#Weight Loss

[xtruss]

Study: Drinking One Tablespoon of Apple Cider Vinegar Each Day Linked to Weight Loss in Younger Adults

— By Sarah Garone, NDTR | March 28, 2024 | Fact Checked By Nick Blackmer

Fast Facts:

A recent study on Lebanese teens and young adults linked drinking apple cider vinegar with significant weight loss after 12 weeks

Despite its promising results, the study had some important limitations

While apple cider vinegar may impact weight loss, it's not a substitute for healthy diet and regular exercise

Drinking apple cider vinegar has become a popular way to lose weight in recent years, but can it really help people slim down?

A new study found that Lebanese teenagers and young adults who drank up to one tablespoon of apple cider vinegar daily for 12 weeks dropped an average of 15 pounds.1

The research, published in BMJ Nutrition, Prevention, & Health, also found that participants had lower blood sugar, cholesterol, and triglyceride levels at the end of the three-month period.

Previous research has assessed the tangy drink’s ability to reduce weight in older adults, but this is the first study to test the strategy in younger people.

“This age group was selected to address the lack of research on ACV’s effects specifically in younger individuals, and to intervene early in life to potentially prevent long-term health complications associated with obesity,” study author Rony Abou-Khalil, PhD, head of the Department of Biology and Biochemistry at Holy Spirit University of Kaslik in Jounieh, Lebanon, told Health.

While the research may make it seem like a daily shot of apple cider vinegar could be an effective weight-loss tool, some experts caution against making too much of the study given its considerable limitations.

Here’s what you need to know about the study, the potential side effects of drinking too much apple cider vinegar and other expert-endorsed ways to lose weight.

Nadine Greeff/Stocksy

The Potential Link Between Apple Cider Vinegar and Weight Loss

Abou-Khalil said the researchers set out to assess a potential solution to obesity that would align with the growing interest in non-pharmaceuticals. “We were motivated to explore potential natural remedies for weight reduction that could offer safe and effective alternatives to traditional interventions,” he said.

They decided to test apple cider vinegar, made from crushed and fermented apples and long used as a health tonic.

The team recruited 120 participants aged 12 to 25. They divided them into four groups and instructed people in three of the groups to drink either 5, 10, or 15 milliliters (ml) of apple cider vinegar in the morning. (For reference, 15 ml is equal to about one tablespoon.) The fourth group drank a placebo.

When the study began, the average weight of participants was about 173 pounds. After 12 weeks, researchers found that the apple cider vinegar groups shed weight overall.

The group that drank 15 ml daily lost the most, dropping its average to about 155 pounds. Those who drank 10 ml reduced their average weight to 159 pounds, and the group that consumed 5 ml dropped to an average of 163 pounds. All three groups had a decline in waist and hip circumference and body mass index (BMI).

The team also discovered significant improvements in blood glucose, triglyceride, and cholesterol levels.

The study is the first to assess apple cider vinegar’s impact on health besides weight. It’s also the only one to examine how the drink affects younger people—though other research has tested whether it helps older adults shed pounds.

A small (but often-cited) 2009 trial found that consuming 1 or 2 tablespoons of the tangy drink daily resulted in modest weight loss of 2 to 4 pounds after three months.2 In another small study, researchers gave apple cider vinegar to people on both calorie-restricted and regular diets. After 12 weeks, both groups had lost weight, but those who consumed ACV had lost more.3

Why Might Apple Cider Vinegar Help People Shed Pounds?

Abou-Khalil said it’s unclear what’s behind apple cider vinegar’s potential effect on weight loss, but he has some theories.

“One proposed mechanism is that ACV may help to increase feelings of satiety, leading to reduced calorie intake,” he noted. “Additionally, ACV has been suggested to influence metabolism and insulin sensitivity, potentially contributing to Fat Oxidation and reduced Fat Storage.”

Approaching the Study’s Results With Caution

While it may seem exciting that something as simple as a daily dose of apple cider vinegar could lead to weight loss, Abou-Khalil acknowledged that the research has some limitations.

For one, twelve weeks may not have been enough to pinpoint a firm association between apple cider vinegar and weight loss, Abou-Khalil said. “Longer-term studies may provide insights into the sustainability of the observed effects and whether any changes are maintained over time,” he added.

It’s also difficult to generalize the findings given the study’s small size, focus only on adolescents and young adults, and lack of diversity among participants. “Our study focused on the Lebanese population, and cultural and dietary practices may vary among different ethnic groups,” Abou-Khalil said.

Melissa Mitri, MS, RDN, a private practice dietitian and weight loss expert unaffiliated with the study, echoed that sentiment. “There is not enough evidence to date that apple cider vinegar will lead to weight loss in diverse groups of people,” she told Health.

Are There Downsides to Taking Apple Cider Vinegar Every Day?

Consuming Apple Cider Vinegar on a daily basis can bring on some Unpleasant Side Effects.

Apple cider vinegar can “Degrade Tooth Enamel and Irritate the Esophagus,” Mitri said, which is why she recommends diluting it in water if you decide to drink it.

A daily shot of ACV might also cause nausea and slow down digestion, which could pose a problem for people whose digestion is already slower due to Gastroparesis or Prescription Weight Loss Medications like Ozempic and Mounjaro.

Apple cider vinegar could also interact with other medicines, such as insulin, diuretics, and laxatives, Mitri said. That’s why it’s important to consult a doctor before trying apple cider vinegar if you’re taking these or any other medications.

“Lastly, it is Not Advised for Those with Kidney Disease, as its High Acidity can Strain the Kidneys,” Mitri said.

Effective Weight-Loss Strategies

A daily dose of apple cider vinegar may help you lose weight, but other strategies are far more tried and true.

“To lose weight, you need to be in a calorie deficit, i.e., take in fewer calories than you burn,” Mitri explained. “You can do this by reducing your calorie intake in your diet, exercising more, or, ideally, combining both.”

Ultimately, these old standbys are probably a surer path to long-term weight loss than jumping on the apple cider vinegar trend.

[xxm1ch3113xx]

growing older is making yourself puke up ice cream into a toilet because you forgot you’re trying to fit into a certain dress next month because your friend is getting married.

[murdrdocs]

torn at the seams

description. "and if we don't lose our virginities by seventeen, let's just lose them to each other, okay?" you were serious when you told STILES STILINSKI that in middle school, and now that you're both adults, and both still virgins, you intend to hold up your end of the bargain.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+, loser! stiles (that's just canon), virginity loss for both parties, fingering, protected sex (hallelujah!), typical nervous stiles, teaching, lots of kissing, childhood friends

wc. 5.7k+

a/n: started this a yr ago and found it and finished it. for my bsf, happy (early) birthday! artwork is the kiss by edvard munch. title from cherry by lana del rey

From below, there was a soft thump of music, upbeat song after upbeat song following each other as whatever playlist your friends decided on played throughout the house. The floors and walls vibrate occasionally, giving you a faint idea of the beat. 

You would’ve focused more on it, maybe tried to figure out if it’s a song you’d pressured them into putting into the rotation, if you weren’t so distracted by the body steadily moving around your bedroom. 

You watch Stiles Stilinski, eyes trailing from the back of his faded shirt to the hand holding a red solo cup that you were 80 percent sure was half full of diet Coke. He walks around your bedroom, eyeing the pictures and collectible items you’d acquired over the years. 

Your own solo cup sat on your nightstand, temporarily living with more trinkets. A photo of you and friends, a few rings you didn’t intend to wear tonight, a tube of chapstick that usually sat on your lips in place of the lipgloss you wore tonight, a hand cream. The items you intended to use shortly were stashed under your pillow, purposefully put there for easy access. 

You had the urge to slide your hand under there and check their location, suddenly fearful that something had happened to them between the time you sat them there and went downstairs to join the party. 

But doing so would’ve been too obvious, so instead you sit still on your bed, shoes discarded and your feet folded under you. 

You continue to watch Stiles observe, your lips tugged into a small smile, remembering just how hyperactive Stiles could be. 

“And this picture. When was this?” he asks you. 

You lean forward a little, looking around his body whenever he steps off to the side. The photo in question is of you standing at an amusement park, just a year or so younger, a grin on your face as you stood in front of a popular attraction. 

“Early last year, my family trip.”

Stiles nods, understanding without details that every year your family went on a trip together, extended and immediate meeting at one location for at least a week. There were times when you were younger when you had to ditch plans with Stiles for your family. 

He doesn’t point out another picture. He rocks on his feet, amber eyes looking up at the ceiling. Suddenly, it occurs to you that Stiles is nervous. 

It’s different from how he used to behave when he was nervous as a kid. Then, he would stammer, gnaw on his bottom lip, tap his hands on the desk or his knee. Now his fingers subtly tap against the rim of his cup, his other hand stuffed in his pocket. He’s silent. He licks his lips instead of gnawing on them and the action directs your gaze right to them. 

You try not to stare, averting your eyes elsewhere. 

Scooting over to make room, you let your feet dangle off of the edge of the bed and pat the newly created space beside you. Stiles falters, glancing at your hand and then at you. It takes him a second but he eventually places his solo cup on your desk and skitters towards you.

The bed dips with his weight. He sits a little far from you, basically on the other end of the bed. It’s silent again. You both stare straight ahead. You wonder if he’ll speak first, so you remain quiet, waiting for him to make a move. When he doesn’t, you take a breath. 

“Do you remember when we were in middle school? And we made that pact?” 

You look over at Stiles in time to catch him thinking for a second, his eyes squinted and his lips parted. You see it come to him when he turns to face you. 

“You mean the whole virginity thing. If we didn’t lose our virginities by a certain age—” 17. If neither of you lost your virginities by seventeen. “Then we would …” he trails off, leaving the last bit in the air. 

You finish for him. “Lose it to each other.” 

“Yeah.” A beat, a moment where Stiles doesn’t say anything and neither do you. It’s then that you hear his fingers drum against the bed. “But … but that was just a stupid little pact. We were kids, y’know?” 

You shrug, turning your head to look over at him, fingers starting to twiddle in your lap. “Well, yeah. But I was serious. Were you not serious?” You don’t mean to sound as dejected as you do, but it comes out naturally, an accompanying pout forming on your lips. 

It feels a little manipulative, and you’re trying to get rid of it as quick as it appears, but Stiles already sees. 

Not expecting the effect on him, you’re slightly shocked when you see him start to worry a bit, nerves pushed to the side as he instantly attempts to soothe you. “Wha—Yeah. I mean, yeah. Of course, I was serious. ‘Were you serious?’ D-” He can’t continue his rambling when your lips are pressed against his, gloss finally ending up where you wanted it to. 

He hesitates and you start to worry that you overstepped a boundary. Before tonight, you and Stiles haven’t hung out since freshmen year. Lots of things have changed with you since then, and who knows what could’ve changed with him. Maybe he has a girlfriend, or maybe he was serious about the pact in middle school, but he isn’t serious now. Maybe he already lost his virginity and you’re just the late bloomer. 

You make the first moves to pull back, already planning to scoot to the edge of the bed, apologize, and down the rest of your liquor before going back downstairs. 

But then he kisses you back. Tentatively at first, nothing but a small press of his lips against yours, mimicry of a peck. It’s a tiny movement, but it’s all you need. 

You push yourself closer to him, your duvet rustling under your body. You place your hands in his flannel, fisting the fabric as his hands find your back, his palms resting flat along the curve. 

Eventually, the two of you peel apart, lips separating slowly, leaving both of you to look into the eyes of the other. 

“Was … is this okay?” Your voice is soft, but not because you’re shy. Your voice is soft because that’s how this moment feels—gently, soft, delicate. You feel comfortable in Stikes’ presence, and any timidness dissolves from your body. 

