#Which is something I'm still not... especially qualified to answer.

[who-is-page]

What are your thoughts on the use of "ΘΔ", and where do you see it as appropriate/inappropriate to use? Thanks!

This question might be better directed at my partner system House of Chimeras (@liongoatsnake), who wrote and published Symbols Found In The Alterhuman & Related Communities. I'm afraid that while I know about the theta-delta's general history, I'm actually not very well-informed of the history behind "ΘΔ" separately as a character set used by the therian community. I want to say it was started by Ember (@synanthropic) on Twitter in late 2019 or early 2020 (the earliest use of it I can find on Twitter through its search bar is here, when a polytherian mentioned it in a reply to a suspended account, and I know Ember's account was suspended sometime during the Naia debacle in 2019-2021, which makes me feel like I'm right about this timeline?), but beyond that, I'm afraid I don't know enough to say much on it besides things that are already obvious (i.e. that people shouldn't combine the symbol with known hate symbols/movements). If there's a major controversy connected to "ΘΔ," then I am entirely unaware of it and have no knowledge of such. Sorry anon!

[junedenim]

everything is romantic

an island getaway

warnings: smut, fluffy fluff, blowjob, eating out, & the p goes in the v

word count: 6.6k

"Get off the computer!" Alex yelled from the other room.

"I'm not on my computer!" You yell back as you continue to type on your computer. 

The air was hot in the rented house. Alex had spent the past 20 minutes trying to figure out how to turn on the AC that the lessor advertised the place as having but had remained to be found. You weren't supposed to be working. That had been part of the rules set but it felt like emails hardly qualified in that category. You could easily be getting an email from your mother so is there really a difference, even if you are answering an email from your boss?

"Get off the computer!" His voice was nearer this time, closer to the bedroom, but still in the hallway.

"Shush!" You sound back.

You hear his feet padding into the room and you don't try to hide what you're doing. You both knew what you were doing. "What do I see here? You're on your computer."

You momentarily pause to turn around in your chair to look at him. A trickle of sweat lines him, which doesn't help cool you down by any means. His hair is messed about meaning he definitely did not find the thermostat and was pulling his hair out over not finding the thermostat. "I'm just emailing Coco and then I'll be done." Coco, your insufferable boss. You didn't mind her, you quite liked her compared to previous bosses. Alex hated her guts. You might as well have been handcuffed to your laptop these past months.

"Why didn't you just ask Coco to come with us if you were going to email her the whole time?"

He's annoyed. You're a bit annoyed too but responding to an email is nothing, especially since you weren't planning to do anything today anyway. To Alex, doing nothing today was kind of the point. 

You roll your eyes and turn back to the laptop. Alex moves closer, he leans his arms down onto the desk, trapping you in your seat. His mouth slides up against your ear. "No emails."

"Just this one. Okay?" You promise. Well, lie.

"I don't believe you." He kisses your neck. It's slow and teasing. He's messing with you—creating an itch that needs to be scratched. He itches his way down. "You're not even out of your airport clothes?" You're still dressed in jeans and even Alex has changed into shorts. He kisses your collarbone before reaching down to the ends of the white blouse you're wearing and pulling it up. Your arms block him from taking it off all the way but that doesn't prevent him from squeezing your bra-covered boob.

"Alex, come on," you urge.

His non-boob-squeezing hand reaches around you and shuts the laptop. "It's vacation time." You sigh and give in then. He pushed the cup of her left boob down and started playing with its nipple. It's a weakness. He fiddles with it. You often joke he is trying to turn the volume up by the way he turns it and by the way you moan louder from it. He mouths away at your neck, slowly, teasingly, skillfully going at it.

"Aren't you hot? I'm hot," Alex says. You quickly oblige to what he's hinting at and raise your arms for him to pull off your blouse all the way. He takes his shirt off too, something he probably would have done eventually because of the heat. 

His chest has a sheen of sweat over it that makes you want to lick him. Is that crazy? To picture him as some human popsicle? He is what you need to quench your thirst. The cold beverage in this boiling bungalow. You both want to take a bite of him and watch him melt. You figure he's too tasty to be ignored, so you rush out of your chair and down onto your knees.

The perk of him changing out of his airport outfit and there is no need to work a belt off of him. You're quick in your unbuttoning of his blue Bermuda shorts. You don't bother to push down his shorts or underwear, instead electing to reach into his underwear to grab his cock. You're wrapping your hands around it when he quips, "I'll give you a job to do."

You start giggling at his penis before looking up to see him peering down at you with a chuckle. It makes you laugh more. You duck your head into his lower stomach to hide your laughter. It redistributes it into Alex's body, vibrating its way up his spine. 

His fingers thread through your hair in a shared reassuring matter but also slightly urging you to attend to his hard dick, still in your hand. You lift your head and gaze up at him with a slight remaining giggle before kissing his tip slowly. The remaining smile you have turns him on more and with his hand still in your hair, he pushes the back of your head urging you forward more.

You accept his request and wrap your lips around his cock. You take all of him in, wetting his cock, so you can easily rub your hand up and down. You stare up at him. You like doing it when you're blowing him and he really likes it when you do it. Each time you place him in your mouth, his eyes flutter making you wetter with each blink. When he hits the back of your throat, your eyes close tight before you pop off of him, you open your eyes wide, and bat your lashes. Then, you do it all over again.

His hand tightens and releases around your hair several times with each moan that he can't help but utter. Alex is soft with you, not wanting to hurt you in any way. You gag around his cock and he pulls you off him and wordlessly bends down to kiss you.

He lays you down and follows you down onto the floor. The kisses get heavier as he lies on top of you. His hand grabs the side of your waist and yours are on the back of his head, keeping his lips on yours. 

Alex's hand travels down your side to your right leg. He urges the leg up and you wrap it around his back, pulling him into you. His hard cock rubs against the rough denim material covering your center. 

There's an urgency to this. Foreplay suffers in the need for completion on both of your ends. He unbuttons your jeans and begins to push them down. You break your kiss to help pull them off your legs, your panties following in tow. He lifts himself to pull them off your feet, turning the jeans inside out in the quickest rush to get them off. 

You pull Alex back on top of you at the first sign your jeans are off. Your lips are back on each other like they are attacking one another. You curl your left hand around the back of his neck, toying with the ends of his hair. 

He raises himself, halfway into a plank, and reaches down to line himself up. He enters slowly, just his tip, but you're in the need for haste. You curl your legs around his waist tightly and pull him close to you, therefore having him plunge deep. 

The quick sensation has you slamming your hands onto his back, hugging him down onto you. Alex lets out a deep moan right next to your ear. He bucks into quick, understanding what you both want. You're tight around him and it feels like he is in another world, lost in the feeling of being in you. 

He wasn't sure if it was you squeezing around him or the thought that you were on an island vacation that meant endless amounts of sex for a week. It wasn't a honeymoon, no matter how much your friends kept joking it was. There was a time, deep in childhood innocence, that you thought you would save yourself for marriage, mainly because boys were icky and if you had to do it at some point then your husband would probably be okay for that. You told him all this the first time you were together. Generally, it scared off men to know the women they picked up at a bar was talking about the sex that they would have on their wedding night, but it only endeared Alex to you. The cute way you had laid on your back, the white sheets tangled around you making you look like a bride. Your hair—short back then—scruffed up on the pillow. You talked with your hands, dancing them around the air, and telling a story with just them. Nothing was told in an expected way. 

You had no plans to spend a life with the guy from a bar you hooked up with. Then, he told you about how during the summer before he started secondary school he used to hide under his covers reading encyclopedias because he was nervous he wouldn't be smart enough. He had a buzzcut and laid on his stomach when he talked. He had looked restless at the bar but peaceful beside you. His arms were tucked under his pillow but later on, after all the sex when you were just telling stories, he draped an arm over your stomach. Warmth, Alex had always brought that.

The sex you were having now. This was the sex you dreamt of losing your virginity on your wedding night too. So, if it had to be your "honeymoon" sex then it was well-suited. You felt weak under him, like a shaken leaf from his branches. It sounded vaguely misogynistic when he said it, like you were Eve coming from Adam's rib even though that didn't make much sense because didn't Adam have to have a mother? Don't all children come from their mother's ribs? Alex liked thoughts like this that you had. He called them "sex thoughts" because you'd whisper them to him after the act. Most men would be offended by the thought that the woman they were fucking had the ability to think about Biblical figures during sex. Alex saw it as inspiring you.

He thrust deep, hitting the ridge in the back of you. "Fuck," you muttered. You tended to do that too. The babbling during sex. Your eyes roll back when he hits it again, another "Fuck" drops from your lips.

Then, he's teasing, taking himself out to his tip and then slamming back into you. "Holy fuck." That was always a good sign. 

Alex takes himself to the tip again. He holds himself there too long. You're whiny and desperate and reaching the end, orgasm in sight. You buck your hips up. It causes him to stumble, his elbows bend. His chest lands on you, suffocating you down. His cock deep, his heavy breathing and moans against your ear, his chest to your chest. You wrap your arms around him again and hold him to you. 

You roll your hips up making him moan a "Fuck" of his own. He raises himself up again to thrust deep into you. You stick two fingers into his mouth, tasting of the strawberries you made him stop to pick up on your way to the house. You slink your hand down to the space between his stomach and yours. He could feel the curve of her knuckle moving against him as you touched herself. His pace is getting messier. A clear sign of the impending finish.

"Alex," you whine.

"Yeah," he responds. He knows you're close. You're getting messy too. Your hips keep shuffling around and he tries to pin you with his own to keep you straight. Then, he lets out, "Fuck. I—uh, god, fuck."

He manages to get in a few more pumps, feeling you clench up and squeeze around him before he finally allows himself to release into you. You would throw your head back if it wasn't rested against the floor. Alex buries his in the crook of your neck. Instinctively, you grab a hold of the back of his head, clutching his hair roughly. 

He sinks deeply into you, out of breath, and tired from holding himself up the whole time. You love holding him back, but he's worried about squashing you to death. He pulls himself out of you and lies beside you. You're scattered toys on a child's playroom floor. You feel his cum leaking out of you, something you used to find gross, but now feels weird when he doesn't finish inside you. Sometimes, if it's his birthday or you're trying to cheer him up, you'll let him cum on your tits. He tells you he isn't sure if he enjoys it because you rarely do it or if he actually likes doing it. 

"I didn't even take my bra off." One of your bra cups was pulled down, exposing your boob, and, on the other side, the strap was pulled down, barely hanging onto your body.

"I didn't even take my shorts off." His shorts lay in a tangled blue puddle around his ankles, his underwear hanging an inch off the rest. 

"Well, you had a job to do." You both burst out laughing. The sun leaking through the windows feels nice.

*

Alex tied the knot in the back of your bikini. Why did he tie the knot in the back of your bikini? You're putting sunscreen on. The cream kind all over your arms. He's waiting for you to ask him to do your back. You already did his. Before he even stepped outside. He burns like a tomato and you seem to always get this golden tan that he will admit he'd be jealous of if you didn't look much better with it than he would.

You're talking about the email Coco sent you but he tends to tune out when Coco is mentioned these days and you're dressed in that white bikini. "Can you do my back?" Ding, ding, ding! 

He must look like a lunatic the way he jumps up from his chair to grab the lotion bottle out of your hand. You're not oblivious. Alex has confessed to this turn-on of his when you first started dating and you went to some Malibu beach together. His slowness in rubbing the lotion in made you ask him what was taking so long and he had answered, "I'm savouring it."

Alex is savouring it now. He was bordering on giving you a massage, which you can't complain about as he gives special attention to your shoulders. Then, he's placing kisses on her shoulder.

"I'm not having sex on the beach with you, bunny." Another confessed fantasy.

He whines, "Come on. Isn't that the whole reason why we picked this house? There's nobody here." The house was only a few yards from the beach and you were nervous at night that the tide might sweep the house away. True, you hadn't seen a single person since sitting out on the beach. However, sex on the beach was reserved for cocktails only.

"I thought we picked it for the balconies." That was your fantasy. Too many readings and watchings of Romeo & Juliet. If Alex could climb the pipes up to the balcony, you would cream yourself.

Alex stops his sunscreen rubbing and turns into your eyeline. "No, honey, you picked it for the balconies. I picked it for a week of naked you. Indoor, outdoor, house, ocean, sand, I could go on."

You laugh and shake your head. "I am not having sex in the sand. I'll be finding it up there for months."

"I'll do a good job."

"I don't doubt you would."

