amused smirk.

The idiot lives for chaos. "Maybe this'll teach him a lesson." Ran murmurs beneath his breath as he observes how Rindou's leg is bouncing anxiously against the marble beneath his shoe, watching you and the man like a hawk.

You have a soft smile plastered on your lips as you bow at him politely, rejecting his advances.

"I'm sorry, sir . . .

But I already have someone."

Lovestruck Rindou witnesses your pretty little face look away from the man to him. You with the pretty glint in your eyes, staring deep into his surprised purple ones and him who is now a blushing mess as he fakes a cough and push his round metal glasses higher onto his nose. You see his reaction and it almost makes you giggle but you remain collected as you try to get the man in front of you to leave the store, telling him you're not interested and you have to get back to work.

And it's when he finally does, all beat and ruined, when Rindou's legs moves over to the counter -- to you -- almost automatically. He stands in front of you and suddenly it’s blank in his mind. His mouth is ajar as he tries to remember what he's came here to say.

(Rindou to this day still argues and swears it was your overwhelming presence and especially your pretty smile that's made him forget his words while he fiddled with the hem of his black turtleneck like a damn loser.)

Come up with something, you idiot. Quick.

"Rindou-kun?" Oh, good fucking gracious. That voice. The sweet voice that will be the absolute end of him.

He musters up everything in him to speak.

" . . . D'ya wanna go out with me? For lunch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go together. Anywhere you want . . . As boyfriend and girlfriend, that is."

You're silent for a minute, and Rindou feels his heart race. It’s hot and humid all of a sudden and he feels like digging a hole and jumping right into it and he doesn't dare look at you and he’s afraid of what's to come. But you call for him again.

"Rindou-kun, please look at me."

The boy wipes his sweaty palms on the dark denim of his Levi’s 501 and chews on his lip. He's so nervous he's certain his mother would be making fun of him when she finds out. Unlike his brother, he’s never been good with girls and has never gone to this extent at courting one. Hell, he’s not even sure if he’s been this nervous before. He’s done loads of illegal things, almost landed his ass in juvie multiple times, fought countless of gangs (both big and small), and none of them could compare to what you’re making him feel right now.

You've got a very, very wide smile ready for him when he finally looks up.

“Ask me again, Rindou."

Get yourself together, prick. Be fair to her.

“Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

.

.

.

"Okay."

Rindou thought he’d ascended into heaven.

Today, the same young boy who is now 31 in age and an expecting father, grins at the memory. He's glad he took Ran's advice the other day. As stupid as his older brother can be sometimes, Rindou cannot deny that Ran is always helpful when he needs to be. Always there for him. Otherwise, he wouldn't be having your worn out figure sleeping beside him in your shared bed, the beautiful band on your ring finger shining brightly at him as the moonlight shines in through the curtains he’s forgotten to shut before bed.

He stares at you as you sleep peacefully; the steady rise and fall of your chest indicating that you're feeling comfortable again. It's been difficult for you to fall asleep these days, the kicking getting harder and more frequent.

"She's so impatient to come out." You pout sleepily at the father of your child as you place a hand on your bump and rubbing slow circles, trying to get her to calm down in your belly. "Just another month left, my baby."

He eyes your stomach and leans down to press a soft kiss to the skin, suddenly feeling a kick to his lips and he airily chuckles. It’s almost like the baby in your stomach recognises him . . .

Her father.

"Don't kick your mom so much, girl. Be nice to her." Rindou tells his kid in his heart.

Another kick.

Brat.

You start stirring in your sleep. Shit. You're waking up after finally falling asleep and it's all because of the father and daughter that's ganging up on you. Talking together behind your back. Destroying your sleep.

Absolutely foul.

There's a frown on your face as you move around beneath the blanket, trying to get comfortable again when your husband runs his calloused thumb over the crease between your eyebrows, gently coaxing you back to dreamland.

It's then Rindou hears it another time.

"Stop doubting everything and believe it'll go well instead. Determination pays off, you know."

He reminds himself to give Ran a call when he wakes up.

Rindou has survived the 10 o'clock. It is now 12pm in the afternoon and he's standing in the middle of a fairly new and empty office room with a woman in her early fifties who he recognises as the Operations Manager, Hasegawa Keiko. Everyone calls her Hasegawa-san despite her constant reassurance that simply calling her Keiko is fine.

Rindou directly reports to her now instead of old Kimura. Although being congratulated and trusted deeply by the company, he still feels a bit strange, standing in an office room two floors above his previous one that now has a floor to ceiling view of Tokyo city. He's also been introduced to many new faces that he'll be working with from now on. No more shitty Ito flirting with Ishikawa-san in public and harassing him on going out for drinks or the really irritating habit of the woman clacking her nails on the desk opposite of him, but he supposes he'll adapt sooner or later. He will; Ran told him that he'll be just fine earlier on the phone. He believes in his brother (and you) more than anyone in the world.

"This will be your new office from now on. Feel free to take some time and explore around, make yourself feel comfortable with the environment and so on. And as always, you can ask me if you're unsure about anything. I'll be in my office most of the time down the hall if you have any further questions." The corners of Hasegawa-san's eyes crinkles and Rindou instantly feels more at ease at her warm welcoming. She reminds him a bit of his late mother.

"I'll leave you to it now. Looking forward to working with you, Haitani-san." And with that, she shuts the door behind her, leaving him alone inside.

The silence is overwhelming.

Rindou immediately fishes out his phone in the pocket, dials in the familiar digits he's long memorised and presses the gadget to his ear.

You pick up after the third ring.

"Baby? How'd it go? Are you okay?" He smiles giddily as he pictures the worried expression on your face and you’re probably sitting on the couch watching TV.

(Everything he’d pictured is exactly what you’re doing, by the way. You've also just finished two bowls of plain white rice fresh from the pot without yourself knowing due to how anxious you felt on behalf of him.)

Your husband simply brushes you off. "Whatcha doin'? Are you eating?”

"Answer my question, Haitani!" He laughs at your tone, "take a guess, babe."

"Well, I’on fuckin' know! That's why I'm asking you.”

He thinks of how to put his words into a statement without sounding too overly happy.

"I've got it, you know.”

You have big, red question marks hanging on top of your head as you wait for him to continue on the other line.

"The promotion . . . I've got it."

Rindou spends his lunch break on the terrace talking to you on the phone. He’s eating the bento you prepared this morning before he left for work. "Finish it, 'kay? The broccoli is expensive." You nagged, knowing how much he despises the said vegetable, but it's included in the new diet he's been keen on trying so he's fine with it. He has you to keep him on track, after all.

He picks up the miserable vegetable with his chopsticks and pushes it into his mouth. Jesus- He closes his eyes as he forces it down the throat.

"Fuck, this is so painful." He coughs when he finally swallows it. You hum from the other line, "what is?"

"The broccoli. Fuckin' hell."

"Sucks to be you. Broccoli's so delicious I don't understand why anyone even hates it. You're weird. Rin."

"Says the person who doesn't eat egg whites."

"Egg whites' got no taste. It should be inedible. It's disgusting."

"And I'm the weird one."

Rindou's been so immersed in talking to you that he doesn't hear the door to the terrace opening and closing. He thought it was just him there, considering everyone else has already went out for lunch and some still remained in their respective offices finishing up paperwork.

He doesn't hear the click of a lighter and cigarette paper burning behind him as he continues to bicker with you on the speaker about why egg whites are delicious and broccolis are not.

"Anyway, I've had 'nuff. I'll be confiscating your watch-Gilmore Girls-with-me rights tonight if you don't finish your broccoli. Your daughter agrees wit' me."

"You know damn well I never miss an episode.”

"Sure, we'll see. I've got clothes to fold now, mostly yours. Bye, weirdo."

"Have I told'cha how noisy you are, mama?" He complains and you laugh and hang up after Rindou reminding you for the third time to take your daily vitamins and wear your grippy socks. That's when the eavesdropper decides to make their presence known.

Rindou nearly chokes on his food when he hears a deep voice speaking behind him. "Your wife?"

He turns around with a mouthful of rice as he takes in the situation. Oh, it's him.

The man who he recognises as Sakoda-san is sitting on a chair with his hands tucked into his pockets, a burning cigarette hanging from his lips.

