#saiakv

[rake-rake]

@saiakv

"You really shouldn't be airing out your personal grievances on Megumi like that, Satoru. That's called trauma dumping." :/

(he's brought them like a glitter bath bomb souvenir from Kyoto to defuse the situation)

Unprompted.

"I've no idea what you're talking about. And I don't see how the way I raise my son is any of your concern. Do you truly have that amount of free time in your hands? Must be nice."

[b0kksu-gone]

   "Those scrolls existed long before you or I were even a thought. Why bother to continuously read them? They're not the originals as it is. They're duplicates, anything housed in Tokyo is most likely replicated - enough already, we should have dinner before our minds melt"

// @saiakv //(s.c.)

[mindsafe]

🍐 &  🍋 for nanako please, if you feel like it ! uwu

@saiakv || from [X] || OPEN

🍐  : how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart?  

it's difficult to quantify something as complex as intelligence, especially with someone like nanako, whose authenticity makes for either the best or worst first impression. it is easy to mistake her as someone vapid, shallow, && irresponsible ( && at times she can be all of those things ); but she is also someone imaginative, witty, && resourceful.

nanako has undiagnosed//untreated adhd && is prone to bouts of forgetfulness, flightiness, impulsivity, && emotional outbursts. unfortunately, adhd is rarely recognized in japan, && treatment options are limited due to a ban on certain prescriptions; there is also a stigma on mental health. for the most part, nanako functions well enough, && her ability to hyperfocus on the things that interest her make her a fast learner, but only when interested.

unlike her sister, nanako is more ❛ right-brained ❜ : she is creative, emotional, and extremely intuitive. she also has a natural photographer's eye, && is able to find/notice good photo opportunities from the world around her.

her upbringing was unconventional, however geto went to great lengths in seeing to his girls' education. like any other girl her age, nanako would go to school, attend her classes, && come home. she would often daydream, && as she matured, occasionally would cut classes && go shopping instead. her favourite classes are physical education, music, art, && home economics; her least favourite classes are mathematics && social studies.

nanako is definitely more ❛ street smart ❜ than she is ❛ book smart ❜. she knows the various types of people that exist && how to manipulate deal with them. she knows how to fake tears when in crisis, how to effectively haggle, && how to avoid being taken advantage of ( if anything she'll take advantage of you ).

🍋  : what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?  

in her earliest years, nanako only knew the food of her village: rice, bread, seasonal vegetables, && trout, but she scarely remembers it; nor does she want to; she remembers being captured, tortured, && starved by her own people. trauma has made her grateful for the food she is given, but an isolated upbringing ( ? ) makes her all the more keen on culinary adventures.

she has a diverse palette but she cannot be pried away from dessert food: crepes, cakes, && every pastry imaginable. she follows food bloggers/influencers on social media for any suggestions of new places to visit or street food trends to keep an eye out for.

that being said, despite her fiery personality, spicy food doesn't agree with her stomach; she can tolerate mild/medium levels of spice, but will rarely be seen adding any extra hot sauce or partaking in any relevant ❛ challenges ❜. she'll watch videos of OTHER people partaking in said challenges, however.

lactose intolerant : (

usually geto provides dinner, either by cooking for the family, or indulging her in money to visit the newest ramen bar. she can follow a recipe && make basic meals without help: soba noodles, onigiri, omurice, etc. but she ( unsurprisingly ) prefers baking. pre-measured ingredients that leave little room for failure && a method that's generally less complicated, as long as she remembers to set a timer. she makes delicious cookies, cupcakes, && cake rolls. the biggest challenge is making sure she cleans up!

[zangyo]

oneliner sc || @saiakv

❝I didn't think I'd see you here of all places.❞

[furiaae]

@saiakv continued.

"Help?" Asteria's head tilted to the side out of confusion and her hands rested delicately on her hips. "I don't need help with whatever...symptoms you believe me to have." She said, though paused to take a glance down at herself as if expecting to see some sort of issue only he seemed to see.

"I wanted to join you." Asteria said as though it was the most simple conclusion in the world. "To them we're monsters, right? That's why I said what I said." She paced slowly in front of the bottom stair as her eyes remained focused up at him. "I want to help you accomplish what you've set out to do, Geto."

[rivalsunraveled]

"Wow, pretty lucky that they got a special grade to teach at each school, huh?"