You had generally been against public sex ever since one night, early on in dating Alex when you got caught in a club bathroom. Alex was spared any embarrassment, having all his clothes on. You had your bare chest exposed. It had generally been kept in houses since then. Although, you did seem to cover most surfaces. Bed, bedroom floor, kitchen counters, kitchen floor, shower, bathroom counters, you could go on. Never the bathroom floor though, maybe you'll do that here. The bathroom is pretty big.

*

Alex's shirts are your generally preferred vacation outfits. He wasn't much bigger than you but his shirts hung loose and were breezy in the summer air. They made good cover-ups for swimwear. This one, blue and white striped, was your favourite. You wore jean shorts with it and cheap sandals as you strolled into the little town just off the way of the beach.

"I'd like to grow old in a place like this," you say. It's quaint and foreign. A little seaboard town. A place where no one knew them. Alex's fame wasn't much of a problem. You adjusted easily to it once you found out the level of it. Something that had surprised him, though he never told you that. You were young but past the point where you were worrying about zits and fake IDs. Settling down felt far away and close at the same. If Alex wanted to, you would. As long as you got to pick where you lived. 

Alex swings your hands in between you two. You both walk in short steps, taking in each piece of the town. You have a bounce in your step as you cheer about the town. "It seems like a place that would add 10 years onto your life," Alex adds. He had the thought that he was 10 years older than you. Does that mean he'd die first? He'd be fine with that. He thinks you have much more strength than him and could probably survive his death. If you were to die, he'd curl up into a ball in stay there. You'd probably grab martinis with friends after his funeral and he supports that.

"Fountain of youth. Although, isn't that supposed to be in Florida?" You wonder aloud.

"The fountain of youth is definitely not in Florida."

"Aren't I your fountain of youth?" You tease him. You did this often, teasing him over the age gap. It made him uncomfortable early on. Like he was taking advantage of you in some way. It made him feel particularly icky over a dinner where you had said, "Am I your sugar baby or something?" It was a joke but he was caught up in what you thought of him, what others thought of him. You had only been going out for a few weeks, not even officially dating yet. Then, when the check came around that night, you insisted on paying. Then, he felt ridiculous for ever taking your jokes as actual blows against him. They were more often than not just jokes about how old he was, which he could accept (most of the time).

No quip was returned before you dropped his hand and jumped up and down. "Ice cream!" Yeah, there might be a 10-year age difference but even Alex might jump up and down for ice cream. Well, ice cream with you licking the ice cream. He's horny first, human second.

Later, Alex and you sit in the ice cream parlour each equipped with an ice cream cone. The place has a singular small fan going, every 30 seconds you feel a slight gust of wind, which soothes your burning skin. "Ice cream is much better here than in America."

You had an impassioned hatred for America, which he never understood. You were American—well, mostly American—you had lived there your whole life—again mostly—your friends were America—again, again, mostly—you had met each other in America, fucked in America, fell in love in America, lived together in America, and, eventually, moved away from America. He thinks it has something to do with your mother.

He hums in agreement and settles at watching your tongue swish around the ice cream's tip, imagining scenes from earlier this morning. He is already biting into his cone. 

Alex leans closer, up against your ear, whispering, "You want to go to the bathroom?"

You pull back to look him in the face, gifting him an eye roll. "I may be younger than you, Alex, but I was potty-trained."

His hand, resting on the curve of your waist, yanks you toward him. "There's no one in here. No one to walk in."

"Yeah, except the one employee who is going to notice his only two customers go into the bathroom together. We're 5 minutes from the house, if you want to go back and have me suck you off we can do that." The 15-year-old boy at the counter looked harmless and would likely be too afraid to prevent them from doing anything but he would concede that you had a point.

"You're so romantic."

"You're the one who wants me to do you in the bathroom."

*

He watches you in the pool. When you returned to the house, you didn't do each other. With the same enthusiasm that you had for the ice cream, you shed your clothing racing for the pool. Your shirt of his lay at his feet, disappointingly not leading to a naked you. He grabs a fresh towel for you and watches you splash around. Cheering for him to watch, here's my front flip, back flip, handstand, front flip into back flip into handstand.

He watches 5 minutes of this before it becomes repetitive and he turns to the book he brought out to read. The sun shines perfectly on his book and perfectly on you. 

3 pages in something lands at his feet. A wet white bikini top. If this wet white bikini top is at his feet, then where is yours? His gaze moves slowly to the pool. You're acting oblivious, underwater, avoiding his eyes. When you come up, your back is to him. Turn around, turn around, turn around. 

You're slow. You've always been a teaser. His breath is slow, hitched in his throat. He has made a point not to move, not wanting to distract himself with the flick of his own wrist.

Then, suddenly, you turn quickly, slingshot a bunch of white fabric flying toward him. Plop! At his feet again, your swim bottoms. By the time his eyes have lifted from the bunch of clothing, you've already dove back underwater. His eyes trail over the blurry curve of your skinny-dipping body. This is vacation.

You know what you're doing. You come up on the side closest to him, propping your arms up on the pool's edge. Your nude body is completely blocked. Your hair is sleeked back, giving him a detailed drawing of your face that he only quite gets when your hair is wet. Pet back in the shower, sleeked back in the pool.

"What are we having for dinner?" You smirk at him. A siren. 

"Whatever you want." He can play along. Try his best to act uninterested despite the object hardening in his shorts.

"Do you want to eat out or in?" Your smile is a beam. A sight that happens often but not for more than a second before a burst of laughter. You've held it for 30 seconds now.

Alex looks down on his book. His eyes skim but he is pretty sure he can't even read the English language at this point. "Whatever you want." He prays for you to say in so they can order it, fuck, pay the delivery guy, fuck until the food is cold, reheat the food, fuck, eat, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I'm tired. Let's eat in. There should be takeaway menus in one of the kitchen drawers." You better not be tired.

"I'll go grab them after I finish this page." It should take about a decade for him to get through this page.

He hears a splash and looks up. You're back underwater, kicking your feet loudly. When you first got together, back during that rough buzzcut season of his life when he was in the perils of a near-mental breakdown and you were supposed to be a girl in a series of other girls until you weren't, Alex and you spent entire lifetimes out in his pool. You were relatively poor by comparison, sharing an apartment with 2 other people. No pool, no privacy. You joked with Alex sometimes that you'd never be together without those two things.

In those first few weeks, when the title of your relationship rested in the firmly sexual position, you'd do what you were doing now. The difference was Alex was usually in the pool with you, with equal nude-ship status. You fucked in the pool, multiple times. You fucked in the hot tub, multiple times. Now, he'd like to fuck in this pool or near it, he doesn't have to get wet, only you do.

"Water girl!" He yelled out. At the far end of the pool, you look behind your shoulder. The waves of the water shield any good view of your body. "Come here."

You push off the wall in his direction. Your hands wrap around the edge of the pool, hanging off of it. "Yes?"

"Come here." Alex gestures you out of the pool.

You bite your lip and sit your chin on the pool's edge. With a slight shake of your head, you say, "Too hot. Did you decide on dinner?"

"I didn't get the menus yet."

"Well, why don't you go do that?" You're manipulative and exploitative, dangling your body in front of him and snatching it away. 

Thinking the dinner menus might get you out of the pool, he shuts the unread book, and heads to the kitchen. It takes him about 3 drawers to find the stack of menus tucked in the back. He thinks tomorrow you both should go to the grocery store a couple of streets down and he'll cook dinner. You're a rotten cook. You lived off fruit, McDonald's, and the kindness of friends before you met him. If there is any time he does feel like a sugar daddy is when he is servicing you with meals. You attempted to cook a meal together once and you had sliced your hand within the first 5 minutes.

When he turns around, a blur passes through the kitchen. He glances down at the puddles of water across the wood-paneled floor. He abandons the menus in favour of chasing that blur. You're easy to catch up to, you've made your way to the living room. Alex stands at the archway, blocking you in.

You stand, dripping, in the corner of the room. Your arms are covered over your boobs. Your legs are slightly crossed at your ankles. "What's your next move here, Turner?" You ask teasingly.

He stands back, trying to remain intact and undeterred. He crosses his arms. "I'm the one with the exit. You, my friend, are trapped in."

You bite your bottom lip and shake your head. "I'm the one with the advantage."

"How's that?"

"No clothes weighing me down and you are a man with the inability to focus on anything when boobs are present." You drop your arms to your side. Boobs with water droplets running down the sides and perky nipples staring at him. 

Yes, he totally does get distracted by the boobs for a split second, but he is determined to stay resolute. He dashes across the room, eliciting a squeal from you before he even comes close to you. He reaches out trying to grab your slippery limbs. 

You're both laughing messes when he manages to curl an arm around your waist. Alex's stumbling and your weight makes you fall onto the couch. You scream. "We can't get the couch wet!"

His back lands on the couch preventing you from soaking the couch. Your wet hair lands in Alex's mouth as he says, "You want to do it on the floor again?"

"Can't we ever just do it in a bed?" His tight grip on you doesn't allow you to stand up, still stacked on top of him, despite your wriggling. 

"Not when you're running around wet and naked."

You're able to wriggle out of his grip and sit beside his lounging body on the couch. She smirks. "Why don't you hurry up and take your clothes off then?"

He shoves his shorts off pretty quickly after that command. With little hesitation, you straddle him, sinking onto him. That divine stretch has you unleashing a moan. He shivers from the chill you bring. You engulf him completely and lean down, scattering light kisses down his neck. 

You sit up, lifting yourself slowly and then dropping down quickly, similar to the way he slams into you when he's in control. You grind on him, back and forth, making him let out a growly moan. 

You place your hands on his upper chest. Your movements quicken and he places his hands lightly on your waist. He squeezes your skin when he moans. The sex itself is blurry like you running through the kitchen and his chase for his orgasm is short, already worked up from your teasing. Riding him often leads to a quickie. 

"Where do you wanna cum, huh?" You're sneering and flirty taunting smirk.

His eyes widen from their previous tightly shut state. "You're gonna let me cum on your tits?"

She nods. "Just don't get it in my hair." You say this every time. He never has but you still have this great fear of a drop getting into your hair.

After a few more bounces of friction, heat, skin-to-skin, and whimpering gasps, Alex urges you off of him. You promptly go down to your knees on the floor. Alex swings his legs onto the floor and reaches his climax too quick to stand up. A couple of pumps and ropes land on your chest. His aim is still on point. He throws his head back, resting it on the couch. You run your hand up his inner thigh in both a teasing and soothing manner. 

A beat passes before you stand up and peck his cheek. He blindly touches your elbow with a soft touch, trying to urge you to lie back down on top of him, chest-to-chest. 

You disconnect from him. "I'm gonna order dinner now!" He's completely spent and you're energetically scurrying back over to the kitchen. At least, he can admire your back as you leave. And your ass, he doesn't appreciate your cute little butt enough.

*

You've got his shirt on again, except now there's no bra underneath. The first few buttons have been left open allowing him to see that sacred curve. The two of you sit, eating at a little table on the patio that overlooks the ocean. Your hair has grown lighter in the sun, bouncing rays off of it. It's messily dried from its former wet state, making it look like a light aura surrounds you.

"I'm going to bring out the bottle of wine," you announce, rising from your chair. It doesn't help matters that you're only wearing your underwear underneath the linen fabric.

His dressed state isn't much different than yours. His own loose-fitted, casually unbuttoned shirt. His sunglasses covering his eyes. That chain of his catching the sun. His hair was fluffy, always fluffy. You started calling him bunny after his hair had grown back. The way it flops around now reminds you of a bunny's ear.

You returned with the bottle, refilling the glasses you had been nursing. Alex had lit a cigarette while you were inside the house, the smoke exhaling from his lips in a spin that made you feel a lustful dizz.

You pluck the cig from in between his fingers, taking a drag of your own. He felt guilt that he had gotten you into the habit but you used to be one of those annoying people who carried around a vape and constantly hit it (god, he sounded old). He guesses taking a couple of drags of his cigarettes beats the damage that would have done. 

You stick out your hand toward the setting sun, tracing the horizon as the cigarette billows smoke from it. "I wish we had this view all the time." The sky was a blue fading into a purple disappearing into a pinkish orange. It felt like a painting before you.

"Yeah, me too," he says. Your eyes dash over to look at him. His sunglasses are off and his eyes are on you. His irises looked honey-coloured with the way the remaining golden light hit them. 

You give him a crooked smile. "You get me all the time," you point out.