The same guy who frequents a whorehouse all the way in Kabukichō. Yeah, that one. The one who keeps a polaroid of his children in his wallet on the bedside table while he fucks other women in their rooms, telling them he loves them when he doesn't even mean it.

Saying things for the sake of saying it; Rindou doesn't like that.

He decides to keep his distance as he swiftly finishes the food in his mouth. Of course, he didn't forget his manners.

"Yeah, my wife."

Sakoda-san observes Rindou from the corner of his eyes. How the young man is feeding himself spoon after spoon of the bento, especially the broccoli while he scrolls through his phone, catching up on the latest news and watching random videos that appear on his feed.

"How far along is she?"

Rindou doesn't feel like replying. He's always been a private man who keeps matters to himself, but he thinks it's not fair to the baby in your stomach, his daughter, who he feels her existence should be made known. She's not a secret and shouldn't be kept as one.

"Roughly 8 months. She's due in September."

"A girl?" "Yeah." "What's her name?" "Sakiya." "Sakiya for cherry blossom?" "Yeah." "Your wife picked it?" "We picked it."

Okay, he decides this is as far as he'll go. He starts clipping on the lid of the bento and wiping his mouth with a napkin, ready to leave the terrace (of course he doesn't make it obvious) but Sakoda-san speaks again.

"That's nice. I have a girl too. She's 11 this year. And also a boy who's turning 6." Rindou simply nods and wraps up the bento in the fancy cloth you bought at a bazaar in Harajuku. "Would you like to see a photo of them?"

He stops moving. Rindou thinks of all the options, and the one he feels like picking the most is saying no and leaving.

But he shouldn't be cruel. As much as the man he's talking to is a bad person, a bad father, a bad husband, the children have done nothing wrong. He shouldn't be cruel. It's just an innocent picture of two young children.

"Sure." He agrees out of courtesy and Sakoda-san instantly slips out the polaroid from his wallet and hands it to him. Rindou takes and looks at it carefully. They don't look too happy in it.

"I always keep this with me. Gives me a little push in life, you know?"

A little push? To do all those things to his family?

Rindou is instantly reminded of the many ultrasounds of his daughter attached on the fridge with cute bunny magnets that he glances at every day when grabbing milk from the fridge before leaving for work. He figures that a little push in life contains different meanings to both him and Sakoda-san. It makes him feel sick to the core.

"Nice photo." He hands it back to the man after he finishes looking and stands. Rindou grabs the bento by the handle and is ready to leave, when Sakoda-san stops him once again.

"How good of a drinker are you?"

"I don't drink." Liar. He was fucking Haitani Rindou of Roppongi, for fuck's sake.

"Smoke?"

"I quit."

"Why?"

"Wife's pregnant."

The older man laughs at his blunt responses.

"Your life must be pretty boring, huh?"

Rindou doesn't look back at him when he mutters these words.

"At least I am not you."

It is now past lunch break and back to working hours that Rindou finds himself standing outside of Hasegawa-san's office. He has been for the past few minutes now, actually. Thinking about what to say and what to do; if she’ll approve of him or get pissed off.

He doesn't have the courage to go in.

Rindou had contemplated on keeping the topic away from his boss for now and simply bring it up another time, but he knows that it's not possible; it's only a short time away to when you're due and it’s also not fair to you either.

Finally, after making up his mind, he musters up all the courage in him to knock on the door. He waits for the faint come in and twists the knob.

"I was wondering when you'd come in."

Shit, it was that obvious?

Hasegawa-san closes the file she was working on and leans back in her chair while gesturing to the one in front of her desk. "Have a seat, Haitani-san." He immediately follows with a creak echoing in the room, not wanting to waste more time than he already has.

"You're nervous." It's not a question, it's a statement. And Rindou knows it as he feels himself growing hot and he coughs and sits up straight. "Sorry."

"What is it you're here for?" Hasegawa-san breaks the silence first. Rindou looks down at the half crumpled envelope in his hand, thinking a little before laying it flat on her table and pushing it forward with the letters on it facing her.

She stares at the envelope before swiftly opening it up to read. Rindou watches intently as her eyes go over the letter word by word, before finally folding the paper back to it's original form and laying it down on her desk.

You don't know about this, Rindou reminds himself as he waits patiently for Hasegawa-san to process his letter. You don't know about this, so he has to be serious. He has to be straightforward and sure. He can't be leaving you alone at this time because he doesn't have the balls to request for something that will mean the world to you.

The woman leans on her elbows and looks at him with an unreadable expression. He can't tell what’s going through her mind right now. Is it good or bad? Oh, she's squinting her eyes now. Do I need to say something? Fuck, this is so confusing.

"So, according to your letter, you will be away for . . . 2 months? That's a pretty long time. And it's your first day in this department."

The atmosphere is intense.

Thinking that he needs to speak up, Rindou pulls himself together and starts explaining to his boss.

"I know it may seem unacceptable, considering that I am just only in charge of this position. I am also aware that there will be no one to take over my duties when I'm away due to a short of hands, but my family is important and-"

"-tell me, Rindou." She cuts him off with a stern look. "How much does your wife matter to you?"

He doesn't hesitate in answering. It's immediate. Quick. Determined. Sure.

"Everything."

The tension in Hasegawa-san’s face loosens and she smiles. "Then there's no reason to further explain yourself. It’s all written clearly in your letter and letting you go to be with her is what a decent human being should do.” She pauses, “I wish my husband did that for me as well. I'm a woman too, so I know how it must feel to want her husband with her at this period of time.”

To say Rindou is shocked is an understatement. A higher up that doesn't ask questions? Doesn't make you wonder if your decision was right or wrong? Doesn't shame you for having different priorities?

No. It's not because she's being soft. It’s not because she’s biased. It's not because she doesn't care.

It's because she understands.

"I wish for her a safe delivery. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A girl."

"How nice. I have three sons myself, I wish I had a girl too, to accompany me and so on. Boys grow up a lot faster than girls do." She laughs.

Rindou places both his hands on his knees as he lets out a breath of relief. Other than the meeting earlier today, letting his boss know that he will need to take some time off is also what's been clouding his mind for the entire week.

Your due date has clashed with the moment his work became much more serious and now he has to pick between the two: to stay with work and continue to fulfil his new duties and responsibilities while pouring his heart and soul into his shitty company or to stay at home and take care of you when everyone else is busy taking care of the baby.

And the answer is clear, actually. He'll never let anything, especially work, get between him and his family, and he's never let himself be placed in a position where he feels obliged to choose between the two. If he is, then you and the baby will always come first, no matter what, and he'll quit his job if he has to.

Letting Hasegawa-san know about this is just for him to find out if he has to quit his job to stay with you or not.

And luckily, he doesn't have to. Because Hasegawa-san is an angel in disguise and he feels so terribly relieved. God, he misses you so much. He really wants to go home and kiss you right now.

"You can go now. I'll sort things out with HR. You should take the rest of the day off, too. Go celebrate with your wife and spend some time with her. And please don't worry about work, I'll have a substitute soon for your position."

"Thank you, Hasegawa-san."

"You're welcome, and Keiko is fine. You remind me a lot of my second boy, by the way."

And you remind me of my mother.

"I'll see you soon, son. Take good care of your wife, yeah?"

"I will, Keiko-san."

You are in the midst of hanging up his clothes in the closet when Rindou arrives home.

"ただいま."

"Huh? Why are you home at this hour?"

He kisses your forehead and takes the hanger from your hand. He tells you to sit down and you listen and . . . Great. He's taken charge of hanging his own clothes now.

Rindou is always doing the chores whenever he can now that you're too pregnant to move around even when you insist to him that you can do it. "I like to move around, Rin. 'Don't like to sit around 'n daydream all day, it's boring."

"Boss' let me off early." He states nonchalantly and you raise a brow. You see your husband organising his clothes by colour and you suddenly feel some kind of warmth blossoming in your chest. Much to you and his brother's demise, Rindou used to be the kind of person who doesn't hang his clothes and just throws it in his closet when he's done with the laundry but that changed drastically when he met you. You always nagged at him to hang them up and sort it out by colour, by shirt category, so it'll look more organised and neat when he opens the closet.

"Why?" "I'll tell you later." "Why can't you tell me now?" "It's a surprise." "Huh?"