He takes a second, pretty brown eyes scanning your face with a look you’re not used to seeing on his face. His lips pulled into the hint of a smile at the corners, his eyes soft, a little lidded like they were the one time you got high freshman year. He looks relaxed in the way that he is in the morning right before he wakes up, with no stress present in his body at all. Knowing that he’s like this because of you makes you feel giddy inside. 

Stiles blinks and cups the back of your head with one large hand. He pulls you closer and places his lips back on yours. 

Kissing Stiles is nice, to put it simply. 

He tenderly kisses you with attention. His lips, smoother than you thought with the faint taste of cherry, glide over yours with precision. He doesn’t kiss you like he’s starving, but he kisses you like he’s appreciative. Like he’s as thankful for this moment as you are. 

You’ve always imagined yourself in this position. 

During late-night talks with your friends where you discussed crushes each of you would never get over, Stiles was always the first person on your mind. When you lay in your bed at night, sleep just out of reach, you’re only able to get closer to it with the thought of someone—with the thought of this. 

Truth be told, you didn’t expect him to kiss so well. His lips move with a bit of hesitation as if he’s still testing the waters, but his hold on you—large hands on the back of your head and the middle of your back— is secure. He keeps you in place, not like you’d want to be anywhere else. 

You move even closer until your knees knock together. You don’t know if it’s a reaction, but Stiles’ hand moves lower until his pinkie finger is against the small strip of skin left bare by your shirt and your jeans. His touch is warm, and it ignites something low in your belly, making you aware of a feeling you’re suddenly desperate to reach. 

You start to kiss him with a little more fervor, the change instantly picked up by Stiles who matches your energy. He guides both hands onto your back, sliding them lower until they rest at the top of your ass. He circles his grip around solely your hips and digs his fingertips into the meat of your skin. When he tugs you closer to him, there’s nowhere left for you to go. It’s only logical that you straddle his hips instead. 

You throw one leg over both of his, giving him unobstructed access to slide both of his hands down to your ass, the palms cupping the shape through the denim. You want to keep kissing him, but the small inhale of air through your nose isn’t doing much, so you pull away, instantly making it your goal to get as much air as you can as quickly as possible so you can go back to him. 

Stiles, though, wastes no time, his lips latching onto the skin around your jaw, kissing down your neck, reaching your collarbone. You’re incredibly thankful that you decided to wear a revealing shirt tonight, leaving the tops of your tits visible, open to Stiles’ lips. He presses kisses into the tops of your breasts, spurred on by the way you grip the back of his head with both of your hands. You throw your head back and breathe languidly, taking in slow gulps of air and letting them out even slower. 

The straps of your tee shirt fall down and then Stiles stills. You dip your gaze down to look at him, noticing how he’s staring straight at where he’s been pressing his lips. Your shirt still sits over your tits, but barely. If you relaxed and leaned forward a bit, the fabric would fall around your waist. 

Stiles looks up at you, his eyes wider than they have been all night as if all of it is suddenly dawning on him. “Are you sure? Do you want to stop?” 

You shake your head, hands starting to twitch at the back of Stiles’ head with anticipation. You run them up, fingers curling into his hair. Stiles’ eyes flutter shut and the image is breathtaking. It makes you wonder if he likes his hair pulled. Something you’ll have to try out eventually. 

“I’m sure,” you assure him, “but if you want to stop, just tell me, okay?” 

His small smile makes your chest a little tight, a deep breath just barely getting rid of the feeling. 

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” His head tilts and he looks fucking adorable. You want to see Stiles like this as often as you can, even outside of the capacity of fucking around. 

You shrug, hoping you look half as cute as he does. “It can go both ways, can’t it?” 

And you can’t resist him any longer, needing to have your lips back on his. It’s quickly becoming an addiction, kissing Stiles Stilinski. You kiss him with hunger this time, tasting the lingering vanilla Coke on his tongue. Your teeth clack a few times, the sound and feeling both unpleasant. So why do you keep letting it happen? 

It’s definitely because you’ll let Stiles do anything to you. That’s why you’re completely pliant even when he flips you over. 

It’s quick, and a little devoid of grace, but it does the job. 

You end up with you on your back, legs bent at the knees and spread open. The warmth of Stiles kneeling between your legs is comforting. It’s nice to feel crowded like this, but it doesn’t last for long. Stiles is kneeling between your legs for only long enough to kiss you once, and then he stands at the foot of your bed, staring down at you. 

You know you look a little disappointed, a pout probably on your lips, but when he leans down and reconnects your lips one more time, you’re smiling again. As he pulled away the tip of his nose brushed against yours as his eyes opened just enough to stare fondly at you. 

“I’m gonna take your pants off. Is that okay?” He asked you, hands already settling on the fly of your jeans. 

You nodded, your noses playing with each other with the movement. Stiles’ need for consent was driving you crazy in the best possible ways. It’s like you could feel arousal steadily gushing out of you, increasing tenfold when he stood up fully and positioned his hands at the waistband of your jeans. 

His eyes found yours once more, seemingly checking for any indication that you wanted to turn back. There was none deep in your body, and you hoped that your face hadn’t betrayed you and displayed any apprehension. To ease your worries, you gave Stiles a gentle smile, feet digging into the bed beneath you as you lifted your hips just a bit. 

Stiles took your answer in stride, slightly shaky hands peeling the button out of the hole, then sliding your zipper down until you saw the cherry-printed fabric of your panties. Stiles took a manual breath at the sight, hands halting as he just stared for a few seconds. He blinks twice, then hooks his fingers in your waistband and tugs your jeans over your ass, down your thighs and legs, and off around your ankles and feet, leaving you half-bare in front of your lifetime crush. 

You’ve always known that Stiles is one to stare, ogle even. When you were in the same fifth-grade class, he would spend lunch looking across the room at a certain redhead. When you constantly watched a horror movie together the summer before sixth grade, Stiles would shamelessly stare at the main character, even when she had one of the most brutal death scenes you’ve ever seen. 

Ogling is something Stiles is known for in your book. But having that directed towards you feels different. It makes you a little nervous, teenage jitters fluttering low in your belly, making you wring your fingers together and gnaw on your bottom lip. 

Stiles, realizing that he’s staring for once, takes a breath, his hands hovering at your hips before it reoccurs to him that he’s allowed to touch you in a moment like this. You’ve permitted him. 

His hands shake as they approach your hips, but they steady when warm flesh meets warm flesh. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, voice soft and earnest. The moment is tender, it’s vulnerable, and it makes you slightly uncomfortable. 

“I’m not even naked yet.” It’s your attempt at a light joke to ease the heavy tension that’s suddenly painted itself on the walls of your room, surrounding both of you, trapping you in the very thing you’ve wanted since you were young. But having it makes you uneasy, the uncharted territory suddenly a whole lot scarier up close. 

For once, Stiles doesn’t take the bait. He doesn’t crack a joke back, he doesn’t make you double over in laughter with his sarcasm. His amber eyes look at you, his pink lips curl up into a smile, and he tells you, “You don’t have to be naked to be pretty. You’re beautiful.” 

And you’re sure that your friends will tell you that it’s a little cheesy when you tell them every single detail of this moment, but you don’t care about that right now. Right now, your heart is soaring in your chest and your entire body is alight and you need Stiles Stilinski in ways you didn’t even think were possible. 

Your breath hitches. You lick your lips. 

“Stiles,” your voice is softer than you intended, it makes the moment even more tender. His eyebrows lift and you continue. “I need you to touch me. Please.” 

He wants to, you can tell he wants to. But something is holding him back and you think you know what it is. 

“I can teach you how. I can tell you what I like.” Not like you know much, either. Only things you’ve learned from your own explorations. 

He nods, eager, and his hands find the hem of your shirt. “I wanna all of you. Is that okay?” 

Again with the consent. It makes your vision swirl for a second, two blinks bringing Stiles back in focus as you nod and sit up completely, arms over your head so Stiles can take the top off. 

Your bra and panties are the only garments left, and you look down at your frame, a surge of confidence overtaking you as you reach behind you and unclip your bra. 

It falls and the sound Stiles makes would be comical if it weren’t for the situation. Actually, it still is comical, you just stifle your laugh for his own sake. 

His pretty eyes are having some serious tunnel vision, eye line straight at your tits. You sit a little straighter, puffing your chest out just enough to make you question if drool is starting to pool at the corner of Stiles’ lips. 

You know that this is the first pair of tits Stiles has seen in person and the revelation makes you even more proud of the set you sport. 

You eye Stiles’ frame, suddenly all too aware of the stark contrast in clothing. 

You squint at him accusatively. “Are you gonna even the playing field?” 

He blinks at you dumbly once, twice, and then he looks down at his dusty blue shirt. “Oh!” 

He rushes to throw his flannel off and does the same with his shirt off, barely even giving you enough time to do some admiring of your own before his hands fumble with the buckle and zipper of his cargo pants, his legs were suddenly useless as he awkwardly stumbles out of his pants. When he stands up straight, there’s a proud smile on his face that makes you giggle just a little, and just that one moment eases any tension or nerves you are feeling. 

Because this is Stiles. Your Stiles. The kid with the hangout house who would always invite you over after school for movie marathons. The kid who would quickly let you copy his homework before the teacher got to you. The kid who would always wave to you in the hallways, even when your cliques were completely separate and you hadn’t properly spoken for months. 

And now he’s watching you climb further up your bed, following after you, a hungry gaze in his eyes as he trails his eyes over your body from head to toe. 

His hands find your hips once more, his touch light as he trails it down. His fingertips graze over the tops of your thighs, then they find your inner thighs. His touch makes your legs part more, some reference to the Red Sea hidden in there deep beneath all of your all-encompassing hormones. 

Stiles watches between your legs while he brings two fingers to your center. They trail down, separating your lips, letting the tips of his fingers add pressure that already has you wanting more. You gasp, just a small sound that’s accidental, and Stiles licks his lips, a determined look in his eyes. 

It’s a sudden movement when he pulls your panties down and off, tossing them at the foot of the bed where the rest of your clothes sit. There’s not even a moment for you to even imagine being insecure or uncomfortable with your bare skin. Stiles is already positioning his hand at your bare cunt, fingertips just millimeters away from connecting with your skin. 

He wants to act, you can see it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he waits, he hovers, and he glances up at you. “I … I don’t,” he takes a second to breathe, and you let him finish. “What do I do?.” 

There’s just the smallest amount of shame hidden beneath his words, but you don’t let it exist much longer when you soften your eyes. 

You sit up, reaching out for him. “Stiles,” his eyes lift to connect with yours, the furrow between his eyebrows starting to relax. “There’s nothing to worry about. Okay? I want you, like really bad, if you can’t tell.” There’s just enough amusement in your tone to ease the tension, Stiles’ lips turning up into a satisfied smile. 

He leans forward, presses his lips to yours once, and then slides his middle finger into you, slow and steady, met with just enough resistance to showcase your inexperience. His pace is slow, almost tortuous as Stiles slides the single finger in and out. 

The depth that his slender finger reaches is enough to have you begging for more. You lift your hips from the bed and push your pelvis out toward his hand, with a plea for another digit leaving your lips. 

Stiles easily complies, sliding his ring finger in to join his middle. The stretch burns for a second, but you’re fucking dripping at this point, and the haze in your mind combined with the lubrication prevents any possible discomfort. Instead, you’re focused on directing Stiles, directions filling the air along with your moans. 

He listens easily, something you’re more than thankful for, especially whenever his fingertips brush against a spot that sends a tingle up your spine, and he’s finding the spot to abuse over and over again as soon as you tell him where it is. 