"Not as much as I want," he wishes. He lifts his hand and motions to you. "Come here."

You giggle. "Me or the cigarette?"

He chuckles. "Both of you." 

You hand the cigarette over and he takes it away from you and grabs your hand. You stand up, pick up your wine, and follow the tug from that hand. You land on his lap and his arm, once holding your hand, curls around you.

You sit peacefully watching the sunset. Alex takes slow puffs of his smoke and you wrap your arms loosely around his neck and rest your head on his chest. The air is quiet. You don't think you've ever been in a place this quiet, the only sound being Alex's heart beating against your ear. 

He drops the cigarette into the ashtray. With his newly freed hand, he runs it down your sternum into the shirt's opening. He goes up the hill and holds the soft skin of your left boob. "You feeling me up already?" You question.

You admire his profile. You think people should chisel statues out of it. Like David or atop Mount Rushmore. He's more good-looking than any dead president or Biblical king. His head shifts over to you, not able to fully look at you due to your head being on his shoulder. "Just keeping it there for warmth," he whispers. You giggle and tilt your head to kiss his jaw softly.

He doesn't make any moves to move things further, instead, he just sits there with you watching the setting sun.

*

You're in bed when he gets out of the shower—still, dressed in that shirt and that underwear. Good. Easy access. You've brought your computer to bed though, which doesn't help matters. He tries to mask a groan at the thought you're emailing Coco.

You turn your laptop around showing a map. "I was thinking tomorrow we could go for a hike. There's a little trail a short drive away." 

Hike? You want to hike? Your athletic activity had generally been limited to sex and playing mermaid in the pool. When he met you he was probably at his fittest and you joked that he was a gym rat with a particular focus on the rat part. You'd be in the middle of sex, riding him, his hands would be on your waist, guiding you, and you would reach down and wrap your hand around his biceps. He had smirked thinking a compliment was coming when you jabbed, "Are you on steroids?" 

It had all been jokes. You liked working out. Well, you liked watching him work out. Sweaty and spent looked good on him, not on you. You're happy to play cheerleader.

"Sure," he agreed, slipping on boxers. You rapidly clapped your hands delightedly, pulling the computer back onto your lap.

Alex turned the overhead light off and the room was dark beside your bedside lamp and the glow of your laptop. You had left the window open a crack, the ocean breeze drifting in, making the curtains blow around. 

He carefully crawled into bed beside you. He is almost certain his back got sunburned, despite the copious amounts of lotion you applied to it, multiple times. He looks over at your screen, no longer on a map, but emailing Coco. "Come on, no work!"

"I saved it for the end of the evening," you reason.

"If you're going to email on vacation they should have given you paid leave." You conceded he had a point. But you were still going to finish this email.

You type away and Alex disappears under the covers. Suddenly, you feel a kiss on your ankle. You suppose you were too distracted to notice him inch his way down to the foot of the bed. "Alex," you say in an attempt to deter him, even though you don't really want to deter him. 

He kisses the side of the knee, creeping up closer and closer and closer. Then, your inner thigh. You shake with anticipation at his next move, but he stops there. He kisses the same space again. Then, your other thigh. "Alex," you say more as a plea than your prior attempt.

He seems to give a little then, kissing your center over your underwear. He's delicate with it. A soft kiss, slowly making his way up your cunt. Your toes curl in wanting and waiting. He dances around your clit. "Alex."

He slides your panties over to the side, kissing your clit directly making you moan. "You're wet," Alex notes. His voice is muffled under the sheets. "You're emailing Coco while you're this wet. Is there something I should know?"

You roll your eyes. You're eager. You went down on him today, you rode him today, you let him cum on your tits. Usually, Alex is better than you in the pleasing department. You're selfish and he worships pussy. "You should know that I want you to get on with it."

"Close the laptop." A haggler. You give and shut the laptop, placing it on your bedside table.

You lift the covers off his head to reveal his grinning face. "Your turn, Turner."

"Good one," he says and then he's sucking on your clit and you're clutching the bedsheets. His tongue showing your clit special attention tonight. You tug on the sheets and to prevent them from ripping, you switch to rooting them in his hair.

He starts humming against you, which vibrates through you. You would hate that he knows your body so well if he wasn't so good at pleasing it. He licks down and his tongue pokes at your entrance. His nose hits your clit, another thing that has you moaning. You wish you could fuck his nose. It's a weird thought but it makes sense when it hits your clit. You buck up into his face. It makes him smirk but he doesn’t let up. Only quickens.

Alex starts strongly fucking you with his tongue. You think he should worry about hair loss considering how hard you're yanking his hair. He hugs your thighs, pushing against your hips that keep rutting relentlessly.

It's easy for him to tell that an orgasm is on the horizon. Your legs start to shake and you're moaning, "Fuck, Alex, fuck." Your favourite expletive. You bring your legs to the back of his neck, crossing them, keeping him locked into your cunt. He doesn't let up for a moment, even if you weren't there pushing him down, he wouldn't let up. 

Your back arches up and you're gasping and moaning and he might cream his own underwear from the whole thing. You squeeze him to you tightly and he doesn't let up, leading him to overstimulation. "Alex, no more. Too raw."

Alex doesn't stop but turns soft. Little kisses around your clit that causes random rutting of your hips into his face. He fixes your panties, covering your cunt back up. He gives a kiss to the tiny bow on the top of your underwear. A little pink thing in the middle of the lace. He starts to kiss your body but you just feel utterly spent. You stop him when he attempts to unbutton your shirt. You tell him, "Too tired. We'll fuck tomorrow."

He kisses your belly button, then your shirt-covered boob, then your cheek, before rolling over to his side of the bed onto his back. You adjust your pillow and turn to lay on your stomach next to him. "I'll wake you up with a blowjob or something."

Alex grins. "A blowjob wake-up? You know how to please, woman." His hand snakes down your back and squeezes your ass. He toys with the lining of your underwear but makes no attempts to move it. "You've got a cute little butt, you know."

[lockede-x-it]

Like I agree entirely with the Cinderpelt post, but I think it's perhaps because Cinderpelt had a hind leg injury, rather than a forepaw. This is quite a significant difference especially for cats. (E.g, an inability to pounce normally). Granted, I don't think the Erins thought of this, but it's something worth mentioning because I never see it brought up in this discussion.

(note: i am not a veterinarian or super knowledgeable on cat physiology so i'm purely just going off what i know of basic injury. if someone who IS more qualified in that field sees this post and wants to correct anything i say here, go right ahead! i honestly just want an end to this debate. with that said, the answer to this ask is under the cut)

purely because i'm actually getting tired of people constantly bringing this up: cats are very adaptive and they can do just fine on three legs after enough time to recover!

yes, having an injured back leg and a deformed front paw are very different injuries! however, because i doubt the Erins really considered it while writing these characters, we don't know just how bad Cinderpelt's injury was!

from a lot of the counterpoints i've seen saying that Cinderpelt's injury was more severe, a lot of them seem to make it out that Cinder's hip bone was shattered or badly injured. if her hip was shattered, she wouldn't be able to walk at all on her back legs (think Briarlight). if it was badly injured to where it never healed well, i imagine she wouldn't be able to walk far without taking frequent breaks (which is never mentioned as i'm reading through the books right now (currently at the halfway point of The Darkest Hour, long after Cinder became mobile again))

regardless, neither Cinderpelt NOR Deadfoot seem to be able to put any weight on their affected limbs. both injuries would affect how well they'd be able to hunt or fight effectively compared to an abled cat and therefore both would put into question their ability to be "true" warriors in the eyes of their clanmates.

Deadfoot was born with his injury, yes, but why should that mean Cinderpelt can't be given a chance to adapt to her injury and work towards being a Warrior as well? i don't think the point in both cats lives in which they got their conditions matters much in this context and moreso of just how much they actually affect the cat which, again, the Erins don't give us a super clear idea of! also Brightheart was rendered half-blind and half-deaf after the dog attack but she was easily given her opportunity to prove herself as a warrior not long after she recovered in the same arc!! (which isnt the same as a leg injury but it still goes to show how fucked this inconsistency is)

if you want to interpret that either cat's injury is worse or better than the other's, go ahead. but because of the above that i've stated, that is the reason i made the original post to begin with and as far as canon is concerned, it's purely up to the reader's interpretation but at the end of the day, there is no denying how atrocious the inconsistent levels of ableism can be in these books.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I'm a bit confused about how the classes work at Night Raven... like, can students of different years go to the same classes at the same time? because we know Yuu goes/we go to the same class as Ace/Deuce, but I was doing some lessons w Floyd and he says something like "I think I'll go to your class today, Little Shrimpy!" ...is it just a Floyd Thing™️ where he randomly attends classes that he shouldn't, or are older students allowed to/have to go to some of the same classes that younger students have? Bc like... if he goes to the same idk, history class Yuu is at, wouldn't he just... be attending a class he practically already took? (Like how Leona says that he doesn't attend most classes bc he already saw that last year)

(also maybe this is just a silly question and it's a common school system thing in other countries, but at least on my country we don't really do that? I think? Classes are divided by years unless it's like a club activity or some other stuff like that, that's why I'm confused... or maybe it is based more on how a university operates? I haven't enrolled yet so I wouldn't know, sorry if it sounds like a stupid/obvious question 🥲🥲)

I go into more detail about class scheduling in this post. To put it simply though, here are the take-aways that are relevant to answering your questions:

There are “joint classes” where students of various grade levels are in attendance. Students mention this many times in various vignettes. However, it should be noted that joint classes most frequently happen in the context of P.E.

Some classes cannot be joint because there are different materials covered per grade level. For example, Magic History II covers the Just Judge but Magic History I does not.

Additionally, higher level classes require prerequisite courses first be passed. For example. first years’ classes are stated to be mainly theory based and second/third year classes involve more actual use of magic.

As far as we’re aware, NRC’s schedules run like a normal high school’s, meaning the classes are back-to-back and the only significant break in the middle of the day is lunch (a time which everyone seems to share). So when any boy says he’ll follow Yuu to class, it’s not as though he is on an extended break outside of lunch period.

All of the characters have Lesson lines similar to what you described for Floyd. The most likely reason why they say they will “follow you to class” or “do whatever you want to do” is because there is a separation between gameplay mechanics (Lessons) and the actual narrative (main story). For example, Malleus is canonically stronger than all of his classmates but this is not reflected in all Malleus cards having higher attack power; in fact, Dorm Uniform Riddle has the highest power of all student cards. Clearly, it does not make sense in-universe for the characters to take any class in whatever order they want just for the hell of it. However, the feature still exists as a way to level up your cards and to give fanservice to the players via voice lines (because it creates the illusion of bonding/spending time with the boys).

If you’re wondering how it works in universities, you’ll generally have some students from every grade level. Introductory courses may be mostly freshmen while specialized courses are mostly upperclassmen, but you might still get a few people outside of the usual grades interested and taking the class or even accelerated younger students in the high level classes. Electives especially can be mixed. It doesn’t really matter as long as you meet the prerequisites for the class (as you may need to have passes other classes to qualify for enrollment).

[estebanocon]

Ok, here's my recap of seeing Esteban over the Singapore GP! I've been attending every Singapore GP since 2017 and have supported Esteban each year. For me the highlight from this year was finding out that not only does he recognise my face, he also knows my name. 🥹

The video above is a compilation from two days: Thursday and Saturday. Full story below the cut. 👇

PRE-RACE WEEKEND / ESTEBAN'S BIRTHDAY

I've been travelling since late July and my flight back to Singapore from Vancouver was actually on Esteban's birthday. I had already committed to editing a video to celebrate his achievements at Alpine. Some of you (bless y'all, seriously) answered my open call for art/video/message submissions and I spent the afternoon before my flight putting it together. I'm happy I got it done and I was even happier when Esteban commented thanking us for it just before I got on my plane. You can watch the video on Instagram here.

THURSDAY

A.K.A. The day after I arrived back in Singapore after 2 months on the road and a 16-hour time difference. I have no idea how I wasn't severely jetlagged lol.

I got to the paddock entrance after 1pm, early enough to still get a spot in front of the barrier, but gosh there were so many people this year. Either F1 has really exploded in popularity (especially with the younger generation) or we just have more fans from overseas coming to Singapore for the race (why tho, it's so hot y'all). Luckily I had a friend with me and he was kind enough to help me take videos when Esteban arrived.

