#learning english through´practice

[oneokkombat]

[johnny after a month of visiting and staying with kenshi’s family]

Johnny, to kenshi’s mom: you know, I don’t think we ever really got over that, language barrier

Kenshi’s mom: no, It’s not your fault! You are learning quickly!

Johnny: what the- you speak english?!

Kenshi’s mom: of course I do!

Johnny: …you spoke english the whole time I’ve been here?!

Kenshi’s mom: I speak english since I was five years old!

[hobbysognodilibri]

Nothing as amusing as seeing my grandpa and my cousin talking to each other, one in Italian and one in English, as if they each understood the other language (they don't)

[pastafossa]

Hey Pasta! I was rereading some of the new chapters and wanted to ask when Jane and Matt went from just impressions via thread, to full blown words and conversations?

I was trying to remember if there was a distinct shift, and I'd love to go back and read it if there was!

So while there's definitely a sloooow, gradual build to full conversations, the first time an actual word gets through is in chapter 31! This also happens right before the Away chapters, and as we know, they get a toooooon of practice trying to communicate with words, then, and are up to short sentences by the time she comes back.

BUT LET ME TALK ABOUT THIS WORDBUILDING A LITTLE THO CAUSE IT'S RELEVANT. I intentionally wanted it to feel slow and gradual, the way they go from emotional sensations -> full conversations. Even when they're talking to each other via thread now, they're not actually talking the way we think of it, which is why when you read their conversations, you'll still sometimes see something like this (Ch 134):

Bloodstained lips shifted, shaping a word on his tongue. Even before he spoke it, the air around him seemed to shiver as his intent manifested, his current aligning with yours where it lay quiet. "Mine," he whispered, the word raw smoke and rough city streets, letters a caress on your skin. "Understand?"

This isn't any of the languages we use every day. It's a language built on the bones of emotion, sensation its sound, with intent giving the words form. That's why it's taken them both so long to work up to where they're at now - they've essentially been learning a new language, one in which each word is also a sensation, a memory, and a physical change in the thread world as intent manifests (with stronger intent enacting stronger effects, as Matt almost discovered). It's a language only they can speak (that they know of), although I will confirm they learned it far faster, far more intimately, and far more fluently than anyone In The Know would have expected. Whether that's because they're soulmates, because their thread is just REALLY open now, or because Matt's super senses align perfectly with her abilities is something I'm leaving open for guessing at present.

[faolonfiendrender]

Okay, I’m gonna write something.

Miss Le Miestre kicked the church door shut as she jumped to the inside. Two shots followed her in.

“Those connards are back. Barely got away, but this ol girl can still weave like she used to. Please tell me the rest of ya have more than that rifle Madame Reyes carries between ya.”

Miss Reyes spoke up first “Got a Colt in my boot. Same one the knife is strapped to. Draw it to surprise fools who think I’m going for a knife.”

Mr. Darby was the next, he said nothing, simply produced a derringer seemingly out of thin air, and then a stiletto in his other hand.

Mister Mori was the last to say anything.

“I apologize, but I have not had a chance to purchase a gun yet. If I could borrow one from one of you, I’d be quite grateful. I am better with rifles, but I understand if Miss Reyes doesn’t want to give me her rifle”

Miss Reyes handed Mister Mori her rifle before retrieving the revolver from her boot. She then stared directly at Miss Le Miestre and asked one question.

“You got a gun?”

In response, Miss Le Miestre removed her blue longcoat, revealing that beyond her cutlass, she had kept two flintlocks, one with an ivory handle, the other with jet, as well as an imported European revolver.

“I have a handful of guns, I’ll still never get used to those new-fangled revolvers, even if being able to shoot five times before clubbing someone with it is nice.”

Then she drew the revolver in her left hand, grabbing her cutlass with the right as Mister Mori crouched behind a pew and Mr. Darby and Miss Reyes stepped to the side of the door.

Miss Le Miestre stepped towards the door, deciding that she’d insult them in English so they could understand, and shouted to the men outside, all of whom were dressed in old grey uniforms and wore improvised masks.

“I’m coming out ya damned bastards! I’ll make all you regret not giving up when you could, I’ve been making scared little devils like you die since your grandfathers were cabin boys!”

She kicked open the doors, firing her revolver from the hip to make all eight of the men outside take cover. She then ducked back into the church, drew her jet-handled gun, and made ready.

The first of the men stood up from behind a barrel, Mister Mori put a bullet in his head before he’d fully processed what happened. Seconds which felt like hours passed. One of the survivors stuck his repeating rifle above a wagon and started firing, as soon as Mister Mori ducked to avoid the gunfire the four of the men ran down to flank the door while the three left in the street stood with rifles trained to keep their enemies from shooting out the doorway

Only one of the men going to flank made it, Miss Reyes shot two of them from inside the church window hitting both in the gut. And one made the mistake of trying to pull her through the window. She stabbed him with the knife on her belt as he grabbed her gunarm.

That left one man, one overconfident man. He knew he had to shoot Miss Reyes first, and then that rifleman. He knew there was no way the one who had attacked them had reloaded yet, and the limey one didn’t have a weapon.

So he tried just that, before a puff of smoke and the smell of black powder filled the air, and he fell to a weapon nearly a century older than he was.

During all this, Mr. Darby had slipped away out one of the other windows. He slipped back as he jumped from an awning behind the gunmen. He managed to shoot one of the men on the way down before stabbing another in the gut as he stood. The third man had his gun pointed at Mr. Darby in time to make him pause. Another click made the last man standing pause.

“Hey, we got business here, and I see that officer sabre on your belt. Think you can take an old woman in a swordfight? Get done with all this guns business?”

So, the last man standing out down the gun and drew. He figured that he’s more likely to survive this fight than the previous one.

At the same time, the man who fell in the church began crawling along. He knew to fake injury when shot. He’d take care of the rifleman first, a knife to the gut should work and then he’d shoot the vacquero.

Outside, metal clashed, the old pirate falling back into her familiar rhythm, high, low, step together and raise the sword at an angle. Try to cut his shoulder as he swung and missed. Skill was on her side, but her opponent was clearly never trained, he kept holding his saber in two hands, and yanking away when he felt a cut bounce off his guard. This made him an unpredictable brute, and somehow, he was gaining ground.

Inside, things had not gone as planned for the man with the knife. He had kicked the rifle away, and the tapestries that hung meant the gunslinger couldn’t get a good shot, but the rifleman was good up close. He seemed to flow around the knife, even as low as both were. A kick found Mister Mori’s hip, and he fell across a familiar sheath. He rolled backwards as the knife tried to reach his gut. He took the sheath with him. He stood up and faced the man with the knife, both out of reach from the other, hand on the hilt of his sword as his foe stepped forwards

Outside, Miss Le Miestre found herself losing ground, so she stepped back, holding her sword out with one hand to stop her opponent’s advance for but a second. Her opponent swatted the cutlass to the side, but he should have paid attention to the other hand instead.

A loud bang echoed. A blade glimmered silently. Both of the gunmen still standing clutched their guts. One felt immense pain, the other felt nothing even as his blood fell on the church floor. Both fell, one backwards and one forwards. A pirate put her ivory-handled pistol back in her belt, and a samurai put his bronze-hilted sword back in its sheath.

Consider:

Victorian England: 1837-1901

American Old West: 1803-1912

Meiji Restoration: 1868-1912

French privateering in the Gulf of Mexico: ended circa 1830

Conclusion: an adventuring party consisting of a Victorian gentleman thief, an Old West gunslinger, a disgraced former samurai, and an elderly French pirate is actually 100% historically plausible.

[hoorayezenglish]

English Stories Compilation - Learn English Through Stories

[aerodaltonimperial]

so back when i was teaching, one of the things i learned to look for were the "mood makers", as i liked to call them, of the classes. there were always 2 or 3 per class, and it was easy to find them in the first few days. you got those kids on your side, and it was a ripple effect with the rest of the students - they would all follow. so winning those kids over was huge when it came to how the year would play out. and from time to time, whenever the class was sort of faltering - middle of winter, of a big project, burn-out high - i would lean back in on those mood makers again to turn things around.

one particular class, when we had a big multi-month group project happening, were just... really struggling with getting their shit together lol. they were supposed to be practicing their presentations (english speaking class) and they were doing pretty much anything but, and their presentations were supposed to start the next class day. they were also PANICKING as i started giving out some feedback - which was NOT GREAT - as they were running through the lines they were supposed to be remembering. after realizing all of them needed so much extra work, i decided we needed to have a turn-around, so i invited one of the mood makers up to the front. i held out a cup to him, with two papers inside.