When your eyes peel away from the ceiling, and you’re able to keep them open enough, you connect with a set of warm brown that lights your body. Stiles’ eyes are so attentive. You don’t think he’s been looking anywhere but at your face this entire time, despite your sheer nudeness. His lips are parted, still glistening with your gloss and saliva. His eyes are wide, never straying from you, eyebrows raised just enough to give the look of innocence. 

But nothing is innocent about the way his free hand is palming his dick through his briefs. 

Your eyes find the tent accidentally, a blink that sends your gaze downward for just enough time for you to pick up on the bulge beneath checkered boxer briefs. You can’t make out the size from here, especially not with the slight blur in your vision, your eyesight unsteady even as you try to blink it away. 

You start to speak, to ask Stiles for what you really want, when he does, too. 

“I wanna feel you.” 

“I wanna taste you.” 

Both of you sit still, Stiles’ fingers stopping, too. He stares at you as if he’s shocked that the words came from his mouth, and there are three blinks shared from each of you before your hips move again, chasing a high you had briefly forgotten about. 

“Can we do that next time?” The words leave your mouth surrounded by gasps, little breaths that prove how worked up you already are. 

“N…Next time?” His stutter is cute, a little flattering, and you’d spend more time thinking about it if you weren’t on the cusp of an orgasm. Stiles has started moving his fingers again, pace just a little faster, fingers starting to curl at an angle that has your hands fisting the sheets. 

You nod, muscles starting to tense. “Yeah. Next time. Just need you so bad right now, Stiles.” 

“Yeah.” He nods, stares at you, and then nods once more. “Okay. Yeah.” You’re close, so very close, and then Stiles—overeager, enthusiastic, about to blow his pants Stiles—pulls his fingers out.

The noise that spills past your lips is completely accidental, almost guttural. It’s deep, and comes from the part of you that’s so obviously frustrated (the part of you that’s purely hormones and no logic). Stiles looks startled for a second, a string of curses coming past his pink lips as he fumbles off the bed and towards his pants. 

“Shit. Were you about to cum? I’m sorry, fuck, that’s totally my bad.” He’s speaking to you, but his eyes are watching his hands which ransack his pockets. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for, the thud of jeans and a leather wallet hitting the floor alerting you. 

“What is it?” Your tone is a little more bitter than intended, but you’re disastrously horny and Stiles is under too much duress to notice. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he tells you, voice wobbling like it’s the worst news in the world. Like he’s telling you about the impending doom that’ll fall onto this plane of existence. His face is the most serious you’ve ever seen, and it’s a look you don’t really like on Stiles’ usually happy-go-lucky face. 

You don’t bother replying as you dig your hand under the pillow, ignoring how Stiles stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. 

It’s not until you whip out the two condoms you have, pinched between your middle and pointer finger like you’ve seen in countless movies, that Stiles’ face relaxes. 

“I came prepared.” You’re proud when you say it, happy that your anxiety-ridden over planning paid off in the end. 

Stiles looks relieved, too, quickly resuming his previous spot with one of his hands reaching out towards the aluminum packet between your fingers, except this time without his boxers. 

You try not to stare, truly, but it’s hard to keep your eyes from tilting down to look at his hard dick between you both. You're trying to calculate the length-to-girth ratio, making educated guesses on just how much pain and how much pleasure you’ll be in, but you’re just too busy taking it all in. 

Looking at the thick happy trail that leads down to the patch of pubic hair resting above his dick. His abdomen is tight, something you’ve known from the times he’s changed in front of you, too busy ranting about Coach Finstock to notice the way you’d stared at him. Now, you don’t care if he notices. Because Stiles is fucking hot, even more so in his position. 

His eyebrows politely furrow when you pull the aluminum out of his reach, his lips starting to form a question that you already started to answer. 

“Let me put it on. Please?” 

Stiles short circuits, you can see it with the way he dumbly blinks at you. It takes some prompting from you—a simple raise of your eyebrows—for him to nod, retracting his hand and sitting back on his heels.

“Go right ahead,” he confirms, his hands resting on his thighs. 

 You rip the packet open and pull the condom out, throwing the aluminum in the general direction of your nightstand, leaving it there for you to deal with afterward. Placing your fingers over the condom in a mimicking shape, you press it onto the tip of Stiles’ dick, instantly cataloging the way it’s just barely flushed the same color of his lips with a bead of nearly translucent pre cum drooling off to the side. 

The pre smears over his skin as you glide the condom down, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of Stiles’ dick in your hand as you go down. You don’t see it, not when your eyes are staring intently at the cock in front of you, but Stiles’ eyes have fluttered closed above you. His lips have parted, his nostrils flaring just a bit with the exhale he lets out. He’s getting off to you putting a condom on him, and you only catch the tail end of it when you throw a curious glance up at him once the condom is seated completely over him. 

“Good?” 

He nods, opening his eyes to stare down at you. “Fucking great.”

You lay back, spread your legs, and let Stiles back in. 

He hovers, asks you if you’re okay, and as soon as you nod, he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. 

When your friends ask you about it later, when they press you for details and inevitably come to the question that everyone wonders about, you’ll tell them that it hurt. Because it did. More uncomfortable than anything, a feeling that you had to breathe through. Luckily, Stiles was there coaching you through it. 

Demonstrating breaths that he repeated with you, gently nodding even when his face screwed up. You could see the way he was holding himself back, the veins in his arms prominent as he held your hip with one hand, the other pressed into the pillow beneath your head. 

“Keep going?” he eventually asked you. Excitement clearly flooded his eyes when you nodded. 

He gave you slow thrusts, deep and meticulous as if he were terrified of hurting you, and he was. He kept glancing from the sight of where the two of you were connected up to your eyes, watching attentively for any sign that you wanted to stop. 

But it never came. After the initial discomfort, you hooked a leg over Stiles’ back. It’s like a switch flipped, telling you that you needed as much Stiles as you could get. He was in you, yes, and he had his hands over your body, but it wasn’t enough. 

Stiles could give you his all and it still would never be too much. 

“More?” 

You nodded. “More, please.”

Stiles was eager to obey your request. He didn’t give it his all, you could still feel the restraint in each of his thrusts, but he gave you more. He drove into you with a little more power, holding his punches towards the end. The drag-out happened faster, as did the slide-in. 

It was a steady pace, rhythmic enough to provide stimulation. You won’t cum from just this, it’s obvious to you, but this is good. It puts a tickle in your lower belly. One that flutters around your insides, twisting them every so often. 

You feel so good, euphoric, even. At this moment, you understand the claims of post-sex glow. How could you not glow after this? It’s like Stiles is a fucking natural. There are a few moments where he’s a little off, but he picks up where he left off. He seems confident, and undoubting of his abilities, and it only makes everything better. 

Stiles groans and you’re brought back. You stare up at him, taking in as much as you can. The freckles and moles dotting his face and shoulders, the slight sunburn he has over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, how his hair falls over his forehead, a few strands sticking to his pale skin. 

He’s so pretty. You don’t know how you ever thought you would have gotten over him. After this, you don’t think you ever will get over him. 

He leans down and knocks his forehead against yours. 

“You feel so good,” he admits. He sounds so honest and it turns you on. 

You curl your fingers in Stiles’ hair, pulling only a bit, but the reaction is still there. The sound he makes resembles a whine. It’s addicting. You want to hear it again. 

So you pull Stiles further down and suck on his jaw, combining it with another gentle pull of his hair. He doesn’t make the same sound, not immediately. At first, he moans, clean and simple, and then your cunt flutters around him and he whines again. 

It’s such a pretty sound. 

He starts to fuck into you messily, lacking any of the precision from before. His thrusts become more shallow, and you watch his features relax. 

“Are you close, Stiles?” you ask him, although you think you know the answer. 

He nods. “Yes. Yeah, ‘m so fucking close.” 

He takes his hand off of your thigh and searches. You don’t realize what for until he finds your hand. More fumbling and then your fingers are interlocked. Stiles presses your hand back into the pillow, the secure weight of his own hand keeping it there, and then he presses his lips to yours. 

He kisses you for a second, and you’re able to reciprocate for the sole moment. But you’re close, too. You can barely reciprocate when you’re as focused on your own orgasm, everything else pressed to the back of your mind. 

You use your free hand to tweak your clit, speeding your pace up when you realize that Stiles is just a few thrusts short of cumming. 

When he does cum—shooting into the condom with a final thrust, his forehead resting on your sternum as his grip on your hand tightens—you’re not far behind. Stiles weakly thrusts into you a few times and it’s during the second one that your muscles seize, an orgasm unlike anything else you’ve ever felt taking over your body, your middle finger absentmindedly rubbing against your clit as you let the orgasm wash over you. 

It takes a minute for both of you to come down. Stiles stays hovered over your body, his forearm keeping him up as he relaxes the lower half of his body onto yours. A couple of minutes pass before he even makes an attempt to move, and even when he does, he keeps your hands interlocked. 

He speaks first. “Please tell me that was as good for you as it was for me.”

You nod, unable to do anything other than blink up at the ceiling for a second. Eventually, you tell him, “Yeah.”

It’s not much, which Stiles is quick to comment on. “Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

“‘m just a little out of it right now, Stiles.” When you turn your head to look at him, he’s smiling like he’s proud of himself. You scoff, weakly kicking his shin. “Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Sorry. I’m just definitely gonna be thinking about this for a while.”

[livwritesstuff]

‘tis my birthday today (it’s gotta be one of the worst birthdays to have, we don’t need to talk about it) anyways that’s where this is coming from

(also i’m not trying to imply that jan 1 is eddie’s bday. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody. besides, he is def a weirdo february aquarius)

The second half of the calendar year is nothing short of pandemonium for Eddie and Steve and their three daughters.

Moe’s birthday in late July kicks it off, almost immediately followed by Steve’s birthday in early August, then Hazel’s in September. Robbie’s birthday comes mere days after Halloween, and from there they dive headfirst into the bedlam of the holiday season.

Much to Eddie's relief, they all made it to yet another New Year's Day, and while the girls are definitely feeling the end-of-winter-break blues, Eddie welcomes the reprieve in festivities, brief as it may be.

His own birthday is up next – though not for another month.

He’s really not a birthday kind of guy. Never had been.

He loves making birthdays exciting for Steve and their daughters (they have a whole slew of traditions and everything – there’s names spelled out in pancakes involved; it's a very big deal), but his own…not so much.

It managed to fly under the radar for the past few years, but since this year is the big Five-Oh, he knows Steve won’t let him get away with that again.

Eddie has a complicated relationship with his birthday. When he was younger and the weight of Birthday Importance was at its peak, he never really celebrated the way other kids got to, and now, as an adult, he doesn’t know how to feel the things you’re supposed to feel about your birthday. 

Steve does a good job, despite Eddie’s weirdness. 

His favorite, Eddie thinks, was the year Moe was born, when Steve had managed to catch him off guard by renting a tiny cottage up in Maine for a few days.

“Moe or no Moe,” Steve had asked, “I’ve got Rob and Nance on standby.”

(They’d taken Moe. She saw snow for the first time. It was amazing, and people who don't want to involve their kids in stuff are a bunch of fucking weirdos).

Steve gives him a letter every year – handwritten on notebook paper and folded into whatever cheesy card he picks out.

Eddie keeps most of the letters in a fireproof lockbox along with all their passports and social security cards and birth certificates (look – Eddie doesn’t fuck around with priceless shit), but he keeps the most recent one – the one Steve gave him for his forty-ninth birthday nearly a year ago – in the top drawer of his bedside table.

He has it pretty much memorized at this point.

It says:

Ed! (with an exclamation point and everything – god, does Eddie love him)

49.

Holy shit we’re getting old.