My friend hadn't hit record yet so the video missed Esteban saying "good to see you again, how are you doing?", and you can scroll back up for the rest. ☺️ He thanked me after I asked if he'd seen the birthday video and then there was an awkward moment when I didn't know if we were doing a fist bump or a handshake but man's a gentleman and didn't make me feel weird about it. 🫠

I don't know why after seeing him so many times I still get nervous but I was, and I struggled to take the cap off my marker so he could sign my cap. He very kindly took it from me to open it himself but my marker betrayed me and wasn't working properly (now that I think about it, it also happened the very first time I asked him to sign my hat back in 2017 🤡). Thankfully the girl next to me offered her red marker which actually worked (though Este stabbed the life out of it first to be sure). 🙏

I initially wanted to hang around in the evening with some friends who were coming after the pitlane walk. But at 7pm it was already super crowded and I don't even know why (all the drivers, TPs and media are already in the paddock at this point and won't come out till late that night). So yeah, I just went home to not tire myself out before the race weekend actually started.

FRIDAY

I've accumulated quite a bit of merch since last year so I was bringing a different one on each day for him to sign haha. In the selfie I'm wearing a shirt he signed the day before.

I normally try not to take up too much of his time because he always does his best to make sure all the fans get something from him. I only had one shirt for him to sign but after he did, he continued standing in front of me so I just took out my phone for this picture and then he went on his way. Este is bestie fr. 😭🫶

I didn't hang around outside the paddock again on Friday night because I went to watch OneRepublic. ✨

SATURDAY

The best day for me because this was when I managed to get most of my selfies (including with Mick, who I missed on Thursday because he came with Esteban and obv I have priorities) and also because Esteban managed to drag the car out of Q1. 👏

It was also a good day because I asked Esteban if he could write my name on the cap and as I was trying to spell it out for him, he cut me off because he knew, he just didn't see it was me at first because some guy had draped a huge flag over my friend and me for him to sign. 😭🫶

We tried to wait outside the paddock after qualifying but they started chasing us out at 12am and since they had armed police out in full view, we decided to not fk around and find out. (At previous SGPs they'd stay in the van so we never actually saw them.) Also didn't help that Esteban chose that moment to leave so people started mobbing him and even though he tried to stop at first, security physically pushed him to the exit. 🥲 (which was probably for the best tbh)

SUNDAY

I actually gave Este the wrong hat to write my name on (I wanted him to write it on the cap from his store, not the Alpine one) so I had to ask him again and he kindly obliged.

That night I was lucky to catch him just before he left the circuit, there were some fans running alongside him because he wasn't stopping but he stopped when he saw me. 😭🫶 I got a quick hug and he said see you next year so I guess the greedy mfs at SGP are going to continue getting my money smh.

BONUS ESTE'S BESTIES

Here's a picture of stuff I got signed by Este, as well as some gifts I got from other Esteban fans! And also, a picture of me and Fiq who I met for the first time on race day.

[tsukimefuku]

to be loved is to be changed ❖ nanami kento

summary: after an unexpected talk with gojo, you begrudgingly went to work for jujutsu high. meeting new people and encountering a friend from the past has you wondering how much things might have changed (or not).

tags: jujutsu kaisen, f!reader based off of an oc, soft/implied nanami x oc/reader, students being students, gojo being gojo, nostalgia, fluff, some life contemplation.

wc: 2.9K

notes, etc: i wrote this to the sound of nothing in my way (keane), and i'm editing it to the sound of akatsuki no kodou (unchain). this story came into my mind as i remembered that garfield plushie image that got very famous a while ago (to be loved is to be changed). finally, "majo" means witch in japanese.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

"Gojo said he has the situation under control," you repeated to yourself, nervously, as the train approached Tokyo. You could see the sunlight darting in between the city's skyline, casting streaks of light over you and the empty seat by your side, occupied solely by your tiny luggage.  "He has it under control."

You sighed, rubbing your own arm in an unsuccessful attempt of self-comforting, just before the train slowly stopped in its tracks. Clenching your fists in knuckle-white balls, you got up, holding your dark green beaten up travel suitcase and making your way out in between hurried people. 

Every step sent a wave of impact up your legs, and you were especially concerned with the fact that you probably forgot to breathe for a few seconds. 

"He's got it under control."

Right after you exited the Shibuya train station, you darted your eyes through the crowd, trying to find him. Your cellphone, already six years ancient, barely qualified as a communication device anymore. The screen, cracked by time and your own lackluster capacity to keep things unscathed, offered little to no support if you needed to text someone. He has the six eyes, you figured, he'll probably find me before I find him, anyway.

And you were completely right.

"It's been a long time!" You heard the unmistakable voice resonating behind you, a playful cadence that vibrated through the air. Turning around, you saw Gojo waving at you, and you waved back weakly — something uncharacteristic for you, always sardonic and well carried yourself. Thing is, you were just still terrified at what Jujutsu High might be once again plotting, and how it could involve you. "How was your trip? Wow, your hair really is big."

"Anxiously ridden, pretty boy. It's been a minute," you answered, stretching forcefully a half smile on your cheek.

Instead of the characteristic pout he'd have ten years ago when you called him pretty boy, his face was covered by a frivolous smile, to which the blindfold only served to enhance its mystery and intentions.

He had changed, and so had you.

He wasn't that boy that saved you anymore.

Neither were you the person he had saved. Not anymore, at least — thankfully.

"Don't worry, everything is taken care of. I've got the car here to take us back straight to Jujutsu High."

Ah, inside the belly of the beast, it seems. Just perfect.

***

As he presented your room where you'd be until you could find an appropriate apartment or flat for yourself, you wondered where all the people could've gone. You saw some students sparring by the track field, but apart from that, the place was uneasily peaceful. 

"It's kind of… Empty around here, isn't it?" You noted. 

"Oh, we have few sorcerers, which is why having you on board will be nice. You can aid Shoko and get some weight off her shoulders. Maybe she'll even ditch the eye bags!" He chirped, jokingly. You huffed from a smile, taking in slowly what it all meant. 

A decade later, after you sworn never to come to Jujutsu High, here you were, ready to work for them.

What a ploy.

"I'll let you get settled. Then, come outside, I'd like to introduce you to the students!"

"Me? To the students? Why?" You inquired, considerably confused.

"Because you will help me in teaching these kids. Maybe you can teach them RCT, because God knows Shoko couldn't even teach me, and I'm something of a genius. Hurry up!" He playfully chanted, waltzing out of the room before you could muster up an answer.

Changed, but not so much, it seems.

After you had splayed your things on your bed, separating all your cans and glass jars, all containing an assortment of different herbs and dried ingredients, you got up, heavy heart rumbling inside your chest, as you realized you'd be venturing around the lion's den for quite some time before you could find someplace else to live.

You quietly made your way outside, innocuous thumps hitting the hardwood floor below your sock covered feet, right before you reached outside and jammed them inside the already beaten up sneakers — that is, if they could even be called that anymore.

You approached the teens, and none of them paid much attention to you as you came silently towards them. There were five of them, and… A panda? What?

Gojo clapped twice, garnering everyone's attention. There were three boys, and two girls.

"Students, please, welcome your new teacher!"

"Hello! Itadori Yuuji!" The pink haired boy chirped, happily.

"Fushiguro Megumi, it's nice to meet you," the brooding one said, bowing politely.

"Kelp."

Say what now?

"That's Inumaki Toge, he's a cursed speech user. He speaks in rice ball ingredients due to his technique," Gojo clarified.

Oh, I see.

"Finally, a woman teacher that might actually teach us something!" One of the girls said. She seemed spunky with her short red hair. "I'm Kugisaki Nobara."

Finally, you looked at the last girl who sat by the stairs, holding onto a staff that had a blade on its tip. "I'm Maki."

You then looked at the panda, and kept staring at him. Everyone was silent for a moment, as you tried to grasp what exactly was going on. 

"I'm Panda," the panda answered.

You were left dumbfounded, but decided to not inquire further, considering it might be rude.

Who the hell knows.

"It's good to meet you, guys. Hope you can learn a thing or two from me. I've lived many things," you concluded, in a somewhat ominous fashion. Your attempt of a joke fell on deaf ears, and they all seemed a little confused, if not slightly taken aback. Yuuji tried a polite laugh, but Megumi elbowed him.

Gojo chuckled, grinning widely as he put his hands on his waist. "Never mind, students. She's like that. That wasn't even the worst thing she's said out of the blue."

He turned his blindfold covered-face towards you.

"You haven't changed at all," Gojo noted.

Except you had.

"Oh, come! There's more that I want to show you before I leave to take care of some things," he then exclaimed, long strides, instantly making his way out from the students without even waving them goodbye.

You followed suit, and accompanied him hurriedly. You were by no means small, but Gojo was enormous, and had what could be called "legs for days". Each step he took, required two steps from you to keep up.

"Hurry, woman!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" You answered, pacing quickly behind him.

You both walked across the track field, went up two flights of stairs, and stopped in front of a red wooden door that made way inside one of the multiple buildings inside the campus. Seemed huge for such a short-staffed personnel.

Gojo knocked on the door three times, and waited around five seconds before effectively barging in unceremoniously.

"Come!" He yelled at you, and you began to step inside.

"Gojo, I was finishing my report about today's mission with Yaga on the phone. You should learn to wait for someone to effectively let you inside the premises after knocking," you heard a so familiar voice say.

"Nanami?" You asked, walking towards the tall blonde man in front of you. You had seen him in Tokyo around four to five years ago, completely by accident, and forgot to get his number on that opportunity. At that time, he wasn't enrolled with jujutsu affairs anymore, and you remember chastising him for it.

Now, he had a pale beige suit on, wore a blue button shirt with a yellow splatter print tie, and had a particularly unique pair of glasses covering his eyes.

"It's you!"

His eyes widened slightly as he said your name.

You nodded. "Yeah. Myself, plus the long hair. It's nice to see you again."

A genuine smile covered your face.

He tipped his head softly, "it's nice to see you again, too. What has brought you here to Jujutsu High?"

You scoffed, looking at Gojo. He lifted his hands, saying, "well, they were up plotting against her, so I just pulled a few strings that basically required her to come here."

You sighed.

"Yeah. They were up to their classic shit, I guess."

Nanami sighed back.

"I see."

"So, about your work here," Gojo began, "given you have very little experience in effectively fighting in the field to exorcize curses, Nanami is being now appointed to shepherd you until you are acclimated!"

"Say what now?" You asked, at a loss for words. Isn't jujutsu sorcery a solo sport? Why the hell am I going to have a partner?

"And who has made that decision? Gojo, you should've informed me about this beforehand. I can't be caught off guard this way."

"What?! I wanted to make a surprise! You guys haven't seen each other in a decade!" He said in his defense.

"Actually, I ran into Nanami by accident around five years ago here at Tokyo, when he was a salaryman," you replied. "He was too good for that, so I gave him a hard time and told him to go back to being a jujutsu sorcerer."

"Huh?" Gojo asked. "Five years ago?"

"Yes" Nanami acquiesced.

"I bumped into him, we had a chat, I took my train, and well, here I am, I guess," you concluded, smiling.

Gojo chuckled, and put his hands in his pockets, realizing the timing.

"Are you sure you still want to complain about shepherding her?" He asked Nanami, with a hint of mischief in his voice.

Nanami sighed, yet again.

"I have no objections on that matter. I'd just like to have been informed beforehand."

"Oh, come on, Nanami. Gojo tried his best to make a surprise, he just disregarded the fact that you clearly hate surprises."

"Hey!" Gojo complained.

Nanami shook his head at Gojo's antics, but underneath his blank facade, you saw the all too familiar amusement he had all the times you picked fun at Gojo.

We haven't changed. Have we?

***

Weeks had passed, and you couldn't live another second like this. You just couldn't.

The long hair getting glued to the back of your neck, sweaty tangles that took eons to brush out, was simply becoming too much of a hassle.

You sat in the bathroom, on the toilet, shortly after your latest mission with Nanami, and grabbed the first pair of scissors you could find inside your own small bag of toiletry amenities — they were for cutting nails, at most, and fit pathetically small inside your palms.

Grunting, you got up and walked towards the mirror of the collective bathroom, ready to start chopping your hair away, because the mere thought that it would still be there in the following hour reveled your body with anticipated discomfort.

At that moment, both Nobara and Maki, two of the students you had been teaching closely these last few weeks, went inside the bathroom. They stopped in their tracks, looking at you, doubtfully, as you held a black lock of hair extended to the side of your head, flaunting the tiny scissors underneath it.