"one of them," i said, "says tuesday, and if you draw that, presentations go as planned. but one of them says thursday, and if you choose that one, everyone gets extra time to practice."

everyone was like OH SHIT. OKAY. THIS IS IT. and this mood maker, he was a big personality (they usually are) so i knew he'd really ham this up, and he did. we made a huge deal, with drum-rolls and everything, of him picking one out of the cup. he opened it up the paper and announced THURSDAY to a round of huge cheers. he was the class hero. everyone had TONS of motivation to work super hard on this gifted extra day, and really put the time in. their presentations were great. morale SOARED.

the plot twist was that both papers said thursday, because they all needed the extra time. my forever teacher advice: find creative ways to make things happen so that you get the buy-in from the class.

[teach-english]

Learn English through story | "My All" ⭐ Improve Your Vocabulary so fast⚡

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ʙ ᴀ ᴛ ᴍ ᴀ ɴ ⸻

Pairing: Adult Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Damian doesn’t fall in love; he descends into it with the same calculated intensity he approaches a fight. It begins innocuously—a mission gone awry, your paths crossing in Gotham’s shadowed streets. You’re a private investigator, clever enough to evade trouble yet stubborn enough to find it anyway. The first time he saves you, it isn’t out of compassion. It’s practicality. You’re in his way, a civilian caught in the web of crime and darkness that Gotham weaves around its inhabitants.

But something about you clings to him after that night. Maybe it’s the way your eyes, so defiant, didn’t flinch when he loomed over you in the Bat suit. Maybe it’s the sharpness of your tongue when you told him you didn’t need his help. For Damian, who grew up in shadows and blood, your fire is intoxicating. You aren’t a mission or a tool; you’re a puzzle, one that he can’t put down.

Damian begins to watch you. Not out of lust—not at first—but out of necessity, he tells himself. You’re reckless, and Gotham devours the reckless. He starts with the basics: tracking your movements, hacking into your phone, listening to your calls. He justifies it as protection. It’s his duty to keep you safe. After all, you wouldn’t last a week in Gotham without his silent interventions.

But it doesn’t stop there. He learns your habits—the café you frequent, the books you read, the way you twist your hair when you’re lost in thought. He doesn’t realize when protection turns into possession. All he knows is that the idea of you existing outside his control fills him with unease.

For Damian, love isn’t soft or tender. It’s consuming, an ache that claws at his chest. He’s never been good at moderation. Raised by the League of Assassins and tempered by the Bat, he only knows how to want completely or not at all. And he wants you.

It starts small—fleeting glimpses of a shadow that seems too deliberate, too familiar. You convince yourself it’s paranoia. Gotham does that to people. But then there are the gifts. A book you mentioned in passing appears on your doorstep. A necklace you admired once in a shop window finds its way into your apartment.

He tailors his interactions with you, ensuring he always appears just when you need him most. It’s a slow burn, one he orchestrates with the precision of a symphony.

But in the quiet moments, his thoughts spiral. He imagines you—laid out beneath him, vulnerable and bare, trembling as he whispers that you belong to him. He dreams of your gasps, your pleas, your moans as he claims you in ways no one else ever could. And these fantasies? They become impossible to ignore.

It’s why he starts leaving little reminders of himself in your life. His scent lingers on the gifts he leaves, his hands brushing against yours just a moment too long during your brief encounters. He needs you to feel him, even when he isn’t there.

And then there are the rescues. Every time you’re in danger, Batman is there. Too quickly, too conveniently. You’re not sure whether to feel grateful or unnerved. The way he looks at you, even through the cowl, sends shivers down your spine. His gaze lingers a moment too long, his touch steadying you when you falter but holding on just a bit too tightly.

Damian doesn’t believe in limits—not when it comes to you. When a petty criminal threatens your life, he snaps. The Bat code—his father’s code—is forgotten. He breaks the man’s arm without hesitation, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. He would’ve done more if you hadn’t screamed his name.

That’s when you realize something is deeply wrong. Batman isn’t supposed to lose control. But Damian doesn’t care. He tells you it was necessary, that Gotham doesn’t follow rules, and neither can he when it comes to you. His voice is calm, but his eyes burn with something you can’t name.

One night, you find yourself in danger again—a gang cornering you in a dark alley. By now, you expect him to come, and he does. He’s a shadow in the night, a whirlwind of brutal efficiency. But this time, when the last thug is down, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he steps toward you, towering over you in his suit, his green eyes glowing behind the mask.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

You snap back, angry at his audacity. “I can take care of myself!”

He’s on you in an instant, his gloved hand gripping your arm—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to show you he’s in control. “No, you can’t,” he snarls. “You’re reckless. Foolish. You don’t understand how fragile you are.”

The tension crackles like a live wire. He’s close—too close. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze burning into yours. And then it happens: his lips crash against yours, rough and possessive, stealing the breath from your lungs.

It’s not a kiss born of tenderness but of desperation, of need. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him as he devours you like a man starved. When he pulls back, his eyes are wild, his voice trembling with barely restrained desire.

“You drive me insane,” he admits, his words raw and honest. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

After that night, Damian’s control unravels. He stops holding back, his obsession consuming him entirely. He starts appearing at your apartment unannounced, stepping out of the shadows like he belongs there. And in his mind, he does.

His touches grow bolder. A hand on your lower back as he guides you through a crowd, fingers brushing against your thigh as you sit together. He delights in the way you shiver under his touch, even if you won’t admit how much you like it.

But it’s not enough. He wants all of you—your body, your mind, your heart. He begins orchestrating moments where you’ll need him: sabotaging your car so he can give you a ride, pulling strings to ensure no one else can get close to you. He wants you dependent on him, tethered to him in every possible way.

And when he finally has you—when you’re beneath him, his name a broken whisper on your lips—he feels whole for the first time in his life. He takes his time, mapping every inch of your body, leaving bruises and bites as proof of his claim. His voice is dark and velvety as he whispers in your ear, “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

He begins isolating you, subtly at first. Friends cancel plans, your phone malfunctions, and job opportunities slip through your fingers. He doesn’t trust anyone else with you—not Gotham, not its people, and certainly not your own judgment.

When you confront him, his response is chilling in its sincerity.

“Everything I’ve done is to protect you,” he says. “You think you’re safe on your own? Gotham doesn’t care about you. But I do. I always will.”

You try to leave, but Damian is always a step ahead. He knows your every move, every thought before you act on it. He doesn’t hurt you—not physically. His control is far more insidious. He makes you doubt yourself, your reality.

Eventually, you stop fighting. It’s easier that way. Damian doesn’t celebrate your surrender, but you see the satisfaction in the way his shoulders relax, the ghost of a smile on his lips when you stop flinching at his touch.

In his mind, he’s saved you. You’re safe in the gilded cage he’s built for you, even if you don’t see it that way. He tells himself you’ll come to understand, that one day you’ll thank him for his unwavering devotion.

And in the quiet moments, when his arms are around you and his voice is soft in your ear, you almost believe him.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[gowns]

Why Kids Aren't Falling in Love With Reading - It's Not Just Screens

A shrinking number of kids are reading widely and voraciously for fun.

The ubiquity and allure of screens surely play a large part in this—most American children have smartphones by the age of 11—as does learning loss during the pandemic. But this isn’t the whole story. A survey just before the pandemic by the National Assessment of Educational Progress showed that the percentages of 9- and 13-year-olds who said they read daily for fun had dropped by double digits since 1984. I recently spoke with educators and librarians about this trend, and they gave many explanations, but one of the most compelling—and depressing—is rooted in how our education system teaches kids to relate to books.

What I remember most about reading in childhood was falling in love with characters and stories; I adored Judy Blume’s Margaret and Beverly Cleary’s Ralph S. Mouse. In New York, where I was in public elementary school in the early ’80s, we did have state assessments that tested reading level and comprehension, but the focus was on reading as many books as possible and engaging emotionally with them as a way to develop the requisite skills. Now the focus on reading analytically seems to be squashing that organic enjoyment. Critical reading is an important skill, especially for a generation bombarded with information, much of it unreliable or deceptive. But this hyperfocus on analysis comes at a steep price: The love of books and storytelling is being lost.