You're so confused.

Rindou is facing you now. "Have you showered?" You shake your head and remove the claw clip from your hair, scratching at your scalp. "Not yet. I needa' wash my hair, though. It's kinda itchy."

"I'll wash for you." He leads you to the bathroom slowly and helps you into the shower when you both are stripped off your clothes.

You're standing on the non-slip mat and adjusting the water temperature when Rindou joins you in the shower. "I'll take you out tonight. What'chu feel like eating?" He rinses through your body and you hum softly as he starts lathering shampoo on your hair. "Dunno, but I don't feel like eating something spicy, though."

"You want western?" You let out a sigh when he scratches at the itchy spot just above your ear, "sure."

The both of you don't speak after that, choosing to relish in the comfort of the warm water running down your bodies but you're suddenly reminded of it. Cheers to him for managing to butter you up successfully.

"Are you gonna tell me why you're home early?"

"'Told'cha, boss' let me off early." "Yeah, but why?" "I'll tell you over dinner." "You're pissing me off, Rin. Tell me now."

Okay, you're getting mad.

He's grown used to your mood swings over the course of this pregnancy and after so long, he's figured that the best way to deal with it is just by simply accepting it. It'll go away eventually and he should be patient with you and your emotions. After all, it's harder on you.

But he can't deny that it's a bit funny, though. You're getting mad at him because he won't tell you the actual reason he's home early while he's busy washing your hair yet you're purring whenever he scratches at a certain spot on your scalp.

"I got some time off. You know, when you give birth then I'll get to be home 'n take care of you 'n 'Kiya."

"Oh, so you're a romantic."

"Of course."

You feel so happy after listening to him that you turn around (slowly) and pull him down for a quick smooch. "Here's one from 'Kiya." And you kiss him harder this time, "'n one from me."

Rindou is dumbfounded when he looks at you who has literal hearts in your eyes as you hold his face in your hands like he's fragile porcelain, like he's some fine china. You run your thumbs over his cheekbones and pinch his cheeks.

(Doing that made you remember the times you liked to pinch his chubbier ones when you were still teenagers.)

"'Love you."

You with soapsuds in your hair proclaiming your love to your husband for the nth time over the course of 15 years (before and after marriage) and him with his fingers tangled in your hair as he continues scrubbing.

He smirks handsomely, "you tryna skimp out on the kisses, mama? I know my daughter ain't so stingy with 'em," he removes his hands to touch on your bump, "gimme one more, baby."

A kick.

"She jus' said no."

"She said yes, you brat."

You hold him by the neck and softly inhale the scent of his musky body wash that you've grown to find comfort in. He's so endearing that you don't want to let go.

You never want to let go of him.

Rindou lands two strong and assuring hands on your waist and keeps you close to his body.

"Quit sniffin' me, I still need to wash your hair."

You suck on his neck and he squeezes your ass in return. It's nothing sexual or anything, you just like sucking on his neck randomly and Rindou never passes up the chance to grip on your fat.

Some of the foam from your hair has gotten to his face and he simply washes it off with water, though you still don't let go of him.

"Never change your body wash, babe."

"I know . . . You tell me that every day."

Rindou is helping you pick out your outfit as you sit by the dresser doing your makeup. He's holding two dresses in his hands,

"Do you wanna wear this?”

Option A: a long red floral one that he bought for you while away at a business trip in Kyoto. He saw it while passing by and immediately stopped the car to cop it from the old lady. It wasn't for a special occasion or anything, he'd just seen it and felt like buying it for you and you haven’t got the chance to wear it until today.

"Or this?"

Option B: a shorter navy blue sundress that is obviously a little too tight and small for you right now.

“Baby, please. You know I can’t fit in that.” “I know. ‘Was just foolin’ wit’ ya.” “I’ll bite you.” “Go 'head.”

He lays the red dress down flat on your bed and plops down beside it, waiting for you to get ready. “I’m still halfway done wit’ the nursery. I’ll have more time to work on it now that I’m home.” Rindou says and you finish clipping on your right earring. “It’s just the crib and rocking chair left now, right?” You’re referring to the unfinished pieces of furniture that’s sitting in the nursery room next door and he hums as a response.

"Are we finished buying Sakiya's stuff? We can get the remaining later when we’re out. Settle it sooner, you know?"

“No, we’re finished. Ran ‘n Miwa have already bought tons for us.” You think of your sister-in-law who seems more excited for Sakiya's arrival than you, constantly buying you gifts like clothes and toys for the baby whenever she and Ran comes over for dinner together. “Auntie Miwa and Uncle Ran are so excited to see you, girl.” Miwa squeals as she touches your baby bump, feeling a soft kick to her palm.

“Ran is helping us save money now?” You laugh at his joke, “he seems enthusiastic to do so.”

In another city all the way in Ikebukuro is Ran in his home office sneezing with Miwa standing behind him massaging his back. “You’ve got a cold too? Everyone around me is getting a cold and it isn’t even flu season. I’ll have to stay away from you now, Ran. I don’t like getting sick.” She blabbers along and Ran simply hushes her down with a hand to her mouth. Miwa licks it and he retracts his hand away with a scowl, “you’re nasty, love. And you talk too much.” Miwa places a hand on her hip as she looks down at her husband like a mother scolding her son, “I’m not the one sneezing and at a risk of falling sick.” “It’s just Rindou talkin’ ‘bout me, wifey. I know it, I can feel it.”

Back home in Ueno is Rindou sneezing again. “Stupid Ran, he talkin’ ‘bout me too? Asshole.” “Huh?”

Neither Ran nor Rindou stops sneezing for the next five minutes and you and Miwa are left confused, wondering about just how strong these two brothers’ telepathy senses are.

You are actively ignoring your husband’s mumbling and cursing about stupid Ran this, stupid Ran that while combing your hair and Miwa isn’t even in the room with Ran anymore.

“Stop sneezing, Rin.” “Then tell Ran to stop talkin’ ‘bout me.” “Shaddap, you’re just makin’ things up.” “‘M not.”

While blowing his nose on a tissue you handed him, Rindou hears you humming along to a song playing on the radio and he instantly feels at peace.

He's home, you're sitting pretty on the stool, you'll be enjoying Western food together at a fancy restaurant downtown later tonight, and Sakiya will be here anytime soon.

Everything is calm and fine,

and Rindou thinks he will never be giving up this serenity for the world. He'll burn it up if he has to; if it guarantees his family forever peace and happiness.

There can only be his family.

His love. His heart.

reblogs are appreciated & i hope you guys enjoyed this! ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

ending is a bit rushed cus idk anymore he's successfully rotted my brain and i have fallen onto my knees for this man

[seven-oomen]

Trans husk AU | It's allright, I've got all I need

A few cool things about the AU:

Sinners bodies reflect their human bodies around the time of death. Meaning that if they had scars, or surgeries (say trans surgeries) those scars carry over and regenerate with them. It just becomes the new default.

Trans sinners demon forms and voices reflect their gender identity, though their bodies may stills have features from their assigned sex at birth. It depends on whether they had certain surgeries.

Sinner demons who happen to be children at their time of death will always be children for eternity. Mentally and physically.

Sinners can't normally reproduce, but there are ways around that of the angelic or divine variety.

Will come up with more.

So for now, enjoy a snippet of Angel finding out about Husk's surgery scars!

Still, there’s something in him that wants to try. For however long or short this may last, he wants to try.

“Will you-“ He starts but he quickly finds that the words leave him again when Angel blinks up at him with a content grin.

“Yeah, Husk?” He laughs.

“Will you, uh, wanna go out with me sometime?”

It’s Angel’s turn to fall quiet for a minute. Fuck, he miscalculated this. Took a gamble that’s way out of his league. This is stupid, he’s stupid. He’s just thrown everything out the window on a stupid chance- “Forget I said any-“

“-I’d love to, yes.”

Their eyes meet once again and for a moment he forgets everything around them and just drowns in that gaze. He said yes… Angel actually wants to go out with him, take this to the next step. It’s insanity, but a welcome insanity. “Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah, can’t wait to see where you’ll take me.” Angel giggles, his fingers trace up from his abdomen up to his chest, then pause.