"Sensei, what are you doing?" Nobara asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm cutting my hair," you answered, ready to start trimming.

Maki and Nobara stared at you for a moment.

You sighed.

"Look, I don't know anything properly around here, leaving the campus is usually a pain in the ass for me because I still don't understand how this assistant shenanigans works, and I just need to cut this hair out before I go completely insane." You sighed. "And this manicure scissors are all I have. So I'm cutting my hair."

Nobara and Maki shared a brief look between them.

"Sensei, with all due respect," Maki began.

You looked at her from the reflex on the mirror.

"You definitely are not cutting your hair like that."

"Huh?" You mumbled.

"Look, I have better scissors with me. Let me get them and we can help you. I'm pretty familiar with it, I take care of my hair myself." Nobara offered, approaching you.

You pondered for a moment. "Okay. I really could use some help."

Around an hour had passed since the girls had run into you in the bathroom. They took you back to your room, properly put a towel around your neck, and Nobara chipped away at your rich thick black locks of hair as she and Maki complained about their peer's latest shenanigans. Apparently, Inumaki and Panda were given to stealing their jackets and skirts to run around the campus. You chuckled at the image of that, up until Nobara reminded you she had a sharp pair of scissors to your hair.

After you were finished, you looked into the tiny mirror you had on your makeshift dorm room, and saw the same face from ten years ago, with the same short black hair.

Was it the same, though?

***

You had been feeling specially sad for the past few days. After finishing another mission with Nanami, you both went back to campus, and you had offered him your classic Oka tea, which you both drank many times together in Odate, ten years prior.

The Oka tea, your specialty, the secret recipe of your family — your pride.

However, when you searched through your herbs, dried ingredients and spices you brought, you realized the dried orange was completely missing.

You knew, as well as anyone in your family, that the Oka tea could never miss any ingredient, especially the dried orange slices.

I'm so sorry, Nanami. I wanted to teach you to make some Oka tea today, but I just can't do it without the dried orange slices. It's just not Oka tea without it. You remembered saying.

You weren't usually that attached to recipesto such a personal degree, but being here, in Jujutsu High, elicited so many memories from your past that you felt homesick, and the only way you knew you could taste home back again would be with a warm cup of Oka tea.

Nanami wasn't annoyed at your upsetting at all, and pointed out that recipes really were meant to be followed in order to obtain the best outcome when cooking.

Right now, you were sitting at the tiny kitchen they had for the use of people that lived inside campus, and you felt heartbroken, missing your tea, as you gazed at all the other ingredients you had left on the counter since then. 

There was a knock on the door, and you told the person to come in. It was Nanami, and he carried a plastic bag with him.

"Hey, Nanami," you greeted, slightly disheartened. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He put the bag over the counter and looked at you.

"I bought us some dried orange slices for you to make your tea."

"... What?" You looked inside the bag, and sure enough, there was a small plastic packaging with some dried orange slices inside it. "Nanami, thank you so much."

"It wasn't troublesome at all, there is a store that sells dried ingredients and similar types of products near where I live."

You smiled at him.

"Well, now I can show you the recipe, then."

He nodded.

"I hadn't anticipated you'd actually be missing any ingredient for this tea, or to not have it already prepared and at your disposal," the sorcerer huffed, amusement and nostalgia glimmering underneath his chiseled passiveness. "I remember you usually tossed into hot water some packets that you, for some reason, always kept on yourself, and it always tasted the same. It was an unexpectedly odd phenomenon," Nanami pointed out, referring to the time you both spent working together at Odate.

"Haven't you heard? I'm a majo."

You poked fun at your own past, when you were shunned, called and treated like a witch by the very people from your hometown.

The faintest hint of a smile covered his face.

After mixing up all the ingredients, including the dried orange slices Nanami had brought you, walking him step by step on how to make Oka tea, you served one cup for each.

The smell was familiar, and you could almost see the snow that engulfed the first two decades of your life falling again all around you.

Then, you took a sip, and you were completely taken aback. Nanami noticed it, and drank the tea too, looking slightly puzzled at his mug.

"It has a different taste" he noted, looking at you. "Was any other ingredient missing?"

You looked at him, then at the mug, then at him again. You were positively sure you followed the exact same recipe you had been making for the past 18 years. It could be the quality of the dried orange slices, but it was unlikely. This was just strange, overall.

Then, you pondered.

"It's not bad, it's just… different."

Indeed, the tea still had no need for added sugars or sweeteners, and had the same everlasting flowery and citrus smell, so characteristic to it. 

"Yes. It tastes very good." Nanami replied, taking another sip, contently. "This would go well with some croissants and jam."

You chuckled.

"Yeah, it would."

"So, what happened? Do you have any ideas?" He inquired.

You shrugged.

"I don't know. It just changed, I guess."

"Hm," he finally hummed, looking at you as you began brushing the nape of your hair with your fingers, smiling at yourself, gazing at the cup of tea.

To be loved is to be changed.

—

End notes:

I wrote this in about a 1-1:30h sitting, and I’m so happy at how it turned out.

If you liked it and could spare some time to leave a comment, I’d be very happy. 💜

[iztarshi]

Mirage TMNT and Ideological Violence (Part One)

This essay is going to be missing some things because I haven’t read or watched everything in the TMNT franchise. Most importantly, I haven’t read volumes three and four of Mirage, and I thought about putting this off until I had. Ultimately, though, I don’t think it’s going to matter. Mirage volumes three and four might have influenced TMNT 2012 or Rise, although I have my doubts, but TMNT 87 and 03 pre-date them. The influence that echoes down through the franchise comes almost entirely from volume 1 and that's what I want to focus on.

Mirage Volume 1 surprised me by having satisfying character arcs for both the turtles and Casey Jones that are also cohesive, centering around violence committed for ideals, the choice not to commit violence, and situations where violence is still necessary. Mirage is not entirely a deconstruction, it’s certainly not Watchmen, but it draws on some violent comics and bounces between parody, deconstruction, and simply playing it straight enough to enjoy the gore and grit. It’s having fun even at its most deconstructive and while I’m most interested in that deconstruction I don’t want to make it sound like this is a comic that’s trying to be taken seriously. I do think, however, that it manages to have themes and something real to say in the process.

I also want to cover TMNT 87, the 90’s Movie, TMNT 03, TMNT 12 and Rise of the TMNT and the ways in which these themes are not carried through the franchise even when they could be. But even just the essay about these themes in Mirage might take multiple posts.

-

The Turtles: the cycle of revenge and choosing to leave it

First up, the violence Mirage deconstructs and comments on is comic book violence, it's very familiar with its own genre and has things to say about it. This is especially the case with the arc focused on the Turtles themselves because the authors don't know anything about Japan. The Turtles are named after artists because Eastman and Laird didn't know enough Japanese names. So, um, we're going to be talking a lot about revenge and honour and cycles of revenge caused by a warrior code, and all of that has a lot more to do with how Western comics were using Japan at the time than it does with Japan. I'm not really qualified to answer questions about whether it was a bad idea to found a franchise on this (I love the franchise but it probably was a bad idea), and it certainly baked "being weird about Japan" into the franchise from the very start, but I do think I need to acknowledge it. And maybe apologise for not saying more about it in this essay.

That said, I'm going to move on to talking about the Turtles and their story.

I do rather love that Splinter's just straight up "kill a guy for me". You get used to the Splinters in later versions who are reluctant to get the Turtles involved in their beef with Shredder, but not this one.

Before giving them this task Splinter also tells them his backstory and I think it's important thematically that, unlike in later versions that follow roughly this backstory, the cycle of violence has already started cycling and it didn't start with Shredder. Shredder was not Hamato Yoshi's rival for Tang Shen, instead his older brother Nagi was. Shredder was seven when Yoshi killed his brother and we see him weeping on his brother's coffin. The Foot raised him to avenge his brother in a similar way to Splinter has raised the Turtles to avenge is master. Nor is Yoshi a good guy, particularly. He did kill Nagi to protect Tang Shen, but he was also an assassin. What ninjas are is not glossed over here. It's not about right and wrong, but only about the belief that you owe it to people you love to avenge them, a belief held by both sides.

The Turtles defeat Shredder and then prove that for them revenge is a matter of honour (and also that not knowing the difference between ninja and samurai has a long history in the franchise).

I think this is important because I was talking about ideological violence and for the Turtles this is a matter of ideology. In being raised as Splinter's sons they have taken on the responsibility of avenging Yoshi as a member of their clan. And here we see them act on that ideology without hesitation.

This comes back to bite them in the Farmhouse arc. Shredder's ressurection means that he is ultimately able to return to avenge himself. Leonardo nearly dies and the Turtles are left feeling vulnerable and defeated in the wake of this.

The Turtles stay at the farmhouse for almost exactly a year. Unlike later versions they don't really have a status quo this is disrupting. They lived in the sewers, which they weren't very happy about, until April offered them an apartment in her building. They lived there until her building was destroyed and they moved to the farmhouse and they stay in the farmhouse for most of the rest of volume one even after going back to New York to defeat Shredder. For them being driven out of New York is a personal loss, neither the world nor the civilian population is more at risk for them being somewhere else, and they don't have any particular duty to go back.

But Raphael can't accept that. He hates giving up after losing a fight, he feels it's wrong to accept defeat instead of avenging what was done to Leo, and he hates that Leo is more anxious and passive as a result of what was done to him. Raphael and Leo get into what may be the first ever Raph vs Leo fight in the franchise, Raph throws Leo through a wall and storms off to return to the city by himself if the others won't come. The others - as Raphael knew they would - follow him home rather than let him face danger by himself and he is able to force the confrontation with Shredder.

During the infiltration of the Foot headquarters Raphael breaks away again leaving the others in a fight with deformed Shredder-clones (which make more sense here than in 03 since Shredder was cloned to bring him back from the dead) to chase after Shredder. Leo follows, thinking furiously that Raph is ignoring that they were taught to stay together and watch each other's backs. This is Raph and Leo as a clash of personalities and ideologies, Splinter taught them both to stick together as a family and to see vengeance as honourable, now his sons take different tacks.

This time running off ahead works out badly for Raphael and he acknowledges this. He then sends Leonardo ahead to fight Shredder. What he sees as his error was taking a fight that was not his - as the most hurt the vengeance should be Leo's - as well as one he wasn't capable of winning.

This arc ends with Leo acknowledging Shredder's death as necessary to restore their honour before burning his body. Thanks to Raph's pushing he has decided to revert to the ideology of revenge Splinter taught them.

If the first defeat of Shredder was simple, the Turtles united in their task and with no doubts, this one is much more complicated. The question of whether they want to re-engage in a cycle of revenge that got their tails kicked hangs over them. It's not a matter of ending someone else's battle now and they don't all agree on what should be done.

As with Shredder's first death they assume they've put an end to things here once they finish "one final task" and as with the first death they have not. It will be a while before they reckon with the Foot clan and truly start to question the ideals Splinter taught them.

City at War begins with the turtles returning to New York. The remains of the Foot clan has gone to war with itself and, as Raph puts it "we cut off the head but the body's still kicking". For those familiar with this arc from 03 it might be surprising to learn that Raph is the one who feels responsible and wants to help clean up while Leo is unsure. This is partly because these are more lethal turtles. Previously they've been willing to kill the Foot clan, seeing them as Shredder's and therefore as part of the feud, while they hesitate to kill non-ninjas even when those people are domestic terrorists. Here, Leo does not want to try to kill an entire organisation and when challenged on whether that's what he wants Raph hesitates too.

The Turtles are at a loose end. They attempt to fight crime on a small scale - stopping muggers - in order to do some good without risking making things worse, but make little difference. When they do face the Foot their presence escalates the violence. They simply don't know what to do.

They face the fact that previously the things they've done have been for Splinter and they've turned to him when unsure. It's time for them to grow up and that means questioning the ideals he raised them with.

Karai offers them another option. She is the head of the Foot in Japan (and not Saki's daughter, since she has an adult daughter of her own she's almost certainly older than him) and even though she starts negotiations by blowing up the water tower the Turtles are staying in and taking Leo hostage she offers them a chance to make peace with the Foot clan.

(Ignore the incredibly skintight outfit. The way women are drawn in Mirage is beside the point right now.)

The cycle of vengeance could never end with them killing Shredder, but it can end here if they make peace with Karai.

I love Leo's line here, "I don't know if I can give him my life". Following Splinter's teaching would mean spending the rest of their lives in the cycle of vengeance that Leo wants to escape.