This disregard for story starts as early as elementary school. Take this requirement from the third-grade English-language-arts Common Core standard, used widely across the U.S.: “Determine the meaning of words and phrases as they are used in a text, distinguishing literal from nonliteral language.” There is a fun, easy way to introduce this concept: reading Peggy Parish’s classic, Amelia Bedelia, in which the eponymous maid follows commands such as “Draw the drapes when the sun comes in” by drawing a picture of the curtains. But here’s how one educator experienced in writing Common Core–aligned curricula proposes this be taught: First, teachers introduce the concepts of nonliteral and figurative language. Then, kids read a single paragraph from Amelia Bedelia and answer written questions.

For anyone who knows children, this is the opposite of engaging: The best way to present an abstract idea to kids is by hooking them on a story. “Nonliteral language” becomes a whole lot more interesting and comprehensible, especially to an 8-year-old, when they’ve gotten to laugh at Amelia’s antics first. The process of meeting a character and following them through a series of conflicts is the fun part of reading. Jumping into a paragraph in the middle of a book is about as appealing for most kids as cleaning their room.

But as several educators explained to me, the advent of accountability laws and policies, starting with No Child Left Behind in 2001, and accompanying high-stakes assessments based on standards, be they Common Core or similar state alternatives, has put enormous pressure on instructors to teach to these tests at the expense of best practices. Jennifer LaGarde, who has more than 20 years of experience as a public-school teacher and librarian, described how one such practice—the class read-aloud—invariably resulted in kids asking her for comparable titles. But read-alouds are now imperiled by the need to make sure that kids have mastered all the standards that await them in evaluation, an even more daunting task since the start of the pandemic. “There’s a whole generation of kids who associate reading with assessment now,” LaGarde said.

By middle school, not only is there even less time for activities such as class read-alouds, but instruction also continues to center heavily on passage analysis, said LaGarde, who taught that age group. A friend recently told me that her child’s middle-school teacher had introduced To Kill a Mockingbird to the class, explaining that they would read it over a number of months—and might not have time to finish it. “How can they not get to the end of To Kill a Mockingbird?” she wondered. I’m right there with her. You can’t teach kids to love reading if you don’t even prioritize making it to a book’s end. The reward comes from the emotional payoff of the story’s climax; kids miss out on this essential feeling if they don’t reach Atticus Finch’s powerful defense of Tom Robinson in the courtroom or never get to solve the mystery of Boo Radley.

... Young people should experience the intrinsic pleasure of taking a narrative journey, making an emotional connection with a character (including ones different from themselves), and wondering what will happen next—then finding out. This is the spell that reading casts. And, like with any magician’s trick, picking a story apart and learning how it’s done before you have experienced its wonder risks destroying the magic.

-- article by katherine marsh, the atlantic (12 foot link, no paywall)

[brazilian-vampyra]

♱ NEEDING SOME LOVE? ｡ﾟ ♡

(english)

⋆ ִֶָ ๋ ✮⋆ synopsis: you are a succubus and offers affection after jjk men pass or are in stressful situations.

⋆ ִֶָ ๋ ✮⋆ characters: ryomen sukuna, gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro, choso kamo, nanami kento.

⋆ ִֶָ ๋ ✮⋆ warnings: strong language, rough sex, unprotected sex, praising kink, hair pulling, degradation kink, oral (both receiving), fem!dom, male!dom, creampie, nipple play, teasing, love bites, needy behavior.

⭑ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄 was tired. He was hella tired.

Some time ago, Kento decided to give up his life as an office worker and put into practice everything he had learned at Jujutsu High. Enduring Gojo Satoru shouting in his ear like he did in high school was the worst of the problems, the big "x" of the issue now was dealing with the curses that arrived in the city.

Sukuna's return seemed to have brought a streak of bad luck to everyone else, and it stressed him, God, how it stressed him.

He had fought against a curse called "Mahito". He was all patched up, had blue hair, was tough and very ironic, the kind that brags about their deplorable exploits. His stupid actions meant that Nanami had to spend more time at work, as he was going to finish his shift at 6 p.m., but Mahito was persistent and stupid, forcing him to work overtime.

He left office life so he could stop working like a convict, and now he was forced to work overtime because of this stupid curse?

It's incredibly disrespectful.

He arrived at the apartment tired, just thinking about taking a relaxing shower and sleeping. Maybe this vacation to Malaysia should be brought forward.

He unlocked the main door and when he entered, he turned on the orange lamp next to it, casting dim light across the room. He was already loosening his tie and muttering some swear words when he came across a peculiar figure on the sofa. You were lying on your side, resting your face in your hand, looking at him with a mischievous smile and slightly shaking your tail.

The tail, as well as the horns and wings were part of your real form, but you made them disappear to be more comfortable sometimes.

━━ What are you doing in my house? — the blonde questioned, without paying much attention to you.

━━ You know how it is, no big deal... — you slid onto the couch. ━━ Just checking if my favorite blonde is okay...

━━ I am very well.

You giggled indiscreetly.

━━ You seem stressed to me...

━━ I can ease my stress on my own, I don't need another curse bothering me today.

You got up from the couch, walking over to him with a hand on your chest, pretending to be offended.

━━ Aww, too bad. I'm not a curse, you know this... — you said, making your most fantasy features disappear, looking like a normal human. ━━ Are you going to treat me like that night was nothing?

He grunted, taking off his tie to make himself more comfortable.

━━ It was a dream. A fucking dream.

━━ It wasn't a dream... — you teased. ━━ But I agree with you on the fucking part. Wow, we fucked so much!

You kept remembering about it, with a mischievous smile on your lips.

━━ What did you come for, you devil? Feed? If so, I'm tired, I don't have any energy to give you.

Well, that's the truth. Succubus feeds on a person's vital energy through sex.

━━ Do I look evil, Kento? I'm here to take care of you. You let me feed myself, I think it's fair that I take care of you.

You took a hand to the blonde's defined jaw and slid your fingers over his skin, watching as he shivered.

━━ You'll see... I can wash your hair... — you took one of his hands and brought it to your face, so he could feel your warm cheek. ━━ Kiss your pretty lips and we can explore each other's bodies, so you will sleep very happy afterwards. Don't you think you need some love?

His mischievous smile was a beautiful invitation. And the blonde gave in to the temptation and desire you emanated. You calmly convinced him, and now you were in the bathroom, in the shower, moaning and feeling the warm water slide over your skin. Nanami's strong body hugged yours from behind, while his hands were covered in liquid soap with passion fruit and chamomile essences.

His huge hands slid over your wet skin and went to your breasts, playing with your nipples between his index and middle fingers; giving you an awesome stimulation.

You could feel his hips grinding against your ass and his cock slides through your tight insides, giving you as much pleasure as you were giving him. The blonde's deep moans were close to your ear, making you bite your lower lip. Your hands were on the blue tiled wall, providing you with some support as he delighted in your body.

━━ I told you... you would be happier- ugh, fuck...

━━ I think you're right, I can't resist that fucking pussy... — he kissed your shoulder. ━━ Goddamn, if these curses keep stressing me out I'm going to need you every week...

━━ I'll always be here for you, darling... — you smiled, biting your bottom lip and brought a hand up to his wet blonde hair, while his lips were on your shoulder, tasting your wet skin. ━━ Every time you need... to give you the sweetest dreams ever.

[...]

⭑ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ⭑

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑 can be irritated and stressed, like ordinary people. With Sukuna's return, there were other curses with Kenjaku causing problems, such as a stranger called Jogo. They didn't seem like a big problem, nothing he couldn't handle, but it was certainly something that would irritate him and require more strength and patience.

He had to balance this with his teaching duties and training the host of the king of curses, Yuji Itadori.

Sometimes Satoru fantasizes about what his life would be like without the responsibility of being a special grade sorcerer. Maybe he could be like most who don't have to worry about literally being humanity's last hope if the curses ever want to claim dominance again.

He had lost his best friend a few years ago, and it still hurt him. He had to take care of Yuji, Megumi and Nobara, as well as put up with hearing shit from other elitist sorcerers.

All of this made Satoru frustrated.

This caused erotic dreams to happen with a certain frequency, and the figure that satisfied him was you, a succubus. You're wrong if you think that your relationship with the most powerful sorcerer was just sex, nothing like that, you also talked a few times, flirted and even saw each other in real life.