Writing this is making me think about all the ones from the beginning, when I’d write about our future together even though we didn’t have a damn clue what we were working towards for a while.

I think we’re in it, man. Crazy, right?

(The ink color suddenly switches from blue to purple)

Sorry for the color change. Hazy decided she needed a blue pen immediately. Hope your vision hasn’t gone totally to shit and you can still read the purple.

Anyways, since I have you hostage reading this, I’m gonna take the opportunity to discuss you, because you don’t let me in real life most of the time.

You are gorgeous. Best looking face I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much time I’ve lost off my day just staring at you (actually, not a loss. I take that back)

You suck at puzzles – I know that sounds bad, but it’s great for me. I need that to rub off on Moe because she’s getting pretty good and that’s gonna be a problem for me.

You make me laugh so fucking hard every day. I’m praying the girls get your sense of “elevated” humor or whatever you like to call it

You’re so fucking smart, Eddie. I count myself lucky for it endlessly

You are completely 100% you all the time. I’m still working on that I think but I’m getting there because of you. I’m glad all that shit we went through didn’t take that away from you.

the BEST dad. Can’t believe I didn’t say that sooner. Not to brag but our kids are turning out pretty awesome (can’t go around saying that too much though it’ll go right to their heads and then any power we have left goes out the window)

You’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting what a catch you are any time soon, because I won't.

Thank you for loving me even all these years later. My life is better every day that I’m with you.

We’ll keep things quiet this year. Don’t get used to it though. Next year’s gonna be a rager.

Love you always!

- Steve :) ♡ ☆

[webanglikethat]

thinking about Ram and Deviya today: a long rant by me.

⚠️: spoilers for season 1! Ram Doobay — the younger son of the Doobay family, one of the top two most powerful and influential family in the Dozen.  each family who is part of the "Influential Dozen" has an occupation they are famous for and for him, it’s his role as Brahmin and his visions are more accurate than others, so he is associated with the goddess.

Deviya Sharma — the youngest child and only daughter of the Sharma family. the only child left alive of this powerful legacy. her family is the third most influential family in the Dozen. after the death of her beloved brother, she had to carry all of that weight on her shoulders. the Dozen gave Devi five years to learn the family business and prove that she was worthy to be head, otherwise the position would go to a distant male relative, because how could a woman lead, right? and so she did. she carved a place for herself in a world that didn’t want to accommodate her and she proved them wrong.

I’m thinking of how Ram sure he got Devi out of the house during the attack on the mountain before even going going to rescue his brother. he put her above his own family, above his responsibilities, over and over again. he went after Devi when she took off on an horse during the attack and carried her in his arms back to safety, the only place he can be sure she’s going to be safe. (and thankfully, it wasn’t his arms in which she died) 

I’m thinking of Deviya and Ram together. how even after not seeing each other for five years, or barely catching a glimpse of each other, the feelings they harbored still kept growing, spreading like a wildfire. I’m thinking of Ram’s hope and wishful desire to see her at every service, of how his eyes would search amid each throng, just hoping to catch her smile along the hallowed halls where once they met - a vision he could never forget. I’m thinking of him, watching Devi’s phoenix-like life before his eyes. though grief had struck a cruel, harsh blow in her life, her soul still glowed, and he basked in the light of that, a sense of pride he couldn’t decipher or explain to himself. I’m thinking of him “noticing an unfamiliar feeling rising inside him” when he met her.

I’m thinking of Ram always finding an excuse to touch Deviya, holding her hand to lead her somewhere, brushing his fingers over her cheek, cupping her face, putting a hand on her waist, trapping her against the wall, putting his finger on her lips, a game of push and pull, of hide and seek, a game they shouldn’t be playing because they’re pawns in the game that is their life, yet they can’t help it. I’m thinking of how he said he missed her when she didn’t attend the religious services, and when she joked that he missed her, he said he missed her smiling at him. 

and now they’re both adults, she’s the head of her family, he’s still the powerful Bahmin. after all the loss, rebuilding, jest and teasing, they’re finally acting upon the passion they hid for so long as if it was something to be ashamed of. they finally give in to their sweet but forbidden temptation, one that had been building up for half a decade. I’m thinking of Ram drinking his wine, kissing her and making Deviya drink the same wine his mouth was holding, a release sweeter than anything. a sweet torment, a sweet sin, that was what their kisses felt like. 

I’m thinking of their game of prey and victim, of Ram falling into his own trap, of realizing he’s just as much of a victim of their game of love as she is. and why, why does he not mind that? he’s supposed to be like the rest of his family, marry someone he’s not in love with, cause what worth does love bring when you require power? that’s what his family line looked like, alliances, partnership, all devoid of love. but Deviya, he awakened something in Ram, a fire he couldn’t contain, a fire he didn’t want to contain. they weren’t kids anymore, playing seek and chasing, they were adults, and the whole Dozen be damned if they couldn’t have each other. he was ready to risk any wrath, if it meant being able to see that damned smile of hers. 

I’m thinking of Ram talking Devi through her anger at the reception so she wouldn’t make a mistake in front of her guests and lose the position she had so long worked for, in a world that didn’t make space for people like her. I’m thinking of him reminding her to not let their baseless scorn diminish her radiant dignity. 

I’m thinking of how, minutes after FINALLY giving in to temptation that has been built up for !! half a decade !!, they find out she got betrothed to another - who just so happens to be a colonizer, an enemy they’re supposed to turn into another pawn in the games of their parents/superiors - and how those few minutes of passion were supposed to be the end of their story before it even began, before the ink had even dried on the first chapter. 

for those few stolen minutes, the world around them ceased to exist and there was only their all-consuming passion. they came so close to unity and happiness, something they didn’t allow themselves to even dream of, considering their status, only to have it snatched away again. those five long years of silent pining, living for their secret smiles and tender touches across a crowded room, was it all for naught? he’s slipping away from her, she’s slipping away from him. their destiny was no longer their own, but had it ever been? it was always dictated by the merciless march of fate, a stone in their road they can’t destroy. 

“everything that had been blossoming between them for five years... those glances, their secret smiles, their light touches... was it truly all over?” 

I’m thinking of how perfectly their hands fit together when they kissed, but now hers is promised to another. how could hands so perfectly intered now part?

“it felt unbearably difficult to be attracted to one man while preparing to marry another” x “my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine, but it's been promised to another”. 

I’m thinking about how Ram, as a seer, is forced to support Mahakali’s will, under any circumstances. and yet, he lied, he lied and tried to save the girl who felt like his only truth in this world. he lied, perjury spilling all over the place, a truth he was willing to hide forever, like a shameful secret. (for he didn’t know what was worse, losing Devi to their enemy or to death.) he lied that the bride was another girl, he willingly let another woman DIE in Devi’s place !! because he couldn’t fathom losing her !! and this act had been committed five years ago, when the affection between the two had barely began blossoming. despite that, he still put his life on a silver plate to save hers. and yet, he now realizes that despite him trying to change the literal course of destiny, Devi has ended up being arranged to the British Lord anyways, which means she will die and so, whatever he does, he can't change that, he can't fix that, he can't protect her. and that explains why Ram kept Devi so close to him during the arson night in their Himalayan mansion, why he saved her before saving his own blood. 

I’m thinking of them breaking rules for each other, to craft and create a space that is just theirs. thinking of Ram entering Devi’s room to discuss what happened during the ritual, knowing fully that if a sight of them in that situation had been caught, they’d be in huge problems. I’m thinking of Ram telling her “such a rakhasi cannot possibly die. I need her” while teasing her, but I’m also thinking of how at the end of season one, his heart aches for her, turning this jest into reality. he knows can't love her in the open because they're both the head of their own families and she's arranged to the British lord but despite it all, despite the challenges and stares of dismay they’re certain to face if this were to be revealed, he finally mustered up the courage to ask Devi to be with him, even if it's in secret. he would rather have her in secret, than lose her, be it to death or another man. 

Devi said "those in charge bend the rules to their will. If the one I choose is my equal, then the two of us will have enough power to change any rule to suit ourselves." because that is the truth. they both come from strong families, they both already have everything, so why can't they bend the rules, why can't they unite these two strong families? Devi herself has seen the injustice of the world's power structures firsthand. she knew that those at the top could manipulate the rules to serve their own interests, bending them like twigs to align with their desires. there was a righteous defiance in her tone, a refusal to be constrained by arbitrary dictates created by the elite to maintain their supremacy. why should she and Ram, both scions of powerful families in their own right, be subjugated by rules that did not apply to their supposed "betters"? there was an almost revolutionary undercurrent to Devi's words. if the system was rigged to only benefit those at the very top and the goddess, then she and Ram had the power and pedigree to overhaul it entirely, to dismantle the unjust hierarchies and rebuild the foundations with equity at the core. Devi and Ram could author a new truth, a new legacy, one of freedom.

and I’m thinking of them, on her death day. of how Ram looked at her and thought to himself, “/ wish this had happened to me instead... hasn't she been dealt enough pain already, in her life?” and “when Ram realized how sincere his desire to take all Deviya's troubles for himself was, it quickly became clear that their secret relationship had taken on a new meaning … growing into something profound”. I’m thinking of him trying to change the prophecy, the fate, the will of an immortal woman whose power controlled them all. what had begun as a forbidden illicit affair, blossoming in fleeting glances and gentle caresses had evolved into something sacred - a bond so deep that he yearned to shoulder her entire burden himself. he had never known anything like that, because love in the Dozen was marked as weakness. marriages, union, relationships? they’re all pawns being moved by string pulled by people higher than them. 

if only Ram could rewind time itself and change the prophecy that had ripped them apart. if only he possessed the power to overrule the designs of Mahakali herself and spare his beloved from this cruel end.

I’m thinking of how weak he must have felt when him and Devi started their ritual. and yet despite that, he still put her first, caring about her before his own self, creating a quiet vortex where only she existed, cocooned in his devotion.

“noticing how distressed she was, he closed his eyes and then slowly began kissing her fingers. Devi noticed that his eyelashes were trembling. he’s nervous as well, but once again he tries to reassure me first, even though he could use some support himself."

and for all his attempts to be her anchor in the storm, he too was adrift on unsettled waters.

“they kissed each other gently and yet desperately at the same time, as only doomed lovers can kiss.”

“he was with her right at that moment. sharing her pain and fear... would that have been possible if what they had was fleeting? he always chose her, no matter what.”

Ram: “I'll be with you. no matter what.”

Devi: “I know.”

and I wonder, what is love if not tragedy? the greatest love stories of this lifetime are always tragedies after all. the greatest romances that echo through the ages are not those of simplistic bliss and happy ever after, but rather of all-consuming passions etched in unescapable sorrow. it is as if the cosmos demands the highest price for the grandest of loves - extracting an anguished toll, lest the intensity of that bond between two souls burn too bright for this mortal plane. as if the gods look upon a love too pure and decree that it must be forged in the flames of tragedy to temper its power. for how could we mere mortals comprehend the depth of a love not balanced by loss? how could we appreciate the rarity of two beings joined at the soul if not for the cruel obstacles that sought to sever their union? after all, the sweetest wine must pass through the bitterest of pressings to become transcendent. 

and I’m thinking of promises, of how Ram and Devi despite them because they are as fragile as glass and porcelain, worse than lies because they encourage hope to come out of that shell, in which it was hidden just to then they demolish it again. but this bond between them, it was more than a promise — a certainty. it is a whirlwind of love and passion which doesn't want to cease. everything that it's not about the other, it's cold, colorless, arid, impassive, of a glacial perfidy, that empties inside, overshadowing every corner. (okay I might be talking about my own mind but shh)

I’m thinking of her dying moments, of Devi’s thoughts tracing their way back home to Ram. she tried to close her eyes to “connect with him, to send to make him feel what she felt, to send him some part of her inner strength. he was there for her, last time. he helped her get out of the residence and protected her when the enemies attacked them.”