The Turtles do bring up other considerations. Raph and Don especially question whether it's all been about vengeance and whether they can make peace with an organisation that does the things the Foot does. But all the same, these Turtles have never been crime fighters in general. It has been about personal vengeance with the Foot.

It's not a non-violent solution. This is sort of important - as we'll see in Casey's story - Mirage does not really offer non-violent solutions. It's a matter of choosing what you're going to commit violence for and trying to limit its reach. Karai wants them to help her kill Shredder's elite force, which they do. Donatello in particular has to shoot one of the elite to save Karai. The Mirage TMNT hate guns and Don hates them in particular, he is required to inflict violence in a way he would never have chosen in order to save an ally and he is traumatised afterwards.

It ends with Karai returning to her duties in Japan, still bound to the needs of her clan as the Turtles no longer are, and wishing them well in their new life.

The Turtles have made decisions outside the ideology of violence and reprisal they were raised with and, at least for the end of this volume, they are free.

[kamryn1963]

Hey, hi. I just want to say I love your writting. Idk if you're busy, but I'd like to request a oneshot. Some su!c!d4l Voight after Al's dead getting a servicios dog maybe?? I understand if you can't write it, thank you.

where you're coming from

Hey! I'm sorry it took so long, I've been doing a monthly prompt challenge so I've been a bit busy, but I loved this request! This is one of my favorite requests I've been given and I was so happy when I got this (my friends can attest to that, lol). I hope you enjoy this!

Trudy walked through the bullpen towards Hank’s office. It was late at night and everyone else had already left, except for Hank that was. Trudy had been on the way out herself, when she saw Hank’s car still in the parking lot and knew she had to check on him. 

She felt like that’s all she did these days. 

Ever since Al’s death nearly two years ago. Ever since Hank tried to kill himself eight months before. 

They didn’t talk about it often, but it was one of those things that you couldn’t forget if you tried. Especially since Trudy had been the one to find him that night. Hank had said, had protested for days, that he wasn’t trying to kill himself, that if he was going to do that he would’ve just shot himself in the head. 

Part of Trudy had wanted to believe him as she knew that was true. But the other part of her saw what the doctors saw. Which was a man who had been through unimaginable loss including losing his best friend a year earlier. They saw a man who had been found in his office laying on his couch, an empty bottle of alcohol on the floor beside an empty painkiller bottle. 

It had kept Trudy awake for weeks after, still did some days. If it had truly been an accident. 

Hank never told her, of course he didn’t. She’d been playing this game with him and Al for years. Knew just how much they could tell without getting themselves thrown into the psych ward. 

So when Hank had been discharged three days later after a psych consult, Trudy vowed to keep a better eye on him. She’d already lost one of her brothers and she’d be damned if she buried both. 

“Hank?” Trudy asked, opening the office door. Hank looked up from where he’d been hunched over his desk working on paperwork. 

“Hey, Dee,” Hank replied, sitting up and setting his pen down. 

“You’ve been staying late every day this week. You should go home, get some rest,” Trudy suggested, sitting down on the chair across from Hank’s desk. 

“I’m fine.”

Trudy rolled her eyes, leaning back in the chair. That’s the same response she got every time she asked, the same response she’d been getting for years. Even with thirty years of friendship, Hank still gave her the same old bullshit like she didn’t know better. 

“Have you thought about what we talked about in the hospital?” Trudy asked suddenly, that conversation coming to mind again. 

“About the service dog?” 

“Yeah.” 

Hank sighed. He had. He’d thought about it more than he wanted to admit. Trudy had brought that up after the psych consult, right before his discharge. Hank knew Trudy had spent most of the night doing research when she suggested him getting a service dog for the first time. 

“Hank,” Trudy said when she didn’t get an answer, her expression softening. 

“I don’t need a service dog. I can do my job just fine, Trudy.” 

“Nobody’s saying you can’t. I’m saying that you can’t keep pretending everything is fine, that you're fine. I’m saying that what happened eight months ago, can’t happen again, Hank. I can’t do this with you over and over.” 

Hank looked away, clenching his fists. Trudy had a point, he knew she did. But admitting it was something Hank didn’t do. He just pushed through, woke up everyday and kept going even if it killed him in the process. 

Death seemed like a mercy at this point. 

“It would be a psychiatric service dog, a PSD, that you would qualify for. You already have an official diagnosis of PTSD, so you’d definitely get a dog,” Trudy stated, taking Hank’s silence as an invitation to continue. 

Hank gave a wry smile. “I only have a diagnosis because Camille made me get diagnosed.” 

“She was a smart woman.” 

“Yeah. She was,” Hank agreed. 

“She’d want you to get the help you need, you know she would. And if that’s a service dog, then what are you so against it? Nobody’s going to take your job away from you, I just want you to get help, Hank. Somebody to help you when I can’t be there.” 

And maybe it was that. The mix of knowing his wife would want him to get help, and knowing how much this was affecting his sister too. Hank knew as soon as Trudy found him that night, that this had become her fight too. 

“I’ll think about it,” Hank finally said, making eye contact with Trudy again. 

Trudy nodded, letting out a sigh of relief as she stood up, heading to the door. “I’m glad. I think it could really help you.” 

Trudy smiled, turning to leave. She got half way through the bullpen, before Hank’s voice stopped him. She turned around, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dee?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Trudy replied, hesitating for a moment before leaving. As her footsteps faded away, Hank sighed, feeling ten years older. 

He opened a new tab on his computer, paperwork fully forgotten. He had some research to do. 

—

The weeks came and went after their conversation. Trudy still kept a close eye on Hank like she’d already been doing, Hank never saying anything about it. 

The nights become longer for Hank. Most nights ended with him in his living room, a glass of alcohol in his hand and pictures and memories surrounding him at every turn. He started leaving his gun locked in his desk more often than not, unable to trust himself with it. 

He didn’t tell Trudy this, but he still kept doing it. The only thing that kept him here anymore was the memory of waking up in the hospital nearly a year ago, Trudy near him, her eyes red and hands shaking. It was the fear in her eyes, the relief when he opened his eyes that was the only thing that kept Hank from eating his gun. 

He couldn’t do that to her. 

And during those long nights, Hank had started thinking about the service dog thing more and more. He’d done in depth researched on the whole process, the cost, everything he could. He and Trudy hadn’t talked about it since that night in his office, but Hank had soon made his decision. 

He started the process before he told Trudy. He had decided to go the route of getting a partially trained dog then finishing the training himself. That seemed like the quickest way and made sure he could train the dog to be more attuned with his needs. 

It only took six months to get the dog. 

Loki was a Boxer who was a year old when Hank got him. Hank had taken the day off, leaving Jay in charge of Intelligence for the day. He didn’t give an explanation and nobody asked. Honestly they were just glad Hank was taking a break. Even if that was only for a day. 

When they got to Hank’s place he took Loki inside, leading the dog to the living room. “Alright Loki. This is your new home.” 

Loki stared at him, starting to walk around the place when Hank said that. Hank let him, taking a quick picture of Loki before sitting down on his couch. He sent the photo to Trudy, smirking slightly as he sent it and a message right away. 

This is Loki. He’s my psychiatric service dog. I guess you were right about something, Dee

Hank chuckled when his phone rang two minutes later. 

[plainwriting]

Would it be one of Makoto's infamous strokes of luck, be it good or bad, that when he agreed to test a new medication created by Mikan and Seiko, the effects left him rather pent up, with a desire to breed, especially so with two appealing women in his radius?

Disclaimer: R18 material! If not to your liking then please do not view

Weeelll~

“A-are you sure about this, Makoto?” said Mikan, eyes shining with even more nervousness than usual.

“Yeah, we can….get another test subject?” chimes in Seiko, hiding a concerned frown under her mask.

“It's fine!! Trust me, you guys are good to go!” eased Makoto, the lucky student trying to soothe their anxieties with a reassuring smile…

And convince himself that what he was about to drink wouldn't, possibly, debilitate him.

See, both were hired to make a sort of energy booster serum, but needed someone to test it out. Though given how the concoction was a dark green, foul smelling, downright sludgey, mixture…unsurprisingly no one really wanted to try.

Well, no one, except Makoto- who saw how depressed both got and opted to help for their sake.

And it was remembering he was doing it for his friends which spurned Makoto into ingesting it. 

Bottoms up!!

“Bleh…” Makoto moaned, as he finished the bitter concoction.

“A-are you alright?!” asked Mikan, rushing to his side. Same with Seiko, who placed a hand on his forehead.

“Y-you aren't feeling sickly from it, right?” She asked concernedly, which made Makoto shake his head.

“N-no, I'm fine…” Huh? Without warning, both girls would feel his arms wrap around their waist protectively. 

“Especially, since...I'm with you two~” he said, his voice low and sultry. Something that had both Mikan and Seiko’s hearts fluttering into overdrive, especially once he looked at both with a look of gratitude and unmistakable lust.

Okay, so the mix had an aphrodisiac-like side effect. 

They really should get to curing him quickly. Especially since they have numerous antidotes for treating such a thing.

…But, when his fingers began to dig into their soft asses and his lips began to kiss them along their lips and necks, another option became quickly apparent.  

Instead of boring old antidotes, why not let Makoto shoot out all of his stress instead?

Yes, a much more pleasurable solution~

-

To go back to the question of whether or not this would be one of Makoto’s infamous luck strokes? The easiest answer is a definitive yes …

As to whether or not this qualified as good or bad:

PLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAP PLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAP!!!

“M-MAKOOOTOOOO!!!! YOU'RE SHUUUUCHHH A GOOODDDD PASHIENTTT!!!! PLEAAAASEEEEE!! DON'T SHTOPPPPP!!! NURSE’S ORDERSHHHHS~ NOT UNTIL… YOUUU MAKE MIKAN INTO A MOMMYYYYY!!” Mikan slurred out, face warped into a smile of euphoric bliss. The current place of action was on a patients bed, where a naked Makoto not only had Mikan gripped by her hips, but was rapidly spiking a very bricked up CAWK deep into her drenched pussy~ Sending pleasure upon pleasure into the nurse, who could only beg for such treatment to continue (with any pretense of curing Makoto out the window)~

But what about Seiko? Well, in a separate bed, one could see the results of her own time with the new luckster. Lying face down, ass up (and covered in much spunk as what dripped from her pussy) was a pharmacist that was in almost just a delirious state as Mikan~

“Aaaaahahahaha…Mama…make me moooore of a Mama~ I…I can still be filleddd!!!” she groaned out, exhausted, yet unmistakably horny.

“Rest easy, I'll be with you soon~” Reassured Makoto, an even confidence betraying the viciousness of his thrusting hips and coolness unaffected by Mikan’s shrill shrieks of joy. Thanks to the mix, despite pumping loads of baby batter into both already, his balls still refilled quickly enough to warrant pouring and pounding more into such beauties.

“...I want triplets!!!” !!! Huh? Makoto felt something soft but his back, something strong grabbed his waist…and something slimy & wet licked his face. Seiko was back…and in her berserker form~

Seiko was ready for round two…but he can't forget the current round as well~

Makoto would feel a tightness grip around his waist - no doubt from Mikan wrapping her legs around the lucky student to keep him fucking her!~ She looked at Makoto with batted eyes and a crazed grin.

“Don't pull out now!!! I want quadruplets!!!!” she demanded, which had the effect of Seiko humping against Makoto, protectively. 

“Oh yeah?!!! I want quintuplets!!!”

“Sextuplets!!”

“Sex~ I don't care how many I'll carry….just flood me, baby!!!” Seiko admitted, being sopping wet at the thought of getting fucked by that gigantic Hope CAWK again~

“Me too, me too!!! Even now - don't you dare stop fucking and and don't you dare stop pumping into meeeeee!!!” Mikan demanded. Leaving Makoto laughing genuinely and appreciatively to both’s antics.

Such a needy duo~

Well, who was he to deny both being so earnest with their feelings~

He certainly had enough love gunk to make their dreams come true….and as the nurse's office would be filled with their joyous screams, people in the outside would know that he managed to fulfill their desires to a T~

….AKA this certainly was a good stroke of luck!!!

[callmewrinkles3]

One More Race

Note: We're back! Hope to have something more soon, but enjoy lovelies

She had no idea how Em slept that Thursday night at Spa, but she knew Dan probably didn’t. It was her thing to fall asleep with the rain falling outside, but it wasn’t something Dan loved. It was especially unfamiliar to Lulu. Sleeping with the rain hitting the roof of their motorhome brought constant noise that bothered both her husband and daughter, but Em slept like a baby. It has been difficult to sleep much lately. Between Luna and Dan racing, Em would mostly nap during race weekends. Spa was one of the races that never failed to take her sleep away. A lot of terrible things had happened there, and she was forced to witness her husband racing there, which made her hold him close every time she could. 