At that point, you could already consider each other very close.

Now he had arrived home and removed the bandage that covered his vibrant blue eyes.

━━ I know you are here, sweetie.

He hadn't turned on any lights yet, but then you emerged from the shadows when he turned on the yellow lights in the living room. The lights were in a weaker tone, precisely so that he could be more relaxed and rest, providing a cozy atmosphere.

You were wearing a button-down shirt he had. A long-sleeved white shirt that had a few buttons lazily closed. Your thighs were bare, your smooth skin perfectly visible and your seductive scent carried far and wide. Your horns were not visible, nor were your wings or tail.

He went feral just by seeing this.

━━ I can see in those pretty eyes how tired you are... — you walked closer to him, hugging his neck affectionately. ━━ Wanna tell me what happened?

A muffled laugh echoed between you, a laugh coming from him before he slid his tongue across his lower lip gently.

━━ It's amazing how you always come up with the right words, and that lovely voice... — he wrapped his arms around your waist. ━━ It doesn't even feel like you're here with the purpose of sucking me dry.

You laughed at the audacity of the perfect white-haired sorcerer's words.

━━ Do you think I'm a mercenary who only cares about your life energy, Satoru? What we have is special... — you looked at him with your best puppy eyes.

He smiled happily upon hearing this.

━━ Don't you think you're needing some love, handsome?

You looked at him with your pink eyes, like a shining gemstone. Glowing with lust.

Gojo's response was his lips immediately being pressed against yours. His warm tongue slid against yours, allowing you to taste the mint gum he had been chewing all day. His hands held and squeezed your waist, making you moan against his lips, and he bit your lower lip lightly.

When you realized, you were on his bed. Your clothes were making a trail that led from the living room to the bedroom, and your bodies were sweaty on the sheets. You were on your side, with your head on the pillow, feeling one of Satoru's hands squeezing your breasts while the other held your thigh, slightly raised so that he could thrust his hips with precision against you.

The blue-eyed man bit your neck a little between kisses, probably leaving your skin marked, but he liked it. He liked to have the feeling that you were his.

━━ This pussy calms me down in a way... — he moaned, never stopping moving his hips against you, making the sound of your bodies echo throughout the room. ━━ It's like it was made for me...

━━ Take it easy, love... — you gripped the sheets tightly, feeling his body against yours as your vision was clouded with pleasure. ━━ Or you'll get addicted...

━━ Fucking hell, I already am... — hearing him go crazy was priceless. ━━ I need that damn pussy sliding on my cock every night...

[...]

⭑ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 ⭑

𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 that even though it was half a curse, the human feelings of this man who was almost two hundred years old were the strongest. He — who had exhausted eyes — was lost among difficult and confused thoughts.

His current mental state lived up to his appearance. He was as worn out as his eyelids and his dark circles. The physical and mental exhaustion of the blood handler was increasingly evident, he no longer knew what to do. He had constant and massive existential crises, which made his head scream.

Being by Kenjaku's side felt right, but something in him told him that wasn't the only option he had. Halloween was coming, the coup in Shibuya was going to happen and Choso only thought about running out of there and never coming back, evaporating like water in a hot pot of rice. But on the other hand, he must avenge the death of his brothers.

Why did life have to be so difficult?

He entered the room, throwing himself on the bed and burying his face in a pillow as he sighed heavily and tried to clear his thoughts. That was when a shiver ran down his spine and he looked at an armchair next to him.

There you were, with your horns and wings and your tail, slowly swaying back and forth like a cat.

━━ Hi, baby.

You smiled and waved calmly at him.

━━ W-Who are you? What are you doing here?

━━ Oh, don't you know who I am? — You were surprised. ━━ Well, let me put on a friendlier appearance to talk to you then.

In the blink of an eye your mystical features disappeared.

━━ Better, right?

You fixed your hair softly.

━━ I'm a succubus, by the look on your face I can assume you've never met one, right?

He nodded shyly.

━━ Well, Choso... I noticed you're so stressed. So tired, so depressed... — you walked over to the bed, running your hands through his silky hair. ━━ That brought me here.

━━ Can I assume you want to kill me...?

You laughed at the man's naivety.

━━ Kill you? No, no. Why would I kill such an adorable guy like you? — he was so adorable and cute. ━━ All I need is a little bit of your life energy, and don't worry, you'll recover in time.

━━ And how do I give it to you?

━━ You'll have to cum for me.

His pale cheeks turned red like ripe strawberries.

━━ W-What!?

━━ Feeding me during sex is the best option, and the best thing is that it doesn't hurt you either... — your hot pink eyes glowed at him, in a tone of eloquent desire. ━━ Don't you think you need some love, baby?

Yes, Choso had to assume that this was the best option for him at the moment. He might have to give you some of his life energy, but at the same time he would be rewarded for it. He was a bit inexperienced, and he didn't hide it — maybe he couldn't even try to hide it.

While you were kissing, he ended up asking to taste your pussy. That was the most promiscuous and shy request a man had ever made to you, two extremes at once. He accepted, and now he was eating you out with a desire that not even an extremely experienced man had ever eaten. His eyes were closed, his hands were squeezing your thighs and his face was buried between your legs.

The desire left him intoxicated, too focused on making you feel good.

Your legs were draped over his shoulders and you held onto his beautiful dark hair, squeezing it every now and then just out of sheer will, as you let him dictate at his own pace. Kamo's tongue slid inside you and his lips worked together to make you moan more and more.

At that point he couldn't take it anymore. The noticeable erection inside his pants was making that piece of clothing tighter and tighter, and if you kept moaning like that while he tasted you, he would probably end up cumming in his boxers. It had been a long time since he had tasted pussy this sweet, and now he felt like he was being bewitched or something.

━━ Hmm... you're so sweet, hm... — he kept eating.

━━ Such a good boy, you're doing well... — looked down, seeing his lips on your soaked sex. ━━ Don't be shy, rub your face on it...

Without even blinking, he held your thighs tighter and rubbed his face against your pussy, making you moan loudly and grip his hair tighter. That was unexpected, as you didn't expect to be dealing with a man who would obey so much.

Choso Kamo is indeed a good boy.

[...]

⭑ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍 was far from being a bed of roses. Unlike what is shown in movies or comics, it is a sad, strange life with a growing sense of death because at any moment there could be a sniper waiting for you. Or another hitman who was hired to kill you as personal revenge for some of your work.

It was no different for Toji, who had to kill people almost every day.

The smell of iron coming from the blood was no longer something he found strange, as it was like smelling the good smell of a disinfectant or a perfume that was pleasant. Most of his clothes were black, just so he wouldn't worry about blood stains, his house didn't have light-colored carpets, precisely so that he wouldn't have to do such intense cleaning if blood leaked through a trash bag.

He lived in an extremely simple apartment, in a suburban neighborhood where the rent was very cheap.

Perhaps if his gambling addiction hadn't consumed him, he might have been in a better situation, as he was paid very well for his services. It was no surprise, after all Toji is a professional at what he does.

Today he was hired to kill an extremely important man, and he was protected by some very experienced and strong sorcerers, that was a lot of work and Toji got hurt a little. Now he had taken a cold shower and put on black sweatpants, lying down on the double bed in that small room, lit by the orange light from the streetlight that invaded through the window.

You teleported to his bed, laying down next to him.

Upon smelling her sweet scent entering his nostrils, Fushiguro wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

━━ I was already thinking about summoning you, my little devil...

His deep voice shook your bones, reverberating on it.

━━ Missing me, my love? — you teased.

━━ Always, honey.

━━ Had a bad day?

━━ Bad as fuck, but now I have you here.

━━ I think you're needing some love, don't you agree? — you turned to him, smiling mischievously and running a hand over the scar he had on his lip.

━━ I need all the love in the world right now.

And so you started kissing. It was an intense kiss, with a lot of desire and lust as your tongues touched and he grunted against your mouth. His kiss always seemed to take the air out of you, leaving you shocked at how good he felt.

Toji Fushiguro is ridiculously good in bed.

Right now, he was reminding you why he's the best you've ever had. This man was fucking you in a deliciously sinful mating press, holding your thighs as his green eyes were locked on yours and he was thrusting his hips against you like there's no tomorrow.

Fucking looking into the eyes was something so intimate and serious that you had never done with anyone; Toji could consider himself a big important milestone in your centuries-old succubus life.