“the very thought of losing him was unbearable. and just as things were beginning to blossom between them.”

"I'm with him in my thoughts, heart, and soul."

"even if it doesn't make any real sense, it does for me. l feel calmer this way."

she tried to send him some parts of her inner strength and that reminds me of being a child, believing that blowing over your mother’s wound will heal her, because in your mind love is enough, enough to save you and heal you. in the innocence of childhood, we all truly believed that love alone could be the salve for any hurt or ill. that if we willed it hard enough, cared deeply enough, the sheer force of our adoration would be potent enough medicine to cure any malady. so when Devi made that offering of her strength to Ram, it resonated to me with that same beautiful naivete. a pure-hearted notion that the simple act of sharing her reserves of inner fire could reignite and renew his own flames, just by the power of her love alone. 

and what if this is what’s truly holy? their lives are controlled by a goddess, but what if their bond is what’s truly holy? for is not love itself a form of divine grace? where every caress, every whispered vow is a prayer more sublime than temples could endow. I’m thinking of how the ring on his finger is his connection to the goddess, and I wonder after all that will happen, he’s starting to wish it was a different kind of ring.

and in today’s papyrus — 

─── ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ ──────

tags: @a-cloud-for-dreams, @astarotha, @pawaki17luna, @lanesrequiem, @ratanslily, @tremendouswolfsaladranch @haitianempress

[since you asked to be tagged (which made me so happy 🥹🥹) you’re now required to think of me as that one moot who obsesses over them] also I feel like it shows I’m a poet ☠️

[jin-zixun]

also for the character ask meme: 7, 8 and 9 for jgy and su she (I would ask even more but am afraid that's too much....)

Not too much at all!

7. JGY is said to be like 5'7 or 5'8 and that seems fair to me. I know a lot of people want him to be shorter, and like, that's fine too I think, but I don't think he needs to be.

For Su She, I don't think he was ever given a canon height? I'm stuck between like, being slightly taller than JGY like he seems to be portrayed as. Like maybe 5'10-ish? Or like. Exactly the same height as the twin jades and people make comments about it despite it obviously being a coincidence please he's not copying Lan Wangji by being tall it just happened please come one, seriously? Because it would be funny.

Weight... Idk I'm pretty bad at weight ranges for like. Adults. I generally have to look up "what does someone at this height and weight look like" to visualize any of it. More than 100lbs. Probably less than like 200lbs? They're slender. Idk.

As for age... Oh, I don't think Su She has a canon birthday either, but WWX says he's the same age as him and Lan Zhan, so he's probably 15 in the Cloud Recesses Arc. JGY I feel is supposed to be the same age as Zixuan, born on the same day, but he might be a year younger? I think it would make sense if he went to Jin Zixuan's 15th birthday on his 14th birthday, but if Jin Zixuan is also supposed to be the same age as WWX (which he might not be, idk) then JGY would be younger than them, but NHS, who is also the same age if not older than WWX calls him "San-Ge" meaning he's older, right? Oh, well.

Headcanon-wise, ignoring all of that, I think JGY is slightly but not by much older, like maybe a year or two older than WWX and LWJ and therefore SMS. I think that's cute.

8. Unpopular opinion. Well, I think they might all be unpopular opinions, since they aren't the most popular characters, especially Su She... But! I'll keep it to like... 5 each.

Unpopular Opinions about JGY:

1. he didn't kill his kid, that's a more popular opinion in pro-JGY areas, but outside of that...

2. He was devastated to lose NMJ. His main driving factor in playing turmoil for NMJ wasn't because NMJ would kill him or because he insulted his mother, although they didn't help, NMJ was dying anyway whether JGY did anything or not. IMO his main factor in doing things the way he did was to gain back some semblance of control over something inevitable. Since the confrontation on the stairs, NMJ was already gone from him, replaced, taken over, lost. Devastating.

3. I don't think he actually did anything corrupt as Chief Cultivator. Some people talk like he was out there killing people who didn't agree with him and shit and like there's no evidence of that and if there was it would've come up, but like WWX himself says, if they're secrets how do you know? People are just making shit up about JGY once he's persona non grata and that's like. That's a pretty big thing that happens and idk why people are like "yeah that's true!" about so much of it.

4. I think he was also sad to kill Wen Ruohan! Maybe not so devastated as NMJ or even JGS (more for the loss of what JGS wasn't but still) but WRH took him in when those other two wouldn't and brought him up to a high position, taught him himself, appreciated and cared for him... I think JGY also appreciated and cared for WRH, even though he knew he had to kill him, and did. I think it was difficult, but I don't think any other decision was ever on the table either.

5. I think he was close af with Su She, emotionally and everything. I think if he was with anyone after Qin Su it was Su She. I think he wanted to be with someone who he trusted and who understood him and would choose to stand by him and keep him safe. I also think he thought Su She was cute af but that might be my own bias of thinking Su She is cute af.

WHICH means it's time for unpopular Su She opinions? 1. He's not copying Lan Wangji fr, he's from the Lan Sect, he uses the techniques that he was taught as a Lan, there's no reason he shouldn't. The Lans fumbled him, they should look inwards for their own absolution.

2. He didn't have to trick his sect members into the second siege, they just acted like that and WWX didn't think about it hard enough because he didn't care. Like in CQL Su She *doesn't* die for the Lans who just kinda left him there and that's seen as a betrayal. Like a horrible betrayal, like apparently worse than actually attacking and possibly killing other Lans yourself like LWJ does. But Su She having his disciples do something that could get them killed is tricking them, like the expectations are so different for characters that are seen as undeserving, but I don't think the Moling Su disciples see their Sect Leader as undeserving. A number of them apparently followed him out of the Lan Sect. If he's already worthy of that, then...

3. He's probably one of the most talented cultivators in the jianghu. Like, he uses up a lot of spiritual power on teleportation, so we don't really get to see him at full power. Plus his cultivation is permanently damaged from the Hundred Holes curse and not only can he still use the teleportation talismans and *then* nearly hold his own against Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji not at full power and with damaged cultivation, but he can still have enough power left to shatter a sword? Absurd, the only reason he isn't immortal is bad luck. Hua Cheng coded.

4. I think he was treated badly in the Lan Sect. From the way they talk to him and interact with him (and the way we see people like Lan Qiren interact with other students, ie. bringing in LWJ to humble them) it isn't just that he feels inadequate or inferior, it's that he's *made* to feel inadequate and inferior. Deliberately. Even though, if you look at his actual abilities and what he manages to do after leaving the Lan, he's actually incredibly talented. Now whether the elders did see him as a threat to the inner disciples, particularly the twin jades (seeing just his prowess, WWX thinks he could be LXC or LQR and even once mistakes him for LWJ) dominance and want to tamp him down for that, or it just doesn't even occur to them that some nobody outer disciple could be that talented so they just treat them all that way, I don't know. Either one is just as tragic in their own way tbh. (Also why it's frustrating to see defenses of Lan Qiren that don't even mention his relationship to Su She like...)

5. He's hot. He just is. He's cute too. Adorable. And he's not annoying or an asshole or anything like that either. He's not arrogant, he's resentful. I don't even know why people find him annoying he's literally so inoffensive (if you aren't trying to kill JGY). Like people portray him as someone who overestimates his own abilities and importance and like... No, like he has fuck ups when he's younger, but his reaction is like, a horrified shame at himself for even thinking he could do anything right and like... Uh, that's not arrogance!

9. Scene that first made me love JGY: like the first scene he showed up in CQL (which I watched first) and the disciples were gossiping about him and he was smiling while looking so sad and yeah.

Scene that first made me love SMS: sorry babe it was protecting JGY in Guanyin Temple. Maybe I didn't pay enough attention to him at first, but oh boy, I love him now.

[pythonees]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ TENDING WOUNDS — scott lang

WARNINGS: 18+, younger woman/older man, blood, injuries, established relationship, oral (m), handjobs

A/N: first time writing male oral 🫣 hope it doesn't... suck.

It's easy to forget that you're an actual adult with an adult job when you've got a fully grown man sulking like a toddler on your couch. You don't even know what time it is, only that you should absolutely still be asleep right now instead of cleaning up Natasha's latest mess.

"For someone trained by Hope, you would think you would learn when you should back out of a fight." You say, carrying your worn medkit into the living room, facing a put out Scott looking like he was just sent to time out.

"I was." He mumbles his way through his words, and you're barely able to understand them even though it's only two things he's said. Still, he doesn't look like he's in that much pain, physically at least. You move to stand between his legs, trying to get a good look at the mess Natasha has made of him.

You hum, getting to work on laying out your things for the very simple task of tending to his scrapes and bruises. It's nothing a little butterfly tape can't fix, from what you can see, anyways. Keeping your touch light, you make quick work of his face, cleaning the cuts with a damp towel before applying the butterfly tape.

He flinches only slightly, a hand coming up to grip behind your knee as you smooth out the pained wrinkles in his forehead, "How long did you last against Natasha?"

"Few minutes, better than Tony did the first time they fought, apparently." He tilts his head without being asked so that you can clean up the painful looking rug burn along his chin, blotchy and already bruising. You work quickly, only both of your breathing filling the silent room.

As you trail your fingers along his face, admiring him up close while looking for anything else that needs to be bandaged and cleaned. It's as your tilting his head up to double check his jaw that you feel the hand on the back of your knee start to slowly work it's way up your leg.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" You ask while trying to ignore the ticklish feeling of his fingers grazing up your bare thigh. You hadn't bothered to but on pants when you realized it was just Scott at your door, wearing only one of his shirts.

Scott simply hums, other hand coming up to mirror the other on your neglected thigh. He tugs gently on you left leg, guiding it up and over his leg, urging you to do the same with the other. You do, making sure he sees your eye roll as you do. Scott is far too used to you by now, the charming smile on his face melting whatever annoyance you were pretending to feel.

You settle fully on his lap, and while he doesn't make a sound, he does tense up significantly. Lifting your weight off of him right away, hands pressed onto his shoulders for support, you glare down at your boyfriend until he breaks.

"Okay! There might be some bruising on my legs... and my chest."

"Scott!"

"You can't blame me when you open the door looking like that, wear my shirt," he tugs on the end of it, an old thing that doesn't even fit him properly anymore. It's been worn so much that it's disgustingly soft to the touch and never seems to loose his scent no matter how much you wear it.

"It's not like we can do anything if your this hurt. You should have said something."

"Darling, baby, light of my life. You cannot expect me to not have some sort of reaction to you," and it's then that you notice the sizeable tent in his black sweats. Your drop a hand onto him without even thinking, grinning at the loud groan he lets out when you give him a soft squeeze.

"If you can sit still and be good, I'll help you out with your little problem here, okay?" You give him another teasing squeeze before letting go.

Scott let's out a pathetic whine at the loss, hips rolling up to chase your touch. You've lifted yourself too far off of him, leaving Scott to desperately roll his hips into the air before he's settling back into the couch.

"Mhmm, yeah. Yeah, I can be good," Scott babbles, hands dropping to the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off with some effort, his slow movements eventually revealing a patchwork of bruises deeper cuts that make you wince in sympathy. There aren't many cuts on his chest, but you do still take your time rubbing cream into his bruises and covering the mystery cuts, making sure to "accidentally" brush your fingers up over his pecks and across pert nipples as you make you way across the expanse of skin.

Scott does nothing more than moan low in his throat, heavy lidded eyes watching you and your every move as you work you way down his chest and to the waistband of his sweats. And if you make a few extra seconds to trace the shape of his abs, well, that's no one's business but your own.