Em imagined that not only Dan but also Lulu woke up at night, that's why she woke up to her husband being the little spoon, all so he could hold Luna’s hand as they slept. Those first few moments of bliss and peace in the morning were her favorites. To wake up to see her daughter and husband sleeping peacefully only brought her joy and happiness. There was nothing Em wanted more than to stay there. She had her face buried against Dan’s back, his free hand thrown back to touch her leg, while Em’s hand was over his stomach. If they were alone and she had it her way, Em would wake him up in different funny ways, but Dan had practice and they had Lulu right beside them. 

Focusing on what was important and not overthinking was difficult. It was difficult after the previous weekend in Hungary. She didn't like walking into the paddock and facing her husband’s team. The positive thing was Blake and Charlie were back, which meant Charlie not moving from her side and ready to bite anyone who wanted to get near her girls. It was good having their best friends back when the week was craziness. The rumors and speculations were crazy, the texts and calls from journalists wanting to get a scoop on what was happening inside the Red Bull family. There were even some who tried to talk to Em about it, but all they heard was silence or a professional answer from Blake. 

It was hard to keep the noise away, but Em focused on her husband and daughter. They were what matter. Her husband having one last good weekend before the summer break was the important thing. 

She hated to give him the same old "I'm gonna love you no matter what talk”. They did it too many times. Even before they used the word “Love” she made sure to let him know she was there supporting him, and after all those years she was still there. That race could be the last chance to turn things around and she needed to remind him of her love for him. They had no idea what was gonna happen that Sunday or on Monday at Milton Keynes, and for some reason there was something yelling inside her that she needed to give him that reminder.

Em was delighted to see Dan doing well after qualifying. The conditions were tricky and the gaps between cars were practically nonexistent, so there wasn’t much he could do. Em was happy with a P13 as long as her husband was safe, but surprised by his calmness. Taking the chance to use that, Em decided to talk to him once he was back in the motorhome with her. Lulu was spending the night with Blake and Charlie, so it gave them extra time to talk and have a peaceful night of sleep.

“Finally in my favorite place in the world” Dan breathed, clothes off as soon as he reached the tiny little room that only had a bed spacious enough for him and Em. Like there was nothing more important in the world, he finally got to hide his face on her neck, tangling with each other as he did. “Why are you up? I thought you would be sleeping now. No husband and no baby, perfect timing for sleeping early."

“You know me, I don’t like getting to sleep without you, especially if Lu is not with me” she shrugged, kissing his forehead as she ran her fingers through his back and curls.

“I know you don’t. But look, one more race and then we'll head home for a good nap.” Dan reminded her as his arms wrapped around her waist. She knew she would have to send him to brush his teeth and put on his retainers before any one of them felt asleep, but two minutes of cuddling wouldn't hurt.

“You kind of owe me a nap and some cuddles on the couch with some soap opera that doesn’t include sports, Mr Ricciardo.” They both knew Em couldn’t care less. Em has never complained about the things Dan wanted to watch on tv. She couldn’t care less if he wanted to watch sports just like Dan never complained about her true crime stuff on TV. As long as there was a couch to cuddle on with her boy she was always happy. Now they just added their baby and some Bluey to the equation

“I promise it’ll happen. We’re gonna kick jetlag with couch, cuddles and Baby Shark” Dan smiled against her neck, scratching her skin with his stubble.

“I know it will. But we'll cheat and put on some good old Scooby Doo. Maybe she won’t realize.” As the giggles ended, Dan moved from one of his favorite spots to look at her. Not one time did she not melt when she looked at her husband. Her breath was always taken away by his huge brown eyes, and seven years later it hadn't changed. The fact that their daughter had the same eyes made it even more magical. A smile spread across her face as his hand slid along her body to move her closer to have a kiss with her, which made her heart jump for joy. “You know I love you, right?” 

“I know. I love you like crazy.” They whispered between soft, gentle kisses, moving away only the necessary to talk.

“I know you do. Can I tell you something?”

“You know you can tell me anything."

“I probably shouldn’t but I- I know tomorrow it’s kind of a big deal, but just go fast. Do your thing, go as fast as you can, remind those dogs, and come back to us so we can get home. Whatever happens happens. And whatever comes next we will love you no matter what. Your babies will be by your side no matter what.”

Em knew she really shouldn’t have said that, no when the pressure was on his shoulders, not before bed, no when he probably didn’t need to hear it. But she had to say it to him. She needed to remind him that it was not about racing. It wasn't about his work. She needed to give him one last reminder so he would know it was all gonna be alright no matter what. Either if he stayed at RB, moved to Red Bull or if they just went home, it would be fine. It was gonna be them together and in the end that was all that mattered.

The way his eyes shined as her words hit him told Em all she needed to know. The look on his face was worth more than a thousand words. But even when it was not necessary, Dan spoke again. "No trophy, championship, or prize will ever be as incredible as having you and Lu. Ever. Nothing will ever come close. I’ll go fast for you. I’ll kick asses for you and baby Moon. I promise I’ll make you proud, Wrinkles.”

She knew they needed to get ready for bed and go to sleep, but one last make out session before sleeping wouldn't hurt anyone. As Em kissed her husband and reminded him between whispers that she would be proud of him no matter what, she also reminded herself that it was just two days. Two days and they could go home. Two days, then they would see.

[icarusbetide]

What do you think of Hamilton was bipolar theory?

hello hello! this is a really interesting question that to be honest, i'm not at all qualified to answer as i'm not a mental health professional. if there is anyone more qualified who disagrees with the conjectures below, or if i got something blatantly wrong, please do let me know!

i think there are legitimate arguments to be made about hamilton that suggest he was bipolar, or something along those lines - there's a book arguing that he was a hypomanic, which according to google, is often part of/comes along with bipolar disorder.

we know that he could have intense work sessions where his energy and creativity were seemingly limitless - the first thing that comes to mind is him submitting that internal report to congress 2 weeks before the already impossible deadline. we also know that his body often "crashed" afterwards, where he would be forced to stay in bed after some intense period. this happened after he negotiated with gates for troops, and after he came home from yorktown. now, this is probably majorly due to physical strain, but i can very much see it being impacted by his mental state at the time.

from letters to john laurens and few others, it does seem as though he went through depressive episodes. however, i do want to note the really good point i saw that it's difficult to detach these emotions from the heightened stress that would come with fighting in a war with no supplies. for instance, there was debate over whether laurens & hamilton were codependent, or whether them constantly worrying and wanting to be together, was a reasonable action in their circumstances.

still, this behavior extended beyond the war into peacetime (still stressful politics, sure) so i think that it's reasonable to say that hamilton did have depressive episodes, highs and lows. he showed characteristic risk-taking and impulsive behavior especially when he had heightened emotions - some illogical decisions he made at those times boggled even his closest friends.

my thoughts on the matter: it's very much a possibility that hamilton was bipolar or something along those lines. his behavioral patterns, impulsive decisions, and reports of rapid work/long rest match a lot of symptoms of bipolar disorder. however, i'm not a professional and i don't want to make the mistake of ascribing certain traits that may or may not have to do with bipolar disorder as definite proof. for instance, during depressive episodes, someone might have trouble remembering or concentrating. hamilton was constantly forgetting things, but i wouldn't say that's concrete evidence, you know? obviously we can't know for sure, but i think there's merit to the theory!

[atalana]

god i wish medical trauma was more recognised as a Thing, especially among people who are frequently the cause of it

like, i've been chronically ill for 9 years. been seeing doctors about it all that time, because if i don't check in at least every three months to make sure the ball is rolling on a 'solution' i don't qualify for disability benefits anymore (and i definitely can't work even really part time)

the last specialist i got sent to to find a solution was not only extremely unhelpful in general, but got frustrated at the fact that they couldn't get an accurate reading of my heart rate bc whenever i'm in a hospital it shoots way up and there's nothing i can do about that (a doctor in the past tried leaving me alone for an hour to 'calm down', did not work)

and currently im nearing the end of a deadline my government caseworker has assigned me to find a therapist, bc while she's slowly coming round on the idea that there is nothing medically to be done at this point (wish my gp would do the same), i still have to be shown to be 'making progress', or they're legally not allowed to continue my payments

and her reason for why therapist is i have started crying at least once in most of our sessions, so clearly i can't be happy

except like. in order for me not to have to pay out of pocket for a therapist, which i definitely can't afford, i have to be able to prove the therapy is medically necessary (ie related to my disability)

and i've also had bad experiences with therapists in the past who when i've said i don't know why i'm here (bc i genuinely didn't, i just knew something was wrong), have responded with "well if you won't work with me i can't help you"

and i'm scared of that happening again bc i don't know if there's anything we can work on, because i know the answer to all of these problems

which is "if you spend nine years having to give complete strangers full access to your body to do whatever they like on a regular basis, plus once a year you have your entire livelihood scrutinised to make sure you 'deserve' the money you need to live, and if you refuse any of that you can't afford rent or groceries, you might find that a little upsetting"

(and even though i could maybe find a therapist specialising in that kind of trauma, i also know enough about human brains to know if there's anything that can be done to heal trauma while the trauma is still happening, i have probably figured it out in the decade i've had to become an expert on this)

but i don't know whose egos i'm going to trample if i can ever find the courage to say that out loud to the people causing these problems, so i can't really afford to take that risk

and it's just like. if you really wanted to solve my 'happiness' the solution is to leave me the fuck alone

[rebelrayne]

Hi, I'd like to request something if that's okay. Which litg athletes do you see competing in olympics this year or maybe next four years? And which ones do you NOT see competing? I hate sports but I have a weakness for athletes, especially certain litg ones.

I can see Levi doing it this year, maybe Jamal (my baby daddy) this or next one. And I think Dylan and Arlo would be too cancelled to participate. What do you think?

Hi Anon! I'm not sure I'm the best person to answer this but I'll give it my best shot! I am not well-versed in sports so hahaha I kind of got a little unserious in some parts.

These are the Islanders that I came up with that are athletes (in some form or it is their job): Levi, Reese, Rahim, Henrik, Jakub, Jo, AJ, Tai, Dylan, Arlo, Pete, Jamal, Lewie, Chloe, Hazel, Logan, Jack, Sophie and Jude. Yes, Kat is a club dancer but I wasn't sure if I could count that with Chloe and Hazel, but I guess on a technicality she could be here, too.

Below the cut this is so long haha

Season 1

Levi - Would probably more likely be coaching at this point in his career. He'd be 32 and had made a name for himself, but ultimately stepped down to further himself in coaching. Could also see him being a commentator, too.

Reese - That mf isn't retiring until they say he's not allowed on the team anymore. Sadly, I don't think wrestling is too popular but I could be wrong. Like he'd pitch a fit and claim they were just against him or something. He'd be there (unfortunately for us).

Season 2

Rahim - Might be out of his prime now. I mean, we know he's good at what he does and all, but this is a pretty competitive sport and when newbies come in, they tend to take it by storm for a while. He's probably just playing the circuit.

Henrik - Yeah, he was a climbing instructor but there's sport climbing. I don't see him doing the Olympics though. He's pretty down to earth, probably not interested in making it his job in this way. He'd rather spread knowledge and love of climbing to others through teaching.

Jakub - lmao as if this big-headed buffoon would miss out on weightlifting or something. Like he's too stupid to be cut from the team anyway. Send him an email and he still flies to the Olympics because he can't read idk

Jo - She would qualify under Cycling BMX Racing and I think she would have done it before. I'm not sure if I'd believe that she's at this one though. She's older, probably settled down or at least doing something related and not racing as seriously anymore?

Season 3

AJ - Definitely there. Loves competition, a great team player. She's 100% playing Field Hockey at the Olympics and I love that for her.

Tai - So technically I think Tai is a rugby coach not a player? Maybe I'm not remembering that though. I think he would be more likely a coach than a player for this Olympics though personally. He has the personality to be tough but also inspirational.

Season 4

Dylan - Definitely did not make the roster after his S4 mishaps. They were so embarrassed that they ghosted him. Left him on read when he asked about how to put in an expense report to get money back for his flight and whatever because no one contacted him about flying with the team. His teammates all blocked him on social media except one, and they didn't only so they could see his profile and laugh about what a loser he is :)

Season 5

Arlo - I mean, I don't know if she got canceled sadly. She was doing what everyone on Love Island does and I can't really blame her. I think she was probably given the opportunity to try out for the team, but that doesn't exactly mean she made it. She was Semi Pro, which means she wasn't the best out there anyway.