━━ So fuckin' good f'me... — he was going crazy, just like you.

It felt strangely good, feeling him thrusting while you were stuffed. This man had already come and was still hard and needy for more, so much so that some of his hot cum was dripping down your poor little hole.

━━ You're such a whore, aren't you? This pussy is dripping and you still want more...

You smiled mischievously, biting your bottom lip and looking at him.

━━ What can I do? You're irresistible...

[...]

⭑ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 was not satisfied with his concubines.

Yes, you did not read it wrong. No, that wasn't a doubt, it was an affirmation.

You, like a good succubus, had been watching him from the shadows for a while, because after all, his life seemed to be extremely interesting. Realized from the beginning that he had four concubines, all of them beautiful, with the most different bodies, different shapes. Always dressed in flashy lingerie and wearing jewelry.

But somehow, he no longer looked at them with that hunger and desire he had at first. You wonder why?

The truth is that there was no answer to this notorious question. He had probably just lost interest in them or sex in general for a while because of the problems that were plaguing him. After all, he is the king.

With this in mind, you decided to pay a visit to the lonely king.

You entered his throne room, wearing beautiful red lingerie, adorned with some rubies, which framed your curves very well. Your soft skin was completely exposed and you made a point of letting your perfume emanate far away, as well as your pheromones.

━━ Sukuna... long time no see.

You teased him, laughing softly. You never had to bow to him, he "forgave" your audacity.

━━ Little brat... can I know why are you bothering me?

━━ I came to offer you help.

━━ Help?

━━ I noticed you don't care about your concubines anymore... from afar I feel your dissatisfaction.

He laughed mischievously, in his classic way.

━━ And what did you come here for? Apply to replace one of them?

━━ Sukuna, speaking like that, it seems like you don't know me — you made a subtle gesture with your hand. ━━ I just came here to propose a deal.

━━ What type of deal?

━━ You give me some of your vital energy and I give you pleasure...

He would have said "yes" right away the way he was, but playing hard to get was part of his personality.

━━ What makes you think I would accept this deal?

You smiled mischievously and began to crawl towards him, slowly climbing the steps that led to his throne at the top. Like a cat, it crawls slowly until it reaches the ball of yarn.

━━ Oh, my king... — you knew how to play dirty. ━━ I was watching you the whole time, I can see how frustrated you are.

You rested your head on his thigh, covered by the white kimono.

━━ You're needing some love, my dear...

And he agreed to this deal the right way. You knew you would have to put up with all the brutality of the king of curses, and you were willing to do that, especially because he didn't go beyond the limits, but he really was remarkable.

The white kimono he was wearing was already open, exposing his beautiful body with the marks that were his striking feature. You were kneeling right in front of him, while he held your hair and moaned, with his eyes closed and tilting his head back. Your mouth slid over his huge cock, feeling how his precum slid over your tongue every time you played with his sensitive, pink tip.

Sukuna's moans were as profane as his dark, morbid nature.

But they were truly a pleasure to listen to, and they were so good that it was making your thin panties weat with your desire, which ran down your slits as you used your mouth on him.

━━ F-Fuck... what a good fucking slut you are... — he pulled your hair.

You gagged on his cock a few times. Which was completely acceptable since he was indeed huge.

You were still going to have a lot of fun in that room, you couldn't even imagine that you could fuck in as many positions as he was going to fuck you on that throne.

[...]

⭑ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 ⭑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 was on the verge of going crazy.

Summer was a difficult season, as curses were everywhere and spread like plagues. In fact, the heat was so intense that it could kill the curses on its own, but he, as a sorcerer, had the obligation to act against them.

All that stress was already becoming unbearable, Suguru was already one step away from freaking out and killing everything and everyone in sight — whether it was a curse or not. He no longer cared about anything, and only thought about how complicated his life was and that maybe he wished he could have been born without this gift, so that he could do what "normal people" do.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for the man with long dark hair, you already had an eye on everything. I analyzed him from afar at various times, and thought about when would be the right time to approach him. You heard that he had been having these outbursts since Jujutsu High, now he was an adult and was still trying to control himself for not causing a giant disgrace.

Now he was on the balcony of his bedroom, it was a moonlit, starry and hot night.

His hair was tied up at the top and loose at the bottom, so he felt a little fresher. He was only wearing gray boxers and had picked up a cigarette, when he was about to light it, he noticed that he had lost the lighter.

━━ I always leave it here on the balcony table...

He muttered to himself.

━━ Looking for this?

He heard an unfamiliar female voice behind him and immediately looked to see what it was about. It was you, you were there looking at him like a predator looks at its prey, with your hot pink eyes.

━━ Don't get closer, or I-...

━━ What? Are you gonna eat me? — you teased, while holding his lighter. ━━ I mean, depending on how it goes, I accept it...

━━ Who are you?

You took the cigarette from his hand, politely asking "excuse me", and brought it to your lips, lighting it with the lighter and inhaling the smoke before bringing it to his lips. Suguru should assume that was a very sensual thing to watch, more so than he would like to admit.

You introduced yourself, saying your name to him and offering a gentle smile.

━━ Are you a curse? — he was smoking his cigarette calmly. ━━ I can feel your cursed energy.

━━ Succubus and incubus are not curses, but we have cursed energy.

━━ Then why are you here? I don't think I have anything that interests you, except my skills.

━━ I think your skills are formidable, but I don't want them, don't worry — you leaned over the balcony and took the cigarette from his lips, smoking it before giving it back. ━━ I want something else, and it can help you.

━━ I'm listening.

━━ I want to have sex with you.

Suguru almost choked on his own smoke at that moment. A creature appeared on his bedroom balcony in the middle of a summer night and suddenly said it wanted to have sex with him? That's weird.

━━ Sorry, I'm usually pretty straight to the point, haha.

━━ Can you explain? — he was recovering from his surprised cough.

━━ I feed on vital energy, and I need yours. Don't worry, I won't take everything, and you will recover pretty quickly because of your cursed energy level.

━━ What do I get from that?

━━ I have been watching you during this time, I know you are stressed and exhausted from having to deal with curses. So... I can make you feel good, really good, trust me...

━━ I won't sell myself for lust, not even if... holy shit.

While he was talking, you took off the thin t-shirt you were wearing and left your breasts exposed, leaving now only your denim mini skirt.

━━ C'mon, Suguru... don't you think you deserve some love? — you told him, in your seductive way.

The answer after that was clearly yes, and he buried the cigarette in the ashtray before kissing your lips eagerly and holding you in his arms, dragging you to the bed. Even though you had just met, it wasn't difficult for you to find the harmony between your bodies because somehow, you had the perfect fit.

You told the sorcerer that he just needed to let you ride him so he could be calm and sleep happily. He didn't think twice before accepting the proposal, and now you were there, in his lap.

Geto was lying down, with his eyes closed and moaning slyly while keeping his hands on your hips. You kept your weight on your knees, resting on the mattress as you moved your hips up and down, feeling your pussy milking his cock. His fingerprints would stay on your hot skin for a long time, you never wanted to forget this.

He looked beautiful with his hair messy like that, begging for more and being sensitive.

━━ W-What kind of black magic is this? W-What are you doing to me? — he moaned frantically. ━━ Oh my fucking God... that's so perfect...

You giggled mischievously as you continued moaning and said in your most promiscuous tone:

━━ I put a spell on you... — you brought a hand to his face, sliding it across his lower lip. ━━ Because you're mine...

[...]

۰ ࣪📂 ٬٬ 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: maybe it's a random topic but i was fantasizing about it one day and decided to write :) everything was written by me, don't take it as yours or get inspired without giving credit.

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @mimimar

Hi! I’m Michelle (Mimimar), an illustrator born and raised in Venezuela, currently based in Italy. I enjoy making colorful illustrations that reflect the things I love: fairy tales, fantasy, tenderness and queer (especially sapphic) stories. Occasionally, I also make paper dolls, comics and animatics. I have a lot of interest in book illustration and I’m currently developing my own stories that I hope to share as an author-illustrator someday!

Check out our interview with Michelle below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I always enjoyed drawing when I was a kid, but it only became a hobby that I did almost every day when I was around 11. At first I only used traditional mediums, but I decided to make a serious effort to learn how to draw digitally when I was 15, and once I got the hang of it I never stopped!