“I didn’t know you have scars.” He says as he traces along the edges of his surgical scars. They’re remnants from his body on earth, something that’s been on him since the day he arrived in hell and something that’ll regenerate with him if he ever ‘dies’ in hell.

It’s silly and he knows it but his first instinct is to try and hide them by smoothing his fur. Though all that really does is push Angel’s fingers further into his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it.”

“I-“ He tries to find the right words. Logically he knows Angel doesn’t give a rats ass about things like that. He’s a porn actor and sex worker, he’s probably seen every sort of body type that’s out there. But he’s so used to trying to hide it, from his time on Earth, and then as an overlord to stop people from exploiting it as a weakness, it’s a hard habit to break.

“I ain’t sure how to explain it. It’s- They’re from a surgery I had as a human. This, demon form manifested with ‘em.”

That seems to be enough of an explanation for now. For Angel nods and shrugs with a “that makes sense” as he traces the scars down to the end where he smooths his fur back over them and presses a kiss to the area.

“I think they suit you, you know? Tells a story of a survivor hidden underneath.”

There’s a strange feeling down in his chest and abdomen. Something that feels entirely to great and yet very constricting as he watches Angel accept a part of him that he’s tried to hide for so damn long. “Yeah…” He whispers, turning his gaze away from the man in his arms to a spot on the nearby wall.

What do we think?

[gemmahale]

I'm gonna vent about clothes and shit. Tw for: body dysmorphia, frank discussion of weight gain, general brain bullshit and internalized fatphobia-ish? Idk, I pre-tagged this and kind of went off the rails at the end.

Take care of yourself and skip this one if you need to, okay? I love you. 💚

I need to pick up some new clothes. I'm down to one pair of jeans and really can't wear skirts because it's still too windy (and I have no shorts to wear underneath for the chub rub). And I'm not ready to break out my above-knee skorts yet.

I just...I'm struggling. Last time I ordered clothes, they were too big (I went off the measurements and I think I sized up out of dysmorphia). And because I was deep in depression central last time, it took me weeks to try on the clothes. Which meant that they were outside of their return policies.

I feel frumpy when I go to work. I hate it. I want to be excited about putting clothes on again. I've been wearing essentially this "uniform" for four years now.

I got looking at my license (I'm due for a renewal and soon because my birthday's coming up) and I put on roughly 40 pounds in the last four years. Sedentary job, antidepressant weight gain, having a partner that feeds me well - all things that are net positive, but have affected my body.

Well Gemma, go walking. I need shoes. I need to buckle down and get a pair of walking shoes. But that's a whole thing because I have dancer's feet and stupid ankles and stupid arches. And starting. Starting and maintaining habits are hard. (I'm at the phase where standing for 10 minutes or so hurts my hips and low back. It's bad.)

We're running what feels like a very tight budget right now. Logically, I know it's not - I can see the numbers since I run most of the household budget. But there are things that feel like they should take priority and it feels selfish to be spending it on clothes when I have perfectly serviceable polo shirts, a sweater, pair of jeans and shoes.

I don't know. The me in the mirror is not the me I want to be and trying to claw out of this pit feels insurmountable. I love my body, that's not the part I'm struggling with (okay, some days I do, but that's ..."normal-ish" as best I can tell.)

It's the effort I have to put into looking put together. I miss taking 45 minutes to get ready in the morning, putting make up on and cute outfits and feeling good about myself. I went hypercompetent femme and it worked so well for me.

But I'm worried that a big shift is going to cause some weird blowback. I'm already down a few pegs because I present female and I'm relatively young, even though I have a doctorate in plant health and a decade of experience in the green industry. I'm worried presenting "more feminine" means people won't take me seriously. (Though we already saw that at the commissioner's meeting, so maybe it doesn't really matter.)

I've always been "low maintenance" - roll out of bed, speed shower and throw on clothes. But I want to put effort into my appearance again, for my own benefit more than anything. I feel nice when I'm showered and my hair is styled and it feels like I give a shit.

Tl;dr: Gemma needs to stop being a pansy and wallowing in her feelings, buy some clothes and walking shoes and get some dopamine dressing happening.

And maybe eventually I'll get the clothes I need to donate out of the bedroom too.

[dantesunbreaker]

NSFW: In the Night Part II

(Terzo x AFAB!Reader)

A/N: I've got so many ideas for this story that it may need more chapters than I expected.

Sunlight stings your eyes as it breaks through the windows, unpleasantly pulling you from restless slumber. There is a dull ache pulsing throughout your body, coming to a warm throb at the juncture of your thighs. Memories of last night come crashing back to you like a five ton freight truck. Memories of a night full of love and passion...and the horrific image of your Terzo spewing blood, covering his hands, trickling down his arms and across the bed. Your eyes snap open, hand outstretched to reach for the man sleeping beside you... only to find an empty space. The black satin sheets look undisturbed, not a wrinkle in sight, as if no one had laid there in a long time. 

Tears begin to fall before you can even think to stop them. It had all been a dream, a sweet blissful dream that allowed however brief of an escape from the heart wrenching reality you were so eager to forget. Your Terzo is dead. Taken from you far before his time, demise set in motion by the very same ministry he worked so hard to support. 

In a fit of rage, you let out a scream of anguish as you hurl everything from the top of your nightstand to the floor. Furiously, you wipe your eyes with the backs of your hands as you rush for the bathroom, tripping on your discarded clothing along the way. Through blinding tears you splash cold water over  your face in hopes to control the heat you feel rising up your cheeks. When your vision clears, you grip the edge of the sink, chest heaving as you stare down into the basin. Water swirls and spirals down towards the drain, but you give pause at the sight. Why is the water pink?

You feel as if an ice pick has struck your heart, time seemingly frozen as you slowly lift your gaze to the large mirror before you. Red streaks trickle down your cheek, half washed away. But left nearly pristine appears to be a lip mark left in blood adorning your forehead. Fresh tears burn as you grab a washcloth and begin to furiously scrub until your skin feels hot and raw. When there is no longer a speck of blood left on your skin you toss the cloth aside as if it were a snake that bit you.

What does this all mean? How could this be possible? Could Terzo actually still be alive? Was last night real?

Thoughts racing, you try to put together the pieces of this mental puzzle that is troubling your mind. If there was blood on your face, would there be more evidence that perhaps your dream was more than a dream? You make quick work of slipping into a fresh set of clothes, throwing your habit over top as you return to the bedroom with purpose. But a quick lap around the bed bears little fruit. Only your clothes seem to be strewn about where they were haphazardly thrown. Distressed, you pull back the sheets knowing that surely blood would have soaked through into the mattress.

“I don’t understand,” your distress only continues to reach new heights, finding not a single stain along the white fabric of the mattress. If there is no blood on the bed, then where did the blood on your face come from? Certainly you did not manage to kiss your own forehead. There is only one thing left you can think of to set the records straight.

You barely manage to get the door to your suite closed as you make a mad dash down the halls of the Abbey. On a mission, you don’t ever register that you collide shoulders with someone coming the opposite direction down the hall, sticking to your path completely unphased. Navigating through the numerous corridors, you feel as if a hand clutches your heart, squeezing tighter and tighter with each step closer to your destination. 

Heart beating heavy against your chest, near ready to break free of your ribcage, you pause at the entrance of the crypt, palm pressed against the cool stone as you attempt to steel your nerves. Answers to your questions lie just beyond the archway, a single flight of stairs from where you stand. Part of you wishes to turn back, to walk away and leave it all up to mystery. Should the casket within lay empty, then perhaps you were not as crazy as the day is leading you to believe. But turning away now could also save you the heartache of knowing that your love is truly lost.

Sucking in a breath, you descend the first step. Inaction often serves far worse of a lesson than that of making a mistake. As you make your way down, you attempt to assemble emotional walls to block out the pain of whatever lies ahead. You know the futility of the attempt, but it brings you some sense of peace that eases your descent. When you reach the bottom, time seems to stand still. With a simple turn of your head you would have your answer. Instead, you choose to savor this moment for a little longer, cherishing the unknown as it allows you to cling to a flicker of hope. But nothing ever lasts forever, and so you turn.

Looking just like Snow White resting in a glass casket, your Terzo lies cold and still, ceremonial candles aglow all around. For a moment you feel a strike at your heart, suddenly overcome by immeasurable grief. It’s a feeling indistinguishable from the pain you felt that first moment you heard the news of your partner’s demise. Choking back a sob, you take a step into the chamber, trembling hand reaching out to trace along the edge of the coffin. 