Pete - Tried out to be on the sport climbing team, fell on his ass and still has a bruise on his tailbone eight months later. BYE.

Season 6

Jamal - Please, they probably invited him personally to be on the team. He's got such a great energy and he's funny. He'll be there for sure and is definitely medaling.

Lewie - I mean this is a big sport. Did he try out? Sure. Did he make it? Maybe. Football is a massive sport and you're going up against the best in the entire league. I'm going to stick him in the maybe but probably not.

Season 8

Logan - Does anyone even remember this guy? I mean, like, I picked him at the last recoupling and I still forget his ass exists. That's probably what happened if I'm honest. He tried out, the coaches forgot that he had and he never got a call. Aw, poor Logan. Maybe he should try being more memorable next time.

Jack - Oh, he tried. He tried and failed. They laughed and were like, no this is serious not just a hobby. But they invited him to be a Physio for the team so all in all, a win for Jack. (He fangirls over the cyclists when he sees them).

Sophie - I think she tried out and as annoying as she was, she may have made the cut for Acrobatic Gymnastics (is that a thing still? idk). Kinda hope she sprains her ankle as she walks up to the mat or whatever, but I'm kind of a terrible person so.

Season 9

Hamish - yes. If being annoying and obnoxious was a sport. I love him, but he would win the gold. No competition. Though he does play golf now......damn, is there anything he can't do????

Jude - Okay yeah he would be there but the last time it was held was 2021 so I guess it would be next year if it was every 4? Not sure on this but there is a Motor Sports category. You go, Jude! Even though you're kind of a dick and weirdly obsessed with Kat in my game.

[tonydaddingham]

I am going to hazard a guess and predict that most queer viewers are going to side with Crowley in the divorce? The subtext here is usually that Crowley is a queer person who is comfortable in their identity while Aziraphale still doesn't let go of the church and internalized homophobia. And then asking Crowley to try to conform in a way that Crowley has never been comfortable with, implying that in order for this relationship to work you need to be something that you're not (especially potent bc Crowley in particular is explicitly nonbinary/ gender fluid)... its almost violating. That should clearly be asking too much of him and it only hurts worse to realize that Aziraphale doesn't realize that and doesn't truly accept Crowley as he is. Which is a fundamentally Queer Experience Thing.

okay again full disclosure i am not queer, so im only going to answer this to the best of my ability besties, if i don't write things right or deliberately misunderstand a nuance in this, please know im doing my best and anything that is upsetting or offensive please tell me, i am so not qualified to answer this... but nonnie has asked so i shall give it a go!!!✨💓 (cut bc length)

genuine question here: wouldn't, arguably, in this whole choosing sides thing, crowley vs aziraphale, be exactly what divides the queer community? those that could sympathise with aziraphale and his allegory vs those that could sympathise with crowley? this is a genuine question bc i would have thought depending on your (general you) guys' (nb) variety of experiences, good and bad, there are those that could see either side or both?

as for trying to make crowley conform - i'm not going to argue this per se, bc i realise that this must be a very painful concept or experience to go through, and i Will Not invalidate that. but on the other side of the argument, whilst i see and agree that this is how aziraphale could be interpreted generally in this argument, i didn't see it this way at all. not when taking into account aziraphale's whole demeanour in s2.

my understanding is that, as far as the canon has showed us, aziraphale knows very little about the true circumstances of crowley's fall (only that aziraphale warned him against asking questions), and even less about crowley's inner feelings on the matter. whenever aziraphale mentions it, or crowley having been an angel, crowley understandably responds aggressively and angry and obviously that it's still painful.

i don't think it's too far beyond reason for aziraphale to think that crowley - a good demon - might want to take a chance to have the wrong righted (as he sees it), to receive what aziraphale would consider a boon, an apology. whilst he's not in hell's clutches, crowley would have the chance to be free of hell completely. furthermore, it's a chance for them to be together, as friends or otherwise (obvs the metatron conversation is before crowley's confession), and to build the world they want - fair and honest and kind - together. because it's not as if crowley doesn't want that, but he just won't go anywhere near being an angel in order to do it - borne of fear yes but also resentment and bitterness... possibly even arrogance.

aziraphale does lord his angelic status over crowley especially in s1, and does hold a very black and white view over angels = good, demons = bad, but for the most part i think he has started to explore the possibility of grey more in s2. he starts to ease back on crowley and concentrate on making him feel wanted and loved (however that might look on Their Side), but still leaving him agency.

ive talked about aziraphale putting him on a pedestal and that is true, but the person on that pedestal, I don't think, is angel crowley - i don't think it's that simple. i think it's good demon crowley. and that good demon crowley would want to change the world, right?? well, he's got to be an angel to do it - even better!!!

so i didn't necessarily see it as aziraphale wanting to change crowley at all, but instead him thinking that based on what crowley has told him, of course crowley would want this!!! he deserves to be forgiven and restored, he's earnt it and he's a good person!!! but aziraphale unfortunately reneges on his emerging attempts to give crowley that agency, and instead decides for him. i don't think it was necessarily out of wanting to change crowley, but instead him not knowing the full story and therefore choosing a resolution for crowley out of love and respect... but one that crowley doesn't want.

these boys REFUSE to communicate and 👏 it 👏 shows👏✨

[illegiblewords]

Serious talk about meta under the cut.

I don't know who might need to hear it, but fwiw mental flexibility is a huge part of analysis (and interacting with other humans lol). You need to be able to account for multiple possibilities when examining a work, or understanding a social exchange. You need to be able to separate what is objective fact from your own subjective interpretation and judgment. The most negative interpretation is not automatically the most worthwhile or true. Someone throwing accusations around in-line with their own worst interpretations does not guarantee those accusations are warranted. You are not a bad or stupid person for disagreeing. Shit needs to withstand scrutiny. I don't always strike the right balance myself. I do the best I can but I'm definitely not perfect. Tbh I'm not beyond pettiness either--although I try to keep that out of actual analysis lol. There have been times I've griped to friends privately or blogged about how I felt (sans tags, with spoiler blocks so people can opt out). I've griped recently. I'm bound to gripe again in the future. Some level of griping is inevitable imo and I figure no one is 100% immune.

All that said, even if someone’s take isn't canon AND even if it's something I really dislike--I'd personally rather people follow their passions anyway. Hands down. I could be in the middle of a rant and my answer would still be that the subject of my frustration gets to exist. I'm not the boss and odds are we're going with different versions in our own heads. Discouraging another fan from creating due to my preferences or narrative approach would horrify me. I've seen fandoms where gatekeeping like that killed the creative community and it was fucking awful.

Not everyone is confident in their own judgment. Not everyone faced with a pissed off person trying to use lore and accusations like clubs will feel okay continuing with their own vision. Elitism and manipulation (especially through rhetoric) can be present within analysis. People are not being taught how to recognize those things properly. Analysts aren't always aware or invested enough to even be careful. It’s legit easy to get caught up in ideas or feelings to the point of forgetting about other people’s, and adjusting to account for alternate approaches takes some work. For me at least, I think having a 'no insults' policy and being super careful when it comes to absolute claims (assertions not qualified by 'I think' or 'it could be argued') helps.

Anyway. Just because a person calls something ‘meaningless’ doesn't make it meaningless. Someone pooh-poohing an observation you made doesn't make your observation less true or important. Employing a literary term doesn't mean that individual actually understands the term, how it works, or how to apply it. Which is to say nothing of romantic chemistry or whatever. I encourage readers to extrapolate on this. ‘Shallow’ could apply as much as ‘meaningless’. Denying parallels exist by itself doesn’t actually negate those parallels. Your version of a character may not be the same as the fan next to you’s and that difference doesn't have to detract. There's more I could say on the subject (I've edited out a lot) but basically--just because another fan isn't into what you're doing doesn't automatically make what you're doing wrong, immoral, shoddy, or otherwise less.

Seriously, vet shit. Question the entire premise an analyst tries to establish then decide for yourself if it holds water. Turn over word choices and assertions in your head before deciding if they're appropriate. Do it to me too. I don't care if someone is the holy goddamn emperor of analysts. Just because a person says something is good or bad, true or false, whatever the hell doesn't make it so. Just because a person uses a technical term doesn't mean they're discussing it effectively. Quality of argument matters beyond the packaging it’s wrapped in. It's important to protect yourself from people whose priority is enforcing their own preferences, including dismissing things they aren't partial to.

I just don't want anyone shamed silent man. Not even people whose takes drive me up the fucking wall. Neither I nor any other analyst is an authority here. And there are people who are absolutely ready to take advantage of other people’s insecurities to assert themselves. Might not even be malicious, just indifferent.

For me, analysis feels kind of like uncovering a dinosaur skeleton. I want to share the cool and exciting things I find with other people. Sometimes I might be sorting out what my own thoughts and feelings are. It's also possible to examine why you're uncomfortable with something, or why you love something another person hates, while making very clear what is YOUR READING and not THE READING. Offering a variety of possibilities is very different from presenting yourself as the only correct one. One note at the end when everything else was insulting and intolerant is like a band-aid over a wound.

EDIT: As a last point, that I'm throwing in just-in-case. If anyone reading this thinks they may have overreached and done stuff I've mentioned + feels shitty about it… that's still not the end of the world. It’s okay. This is hard stuff to learn and I really don't think anyone's perfect at it. Worth the effort though. Just gotta take a deep breath, acknowledge you're a fallible human same as everyone else, and do the best you can going forward. Life goes on.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Hello hello ophe 👋😇

Just gonna say hockey bro Gwen

That it’s that is the ask

But I have a question? If you mind answering I’m fine if you can’t answer it really 👽

Do you have any writing tips for an amateur fanfic writer? (Me😔) cause I have a hard time with characterization. Just tips on that would be great😊 but it’s kinda sad to see that some people think of Rice Krispies like that even though it has been tagged and all that 😔

But I wish you the best of luck ophe! 😎🥳

-Ass Stars anon

Hello hello, Ass Stars Anon! 👋😊

(Is it obvious that I know literally nothing about hockey?)

As for writing tips, I'm not exactly a qualified or professional author, but I'm more than happy to share some of the tips and tricks I use when it comes to characterisation.

Primarily, it's really important to understand three key aspects of the character you're writing; their habits, their motives, and their temperament.

When you're writing for a certain character, always consider not only what they're doing, but why they're doing it. You can have your characters do something entirely OOC if you can justify why they'd be doing it, either through circumstance or by utilizing the three key aspects.

For example, when Trent gets uncharacteristically aggressive towards Cody in "Up the Creek", it's still in character because it's motivated by his feelings for Gwen- Trent's already established as a bit of a hopeless romantic, so having him act irrationally due to his uncertainty over Gwen's returned feelings excuses his hostility (despite his usual laid-back nature). We see later, especially in Action, that Trent has a habit/tendency of acting irrationally when it comes to anything that threatens his love life.

Of course, habits can also refer to the little patterns and behaviours certain characters have; for example, Harold's continuous use of "Gosh!" is a habit of his- something that can be easily identified as a Harold Behaviour, and something super easy to add to his dialogue to keep it feeling in character.

Another good example of utilizing dialogue habits is (not to self promo here) how I write Alejandro's speech in my stories. Throughout the show itself, you'll rarely hear Alejandro use contractions and abbreviations (he'll say "we all" instead of "we'll", or "is it not?" instead of "isn't it?"), and his manner of speech is very formal (for a ~16 year old) both due to the fact that English is his second language and the fact that he's the son of a high profile diplomat. That's why, when I write for him, I make a point of keeping his written dialogue as contraction-free as possible.

I hope that my little tangent there helps at least somewhat!

And thank you for the concern! I think some people misconstrued what my intentions were with the RK fic, which is understandable given one of the primary concepts used in the fic is generally used in a sexual context (which is such a waste of a perfectly good plot device by the way! Honestly, I wish people would stop associating cool concepts with The Horny to the point where people trying to explore them as narrative devices are assumed to be creeps 😓) but the anon who initially accused me of unsavoury things has since apologised, so no harm no foul. Though my fic is properly tagged, I should've made it more apparent either in the summary or the author's notes that it isn't as, uh, 'distasteful' as some might assume.

I wish you the best of luck too! 😁