The careful removal of his pants isn't to tease him, though the impatient sounds Scott makes would say otherwise. But his reaction to you sitting on him was alarming, and you desperately wanted to see what was going on.

You have to stand up to be able to get the pants off without doing any harm, and as the tops of his thighs are revealed, you can see that they're already covered in folded up, haphazardly taped down squares of gauze, tiny spots of dried blood peeking through the white fabric.

"What happened?" You whisper, letting your fingers dance along the edge of a smaller piece of gauze.

"Got too close to the mirror, crashed into it when she flipped me. Most of it hit my legs. Sam helped me get all the glass out.

"Well," you start, hands drifting to the hem of his horrible flamingo covered boxers, "it's a good thing you legs took the brunt of the hit. Don't know what I would have done if you were fully out of commission."

You pull the elastic until his cock spring out, tip red and already starting to leak. There's no time wasted between when he's freed and when your hand is wrapped around the base, dropping swiftly to your knees to get a better angle as you start to slowly work your hand over the soft skin.

Scott let's out an obscene moan, hip rolling up into your fist, urging you to go faster. You don't, though, keeping the brutally slow pace as you look up at him in amusement. He's trying his best to be annoyed at your blatant teasing, but the flush settling on his face and down to his pecks ruined the effect.

Slowly, you inch your face closer, sure that he can feel ever exhale on his pre covered cock. It gives a feeble twitch is your hand, pre dribbling down the shaft and getting lost in your fist as you slowly drag it back up, giving the head a twist as you lean foreword.

You've barely got your mouth around him before he's thrusting up into the warm heat of your mouth. You take him down as far as your comfortable, not having to move much at all as Scott unconsciously does all of the work. Fist gently gently the base, your free hand comes up to cup the heavy weight of his balls, working both your hands in pace with your slowly bobbing head.

His eyes are screwed shut as you look up the toned expanse of his body to his face, mouth open as he pants, the occasional moan forcing its way through his stuttered breathing. You let your teeth just barely touch his head as you go back down, catching his attention as his eyes shoot open. They drop down to you, only to squeeze shut right away when he catches sight of you between his legs.

He opens them again with a bit of effort, eyes half lidded as they stare down at you. His hand comes up to cup the hollow of your cheek, thumb swiping high on your cheekbone before hi hand makes his way into your hair. He doesn't try to guide your head despite the desperate roll of his hips, pressure light enough to know that it's there.

Your hand is soaked in a mixture of his pre and your saliva, making the most obscene sound as you pull off of him to take in some much needed air, pumping your hand over his entire length. You give his heavy cock a few pumps before your bringing your hand up to your mouth, licking over your palm and finger to try and clean up the mess you've both made.

Scott groans low in his throat, cock dribbling out even more pre that glides all the way down, mixing with your saliva and to the hand still fondling his balls. You quickly bring your head back to his cock with a less teasing pace, desperate to make him cum.

All it takes is the teasing slide of your tongue along his weeping slit for him to start babbling, the hand in your hair grabbing a fistful that borders on painful as his moan become more drawn out and desperate. You barely have time to take a steadying breath before he's coming, painting your mouth and throat in his cum, hips stuttering to a stop as you swallow him down.

The death like grip he had on you hair quickly lets up, hand cupping your cheek to guide you off him when the absent minded sucking around him began to be overwhelming on his spent cock. You tuck him back into his boxers, moving to sit over him again when he stops you.

"Help me lay back so that you can sit that pretty pussy of yours on my face," He rasps out, voice raw from moaning as load as he was. You can't help but roll your eyes at his eagerness, quickly helping him when he starts to do it on his own. Who are you to deny him what he wants?

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

[supremebirdbracket]

The ultimate vulture showdown! Accipitridae vs Cathartidae! Our bone-eating fashionista vs a giant in the process of an incredible comeback!

Bearded vultures seem to have achieved Tumblr fame, and just how much fame that is will be put to the test in this bracket! These vultures have a wide but sparse distribution across Eurasia, occurring in Spain, Morocco, East and Southern Africa, and Western and Central Asia. They greatly prefer mountainous regions. They weigh 4.5–7.8 kg (9.9–17.2 lb) and have wingspans of of 2.31–2.83 m (7 ft 7 in – 9 ft 3 in). Their plumage appears red or orange, but is actually naturally white. They achieve these bright colors by preening colorful dirt into their feathers, and the color is theorized to be a status symbol. Females, which are larger and more dominant, are more brightly dyed. Bearded vultures’ diets are up to 90% bone; it is mostly chicks that eat skin and meat. Adults can crack bones up to the size of a lamb’s femur with their powerful beaks, and break larger ones by dropping them on rocks. They are considered Near Threatened overall but are heavily endangered in Europe due to habitat loss, collisions with power lines, poisoning, and hunting.

California condors are currently extant in the southeast United States, though their range formerly extended from the northwestern US through northern Baja California in Mexico. They live in shrublands and forests, especially near rock cliffs. Their wingspan ranges from 2.49 to 3 m (98-118 in) and their weight from 7-14.1 kg (15-31 lb). A condor may travel 250 km (160 mi) in one day while scavenging! Since they have a very poor sense of smell, they find carrion by watching other scavengers. These condors have a social hierarchy within groups, with older birds being dominant over younger ones. While still critically endangered, they are in the process of a famous comeback—where once they were extinct in the wild with 22 captive birds in 1987, there are now 537 of these condors, 336 in the wild.

[eternalglitch]

Hi I really love ur fic!

Wanna ramble to me about any character from anything? /nf

Ah thank you!!

Hm. You know what yeah, I will bite. I'm going to talk about Gerard from Neverafter for a bit because the show ended this week and I am not yet over him. (spoiler warning lol)

Gerard was only about 10 or 11 when he was cursed to be a frog. And somehow he was convinced that he "deserved it" when he had been a child. It didn't matter how rude he had been, he was a young kid that needed guidance and love, not to suddenly be thrust into constant life or death situations all alone out in the wilderness.

And his parents didn't even look for him. So. That feels like if he didn't know any better it was largely due to neglect from his family.

Then along comes Elody. She drops her golden ball in his pound, he retrieves it, and slowly they become friends. About a decade after he had become a frog, he kisses her and is turned back into a prince; but that is where his story supposedly ended.

This supposed "happy ending" results in a young man with none of the skills needed to survive as a king. He doesn't know strategy or decorum; he just is glad to be safe in the castle finally and is fine to spend his days just existing in that safety.

And then the times change. Wars are starting; Elody starts taking on the duties of general and struggles under the weight of it as her husband continues to pretend everything is fine. His nonchalant attitude strains on their relationship; he starts to wake up more and more froglike every day as her love wavers.

When giants destroy their castle, Gerard flees in front of the children and elderly. All alone he starts to look for Elody, but her opinion of him- a coward- remains. And their first reunion is HER finding HIM, dead and cold on a battlefield.

Of course, Gerard then hops into Twice Upon / a new reality in another body and is alive and well, but Elody couldn't have known that at the time. With his friends, he starts to show brilliant leading abilities in battles; yes, he is a coward, but dancing away from enemies and giving boosts to his teammates is literally how they win several times. Him tossing the sword Veritas to Pinocchio was CRUCIAL to escaping the Step Mother.

And when he learns more about how he is the protagonist of the Frog Prince, all he wants is for Elody to be able to choose her own story. It's a wish that selflessly echoes in his actions following this decision. When they reunite and try to connect again it goes... poorly. He can't communicate to her properly, and leaves her crying as he is forced to flee, appearing as the same coward he always was.

And then he gives up his humanity, his name, for Elody to be her own protagonist. He knows she no longer loves him romantically and yet her care for him is entangling her in his troubles, so he frees her and becomes a full frog again.

When they meet next, he is able to convince her to join his side again. And they tell each other they do love each other but the story did force them to act in ways that just weren't working. So after the final battle they divorce; but they still love each other. They probably visit often; they probably share jokes about how silly everything up until that point had been. They probably sometimes admit they miss being married, but they are happier than ever in other ways now.

Maybe one day or in one iteration of the story they'll get back together. Who knows. They each have their own stories to write.

And I just really love him. He is so silly. Has the worst luck ever but is like an awkward adoptive parent to Pinocchio and Ylfa, who he sees his younger self in as they struggle with loss of humanity and thoughts of being a monster. A little vain but genuinely kind. A child that had been forced to be an adult too soon but was left as an adult that is all too childish.

[kayvanh123]

Understanding Elderly Depression: Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment

As our population ages, understanding the mental health challenges faced by the elderly becomes increasingly important. Depression is a significant concern among older adults, affecting their overall well-being and quality of life. In this article, we will explore the causes, symptoms, and treatment options for elderly depression, providing valuable insights for caregivers, family members, and healthcare professionals.

What is Elderly Depression?

Elderly depression is a mental health disorder characterized by persistent sadness, loss of interest in activities, and a range of physical and emotional symptoms. It is not a normal part of aging but a medical condition that requires attention and treatment.

Causes of Depression in the Elderly

Physical Health Issues: Chronic illnesses such as heart disease, diabetes, and arthritis can contribute to depression. The physical pain and limitations these conditions impose can lead to feelings of hopelessness and despair.

Loss and Bereavement: The death of a spouse, friends, or family members can trigger profound grief and loneliness, increasing the risk of depression.

Social Isolation: Reduced social interactions due to retirement, mobility issues, or the loss of loved ones can lead to feelings of isolation and depression.

Medication Side Effects: Some medications commonly prescribed to older adults can have side effects that contribute to depressive symptoms.

Genetics: A family history of depression can increase the likelihood of developing the condition.

Life Transitions: Major life changes, such as moving to a nursing home or adjusting to a new living situation, can be stressful and contribute to depression.

Symptoms of Elderly Depression

Recognizing depression in the elderly can be challenging as symptoms may differ from those in younger individuals. Common symptoms include:

Persistent sadness or anxiety

Loss of interest in activities once enjoyed

Fatigue and lack of energy

Changes in appetite and weight

Difficulty sleeping or oversleeping

Feelings of worthlessness or guilt

Difficulty concentrating and making decisions

Physical symptoms such as aches and pains without a clear cause

Thoughts of death or suicide

Treatment Options for Elderly Depression

Psychotherapy: Cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) and interpersonal therapy (IPT) are effective in treating depression by addressing negative thought patterns and improving coping strategies.

Medication: Antidepressants can be prescribed to help balance brain chemicals. It’s crucial to work closely with a healthcare provider to find the right medication and dosage, considering potential side effects and interactions with other medications.

Lifestyle Changes: Encouraging physical activity, a healthy diet, and regular sleep can improve mood and overall health.

Social Support: Maintaining strong social connections through family, friends, and community activities can help alleviate feelings of isolation and depression.

Support Groups: Joining a support group for older adults can provide a sense of belonging and understanding.

Medical Care: Managing chronic health conditions and ensuring proper medication management can reduce the physical factors contributing to depression.

Preventing Depression in the Elderly

Stay Connected: Encourage regular social interactions and participation in community activities.

Promote Physical Health: Encourage regular exercise and a balanced diet.

Provide Emotional Support: Be attentive and supportive, recognizing the emotional needs of older adults.

Monitor Medications: Be aware of potential side effects and interactions of prescribed medications.

Seek Professional Help: If signs of depression are present, seek the advice of healthcare professionals promptly.

Remember, if you need further guidance or support, don’t hesitate to reach out to your mental health professional or contact us for assistance.

[rubylarkspur22]

Tsuyuri Kikyo(🔥)

Who is Tsuyuri Kikyo? She is the former Flower Hashira, and the adoptive mother of Kanao in my Age/Fate Swap AU. Let's dive into her character a little, shall we?