I didn’t go to art school so all of my learning was done through studying the tutorials and resources that other artists generously share on the internet and lots of practice / trial and error.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I want to do many things but what I want to do the most right now is work on books! I want to make art for other authors’ stories and also my own stories as an author-illustrator. I want to grow as a storyteller and create art and stories that will really resonate with people emotionally. I’m always striving to improve my skills as well.

I also really love dolls, so working on doll box art or as a doll designer is something I would love to do someday. I actually have been designing paper dolls on my Patreon for the past few months, it’s been a fun project that is still ongoing right now!

What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?

Probably using a lot of purple! It’s my favorite color so I find myself using it a lot. If I can find a way to sneak a little bit of purple into an illustration or a character design then I will.

Congratulations on finishing your Ivy Comic! Did the outcome turn out like how you expected or were there some unexpected bumps along the way?

Thank you! It’s a project that I worked on very slowly in between other art because I wanted to really take my time with every spread and make each of them a fully detailed illustration. I thumbnailed the full comic before starting but I kept changing the sketch for the final spread until the very end! Overall I’m really proud of the end result. I sprinkled a lot of hidden details in every page that I hope some of the readers will notice. For example: the meanings of the flowers in each page represent what the characters are feeling in that moment, and the colors of their wardrobe become gradually lighter as the story progresses to represent their emotions, as well as the changing of seasons.

We’ve noticed that you have created some amazing cover art for TGCF. Is there another series you would like to do something similar with? 

That was another passion project that took some time to complete. Initially, I didn’t intend for them to be specifically covers, it was just a series of illustrations based on the 5 books/main arcs of TGCF. But since they were well-received and I had people telling me they wish they could use them as covers for their books, I decided to rework them into dust jackets for the english translation of TGCF!

I haven’t thought of any other specific series but I love doing cover art so maybe I’ll do something similar again in the future!

What’s your favorite part of your style? Why?

I’ve heard from other people that there’s a delicate quality to my art, this is something that I like a lot! I like pretty things, fairytales and vibrant colors. I think all of these things probably reflect in the art I make as well.

If there is one thing you want your audience to remember about your work, what would it be?

I hope that they remember how it made them feel. Feelings and colors are the two things I give priority to in my work. Most of the time I like depicting tenderness, softness and emotional intimacy. If that could reach the viewer and stay with them it would make me very happy. 

I make a lot of art with queer (mainly sapphic) themes because they’re the kind of stories I personally like and want to see more of, so whenever people tell me that my art has helped them in their journey to discover and accept themselves, or that they see themselves and their partner in my art, it is always extremely meaningful to me. When art that I made to give myself comfort can provide comfort for others, no matter how small, it reminds me once again that despite any hardships art is genuinely worth pursuing.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

So many artists! To name a few:  I love @sakizo’s amazing eye for fashion and detail,  @paneeps’ gorgeous style and striking colors,  the sweetness of @bevsi’s art,  @vickisigh’s pretty colors and concepts,  @idledee’s warm and heartfelt art,  @littlestpersimmon’s dreamy wonderful art,  and @loish has been an inspiration for as long as I can remember.

Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Michelle! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @mimimar.

[imaluvsj7]

緑 ──── KISS AND MAKE UP ; nishimura riki

SYNOPSIS: riki and reader make up after the argument over text but not only for the argument but also riki learns a little more about relationship PAIRING : idol riki x reader GENRE : fluffy, angst ; WC : 1,379

WARNINGS : to understand the plot better you need to read my riki boyfriend text smau which I have linked here and also all the way down. Not proofread thoroughly, english is not my first language. That's it I don't think there is anything sensitive they have some good talk about relationship.

AUTHORS NOTE : clearly my feminist didn't come over, but honestly to all the girls out there please choose a kind ask generous guy and don't be mother to any guy who takes everything from them I tried to put my message through this fic sorry not sorry if it offends anyone. I hope to make the mother wizard liz girls get it!!! DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

written in second person pov:

It's been two weeks since you have talked with Riki, one of the reasons was obviously you were upset with him but mainly because you don't know what to even talk about.

He has been sending flowers, food, and little gifts to apologize with a note saying he is sorry. Not only that but he is constantly sending you messages and voicemails. First it was explaining himself and apologizing but now it's all about him apologizing and asking to talk to you in person.

Today you finally thought of responding to him and meeting him because soon he has to prepare for their comeback, which also means there will be a tour announcement. You don't want him to go on without solving everything.

Walking towards the park you guys always meet since him being an idol wasn't an easy task to roam with his girlfriend everywhere. Thoughts have filled your brain that desires to turn around and run away but you kept your decision firm.

Walking towards the bench you guys usually sit you find him eagerly waiting because of his bouncing leg. “Hi” he turns his head and looks at you, soon standing up and nervously trying to stabilize himself.

“H-hi ___ you came hah I was waiting for you to arrive you know to talk and make up I know you wanted to talk and we talk but I wanted to talk so much” he shuts up as realized he was rumbling. “Sorry I am just nervous”.

“It's okay riki let's sit and talk please.” Soon you both sat while there was silence for a few seconds but he was the first one to break it. “___ I know it was my mistake,I said in the heat of the moment. I know it's just an excuse but please I'm genuinely sorry I didn't mean to say that.”

“Riki it's not only about part of me going to your company but also how you didn't understand why I took stand for jake, I explained to you but you didn't even once responded to that text or even mentioned it once, talking about me understanding your idol industry yeah sure I don't experience them I don't understand the same emotions but I have seen you guys working.

I always sat with you whenever you went through rough patches in your idol life. I tried my best to understand never backed away and how can I let someone disrespect Jake when all he was was being too comfortable with him.

Jake was clearly uncomfortable with her actions and he set the boundaries by dismissing her but then she went all defensive talking about how bad Jake was during practice hours so she is trying to help him. She isn't even your guy's choreographer and not only that also went too far saying Jake is acting too tough when all he did was speak for himself.

How can I let someone talk to him like that? I walked inside when she was talking in a disrespectful tone with him and all I did was hold her accountable for her actions and words. As soon as the manager called you and said I was being disrespectful you started giving me silent treatment even after Jake explained to you the whole situation you didn't approach me.

And even after understanding the whole situation you went ahead and said those words.” — you take a breath after letting out all the thoughts and emotions you had suppressed in the two weeks. “I know it was my fault soon after the text Jungwon hyung called everyone to talk about the matter and after discussing with them I realized my mistake and the things I said.

Before the discussion the manager told me Jake hyung did stand for himself and because you're not a part of the company you don't need to come over because of your disrespectful behavior. I knew and even defended you that you definitely did that because of some reason but as soon as the manager said I need to distance myself from you I went blank and felt angry and I just took that out of you even after Jake told me everything.

I was just angry about the situation and in the heat of the moment I thought if Jake did speak up for himself you didn't had to meddle in between which was my fault, I understand what you're coming from baby I was just furious from mangers words and I just took that on your I’m really sorry. I know that's my mistake and I swear I'm ready to do everything to make it right. I just don't want to lose you. I know it's pathetic and corny to say the sentence after doing wrong and all guys say the same thing but I mean it please I will do whatever you want me to.”

“Reflect on yourself then, reflect on your words and actions, it's not only about now it's about everytime we go through anything. I don't want a guy who acts tough and is emotionally unavailable when it's required. I want you to act mature when we have arguments and by that I don't mean you need to always be right or wrong I mean be a generous guy who understands the situation, who knows how to talk and knows how to communicate when it's required.

And it won't be achieved in the next day or the next moment. You need to work on yourself everyday, especially during every argument, it's not only about now but always. Do you understand what I'm saying?” — he quickly nods while looking at your hand and you nod, giving him permission to hold your hand.

“I know I'm definitely not the best guy and I love how mature you're ___ despite being the same age as me but I will try my best to understand your words and work on them, I know I am bad at some point of the relationship and that will never be an excuse to treat you bad but rather I will work of them I will understand situations before acting up. Just please hold my hand to guide me when we are in such situations.”

“I will riki but just know I'm not your mother who is raising a child, I will guide you depending upon the situation but you need to enhance your knowledge about relationship and how to make it work you're old enough to understand some aspects when things go wrong. I will guide you but I'm not your mother to stay emotionally strong through everything you do. I want a partner riki, not a baby.”

“Then lean on me as a partner and walk out when you need to play the role of mother. I don't want to act like a manchild or mommy's boy but as your beloved. Lean on me when we both know the direction and walk out when I push you forward to lead us on the path, lovely.”