“Oh Terzo,” you sigh, moving to stand beside the head of the coffin, afraid to look at the lifeless face of the man you love. You feel foolish. This wasn’t the first time you have seen the body, there was a service after all. But yet, you still allowed that little glimmer of hope to cloud your mind. “What am I supposed to do with myself? Is this the first sign that I am going crazy?”

Of course, your questions go unanswered, leaving you alone with your own thoughts in disheartening silence. Sucking in a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes shut as you turn your head. Mentally you count backwards from three, forcing your eyes open  as you reach the end of your countdown. Tears stain your cheeks for what feels like the hundredth time for the day as you gaze down at the former Papa. He looks so peaceful and serene. If you didn’t know any better, you could convince yourself he is only sleeping. As if at any moment those two toned eyes would snap open, Terzo leaping up to give you a start and then together sharing a laugh for how easily you were fooled. But unfortunately, that isn’t the punchline to this joke.

A sudden cool breeze hits, sending a sharp electrifying tingle from the top of your head down to your toes. Has someone else come to pay their respects? Terzo was a well loved member of the ministry, it would be of no surprise if he had regular visitors. But just as you prepare to call out, your voice catches in your throat, a whimpering moan coming out in its place. You can't mistake what feels as if someone has rubbed their hand over your crotch, palm digging in just right to strike a match of arousal in you. A surge of panic rushes through your veins, looking all around for whoever touched you, but there is nothing except for the sound of your heavy breathing and the occasional crack of an imperfect candle wick.

“I must really be losing it,” you close your eyes with a sigh, an arm resting atop the glass coffin and laying your head there. It was just your imagination playing tricks on you

So when you feel a hand running along the length of your spine you nearly scream as you lift your head to look all around. But you are alone. Yet, the pressure of a hand stays pressed to your lower back, having halted in place the moment you moved an inch. When it seems you have once again settled, this invisible hand continues its descent until it is cupping between your thighs. 

Though you know that it must be wrong, you can't help but feel yourself growing wet from these phantom touches. Similar to a cool breeze, it feels soft and refreshing, a soothing relief to your tender sex. What kind of crazy makes you experience such vivid sexual fantasies? A yelp leaves your lips as you feel this hand begin to rub you over the layers of fabric. The damp splotch growing along your underwear is unmistakable. 

“Oh, Terzo!” You moan out the name instinctively before you can stop yourself. The soft yet teasing touches are the same that Terzo would so commonly use to work you up. “Am I really imagining getting felt up by my partner...while resting against his coffin?” But you throw all caution and concern to the wind when the hand gives just the right amount of pressure as it drags along your sex. What harm could come from seeing this fantasy through?

With nothing to lose, you spread your legs, thighs parting so that your drenched pussy is more accessible. In the same instance, the hand parts your folds, two fingers sliding up to the knuckle inside of you with ease. Of their own accord, your hips buck back against the touch. A slow rhythm is set, fingers curling to stroke your walls in a just so perfect way. You press your cheek against the glass, arms spreading out as all your strength channels to your legs to fight against the urge to drop onto your wobbling knees. When the heel of the hand begins to press into your bundle of nerves with each thrust, you nearly cry.

“Oh fuuuuuck,” you’re near breathless as you moan softly, nails beginning to claw against the glass beneath you. “Oh I’m so fucking close!”

A third finger is suddenly stretching you out ever further, pounding into you with such force that your hips begin to bounce against the side of the coffin. Your core tightens, tension rising as you draw closer and closer to the edge. But nothing prepares you for the feeling of the fingers shifting in warning before a tongue suddenly circles your clit. A silent scream tears through your throat, head thrown back as your back arches, hips thrown back closer to the source of your pleasure. 

Your climax hits you with such power that for a moment your vision becomes cloudy with a black haze, your body's way of fighting off a sensory overload. But there is nothing to be done about the way a mouth closes around your aching bud, sucking you feverishly as fingers continue to work you through your orgasm. It drives you mad, drawing out your peak to lengths you never thought possible. Tears gather at your eyes as you are pushed through overstimulation, your hips now bucking desperately to pull yourself away. 

Only when you let out a sob, broken by pleasure, do you get any sense of relief as you topple through a second climax. This time you are slowly eased through with soft gentle touches that have you letting out demure sounds of ecstasy. You can feel something wet dripping down the inside of your thighs, your underwear completely soaking with the evidence of your release. A kiss presses against your clit with an almost fond gentleness as the fingers gingerly slide out of you. And then everything is gone, just as you watch as all the candles in the room are snuffed out, leaving you in a post-orgasmic daze.  

As you come crashing down from your high, sweat clinging to your skin, your legs begin to tremble like a newborn fawn. The upper half of your body rests atop the glass casket, cheeks burning as you glance down at the man within. For the first time since Terzo’s passing, you look at his still face with a soft smile. You can easily imagine the witty remarks he would be making at seeing you in such a state, making a mess of yourself with only his hands and tongue. No one but your Terzo would know how to torture your body to just the right limit to have so feeling so euphoric. 

“Yeah, I think I have absolutely lost it,” you sigh with a soft laugh, slowly regaining the strength in your legs as you straighten up. “First it’s a wet dream about you, and now I’m having a day time fantasy that has me making a mess of my pants. Seems even when you’re gone, I can’t keep you out of my head.”

One of your hands glides across the top of the coffin, stopping when your palm lies just above his heart. It feels as if the energy has been drained from the room, a cold empty feeling taking its place. You know that your sanity must be questionable because despite seeing your partner’s dead body in front of you, it truly felt as if he had been in the room, had been the one touching you. Not just your mind conjuring up a fantasy, but as if Terzo himself had somehow returned from beyond the grave just to remind you how well he knew your body. 

“I love you, Terzo,” you sigh with a soft yet somber smile, wishing desperately that you could properly give a parting kiss. “I miss you so much, everything is so hard to face without you.”

Giving one last glance at the fallen Papa, you gather up the energy and strength to push off the casket so you can stand on your own. A brief moment of wobbling, legs feeling jelly-like, is all that occurs before you manage to find stable footing. Eyes cast down, you start on your way up the steps, full focus on keeping your legs from buckling out from under you. So when you reach the top of the stairs only to collide with something warm and solid, you can’t help but scream as you instinctively throw your arms around whatever is in front of you to keep you from falling.

“Uh.... Is everything alright, Sibling?” You hear a rather nervous, timid voice from above. Slowly your eyes pan up to meet with a pair of dual colored eyes. Well this isn’t good. 

“Oh..um I’m sorry, Cardinal,” heat rushes into your cheeks as you realize you are practically wrapped around the newest arrival to the Abbey, pressed nearly chest to chest. 

With a nervous laugh, you pull away abruptly, nearly toppling backwards down the stairs until just as equally as awkward, the Cardinal reaches out to hold you steady. A moment passes, both of you simply staring at each other before it seems your brain catches up with the rest of you. This time you manage to step to the side, standing well within the archway so that the threat of falling down the stairs is no longer so imminent. 

“R-right, well..” Cardinal Copia giggles anxiously, pulling his hands back quickly once he realizes they are still resting on your shoulders. “There is uh, no need to apologize! And none of this Cardinal business, there is no need for formalities. Copia will do just fine.”

“Alright, Copia then,” even though you have yet to interact much, there is an endearing quality about his awkwardness that draws you in. A longing to know him better. “Well, was there something I could help you with?” You glance back down the stairs into the dark chamber below. “Or were you coming to pay your respects?”

Copia’s gaze follows yours, staring down into the dark depths of Terzo’s crypt. A somber yet comfortable silence falls over the pair of you, Copia’s hand tentatively moving to rest on your shoulder. When you don’t shake him off, Copia takes that as acceptance of his attempt at providing comfort.

“Well.. actually, it was you that I thought I could help,” your eyes flick up to Copia’s face when he breaks the silence with a suddenly more solemn tone. There you find a soft look of concern, one you feel all too undeserving of. “You seemed very troubled when we bumped shoulders in that hall, seemingly not present at the moment as you didn’t respond as I called out to you. I thought it best to at least come check on you.”