Despite Todo's enrollment in the Kyoto school, Yuki doesn't visit it any more often than she does the Tokyo school. She might even visit less, since she can get any important updates she needs from that campus from Todo. But hearing about Geto starting to teach there sparked her interest.

"So, Geto, what kind of women do you like?"

// @saiakv

[hunting-songs]

❝ Oh no, thank you but I do not partake in such gambles myself. ❞ The curse user dismisses an offered wager with a wave — affiliative smile unfaltering all throughout this secret meating. The restaurant around them is dimly lit. Crowded just enough to throw off any final suspicions Senritsu may have had before taking up his offer, but not to overshadow their hushed conversation.

❝ Call it a superstition, if you like. Besides, you are here to investigate the topic yourself, correct? ❞ Of course, lesser minds see the tree but not the forest; the curse that transfigured her. While the ambassador accompanying her tonight has mysteriously gotten stuck in a conveniently placed traffic jam after a fire broke out ( ah, Jogo gladly lent them a hand for tonight ) Kenjaku leans a little closer, his head tipping just enough for violet eyes to burrow into the intricacies of her form.

❝ I hear you are interested in a certain curse that has surfaced. ❞

She could hear the cooks in the restaurants kitchen yell. She could hear every single clicking of chopsticks in the restaurant. She could hear the dust carried in by the visitors shoes swirl up loud like a sandstorm whenever a waiter walked over it. Behind Senritsus forehead was a headache throbbing harder at every whisper of a sound around her and she felt herself flinch just so slightly when the curse-user waved a hand with so very charming smile: "Ah did you heard that? Interesting, I could have sworn that hearing about something is usually my metier." She had sat seven hours in a car from Pellworm to Berlin, had sat three hours in Berlin a at the airport waiting for her flight, she had sat fifteen hours in a plane to Tokyo and now she sat here with her back feeling as if her bones had grown spikes. Uncomfortably Senritsu adjusted her position on the chair just so little, even if it did not gave any balm to the ache throbbing in every part of her skeleton. She grimaced quietly, just for a sweet smile to shoo away that grimace. Her short fingers tapped against her ear knowingly.

"Like I am hearing you now sitting beside me, your clothes rustling animando at every breath because you happen to be curious and attentive and keenly focused as anyone with a scientific mind would be when meeting something they are curious about, yet-" She lifted a finger like a teacher and than carefully let that finger dance through the air to a melody in her much too keen ears: "-there is a tension in your muscles hearable in the way your cloth rustle at every move. As if there is a mhmmmmm...." grieved, distressed, desperate. The words lay on her tounge like stones, unable to be spoken, pressing down her tounge. The lines where her skull had been crushed like glass and wrongly mended back together throbbed. Senritsus hestiated only for one second, barely noticeable at all: "- appenato resistance of your body to what you want it to do. As if the body tries to work against you just so little. Almost estinto, but still there."

"You heard that little thing about me and yet you are here singing me such a mhmmm" the stones were there again, the words were stuck in her throat like a clot making it hard to breath. There was a frustrated line appearing between the womans big eyes, but it was only there for a second and eventually she only shaked her head slowly over her own frustration when she should already know better: "...fortissimo and telling orchestra. Maybe you let me hear first what your name is, mhmmmmmm?", Senrisus smile was as innocently as she was not: "Your true name, of course. Lies are very loud and you would not want to be loud in a restaurant, yes? That would not be polite." [ @saiakv ]

[rake-rake]

@saiakv

“I’m not afraid of death, I think it’ll be peaceful.” ( for MIGUEL !! )

Late night.

Miguel snorts, nearly chokes. Head thrown back as he bellows a cackle without any care for covering it up, or even pretending to have a hint of shame or decorum.

"You think you're going somewhere peaceful after you die? You?! No way!" He claps his knee, thumb sliding under his sunglasses as if to wipe a tear. He just heard the best joke ever uttered in history, "Right, of course. Just make sure to pack up for warm weather- pffff!"