Kanji: 栗花落 桔梗

Age: mid-late 40's

Status: Alive(retired)

Appearance:

Hair: black with a pink streak, worn in a knot with a flower hairpin

Eyes: blue, both eyes are blind

Clothes: purple kimono with blue embroidered flowers on the sleeves, black hakama pants, purple-laced zori sandals

Notable Features: scars of varying shapes and sizes on her arms, chest, and back, a rather large scar on her right leg, slight limp(more weight on left foot), smile lines and crow's feet

Personality:

No nonsense: Kikyo will take exactly 0% of your BS. And despite some believing her use of Flower Breathing means she's weak, she packs a mean wallop. Even if you are her favourite person on this earth, she will take none of your BS. And her blindness has made her strikes no less true. She can and will knock you on your a**.

Caring: Kikyo is both a sisterly and maternal figure to her juniors and fellow ex-Hashira. She truly considers Kanao the child she never had, and only has a different consideration for Aoi out of respect for the girl's parents. Her care can be harsh, but you'll feel better afterwards... eventually

Perceptive: As a former Hashira and current medic and trainer, Kikyo has a perceptiveness only rivalled by the Hashira with special senses(including her adopted daughter, Kanao). Even without sight, she can readily provide a challenge to the Demon Slayers in her estate.

Stubborn: Kikyo is exceedingly stubborn. The only people to outmatch her stubbornness have been Tanjurou, Kie, and their kids. The only reason she retired was because she sustained damage that would prove life-threatening in the field.

Meiji Era Rumours/Secrets(This isn't ALL the interesting stuff, but the rest is very big spoilers for this AU, so they'll be left out):

The kanji for Kikyo's given name means "bellflower".

Kikyo is a Marechi. While not as rare as Sanemi Shinazugawa's, her blood is still considered a delicacy by demon standards. She became a Demon Slayer to better protect herself and those around her, after a demon attacked her for her Marechi blood and killed her boyfriend.

She actually beat up Tanjurou(Tanjirou and Nezuko's dad) one time. She gave the Kamado patriarch time to grieve the loss of Kie and the younger four kids, even taking in Tanjirou and Nezuko as needed, but decided an intervention was needed before her best friend drowned in the grief. While she loved the Kamado kids, she strongly felt the family needed to stay together.

During their run as Hashira, Kikyo, Tanjurou, Urokodaki, and Kuwajima were considered the quartet to beat. Even after retirement, they all have a reputation that keeps their juniors from getting too cocky around them.

Out of the four, Kikyo was the third to retire(after Urokodaki and Kuwajima, but before Tanjurou). Overuse of the Equinoctial Vermillion Eyes technique cost her her eyes, and very nearly her leg, so she retired so her girls wouldn't have to fend for themselves before they were adults.

Some art I whipped up.

[clairaworlds]

I'm rewarching clone wars, honeestly I'm shocked at just how differently I feel about it now compared to when I was younger.

1) Plo Kun is still one of my fav jedi of all time "not to me" my HEART.

2) I always noticed the clones deaths, I used to be so connected to them and got so upset when they died. But now I feel that even more. More in the sense that I'm an adult who's more familiar with the weight of life. The show went out of its way to show that the clones were people first, but even then "heavy losses" were just numbers to me then.

3) being a padawan during the war must have SUCKED imagen your some dipshit teenager and then your put in charge of a battle, where people fucking die if you fail. When I was a teenager I was running 3 clubs and I thought that was stressful. If my teammates could've DIED??? Everyone needs so much therapy.

4) this was another thing thst was always clear to me as a kid, but It's much more present in the first few seasons than I remember. But the Jedi and espechally the padawans are questioning what will become of them post war? How to be peacekeepers when they were trained in battle.

5) kit fisto has a sideon style handsome fish man smile. I love him.

6) I want Lumanara's dress so bad holy shit.

[nat1-charisma]

Actually y'all get more of blorbos from my brain because I've been thinking about this for a while.

So, clothes. Big big part of culture! With the different folk in the Gaia-verse, there's a lot of diversity between clothing style and practicality.

Earthfolk clothes tend to be tied on or wrapped around their bodies. Since they're mostly made up of rock and crystal, they aren't very malleable. In addition, the tops of their heads are usually pointed or jagged, so pulling clothes over their heads just isn't an option sometimes. Their sleeves/pant legs, if they have them, are usually very wide since they need to fit over the larger hands and feet. Socks and shoes pretty much just aren't a thing for them- mostly because of easy wear and tear, but the more spiritual earthfolk believe the barrier would deprive them of a connection with the earth.

Airfolk mostly live up high in the mountains, so their clothes need to be thick to help maintain their internal temperatures. Handkerchiefs, headbands, and hats are often worn to keep their cloud cover out of their eyes. Younger airfolk are even lighter than the adults, so small weights are sewn into the lining of their clothes or strapped to their shoes to keep them from floating off on gusty days.

For Flamefolk, the real issue with clothes is getting too emotional while wearing them- temperatures flare when tempers do, after all. It's not uncommon to see small children running about the home naked until they're old enough to start learning how to control their flames. Once that happens, most Flamefolk choose thin, loose fabrics, usually only a single layer so it's not too much of a loss if they do get overwhelmed. Shoes are a must, however, and are almost always decorated with glass and metal beads. Certain beading patterns are reserved for special occasions or celebrations.

Deepfolk clothing, on the other hand, is almost always layered. Thin gauzy layers of cloth mimic the waves and tides, and are worn especially in upper class establishments. The general public tend to layer over their normal clothes with leather or accessories made from sea glass and reeds.

Growfolk have the most access to and variety of color when it comes to their clothes! Many often grow the materials for natural dyes themselves, tricks and tips for getting the most vibrant hues passed from parent to child. Growfolk culture doesn't have a single color for mourning or loss. Instead, those who participate in a burial ceremony are encouraged to wear their best and brightest, to celebrate the return of their loved one to the earth.

[stymecoulli]

This is the beginning of a Future!Leosagi fic, loosely based on @meandtheyeehaws Leosagi, prior to them meeting (they get more similar as time goes on i swear). I have been writing this for the past two and a half hours. It is past four AM. I have work tomorrow.

I need to find a better sleep schedule.

TW: Blood, Death, Poorly written panic attacks, Angst (i suppose)

Enjoy!

-

“Okay Hana, just breathe with me, it’s going to be okay, all right?”

Usagi’s little sister heaved another breath. Her body was shaking, tears puddling in her eyes as though they were liquid themselves. Looking around at the nearby yokai, he realized she wasn’t the only one. Children, teenagers, adults alike clung to one another, sobbing. Mourning the loss of their home.

“Just in and out, like this, see? You’re doing great.”

The scream behind him rang loudly in his ears. He tugged at them for comfort before realizing they had fallen out of their band. In the midst of everything he hadn’t even noticed. He squeezed his paws into fists, a technique his Auntie had taught him, to ground himself.

Bile rose in his throat. Auntie.

His fists tightened, squeezing harder than she had probably anticipated would be necessary. He couldn’t think about her. Not when the wound was so fresh. Not with Hana right in front of him.

He could not break down now.

Not when the world was ending before his very eyes.

“You’re okay, Hana, I’m here.”

The stones lining the roof of the hidden city gave an unsympathetic CRACK in the background. The wails of dying yokai echoed around the underground. He felt the urgency of those around him tighten as more yokai flooded in, attempting to escape the same way they all were.

“I’m right here.”

The elevator to the overcity was a pitifully small thing. Used only as a last resort, it was an ancient piece of junk that couldn’t possibly carry more than ten yokai before it broke, much less the hundreds gathered around it. But it did not matter. The worthless pile of trash was the only hope left for everyone in the hidden city. Everyone alive, that was.

Usagi heard a whimper next to him, and he took Hana’s hand. She trembled and clung to her brother’s leg, terrified of the lack of space she suddenly had. Terrified because her auntie, her friends weren’t there with her. She sniffled, squeezing Usagi’s leg even tighter. He rubbed circles into her paw pads, trying to soothe her.

“Shh… Hana, I’m right here, okay! We’re almost to the overcity; we’ll be safe there.” Hana looked up, her gaze a pool of grief. Usagi’s heart panged. “It’ll be an adventure, just the two of us! We’re finally going to the overcity, just like you’ve always wanted!”

Usagi tried to keep his voice as light and airy as he could, but he knew Hana wasn’t convinced. “But I-I wanted Aun-Auntie to c-come…” She tripped over her words as her upper lip trembled. Usagi placed his paw on her head, scratching it lightly. He smiled weakly.

“Me too. But you have me, and I won’t leave you.”

Suddenly, the shrill CREAK of rusted elevator beams echoed around the caverns, its ear-piercing sound the song of hope sung by the gods themselves. Yokai everywhere crowded around him, and Usagi tried to move, tried to move forward, but the familiar weight of his younger sister was cemented onto his leg. He panicked, “Hana, let go. We have to get to the elevator, now.”

But Hana wasn’t moving. Usagi wasn’t sure she could hear him. She had been violently shivering, sobs wracking her chest. Her face was hidden away from him. Something in Usagi broke, and the realization dawned on him that he couldn’t leave the hidden city. He couldn’t leave because he would have to leave Hana, a fate worse than dying.

And as screaming yokai filtered in around him, Usagi knelt to the ground and pulled his sister in close for one, final hug. Their breathing synced up, their heartbeats becoming one. With a shattered heart and a broken spirit, he thought that this wasn’t such a bad way to die after all. Here, with his sister, he could pass in peace.

A scream, a heartbreaking, manic scream whipped through Usagi’s ears like claws on a chalkboard. Still curled around his sister, he looked up at the source of the sound, at the top of the elevator. His stomach plummeted.

A kappa was on the roof of the elevator, leaving over the rail as it descended, so far over that Usagi was scared he would fall. His scream was one filled with sadness and terror, his gaze pinned on the ground below him. Before the kappa had any chance of reaching the ground, however, his voice was drowned out by thunder.

No, not thunder. The cracking of rocks directly overhead.

Usagi went rigid.

Everything went quiet, the shock of it all blocking out every noise.

In his shock he tried to get up but couldn’t there was something on his leg

and he couldn’t move and there were too many people around and they were all

heading towards the kappa who got off the elevator and collapsed sobbing and tried to run

off away from the crowd before he was trampled and he fell because suddenly there was a rock in front of him

on top of him the rock was on top of him

Breathe, Usagi.

In, out. Like the river by the farm.

Squeeze your fists, ground yourself.

You’re okay.

Usagi was okay.

He shook his head, fighting off the shock. The kappa wasn’t the only one who was in danger, Usagi had to focus on that. He had to focus on his surroundings first. He squeezed his fists and turned to look at Hana once more. She was still on his pant leg, holding on for dear life. Good. At least one of them had something reliable to ground themselves with.

The rocks thundered in the background. Usagi felt his breath hitch, realizing there was no hope left for either of them. With his last will, he found it in himself to smile once more for his sister.

“It’ll be okay, Hana. Everything is going to be all right. I’m not going anywhere.”

A thunderous CRACK and a choir of screams indicated that his last remaining moments of life were fleeting.

The last thing he saw before his world went dark was the terrified face of his little sister, holding onto his left leg.

And the world ended.

…Or so he had thought.

Usagi’s head spun as though on an axis. His vision was fuzzy and out of focus; he couldn’t feel any part of his body. He felt paralyzed, frozen in place.

He coughed, a warm, dark crimson liquid accompanying his airway. It spilled over his eyes too, like warm honey he might have on toast. His chest ached. He couldn’t feel his body.