Red once again flushes up into your cheeks as you are hit with a sudden wave of embarrassment. How could you run into the Cardinal without noticing? That makes it twice in one day of colliding with the Cardinal. So much for good first impressions. Yet, your heart feels warmed at the thought of a near stranger feeling such concern for your well being, even when met with such an abrasive interaction. But...how could you explain to someone that you had such a vivid wet dream that you had to check if the man of your dreams was in fact dead?

“It was a dream,” you begin hesitantly, picking and choosing your words carefully but your voice begins to thicken with emotion as you once again think of the memory. “Terzo was in my dream last night, and...it felt so real. So when I woke up and he wasn’t there...I just had to make sure.”

It is then that you realize Copia still has a hand resting on your shoulder, for when your voice catches briefly in your throat, you feel a gentle squeeze that grounds you back into the moment. Your eyes feel watery, but you somehow manage to hold back the tears as you give Copia a weak smile. Nothing that could be said would make things better, and from the look in his eyes, you can tell Copia understands this. Instead, the hand at your shoulder pulls away, now offering it palm up, giving you the choice to join hands.

“How would you like to join me for lunch? I’m sure you never got the chance to have breakfast this morning,” Copia’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, a smile quick to grace his lips when you slowly place your hand in his. “We can talk, or we can not talk. But whatever you should decide, I will gladly be there to help you through it...Should that be something you would like.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the Cardinal’s shy awkwardness, so much unlike Terzo, but still just as sweet and caring. “Yeah, I think I would like that.”

[muirmarie]

the fact that i've posted 11 stories on ao3 with a total of over 92k words in the last 5 months - aka i have been doing exactly what i said i was going to try to do to establish a consistent writing habit - but i am STILL hitting a hard wall at the last 15-20% of Every Story, and have to PUSH myself through it.................woof, it's so frustrating???

maybe it's silly, but i really thought that if i could just lure myself back into a fairly consistent and good writing habit, it would start to come naturally to me again?

and the first 80-85% does!

it's not even that i get stuck at the last 15-20% either, which is even more frustrating, it's just that it's so hard to make myself actually sit down and FINISH it.

when i force myself to finish it, the words come easy!! i'm not stalling on the stories, i am hitting a wall every time at actually making myself SIT DOWN AND DO THE WORK.

i know i'm still trying to pick up the pieces and rebuild my habits, so i'm trying not to be too hard on myself, but the thought that this is going to happen with everything i write from now on, that i'm going to have to FORCE myself to finish the story......

oof, i don't love that.

i mean, the fact that i AM forcing myself to finish the stories, so i can toss them away from me up onto ao3 and wash my hands of them until i like them again, haha - that's good! that's a really good, important thing!

i'm very proud of that, and honestly, i SHOULD be proud of that, because it's a HUGE improvement for me! i used to hit that wall and STOP! and i've been forcing - FORCING - myself to break that wall down!

but ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i was really hoping the wall would get shorter or thinner or more easily breakable or something lmao.

oh well. i'm still chipping away. still grabbing my sledgehammer for every story. it's just. sigh. it's just rough lmao. =/

[chu-diaries]

Hi! As someone who also struggles with chronic skin picking, what has helped you? I just found your blog!

hello! First of all we need to look at skin picking as a disorder and not just as a "bad habit". I've struggled with skin picking disorder for 18 years and I got tired of hearing people say I could "just stop it" or that I just needed more "motivation". It is a disorder and should be treated as such. I will share below some tips that helped me:

recognize the triggers that lead you to skin picking. anxiety? boredom? mirrors? scan the body to see if the wounds are healed? exposing certain parts of the body? We often pick because we are stressed or nervous about something, but we can also pick because of procrastination, external triggers (mirrors are my biggest trigger and they always lead me to pick at my face) or an internal sense of self-harm, as a punishment for something you did or didn't do. recognizing what makes you pick at your skin is a big step.

find support groups. There are currently some specialized therapists, but not everyone can afford it. If it is financially accessible to you, I recommend that you seek help, as these professionals know validated techniques that can help a lot. I don't have access to this type of therapy, but what helped me a lot was finding communities of people who suffer from this disorder. The best group I found was on Reddit and I joined their WhatsApp group with people from all over the world fighting against skin picking. It is important for our mental health that we do not feel alone and wrong in the world. there are other people struggling with this too.

find your own method of dealing with the disorder. This requires testing and you will get things right and wrong in the process. I mix a little of several techniques that I have found: sometimes I cover the mirrors in my house, sometimes I apply techniques from cognitive behavioral therapy (like reducing access to my face or exercising mirror exposure without necessarily scanning the skin for blackheads to pick), sometimes I define a strict time to pick at my face (like a facial scanning session in the morning and one at night, both timed), sometimes I apply them all at the same time. what has worked the most is tracking my progress and trying to beat my own records. Currently my biggest record is 288 pick-free hours (equivalent to 12 days). Now I really want to get to 14 days because I've never gone 2 whole weeks without damaging my face. I'm not very good at rewards, but the right thing to do would be to reward yourself after breaking your personal record (it doesn't matter what it is. It could be an hour. You'll know how hard it goes for you).

Understand that you might not stop picking at your skin. The goal I've been aiming for is to reduce the damage and frequency of skin picking, but I've realized that I can't stop it completely. and this is fine. This is me, this is my story and I decided to be kind to myself. Maybe one day I will be able to stop it completely, but today that is still impossible for me. I'm happier reducing the damage, but I still have massive episodes that I regret later. it is part of the process. I try not to blame myself. I restart my pick-free hours tracking and move on.

accept that you are certainly more aware of the wounds than those around you. Something I've learned in this long process is that, in general, people who really love and care about me don't care about how my skin looks like. They know that I suffer from a disorder and that I have good and bad days. They love me for who I am and not for my appearance. As for people who don't know me, they usually don't notice my wounds, and when they do, they just assume it's acne or something. people are too worried about themselves to care about me. Still, if there are negative comments about you, you can always choose to distance yourself from that person (highly recommended) or teach them about the disorder. Few people know what skin picking is and many of them could benefit from this knowledge. see what fits you better!

I hope this helps and I’d love to hear what you have to say about these tips! I'm here if you want to talk more about this. I hope you find the best way to deal with this.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Lies; Don't Wanna Know

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: masturbation (f), kinda voyeurism, oral (f receiving), slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, a little praise kink Matty, unprotected sex (wrap them joysticks okay), creampie, implied cockwarming I think

Genre: smut & Angst

Summary: "Only in the evening could you give yourself to me, cause the night is your woman, and she'll set you free" - Lies by MARINA

Part 2

***

The first time you found him in your apartment you thought for sure someone was on their way to kill you. You'd just walked back in from letting your friend out and your heart leapt from your throat when you saw the red suited man by your window.

"Daredevil?" You gasp in disbelief.

"Do you live here?" He glances at you over his shoulder.

"Yes. Why are you here?" You whisper.

"Just- waiting."

"For me?"

"No."

"But you're in my apartment?"

"Shh!" He snaps.

"I'm pretty sure this is breaking and entering."

"If you're going to call the cops I'll be gone long before they get here."

"I wasn't planning on calling the cops. You're a good guy- I think."

"It's not black and white. Some people wouldn't call me good."

"From what I've read you've helped a lot of people. Is someone coming here? Am I in danger or something?"

"What? No. I'm here because nobody would look for me here."

"You're hiding?"

"I'm regrouping."

"Will you be here for long?"

"No. Probably not."

"Do you need anything? Water or- something?" You ask unsure of how to handle the situation and you watch his head tilt before he's looking over his shoulder again.

"Are you offering me refreshments?" He asks with underlying amusement in his voice.

"Look this is weird but I'm good host. Even to unexpected guests I guess." You say. Daredevil moves away from the window finally and walks directly to you, leaning in close enough to feel your breathing change.

"You should be careful offering that kind of hospitality. There are some dangerous people in Hell's Kitchen." He says lowly.

"I'm offering it to you." You reply, trying hard to keep your voice steady.

"I don't need anything no. Thanks for offering I guess. I'll be out of your hair soon." He says stepping back over to your window. You let out a shaky breath once he's out of your face. His ears prickle at the sound as he tries to ignore it along with the way your heartbeat is thrumming unusually fast while you try to ignore the way his closeness put your body on high alert.