Looking at you with teary eyes he asks “I know forgiveness isn't about the text but my behavior so it will take time and I want you to take time, but let's not break apart.” — he pleads with eyes filled with tears. “Who said we are breaking apart you dumb dumb of course not we will make it work” — you said while wiping his tears and hugging him while he breaks down in little sniffles.

“I was scared I thought you're going to break up after you stopped responding to me.” “Well that was because I wasn't mentally prepared to talk, you know.” “It's okay you're my precious so I am a little emotional.” “You sure it's little.” “Stop being mean, I will cry more.” — you laugh lightly at his whiny state while he still has his head in the crook of your neck. Soon after hugging for about ten minutes he pulls his head up and asks.

“So I can please kiss you.” “Well I don't think so.” “Sweetheart please please please.” “Sure you big baby.” — He quickly leans in while meeting your lips and locking them softly while he holds your hands tightly, silently promising himself to do better.

꩜ .ᐟ NOTE : haven't made my taglist yet so please ask in the reply to be added in my permanent taglist for more bangers,,, also I hope this doesn't turns out boring but people genuinely understand my point and for more context read part 1 here!!

꩜ .ᐟ TAGS: @taeminsboogers @mimisxs @nishimurarikisthings @avacelestepereira @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 masterlist taglist. 𖦹˙—

࣪

[mathswithnarendrasir]

Class-8 Mahtematics Chapter-2 Exercise -2.2 | NCERT Solution #mathematics

[reasonsforhope]

"Growing up, Mackenzee Thompson always wanted a deeper connection with her tribe and culture.

The 26-year-old member of the Choctaw Nation said she grew up outside of her tribe’s reservation and wasn’t sure what her place within the Indigenous community would be.

Through a first-of-its-kind program, Thompson said she’s now figured out how she can best serve her people — as a doctor.

Thompson is graduating as part of the inaugural class from Oklahoma State University’s College of Osteopathic Medicine at the Cherokee Nation. It’s the first physician training program on a Native American reservation and in affiliation with a tribal government, according to school and tribal officials.

“I couldn’t even have dreamed this up,” she said. “To be able to serve my people and learn more about my culture is so exciting. I have learned so much already.”

Thompson is one of nine Native graduates, who make up more than 20 percent of the class of 46 students, said Dr. Natasha Bray, the school’s dean. There are an additional 15 Native students graduating from the school’s Tulsa campus.

The OSU-COM graduates include students from 14 different tribes, including Cherokee, Choctaw, Muscogee, Seminole, Chickasaw, Alaska Native, Caddo, and Osage.

Bray said OSU partnered with the Cherokee Nation to open the school in 2020 to help erase the shortage of Indigenous doctors nationwide. There are about 841,000 active physicians practicing in the United States. Of those, nearly 2,500 — or 0.3 percent — are Native American, according to the Association of American Medical Colleges.

When American Indian and Alaska Native people visit Indian Health Service clinics, there aren’t enough doctors or nurses to provide “quality and timely health care,” according to a 2018 report from the Government Accountability Office. On average, a quarter of IHS provider positions — from physicians to nurses and other care positions –are vacant.

“These students here are going to make a generational impact,” Cherokee Nation Principal Chief Chuck Hoskin Jr. told the students days before graduation. “There is such a need in this state and in this region for physicians and this school was created out of a concern about the pipeline of doctors into our health system.”

The Cherokee Nation spent $40 million to build the college in its capital of Tahlequah. The walls of the campus feature artifacts of Cherokee culture as well as paintings to remember important figures from Cherokee history. An oath of commitment on the wall is written in both English and Cherokee.

The physician training program was launched in the first year of the pandemic.

Bray said OSU and Cherokee leadership felt it was important to have the school in the heart of the Cherokee Nation, home to more than 141,000 people, because students would be able to get experience treating Indigenous patients. In Tahlequah, students live and study in a small town about an hour east of Tulsa with a population of less than 24,000 people.

“While many students learn about the problems facing these rural communities,” Bray said. “Our students are getting to see them firsthand and learn from those experiences.”

While students from the college are free to choose where to complete their residency after graduation, an emphasis is placed on serving rural and Indigenous areas of the country.

There’s also a severe lack of physicians in rural America, a shortage that existed before the COVID-19 pandemic. The Association of American Medical Colleges has projected that rural counties could see a shortage between 37,800 and 124,000 physicians by 2034. An additional 180,000 doctors would be needed in rural counties and other underserved populations to make up the difference.

Bray said OSU saw an opportunity to not only help correct the underrepresentation of Native physicians but also fill a workforce need to help serve and improve health care outcomes in rural populations.

“We knew we’d need to identify students who had a desire to serve these communities and also stay in these communities,” she said.

Osteopathic doctors, or DOs, have the same qualifications and training as allopathic doctors, or MDs, but the two types of doctors attend different schools. While MDs learn from traditional programs, DOs take on additional training at osteopathic schools that focus on holistic medicine, like how to reduce patient discomfort by physically manipulating muscles and bones. DOs are more likely to work in primary care and rural areas to help combat the health care shortages in those areas.

As part of the curriculum, the school invited Native elders and healers to help teach students about Indigenous science and practices...

Thompson said she was able to bring those experiences into her appointments. Instead of asking only standard doctor questions, she’s been getting curious and asking about her patient’s diets, and if they are taking any natural remedies.

“It’s our mission to be as culturally competent as we can,” she said. “Learning this is making me not only a better doctor but helping patients trust me more.”

-via PBS NewsHour, May 23, 2024

[balteringanatidae]

As Beautiful as Poetry

pairing: spencer reid x english teacher!reader word count: 2.38k contents: first time fic writer!! mutual pining, spence and reader are oblivious, smoochin’, reader is described vaguely (feminine and eccentric)

Lately, Spencer had been spending more time at the library. Not to pick up any new books—these days, he’d been dwelling on past books he hadn’t checked out in a while—but to catch even a fleeting glimpse of you.

Of course, he wasn’t a stalker; he was an admirer. Plus, he didn’t just gawk at you from afar; he’d spoken with you a few times, and that was when he found out that you had the most precious voice ever.

The both of you had spoken enough to know each other’s names and what you did for work. You were astonished when you discovered he was an FBI agent. You weren’t one to make assumptions, but with Spencer, you did, and it was far off.

He hadn’t been too surprised to find out you were an English teacher. You taught gifted high school students—essentially; you were the teacher Spencer wished he had when he was twelve.

With your deep literature knowledge, you could give him recommendations of a few poets he’d never heard of, and in return, he recommended a few science fiction novels. Which opted for conversations the following weeks. The both of you exchanged reflections on the suggestions.

Weeks of conversing—eight weeks, Spencer counted—led nowhere. In chronological order, each conversation consisted of a greeting, small talk, book talk, accidental flirting, and, finally, an excuse to part ways. Spencer always left as a blushing mess, as if he hadn’t been like that in the beginning. And you left giggling to yourself; Spencer’s coyness made you feel warm inside. Did he only act like that around you?

Neither of you would call it a friendship yet, no matter how badly the both of you wanted to. Fleeting glances, brief greetings, and exchanged smiles weren’t a friendship. Neither of you could figure out how to initiate a closer connection without seeming desperate. Spencer was desperate.

Your eccentricity all but enchanted Spencer. You weren't a rebel or a rule breaker; you were simply you, and it was gorgeous. Gorgeous, you lit up each book you grazed, as if the most alluring aura followed you. It was inexplicable why idiosyncrasy was so attractive to him—your idiosyncrasy, perhaps.

He could never get enough of your outfits, which, oddly enough, reminded him of the fourth doctor, but that did nothing but encapsulate him more. His favorite doctor, and you, with the potential to be his favorite girl? He was in love with the mere idea. He could practically infer that is where you got your fashion inspiration from.

You were the perfect girl most contemporary authors wrote about, but real—oh, you were so real. You weren't designed to be loved by some protagonist who was the contrary to you. You were created to dote on those archaic poetry books you devoted time to—the ones you were just as beautiful as.

He could nearly smell a perfectly bloomed bouquet of flowers when you entered the library. He adored how you glided across the library floor gracefully, skimming through every shelf with precision. With each step, you seemed to move along to a silent cadence. Each click of the heel of your auburn boots—matching your recently dyed hair and portions of your multicolored scarf—graced his ears; he just knew you were around.