The adrenaline pumping through his body numbed the pain, but Usagi was aware of its presence. How could he not be, with the blood pooling around his head growing by the second? Everything ached. His body, his chest, his heart all ached from pure numbness.

It took everything in him to channel enough energy to use his muscles. He stretched his neck and shoulders, whimpering in pain. Eventually he attempted to move his arms, to no avail. He could feel them, but they felt so far away, as though they were in another plain of reality, one Usagi was not yet familiar with. His legs felt very similarly.

Except for his left leg.

No, his left leg didn’t feel distant or numb.

It didn’t feel like anything.

With all the adrenaline he could possible muster, Usagi lifted his head, momentarily fogged by dizziness. He heaved his torso upwards, crying out in pain. When he had settled, he looked forward and froze.

A rock, a thousand times the size of him, towered before him. Its granite bleakness was nothing like the shimmering sky he had grown so used to seeing. It was jarring.

He looked down. The rock had flattened his left leg, completely demolishing it to the point of obliteration. Usagi’s stomach plummeted. He felt tears brim in his eyes and creep down his face. Loosing a limb was nothing like loosing a loved one, but it was a part of Usagi. Now, he could never get it back.

Speaking of loved ones, Usagi turned side to side, looking for Hana. If the giant stone had managed to only snag his leg, surely she would be alive. The gods could have spared her; her last look of stricken terror would no longer be her final moments. As she clung to his leg—

.

His left leg.

Usagi felt the world go silent once more.

He couldn’t hear his own screams, only his aching chest. He didn’t register falling backwards, only the way that he could feel liquid pooling on a hard surface below himself. Bile rose in his throat, refusing to stay inside this time, accompanied by a never ending stream of blood that soaked his fur.

Hana.

His sister, the light of his life, was gone.

Usagi screamed and cried for what seemed like an eternity. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, nothing was fair about this situation. Everyone had died. Auntie had died. Hana was dead. And Usagi knew, even in his state of deliriousness, a part of him had died too.

Later, much later, Usagi heard a shuffle behind him.

He couldn’t speak; too much blood clotted his throat. He couldn’t move to signify he was alive and get help, so he didn’t. He was paralyzed where he was, helpless to watch as a green yokai wearing a blue mask limped forward.

Wait.

Recognition flared through Usagi, a burning, dangerous thing. This yokai was the kappa on top of the elevator, the kappa that had destroyed the last of the hidden city. The one who killed Hana, but not him with her.

This was the yokai responsible for all this pain, and he was the one to survive.

Usagi could barely register the kappa’s cries of anguish and sorrow, suddenly too overwhelmed by rage to feel a morsel of sympathy. This yokai was a villain. He ruined the world, had killed so many people. He was worse than any villain Usagi had ever encountered.

He deserved to die.

As the kappa limped away, Usagi promised himself that he would not leave forever. As a samurai, it was his job to protect the world from evil. His heart hardened, his eyes so full of blood that he was seeing more red than not. Trying to go after him proved to be unsuccessful, as he was still trapped under the broken roof of his home. He grimaced, knowing what he had to do.

I am sorry, Hana. I don’t want to abandon you like this, but I am not sure I have much choice. I am sorry I cannot stay.

Usagi pulled out his katana from its hilter.

With all my heart, I love you.

As he sliced though his own flesh and bone, Usagi screamed. His gasps of anguish echoed around him, but to no avail. No one came.

He tore his right sleeve off and tied it around where his leg… ended in a makeshift tourniquet. Usagi opened his mouth and breathed. The air tasted like iron and salt, smelled like granite and rust. But it felt like purpose.

Usagi Yuichi had one goal at the start of the apocalypse: to end the life of the kappa who had caused so much suffering, or die trying.

For his family and the world, Usagi had to be a hero.

-

if you’re still here thanks for reading. yeah i’ll probably finish this at some point but the whole story will be like one giant oneshot like Midnight Blue and Five Cents because that’s my favorite type of fic, but it’ll be a WHILE before that happens. I just need to get this bit out there bc if not loosing that much sleep was for nothing.

have a fantabulous day!

[redwhale]

Quick Yellowjackets thoughts so I can clear my head – once I watched the final episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, it’s going to be hard to shift mental gears back!

SPOILERS:

Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers!

Like a lot of folks, I spent the episode in the present timeline narrowing down who was going to die – and was heartbroken when I realized all the evidence towards Nat kept building. There was an instant around the campfire when I realized Nat had no one in that moment. Shauna had Jeff and Callie there for her, Misty had Walter, Van had Tai, and Lottie had her people and her belief. In the next scene, Lottie in the past gave over the leadership to a shocked Natalie, and I heartbrokenly realized it was done. Oh, Nat, my darling. I think I'm still processing.

I’m absolutely shattered for the loss Adult Nat and Juliette Lewis, but I adore from a narrative structure and perspective to see a character’s arc coming to a close in the present day as the younger version of the same character begins the next step in their arc. I love that that I know where Natalie as a character begins and ends, but I’m still missing the in-between. As Yellowjackets as proved many times this season, one of its great strengths are plot revelations that completely recontextualize existing scenes.

I was holding it together well with Nat dying, until Adult Nat began to cry on the plane. It was such a raw performance from Juliette Lewis that I had an involuntary little sob with her. Lewis will be dearly, dearly missed.

Whether you prefer the supernatural or the rational reading of the show, how heartbreaking that Natalie was back on the goddamn plane in the moments before her death. And whether ‘It’ is real or not, seeing Natalie's final moments accepting ‘It’ before her death and letting it in was hard. I so wish she’d been free from that.

I know a lot of people had predicted Natalie saving Lisa and dying in the process, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have been correct, as it means the focus of Natalie’s arc was solid. Nat, you were the best of them.

It was riveting watching Young Nat’s transition from shock and discomfort to giddiness and joy at become the leader.

It was also fascinating seeing Young Misty be the one to give Lottie hardcore cannibalism survival pep-talks: the group needs to do this and believe this to survive. Pep talking the messiah, as you do, though Lottie passed on her crown quickly.

There were so many great theories after 2.08 that the one who survived the hunt became the next Antler Queen, but now that Lottie has passed the leadership torch to Nat, I presume she becomes the Antler Queen in a static role. She also now has a fascinating foil in Coach Ben, who was surrounded by antler imagery all season. Is he an antagonistic foil to Nat, or a potential sacrifice?

Coach Ben, I still hope you live on to this day. I’m so intrigued where that leaves his character now, with his intention to kill the girls by burning the cabin. Does he still live on in the cave? Will we still follow his POV in the past? Does Nat figure it out what happened and the group goes hunting for Ben in vengeance?

Van continues to be a walking bundle of complex ambiguity. In the present, I think part of her was genuine in wanting to take responsibility over Lottie, but she also wanted another chance at life and her cancer going into remission. The weight in the final look between Adult Lottie and Adult Van sure was something.

I loved seeing Shauna in the past wanting to be the leader, and not being chosen, and how that entangled into her blaming Jackie for feeling invisible, but realizing that feeling didn’t end with Jackie’s death.

I’m fascinated to see how Nat dying affects Misty, especially by Misty’s accidental own hand. Misty is the main character we have the least amount backstory for, so I’m curious if next season Misty coping with Nat’s death might reveal more about her past.  (I'll also always carry a torch for Misty/Nat.)

I wonder if there will be a bit of a timeskip in the present day next season, eg. Simone and Sammy, Van’s cancer, Shauna/Jeff/Callie trying to go back to normal lives, Lottie recovering, everything surrounding Kevyn, Misty dealing with the loss of Nat. Tai is the only character for me it would be a little jarring to do a time skip with, but I feel like it would benefit the rest of the cast.

There were two spoiler-y behind the scenes pictures for two potentially different storylines that didn’t get used this season. I won’t spoil here, but very curious if they were filmed and will be used later, or were cut entirely.

Both the younger and the adult casts were absolute powerhouses all season. Can everyone win an Emmy?

It’s hard to beat S1 because it’s so brilliant conceptually and in execution, but I thought S2 was a very enjoyable (and stressful) follow up. Ep.9 was a solid end of the season for me, with enough resolved to feel satisfied for now, but with plenty of questions to still be answered. My big hope was that the Adam Martin storyline would fully come to a close. I know we saw Walter tying up as much of that subplot as he could, but we still have the question of why had Martin made all those paintings of Shauna…. so I’m still wary whether that storyline has been fully resolved yet. It may be intended by the showrunners that he painted them all in the time he knew Shauna… but given his Yellowjackets yellow-blue keys, the time some paints can take to dry-? Hopefully some post-finale interviews give clarity there. I’d be happy to be done with the subplot, though.

Off to catch up on other people’s thoughts and watch the final episode of Mrs. Maisel. From cannibalism to comedy!

[mightyflamethrower]

So now cocaine is legal in Oregon, but straws aren’t. That must be frustrating.

• Still trying to get my head around the fact that ‘Take Out’ can mean food, dating, or murder. • Threw out my back sleeping, and tweaked my neck sneezing so I’m probably just one strong fart away from complete paralysis. •Dear paranoid people who check behind their shower curtains for murderers. If you do find one, what’s your plan? •The older I get, the more I understand why roosters just scream to start their day. •Being popular on Facebook is like sitting at the ‘cool table’ in the cafeteria of a mental hospital. •You know you’re over 50 when you have ‘upstairs ibuprofen’ and ‘downstairs ibuprofen’. How did doctors come to the conclusion that exercise prolongs life, when….the rabbit is always jumping but only lives for around two year, and…the turtle that doesn’t exercise at all, lives over 200 years. So, rest, chill, eat, drink, and enjoy life! •I too was once a male trapped in a female body…but then my mother gave birth. •If only vegetables smelled as good as bacon. •When I lost the fingers on my right hand in a freak accident, I asked the doctor if I would still be able to write with it. He said, “Probably, but I wouldn’t count on it. •I woke up this morning determined to drink less, eat right, and exercise. But that was four hours ago when I was younger and full of hope. •Anyone who says their wedding was the best day of their life has clearly never had two candy bars fall down at once from a vending machine. •We live in a time where intelligent people are silenced so that stupid people won’t be offended •The biggest joke on mankind is that computers have begun asking humans to prove they aren’t a robot •When a kid says “Daddy, I want mommy” that’s the kid version of “I’d like to speak to your supervisor”. •It’s weird being the same age as old people. •Just once, I want a username and password prompt to say CLOSE ENOUGH •Last night the internet stopped working so I spent a few hours with my family. They seem like good people. •If Adam and Eve were Cajuns they would have eaten the snake instead of the apple and saved us all a lot of trouble. •We celebrated last night with a couple of adult beverages …… Metamucil and Ensure. •You know you are getting old when friends with benefits means having someone who can drive at night. •Weight loss goal: To be able to clip my toenails and breathe at the same time. •After watching how some people wore their masks, I understand why contraception fails. •Some of my friends exercise every day. Meanwhile I am watching a show I don’t like because the remote fell on the floor. •For those of you that don’t want Alexa or Siri listening in on your conversation, they are making a male version…it doesn’t listen to anything. •I just got a present labeled, ‘From Mom and Dad’, and I know darn well Dad has no idea what’s inside. •Now that Covid has everyone washing their hands correctly…next week…Turn Signals. •Someone said, “Nothing rhymes with orange.” I said, “No, it doesn’t.” • The pessimist complains about the wind. The optimist expects it to change. The realist adjusts his sails. •There’s a fine line between a numerator and a denominator. Only a fraction of people will find this funny. •Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are. •I have many hidden talents. I just wish I could remember where I hid them. •My idea of a Super Bowl is a toilet that cleans itself. •Apparently exercise helps you with decision-making. It’s true. I went for a run this morning and decided I’m never going again.

(https://mostlycajun.com/)