"Uh- have you- been here before?" You ask him.

"No. I don't make a habit of going into people's apartments. It's dangerous. I just- I didn't have another choice this time." He says.

"Okay." You mutter. It's very interesting to see Daredevil up close this way. To most of Hell's Kitchen, he's hardly more than a shadow. Showing up out of nowhere to save people and disappearing just as fast. He's tall and you'd bet money that his suit hides one hell of a physique based on the tricks he pulls. It's maybe ten minutes later that he climbs onto the ledge of your window.

"Sorry for the inconvenience miss. Have a good night." He nods to you.

"If you- decide to make it a habit of going into apartments, you're welcome here." You rush out before he can jump.

"You should really be more careful with who you invite to your home." He says with that underlying tone of amusement again but before you can think of a reply he's gone. Out the window and into the night. You're tempted to see if you can spot him but you decide against it, closing your window and getting yourself ready for bed. That night your hand made its way between your legs with the vigilante's moniker falling recklessly from your lips in breathy cries, sandwiched between expletives as you try to relieve the ache left by his low voice and quiet confidence. Even though you offered, you don't really expect to see Daredevil again, that didn't stop the rumbling of his words from continuing to plague your mind. You find yourself trying to alleviate the feeling he stirred that night more often than not, his name on your tongue practically becoming part of your nightly routine while Daredevil struggles to ignore your moans and whimpers all over town. You have no place in the mess that is his life, he shouldn't see you, shouldn't get you tangled up with him. He tells himself this over and over again yet each night the sounds of your pleasure are distractingly easy for him to find no matter what he's doing that shouldhave his attention. It takes a couple of weeks for him to finally cave and visit you again. Daredevil prides himself on his control but one too many beers after a particularly busy night has him retracing the path he's used at least a dozen times without ever going where he wants to be. When he climbs through your living room window you're walking back to your room after a shower and fear seizes your heart when you hear noise. You creep as quietly as you can down the hall, peaking around the corner to see the masked man once again standing in your home.

"Daredevil?"

"You gotta stop sounding so surprised every time I'm here." He chuckles walking over to you.

"What are you doing here? I thought this wasn't a habit of yours." You say clutching your towel tightly against your chest as he closes the distance between you.

"I'm thinking I might make it one. How does that sound?" He asks, your faces are centimeters apart and you swear you've forgotten how to breathe. "Did I lose you sweetheart?" He asks with a smile that sets your chest on fire.

"N-no. Not lost." You manage.

"Good. I'd like to kiss you. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." You whisper with a nod. He closes the small space between your lips and his, kissing you softly at first but the longer it goes on the more desperate it feels.

"Your room?" He pants out when you eventually pull away. You kiss him again, with your hands on his biceps, leading him down the hall and through your bedroom door where he's quick to toss you onto your bed. You gasp when he tugs your towel from you and pulls you to the edge of your mattress. He kisses you again but quickly this time, marking a trail down your neck and to your chest. He stops long enough to tongue at your nipples, nipping and suckling at the hardened buds until your back is arching high off your bed. His hands grab onto your hips as he continues kissing down your body and when his tongue dips between your folds the whimper that leaves your mouth makes his head spin. His mouth is eager against you and loud with it, groaning and making slurping noises as he laps up your juices.

"Fuck you're good." You breathe out, tightly gripping your sheets. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly on the bundle of nerves and his hold on your hips tightens when you start to squirm under his ministrations. He's determined to pull as many noises from you as he can while he's here, for once being able to directly cause them is an opportunity he will not waste. One hand joins his head between your legs, two fingers thrusting into you.

"You gonna cum for me sweetheart?" He mutters against you curling his fingers inside you.

"God, yes." You moan as you grind against his fingers and mouth.

"Go ahead baby let go for me." He says before sucking on your clit hard enough to coax your orgasm from you immediately. You let out a scream as pleasure washes over you, body bowing while he works you through it, pulling away only once you sink back into your sheets. "You sound so pretty when you cum." He says crawling back up your body to kiss you.

"You sound pretty when you're making me cum." You say against his lips and he groans at your words.

"Let's see if I can do it again." He says nipping at your neck as he stands to shove his pants just far enough to free his dick from its confines.

"Doubting your own skills mister vigilante?" You smirk.

"Not even close. Just don't pass out before I'm done with you." He smiles and for the first time you realize he has the cutest dimple.

"Don't threaten me with a good time." You joke as he lines himself up with your entrance. He huffs out a laugh,

"Shit- condom?" He asks stepping back.

"I don't have any but- I'm on birth control and I'm clean. You?" You ask.

"Clean as a whistle. You sure you're okay with it?"

"Yes now are you going to fuck me or not?" He chuckles at your boldness but doesn't reply as he sinks into you with a groan.

"Fuck you're tight." He grunts as he starts up a rhythm. His thrusts are easy at first but with each quiet whimper you let out his hips seem to move quicker, harsher, deeper as he works to draw more noises from you.

"S-shit don't stop babe." You whine, writhing underneath him, his hands on your waist minimizing your movements.

"Don't plan on it. Not until you cum on my dick." He huffs, chest heaving as he focuses on the way his hips collide with yours.

"Please! Please make me cum." You moan, grinding up to meet his thrusts as best you can. He plows into you unrelentingly, holding you tight enough to bruise in the best way possible. His fingers slip between your bodies and find your clit with ease. He rubs tight circles against the sensitive bud, pulling more moans from you as you feel your orgasm approaching fast.

"You're close aren't you? That's it sweetheart. Take that dick. Cum on it." His words set you off like a bomb, your body quaking with the force of your release as you practically scream. "Fuck yeah." He smirks, mostly to himself as he focuses now on chasing his own end within your walls. His thrusts are becoming erratic and you're sure he's close.

"Come on Daredevil. I know you wanna cum. Do it baby. Let me feel it, fuck." You coax him towards his end, wrapping your legs around him. A few more sloppy thrusts have him stilling inside you and you feel ropes of his cum paint your insides.

"Fuck. That was good." He breathes against your skin, his head buried in your neck as he comes down. His helmet feels cold against your cheek but you welcome the coolness with your elevated body temperature.

"Agreed." You chuckle. He stays like that with you until he feels your heartrate settle and he's sure you're asleep. He's quick to collect himself and disappear the way he came, but he leaves a, for some reason, printed note. Who the hell prints these kinds of notes in advance?

Best night out I've had in a while. X

At first, you assume it was a one time thing and you won't see him again unless your life is in danger, but that night starts a routine for you both. After a night of patrolling Hell's Kitchen he'd sneak into your apartment through your window and take what he wants from you. Some nights, he just eats you out, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you and finding respite in the sounds of your pleasure that fill the night but more often than not he'd find his comfort with his dick buried inside you, fucking you open until you ache and leak with him. The first month of this unspoken arrangement he only visits once a week, sure that it was best not to come more frequently. Soon once a week turns to twice and three times, until he's visiting almost every night. Climbing in through your window that you'd started to simply leave open for him and spending hours in your sheets, always disappearing before the sun begins to peak out from beyond the horizon. Sometimes he waits for you to fall asleep, other times you chat with him as he redresses and sleep only once he's gone. For several months this is the extent of your relationship. You don't ask his name, as you're sure he can't or won't tell you, since you're sure that's why he doesn't ask yours. He's shrouded in mystery and for a while it works for you both. He has an outlet for whatever stresses him at night and you get good consistent sex with someone you feel safe with. You don't even consider asking for more until one night when something different happens.

Your vigilante fuck buddy is railing you like usual, pulling whimpers and whines from you with ease. Your third, or maybe fourth orgasm is approaching, and quickly.

"F-fuck, I'm close babe." You moan out, head dropping to the bed as Daredevil takes you from behind.

"Yeah? You wanna cum again for me?" He huffs out.

"Yes! Please, yes." You whine pushing back against his thrusts.

"Say my name. It's Matthew. You wanna cum, say it." He grunts, leaning over to toy with your clit. Caught up in your pleasure, you don't even think about the request before complying, in that moment you'd have done anything he asked.

"Matthew- please Matthew please make me cum." You mewl desperately.