[b0kksu-gone]

      “Did  you  have  a  name  before  this  one  or  was  it  always  the  same?  I'm  curious,  you  rarely  speak  of  a  time  before  this  life, @saiakv”

[b0kksu-gone]

             The heart is but an immaculate tumor, one must rid themselves of it, though it ceases to bring forth salvation && ease. God, they speak of an ancient proverbial being that transcends the limitations of time && space, forever is the term that is spoken when the cry forth his name, forever is the weight one must endure && suffer. Why must he think of Godhood now? In the tousled sheets his mind is adrift, where it usually is vacant, a pleasant numbness that spreads. Long limbs, spindle, with a finesse as the ridges of a scar resemble the aftermath - violent red, cracked skin, where the flesh was severed then pulled together once more. Satoru doesn’t linger on the previous battles, victorious, that was the only way even if the sacrifice came with physical ailments. A view that is cast aside, refusal to gaze upwards, bashful - it’s an unknown word but his heart is beating rapidly.

      To flee, far from this realm that demands, what more could they want? The hunger of the masses was endless && he was the flesh that would be consumed, till nothing was left. Consumption that comes in a kiss, drunk && delirious off the emotion that trickled into his veins, better than any wine, he loathed this weakness. Heritor of the Six Eyes, they bicker amongst each other, furious souls that were deemed to be graced by the Heavens themselves. Each one, the Gojo Clan spoke with a fondness, different from the last. Velvet neatly tied together now loosened, the soft laughter of veiled faces that listened to his incessant ramblings, it was a high honor to garb their precarious lordling. Gone where the days short locks adorned his crown, in the midst of the hierarchy, those who sit high on the throne shall dress themselves in Gold && rivulets of Ivory. Perhaps, he was just tired of the modernity, an old man fondly reminiscing on wasted youth.

          Swaying, the windchimes billow a soft melody && he can’t recall when the trinket was hanged out of this private lodge, home far away from the main complex of the sprawling estate. From the snow where they crafted their beliefs, its purity is shattered && he longs for deception, no longer to see the truth that greets him, tormenting each waking moment. There should be cups of cider && chaotic bickering amongst elders, servants, pillars of the family that await on him cooing that his presence brings life, isn’t it wonderful? Instead, he is hiding with an intruder. Each tap against slender bones causes his skin to goosebump, finally, his gaze is direct. It pierces deep && there is a trespasser offering the lull of honey caresses, one he does not fight. Forever is a tiring prospect, even if this corporeal form shall wither && decay, he will emerge once more - in a crowd or perhaps chance meeting, eyes that are familiar, eyes that never waver, even if there remains one. They would replay this moment, again, again, till time itself no longer existed.

             “You move too fast” the coy remark escapes, laughter oozing from his pout, bruised from the abundance of their mouths moving together. Languid, lazy, smoke that enters the lungs coiling around each but, he tastes of ginseng candy && lychee - devilishly boyish. There, he falters, stumbling at the midst of tenderness as his cheek presses against calloused palms. A missing eye was just that, the appendage served no connection to the spiritual form, yet was another mark against the body. Extravagant, there was no price to be spared in a prosthetic that glistened in a diamond sheen, prismatic && eerily belonging. It nearly causes him to weep, vulnerability that was rarely given now on display. The thin fabric of his robe threatens to fall from fragile-boned shoulders, he doesn’t mind, modesty was lost on mortality. Slender legs that pull closer, molten && husky his laughter rings as it wishes to be nonchalant, careless in mannerism, yet it wasn’t so.

          “I would believe it, each one resembled a difference but sought the same impossible goal, we’re ever greedy creatures that won’t stop” was another heritor that naive? To allow such danger into the very bed? Yes, they longed more than anything to feel a semblance of reality that was far from that of divinity.  He’s devilishly cheeky, sitting upright on both elbows, mounds that peak through && the near gutting on display. Fingers that hook the fabric beneath threatening to tug && rid himself of it, not yet, he wouldn’t give in that easily. “In that lifetime did they allow you such dominance? I prefer to be on top, this position is impossible” he truly could be nothing short of a brat, mischievous smile, dimpled && lined with the passage of time.

                      “Recount each story, my mind is but a blur - you cannot lie to me, either way, we’ll use the bed as an altar for confession” 

From x. | @kuraokcmi

We beings here assembled, whether terrestrial or celestial, salute the Accomplished Buddha, honoured by gods and men. May there be happiness! — Ring. —

CLAD IN SILK THAT ALLUDES TO LAVISH HOSPITALITY — battle-scarred skin that should not be ( there was naught but void where this arm once grew from once; now every fibre of dense muscle has been rebuilt into a meaty pauldron ) brings forbidden warmth to the mountain's peak. There, it coils around eternal frost like a serpent carrying the Sacred Flame, each heartbeat resonating through pebbled skin as their limbs entangle and claim all attention of the physical eye. The ridges between his shoulders roll languidly as a prowling tiger when he shifts to hover atop the lying demigod — an ethereal being captured in this mortal flesh; does he even know the reason why his question has brought a curl to Kenjaku's lip?