He stood in the informational text passage, picking out two physics books. He scanned through the first swiftly; he was familiar with most of the information in the text. He simply wanted an excuse to stay around longer, hopefully to bump into you.

He’d returned the first book to its fitting slot on the shelf, expecting someone else would learn as much as he did on his foremost read. He was now solely retaining the book he was certain he hadn't read yet.

As he strolled past the various aisles, spotting you in the ‘Poetry’ section, as per usual. You turned to him as his steps halted; a radiant smile graced your face, and you gave him a brief wave.

Smiling, you're smiling at Spencer.

He involuntarily smiled back; of course, he meant to, but his lips curled up before he tried to smile. He didn't even wave back; he was just moonstruck and stared at you as you turned back to the poems, picking one from a familiar name: Sir Walter Scott.

Spencer shortly came to his senses, and his smile sprinted away from his face. He watched you analyze the poem for a few moments before he tore his gaze away from you.

He’d see your pretty face another time.

He traveled to the back of the library, a space reserved for reading. A few old-timey chairs in a row and a lengthy, velvet sofa. He took a seat near the armrest; no one should sit near him, and he left more than enough space.

His book became a simple prop in his hands as he heard you start to read under your breath. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. This was nothing short of revolutionary to him. Your delicate voice reading each line, and he didn't recall them sounding so precious—not until you read it and he hung onto every word.

You were merely a foot away from him on the comfortable couch, and he could feel your aura from his own spot. That’s when his head spun to you, hardly discreet at all, but he’d presume you were too ensnared in the words before you.

Not stumbling over a word, you had been reading for ten minutes, in blissful ignorance of the man adoring you from a foot away. He yearned for nothing but to pick at that brain of yours. He’d already had a queue of queries on his mind:

Why did you choose that scarf?

Why did you choose that butterfly hair clip?

Why did you choose that poem?

Why did you choose to sit near him? Have you noticed how he looks at you?

You felt his gaze burning into the side of your head, and you felt as if he were scrutinizing you until your eyes met his.

Adoration. That’s all you could see; it's all you could feel. He practically had heart eyes for you right now. He knew he was caught, so he didn't even attempt to break his stare.

“I—” Spencer sheepishly chuckled, rubbing his bare forearm. “I was... lost in thought. I didn't mean to stare,” he lied.

You let out a barbed sound of understanding, and a small grin crept onto your face. You could see right through his lie, and it was almost endearing. “What were you thinking about?” You quickly placed your book to the side, giving Spencer your undivided attention.

He cleared his throat; the truth was in his mind, and suddenly he didn't feel worried about admitting it. “You,” he finally said. He closed the book, positioning it in his lap.

“I don't know you too well, and I want to change that… if you're on the same page,” he suggested, his gaze fleeting from yours as he fixed his glasses’ position.

You were silent, with your eyes wide, lips parted, and ready to speak. You wanted to scream ‘yes’ a million times as if he just proposed to you.

“If you're not, I entirely understand, and I don’t want to pressure you into—“ He began to ramble, but you prevented him.

“Spencer, I really like you, and I, too, want to get to know you better.” You offered him a bright smile, which caused him to reciprocate. You thought his smile was lovely.

“It is safe to say you're on the same page?” His voice teasing, but he couldn't lie that he needed more assurance. It was difficult to accept that you liked him.

“Absolutely,” you confirmed with a gentle touch to his shoulder, which he surprisingly enjoyed.

For the subsequent sixteen weeks, you and Spencer had established days you would meet at the library, typically on weekends when you were both free. It was seldom, but it was something, something more than what you had before.

Neither of you dubbed these rendezvous as ‘dates,’ but they entirely were. Spencer would wear cologne that Morgan gifted him a birthday ago, and you would wear more modest makeup that accentuated your natural beauty. The both of you yearned to impress each other.

Each time, you would feel that Spencer looked better than the previous time you two met. Spencer would believe that an angel touched you or that the gods had favorites, and you were one.

Occasionally, the dates would leave the library and follow into a coffee shop, where he would buy you pastries and a warm mug of coffee to subside the sensations of the frigid D.C. air. You would sigh in consolation as the warmth enveloped you like a thick blanket. Spencer would giggle at the precious view.

Soon, Spencer finally mustered up the intrepidity to invite you to his apartment. He insisted that it wasn’t a proposition, but you didn’t presume that initially. You knew what kind of man Spencer was—a gentleman.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” he murmured, there was a single cloth on the floor, “I held off on cleaning my apartment for a week, so I did it all today.”

You looked around; you deeply relished the atmosphere. It was amiable, and it nearly felt like home. Then you spotted his vast bookcase, and you wondered why he even visited the library. “It looks great in here, Spence.”

Spence. That was the first time you called him that.

“Thanks,” he attempted to sound nonchalant. “I really wanted to impress you, if it’s not obvious.” He stepped back, allowing you further into his living space.

“It is obvious,” you affirmed with a quiet giggle. You loved it. You loved how hard he tried to impress you, no matter how many times you told him it was unnecessary.

You walked around the flat, noticing a bowl of fresh fruit on the remote dining room table in front of the vase filled with your favorite flowers. Was it a coincidence? Candles encircled the vase, illuminating the puny space.

“This is too much, isn't it?” Spencer stepped beside you as you ate a sweet strawberry from the bowl, painting your lips a faint red. You shook your head; you thought it was perfect.

“I thought we were only gonna watch some movies or something of the sort, but I like this too!” You comforted him with a smile. You took another glance at the table, the fire of the candles shining in your eyes.

“I just wanted this moment to… be, uh, special.” He cleared his throat, trying not to stammer over his words again.

You wanted to save him the trouble and tell him you wanted to be his girlfriend right in that moment, but he tailored this moment just for the two of you. You wouldn't ruin it.

You turned to face him, taking his hands in yours as you sensed his nervousness. All he could do was nervously smile at you before he gathered up his courage.

“It’s been 112 days since our first ‘date,’ and I really like you,” he confessed, his voice anxious. “I would like for us to be exclusive, and I really want to call you mine.” He sighed; he’d already begun bracing for rejection when he set the dining table.

You gaped into his glossy hazel eyes, watching as they fluttered shut every few moments. You caught the way he nervously licked his lips as he waited for an answer.

“I’d really like it if you called me yours, Spence.”

He tilted his head to the side narrowly, quirking up an eyebrow at you. He was nearly confused by the fact that you didn't reject him.

“Really? I mean, that's not how I planned for this to go. Are you serious?” A smile crept onto his lips, hoping this wasn't a huge bit to break his heart.

“You expected me to reject you?” You practically pouted as he nodded. You rubbed your thumbs against his knuckles. “Spencer, I’ve been dropping hints for a while now, and I’m surprised it took this long for you to ask.”

He chuckled breathlessly, finally breaking eye contact as he shook his head. “Yeah, I noticed, but I thought that maybe I was perceiving it wrongly.”

You wished Spencer would look at you again; you needed to see your reflection in his glasses and how his pupils turned to hearts. His cheeks were painted a faint red; he wasn’t good at hiding his feelings. Of course, you loved his transparency.

“I’m just glad we could have this moment and that you didn’t reject me.” Spencer pulled his hands away from yours, his arms enveloping your waist hesitantly. He was frequently fearful you would be opposed to anything he did.

“If I rejected you, I think I'd regret that for the rest of my life,” you murmured fondly, your arms swathed around his neck. His eyes met yours nervously, his gaze examining each of your facial details.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” You spoke up; Spencer was already looking at your lips; he simply nodded and leaned in with you. His eyes flapped shut a few moments after you closed yours, and your noses bumped, spewing faint giggles from both of your lips.

Your lips adjoined with his for the first time, and neither of you wanted it to be the last. Your lips tasted like the strawberry you ate before; his lips curled into a smile at the flavor. He tasted like vanilla chapstick. You could devour his lips, but you had decency, at least for now.

You didn't count the seconds; you were too lost in his lips, but Spencer did. His mental stopwatch halted as soon as his lips parted from yours. Twelve seconds—a few nanoseconds away from thirteen—you two spent kissing.

His forehead pressed against yours, both of your breaths mingling as your eyes slowly opened. The sight was practically lethal. His eyebrows furrowed and lips were moist. Your stares met as his eyes eventually opened.

“Is it a good time to say I love you?”

“I don't think there's a bad time. I love you too.”