"That's it sweetheart. Cum for me." He says upping the pressure against your clit and forcing you over the edge with a final cry. "Say it again. Say my name again." He commands as he thrusts into you, trying to reach his own high.

"M-Matthew- Matt, fuck, feels so good Matt. Want you to cum. Please. Please, wanna feel it in me." You pant out, knowing how worked up he gets when you beg him for his release. It seems the addition of his name sets him off even quicker than usual because before you know it he's spilling into you with a groan.

"Fuck, you always know just what to say." Daredevil, or Matthew, it seems, says kissing the top of your head sweetly as he pulls out of you. He quickly tucks himself back into the pants of his suit and then grabs a wet towel to clean you up a bit. "I gotta go but, I'll be back later."

"Yeah- see ya." You mutter. That night you don't manage to get any sleep after he leaves. He gave you his name and he doesn't even seem to realize it. You know next to nothing about him, except the way his voice drops when he's drunk off your taste, how he grunts and groans when he's near release, the way he bites his lip when he's struggling to control himself- you could write a book on the way he is in the bedroom and you don't even know what he looks like. Honestly you were fine with all that, except now you have his name and you can't help but wonder more about your mystery dick appointment. What does he do during the day? Where does he live? What does he look like? As much as you want to ignore these questions you just can't. One piece of information was apparently the key to a doorway you wanted to keep locked. Now all you can think about is all the things you don't know.

When he climbs through your window the next night it's easy to put the questions out of your mind the minute his lips are on yours and to your credit, you manage to go two orgasms without getting in your head about the whole thing but by the time he's spilling into you, you're focused on the questions you want to ask him so, when he starts getting himself together to leave you bite the bullet.

"Hey D?" You call before he can get out of your room.

"Yes sweetheart?"

"Why don't you ever stay?" You ask. You figure this question is a safe place to start.

"I have a day job and- this suit doesn't exactly work for inconspicuous travel during the day. So I need to be out of here before sun up."

"You have a day job?"

"Of course I do. Vigilante work doesn't exactly pay."

"Well what do you do?" You ask and he lets out a short chuckle.

"What's with all the questions doll you haven't asked me this many things since the night we met."

"I just realized I know nothing about you." You shrug.

"That's kind of the whole point of a secret identity sweetheart."

"Right except, last night you asked me to call you by name, Matthew. Why would you do that?"

"We've been hooking up for months now and you think it's weird that I gave you my first name?"

"It was my understanding that I shouldn't know anything about you that's how we've operated for months. Why change the rules now?" You ask and he sighs.

"I like the way things sound when you say them in throes of passion. Wanted to hear if my name sounded just as nice." His voice is low. "Didn't realize it'd eat you up so badly. Would've kept it to myself." He adds after a moment.

"I'm not being eaten up by it don't get ahead of yourself."

"Harsh." He chuckles. "Why is this such a big issue for you?"

"I was fine when you were an anonymous guy in a mask but you've given me an inch and I know I'm only going to want more."

"I don't have more to give you I thought you understood that."

"I do, that's why I'm telling you this Matthew."

"We've been doing this for months with no problem sweetheart come on." He huffs.

"Yeah when you were a faceless vigilante who I knew absolutely nothing about. Telling me your name just- it reminded me of howlittlethisis. There is so much more and- call me a primadonna I guess but I want it all."

"I can't do that. I can't give you that." He grits out.

"I know that! I know you can't! I'm not asking you to but I can't keep taking bits and pieces. It's not enough. Not for me. It's easy for you, you put on a mask to come see me and during the day you're a whole other person- this vigilante shit is obviously a very little part of who you are and even then I barely know anything about it. I don't want bits and pieces of who you are."

"Then what do you want from me? Where do we go from here?"

"You go home. What I want you can't give me." You tell him.

"Goodnight sweetheart." He says.

"And Matthew?" You call out once again making him pause. "Please, don't come over again." You say quietly. He lets your words hang in the air for a moment before he says anything.

"If you ever need me, just shout." He manages to croak out.

"Shout?" You frown.

"Shout. I'll hear. I swear." He says quietly before he leaves your room, presumably disappearing like he has every night before this for months and you feel a part of you leave with him. You didn't want to admit it but you and Matt are no longer a good fit. It was a casual thing but it hurts to let him go even if it's for the best. He's never going to love you. So what's the use?

***

Check Out Part 2

[ben-learns-smth]

first months as a (substitute/supportive) teacher - some thoughts (an incomplete list)

autumn holidays start on friday, so I thought I'd write down some thoughts on my experience of the last 2-ish months. I definitely have some growing and learning to do, it shows that I'm only half-trained for this

surprisingly I enjoy working with the smallest (grade 1/2) the most. it's partially that (unless they need me for substitute lessons) I spend the most time in that class and have gotten to know the pupils quite well. I know the routines of the class and I got into a great rhythm with the main teacher

the pupils are opening up a lot more about their interests and their lives, striking up conversations with me when they see me in the yard during break. I'm glad that I don't seem like a stranger to them anymore!

substitute lessons without tasks prepared by the teacher are more draining than I expected them to be. I also lack skills for coming up with substitute lessons for my subjects (let alone other subjects) bc I have very little experience of what they're already supposed to know/be able to do. especially in english lessons it's hard to find an appropriate level

being the only visibly and out trans nonbinary teacher is exhausting. I'm looking forward to the day when I've given substitute lessons in every class so I can stop explaining myself. I don't mind explaining queer topics to children and it's important to have those conversations but I'm the only one having them bc I have to, bc my genderqueer appearance raises questions and if it doesn't introducing myself as mr./mx. does.

related to that I'm excited to work with another colleague on a diversity concept for the school that focuses on queerness. our main objective will be to raise awareness in teachers and students

I still struggle to find an appropriate mix between being strict and being fun. with some classes it works well, with others I need to be stricter than I'd like to be, with others I need to ease off a bit.

schools are incredibly gendered spaces and while I obviously knew that it still caught me off guard (and tbh I think it's having an influence on my habits which I Don't Like At All). everything is very clearly divided into boys and girls. I'm generally good with gender neutral language, but compared to my first weeks I jump to use gendered terms much quicker now (example: saying "the girl in the red jumper" instead of a neutral version when I don't know their names yet), including when I talk about myself which feels weird

good quality sleep is so important. being a teacher is super demanding, especially in some more chaotic classes and showing up with only a few hours of sleep is Not It

being able to remember names really well really fast is a super power and I'm grateful I can do that every time I meet a new class for a substitute lesson. the kids are impressed (teachers too), but most importantly it creates a different atmosphere in the classroom. (it's also easier to remind them of class rules when they need it)

so far, the past months have confirmed what I've been thinking for a while: teaching is something I could do, but I'm less sure if it's what I want to do in the long run. so even though I wasn't able to start deaf studies this winter I'm sticking to my plan: try out deaf studies for a year (starting next autumn) and work on the side, then decide if a) I keep going like that to do the full deaf studies b.a. b) I pause deaf studies to do my teacher training and then evaluate again or c) I do my teacher training and pick up uni classes for fun after

[fatalism-and-villainy]

I don't want to knock ao3 comments completely, because I can't say I've had no pleasant exchanges there, whether as a reader or writer. But overall... the way comments have sort of calcified into a formula wherein there is a one-time reader-to-author comment exchange just feels extremely transactional to me. And the way people talk about comments, and advocate for readers to leave them, only contributes to that impression! (Thinking here of the "they did all this for you, for free!" rhetoric.)

And I think I just feel a subtle pressure to perform enthusiasm in comments - something that feels both overly vulnerable and unnatural to me - and disincentivized from engaging in the way that's most compelling to me. I feel it's hard to break free of the model of commenting as, idk, putting my token in the squee box. That's not the fault of any one author, it's just an overall consequence of the culture of the site. But it's not a good fit for me.

I'm not sure what to do about this. I don't want to stop commenting. But I do want to change my habits a bit, and halt the experiment of reaching out and trying to have the conversations I want to have via ao3.

I've also been toying with the idea of just turning off comments the next time I post fic. I'm not sure if I'll actually do this - I'll have to see how I feel when the time comes - but it does feel intuitively right to me, as a course of action. I think ultimately, having them on has caused me more stress than not. If people would like to talk to me about my fic - which I do very much welcome - they'll have to reach out through another platform.