❝ Do you wish to escape? ❞ Teeth leer over his lips; parted to welcome the poison, innocently. ❝ Being on the run gets lonely, I'd wager. ❞ He nuzzles, dares let his fingers venture to undo the bind that holds thick white in place, run them through his mane and marvel upon the crafted beauty of his bloodline. Crafted; to perform this certain task. The sixth eye lended to them as the proverbial flame was to man so long ago — there are many versions of this story.

Or do they still delude themselves that the secret, the gift they hold was a blessing rather than a curse? No, not him; Kenjaku deducts, from the way thin brows furrow with that unspoken desire to be free; he has seen the light. He has felt the weight placed upon his shoulders. He knows that he was made to protect them -- but he knows not from whom. From what.

In the alluring peace of this tranquil morning, a crime is commited in a font of white pure as snow. Satoru Gojo's thoughts are stolen simply with a breath that falls tenderly over plush pink. A tender bristle of Kenjaku's fingerpads counts the honored one's ribs —reminding him, that in spite of the legacies they carry, they are still grafted to this mundanity. They exploit the sultry tenderness that had made a home in this man's throat; easy to invoke when his voicebox was already so thickly coated with unspoken yearning. Each word placed between them; another tap of the pawn on the proverbial shoji board. Like a wolf's maw watering over the lamb, he hovers — and they both know this is a willing slaughter. For one wishes to take; the other, to be taken.

Yet, Satoru Gojo no longer fits within that little pond of fish where the immature hearthrobs of a first love would once sway his tail to keep swimming. He has grown; into a killer whale that haunts the waters. Would it be any salve to the grief over his lost humanity, if he was gifted a seal to chase? A seal that leads his tail to ripple, to flap, until the water no longer flows in one direction — a chaos-maker, world-breaker that sees the boy and the God in tandem and with a finger to the chin points the seer's gaze to a certain direction ?

Careful now ; the Buddha eye warns them. There are six of us and one of you. And yet I know you all by name; the onmyoji's silence answers.

Ah, thick lashes flutter, realizing the hollowness that has taken over their own expression. They must have gotten lost in the nuances of his ceruleans. The tone grows somber. Nature holds its breath to watch them conspiring on the futon and the snow begins to settle. The hand that was seized remains folded in his grip; dark hair slip from the curvature of broad shoulders and dangle like silken tendrils over the heave of a fluttering chest. Bolder still, the intruder

❝ You say that -- but there is a name on your lips, already. Perhaps I should remind you — ❞ That insurmountable distance between him and the man who used to live in this mind is closed within a blink. He bestows upon the chosen one the aftertaste of bitter coffee & tobacco, caramel notes that fade into musk. It's a momentary connection, enough for neutrons to snap, for the spice to set his captive's nerves alight. And like a spider sampling his prey, he licks his own lips with a hum and mulls over what slice of heaven he just tasted. He reaches out, combs silver away from that last sealed eye that can pierce through the veil of reality itself — open, the gleam in his gaze calls. He kisses him again.

❝ And what if I told you now that we have made the flame tremble with our union before — in another lifetime ? ❞

[cannibalvillains]

RP TIERLIST !

tagged by : Stole it from dash! tagging: @letsbreakhearts @rake-rake @wingeatersblog @divinezenin @saiakv @rivalsunraveled

[rivalsunraveled]

@saiakv (for geto's teacher verse!)

It's his first day at the Kyoto school of Jujutsu High. Joe already excels at hand-to-hand and fighting with cursed tools, but when it comes to his technique, so far people are reluctant to agree to let him use it in practice. That's fine by him; it's only the first day and his technique isn't really usable against curses, only humans. And Joe doesn't particularly want to fight people, if he can avoid it.

Still, it's been a long day, trying to get to know both classmates and teachers. When he has free time, towards the evening, Joe finds somewhere outside to sit down, strumming on his guitar. He stops abruptly when he sees one of the teachers coming by, dipping his head.

"Sorry, sensei," he signs. "Am I disturbing anyone?"

[zangyo]

❝I DID.❞ AND HE had held very little desire to come back. After graduation, he had wanted nothing to do with being a sorcerer, and maybe, if fate had been different, he would have still remained right where he was: a salaryman – miserable, but comfortable. So, he supposed when viewed from a different lens, it was odd that he had returned to all this when he had been so adamant about avoiding this life. But that wasn’t important right now. Out of everyone he could have encountered, he had not expected him to be here. ❝The details don’t matter.❞ A pause. ❝Why are you here? I had heard that you were in hiding?❞

❝ Although it's great to see you, I'd argue I have more of a reason to be after this grade one than you do. I'd heard you quit, Nanami. What happened? ❞

[hunting-songs]

Which Kind Of Element-Based Symbolism Do You Connect With? Your Result: fire as knowledge the gods punished Prometheus for giving fire to humanity because they knew the power that knowledge held. Fire, here, is less about heat and more about light. Illumination is the most necessary thing—you experience the world by watching, voraciously, always looking for the most fascinating thing that you can experience. You value being a jack-of-all-trades, and when you find something that grabs you, you’re all in, at least for a little while. This zest for life is valuable, but it also makes you flighty, restless. You may have trouble sticking to things once their shine has worn off. Your constant search for a higher purpose makes you susceptible to missing out on things that you wouldn’t have if you had just slowed down a little bit. Don’t forget to make an effort to turn that intense, thorough focus onto the good things you already have. Stop making everything a race

Tagged By: @yeonban Tagging: @kiigan @saiakv @kylo-wrecked @bewitchingbaker @muddsludge @thebrokendollassassin @skarletchains @zoldcks @distortedkilling @lightfaithed @soulfulempathy ...and YOU!

[limitlessscion]

@saiakv this thread has consumed my every waking hour for days now so here have a drabble of the beginning scene uwu

It'd been just another one of an outing that had become a regular occurrence. Once a month, Shoko would fly down to Kyoto for a weekend and the old gang from Tokyo would catch up over skewers and beer at the same restaurant, the kids with their own table separated from the adults by a mere foot, enough to give them the exciting illusion of their own private dinner party. As the day progressed and alcohol raised voices and made the atmosphere increasingly more boisterous, Satoru became uncharacteristically quieter. His jokes slowed, his silences stretched, and he sunk into the background as the world took on an unpleasantly blurry sheen. He was just tired, really.

Annoyingly, Jujutsu tech had misgraded several missions to requiring his involvement, having him running all over the country in vain for days. Travel dug more into his rest than any difficult fight ever did. Over the past week he stole more hours of sleep on the seat of a plane or car than he did in a bed. He picked at his plate of garlic-roasted eggplants over noodles and lamb skewers, nursing a tall glass of a virgin cocktail that honestly tasted like ass— too much bitters to compensate for the lack of rum, probably. He drained the entire thing in one go when it was down to about half, in a joking toast at Utahime's expense just to finally have it out of the way.

Things took a sharp turn for the worse from there. He doesn't remember excusing himself or rushing to the washroom; it was like the world stopped existing until strong hands supported his shoulders and rubbed at his back while he heaved up the contents of his dinner over the toilet. Of course Suguru had noticed something was off.

It'd been a struggle to rinse out his mouth over the sink with his best friend's support, but when he went to splash cold water over his face it burned and he became aware of how too much the world was becoming. The restaurant was too loud, the lights reflecting off the mirrors too bright, and the slightest breeze made his skin buzz with sensation.

With one arm slung over his friend's shoulders, Suguru practically dragged him out the back entrance of the restaurant and there was instant relief as the door swung shut behind them, cutting off the noise, the stuffy air replaced by a gentle clean breeze, the darkness of night too soft to pierce through his closed eyelids. He'd slumped against Suguru with gratitude, trying to wave off his friend's increasingly alarmed concern with slurred excuses when Satoru's eyes shot open. Something was wrong; there was a familiar aura out here that should still be inside.

"Megumi?"

"Gojo!" The boy's voice cried back, and the outline of a strange man's cursed energy crystallized in his perception, his attention having glossed over it entirely a mere second previously.

It was then that Satoru's increasingly jumbled mind pieced several threads together at once: Firstly, Suguru's worry had been warranted, his state wasn't just from exhaustion and some bad food; he'd been poisoned. Secondly— this was all about Megumi, whisking him away without the Six Eyes capable of noticing. They'd nearly succeeded.

Chaos erupted in the next seconds as Suguru sprung into action and Satoru was overwhelmed by the motion. There was a gun, a threat, a bluff called; and Satoru could only stand by the wall with a hand to support himself and growing increasingly alarmed as he reached for his technique and couldn't. It's not like the feeling of the Inverted Spear that forcibly shut it off from access nor was it like when it burns out following a domain expansion. It was well within reach but he could not reach towards it like his will to do so did not exist. Like straining to speak after exhaling deeply, no air left to squeeze through a healthy larynx.

There were more enemies. His mind whirled with too much input as he was assaulted by sensations of force against his muscles, the air knocked out of his lungs as his back slammed into something solid. Thousands of hours of training kicked in as he fought back without his conscious input, but his movements were clumsy and slow and weak without cursed energy at his fingertips. He found himself facedown on the ground, his cheeks cut against the concrete, his brain pounding with a struggle to remember how he'd gotten there before the tip of a boot connected against his ribs with violent force.

The world seemed to explode inside his skull as the air rushed from his lungs and he wheezed, panic snaking out from the fresh cracks that ran across ribs. The realization hit him with the force of the next kick into his belly, as Satoru willed for the strike to not connect and it did, heedless of Satoru Gojo's command: he wasn't in control. He couldn't defend himself. Bile rose in his throat as his stomach spasmed, something slimy and bitter and sour seeping into his mouth to mix with the taste of iron.

He heard his own name being called, near screamed with an intensity and fear that it lanced through his own chest sharply. Suguru. Satoru struggled to push himself up to his elbows, to see where his friend was and to return to his side when a foot ground its heels into the back of his knee and fingers twisted through his hair, yanking up violently, pulling his whole upper body up until he was dangling in a kneel. The pain bypassed his will entirely, his body reacting directly with tears in his eyes and a sharp gasp on his lips.

He could feel Suguru's presence still heading his way until the hand that held him dropped down to his shoulder, then his elbow, Satoru slumping against the grip. Another threat barked too loudly by his ears and the hold tightened— then kept tightening with alarming cursed energy-backed strength. Satoru jolted into awareness, trying to pull away and not comprehending how he just couldn't.

Something cracked. Tendons ground to mush. Bone splintered and blood vessels popped. Satoru could do nothing to stop it, the shock of being so helpless buried behind the nauseating mix of different agonies.

Satoru screamed.

The strangled noise drew out as his weight was pulled up by his mangled elbow, and he thrashed for a single instant before he fell still, feeling the damage of bone shards grinding against torn muscle in the motion. Every gasp of breath drew a whimper as his captor waved something around in his free hand and Satoru felt Suguru coming to a stop when cold steel pressed against his temple.

Satoru's glasses had been torn off much earlier in the chaos, and his gunmetal blues cleared when they set sights on Suguru and the look in those violets. They were wide, pained, and Satoru could not handle how they bore into him with something intensely visceral.

He needed to fix this. He refused to be so helpless. He pushed again towards his technique, scraped for every drop of his will and it was like trying to scream without air, like guzzling sewage without gagging, like pulling one's weight up a climb only by one's teeth— and Satoru did it anyways, desperately clawing his technique into his grasp. His eyes were clear, his calm held with tremendous effort but held all the same, his gaze continued to be locked with Suguru's.

I trust you. I'm ready when you are.

[rake-rake]

@saiakv

❝ you can’t change your past and you can’t change who you were. you can only decide who you’re going to be. ❞ ( for mimi or nana - or both! )

Twilight princess.

"...You always have to look so much into things, seriously... must be an old man thing." Nanako sighs as if exasperated, a hand reaching to fix her bun as though this conversations was enough to mess it up. Happy with the result, she crosses her arms on her chest and crocks an eyebrow at him, "Listen, you don't need to get all philosophical on us. We're not mindless sheep following you, it is our own choice. And it is not the one thing in our lives either. Mimi wants to be an artist, remember? So just keep doing your thing and we will support you from the sidelines... unless we've got homework, of course"