Things are not things

We do not know what is there and what is not there. Everything is doubtful. What we see in life is that general things are located in the variety of things that we know. But things are not things. When we see the essence of things happen, we do not realize the thing that is utilized by the essence of the things. Everything is uncertain. What we see in the vast expanse of the universe is that things are totally strange and abstract in the totality of happy existence: we do not realize what is going on.

I am crazy. I do way too much labour for what I get for it. I work too hard. Always have. I do not understand the art of taking it easy. I do not understand the art of not giving a damn. I always have to be the best, always have to be in control. I am working so hard right now, and I enjoy it, but I know it is a dispicable situation; but this is what knowledge does, it makes us make the best of a dispicable situation, although I don't know if that is very eloquently put. Today I was working and I thought: I am gonna stop. But then I thought of something my mother said: sometimes you just have to man up. And then I did this and I got through the whole thing, but then the troubles came and I still had a really hard time. Manning up can help you get over you psychological weaknesses, but not over your psychical weaknesses.

Hard work is not good for writing, I think. But the thing is, everything is all right when you have the knowledge. The thing about hard work is that you don't notice you're doing it until it is too late. So with the knowledge, that you know that you're working hard, you won't keep it going on until it is too late, perhaps. You will work hard for variety. Or maybe you will just work hard to get results. The thing is, taking it easy will not usually lead to productivity, although skill will bring success as Ecclesiastes says. But this is the thing: people work hard for results, but they end up dying that way, whereas those of us who take it easy will be better off in the long run - that's also a topic in Ecclesiastes. It's not like we're naturally predisposed towards hard work or taking it easy: most people just go about randomly, as Socrates said, and do not examine their lives for why. We can always do something - the hard work yields an infinity of results, but it doesn't make us happy, whereas taking it easy will make us happy, but it has to be cultivated moderately, which is also what Ecclesiastes meant to say, I believe. This is the thing: when we're writing we're hard at work, but when we're not writing we can ALSO be very hard at work, thinking, preparing, labouring et cetera. It's all terrible, but this is how life is. As they say: life is a bitch and then you die. I don't know. I guess we'll just have to accept that it's really hard to write consistently, but this is why it drives me crazy, because I know I can write whenever I want, but I just can't think of anything to write when I really need to, or something - and this is what proves that thinking is a job, a hard job maybe even, although I am not sure about that. They say the best job is being an actuary, which is odd, but it has to do with the amount of satisfaction we get from doing stimulating work that also requires your head, and an actuary has to do a lot of calculations, so he has a challenging job but not back-breaking labour et cetera, its rewarding I don't know what the word is, point is he just likes his job and we all hate ours. I know that generally speaking jobs in academia are highly regarded, because you get to think about big topics and yet you're expected to hold lectures and so on and so forth, and it's not anonymous or mechanical work, its not repetative et cetera, but who cares right? Do we really know anything? Maybe working in academia is just horrible because of all the meetings or because you never get to speak your mind or express yourself, or because you always have to suck up to the higher placed academicians. Why am I even writing? It's because I am in despair, existentially, but I know now that there's a chance for gayety when we are like this; likewise, I might go into taking it easy mode and I'd have to write much more densely and yet it wouldn't mean anything, at least now I can pretend I am an Englishman. And the best thing is: I don't feel I have to write endlessly! I can stop and collect myself and then just continue writing. But for the past few days I have been writing about writing and I don't really know why, but I just roll with it because it results in such long paragraphs and I always feel very satisfied when I vomit out a long paragraph. But I have really already said virtually everything I was gonna say anyway and now it's just a matter of tying off the text somehow I suppose.

I spoke about knowledge, and that's a good thing, but I am really not knowledgeable. I want to be knowledgeable but I just can't become it. The only thing I know how to do is write, but it is just tiring somehow - after about a day of writing I am done with it for the whole month. We all know that super-influential works of philosophy are always written fast, like in the spur of the moment, but we also see that if we write a lot every day we become crazy. I don't know. I just can't keep up the hard labour, because I am not a hard worker I suppose, I prefer to do it easily and not worry too much, but there ain't no way forward. Of course, like anyone, I like my madness, so I don't strive too hard to eliminate it, but I should because it ruins my life. I once read someone's tweet on Twitter that said: "I don't know how to relax and it's ruining my life." I felt the same way, but I am always relaxing, my life is an endless vacation, were it not that I have a job right now and everybody thinks it is great, it's really quite astounding how having a job can improve your life, but now I don't want to write anymore because I have a job - I mean, I could still write tiny pieces every day, and I love that, but it is not enough for the world, maybe, we don't want it, or I dunno, maybe it doesn't matter. I will just try to stick to 200 words per day for the most part then, because what does it matter? My writing is not that good, I dunno, I have written really good things in a really short amount of time, but in the grand scheme of things, you really don't need to write fast, slow but steady wins the race and all that; I mean, nobody is waiting for my book, I just need to write it slowly, then I will be happier; but maybe I can write in the meantime, I mean, THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING: You got to do something. This is the horror of writing. It's really exhausting, but I can't think of anything better to do, and so I will write in my free time and then I cannot recover in time for my job, I mean, if anything, writing is ruining my life, as a kind of bad habit, I mean, it is a seated activity after all and this is also Ecclesiastes "Much study wearies the body."

You have to understand, writing gives me so much, but it cannot solve all my problems. That's why I don't want to write all the time. But I've been typing away at this post for way too long already, but it's typing which is less labour-intensive than hand-writing, less liable to damage your body, but that doesn't really matter because psychologically it is supposedly really bad, but as I said in my last post I feel so badass when I write and I just really need it, I want to write, I just don't know when to stop.

a look into genesis’ phone…

warnings. social media. texts. major fluff. her father is NOT bob marley but it is his face claim

tags. @shurislover @s0lam33y @desswright29 @pocketsizedpanther @naftalyspaces @oceean @tishlvr @bbbbbbrilliantly @shurisnovia @kisskourt @blkgworlamplified @prettymrswright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @jordisblogg

notes. i’ve had this concept forever but never really did much with it till today. chapter two is done and awaiting my schedule to get a little less busy, but here’s a little something to hold you all over. let’s bring genesis to life ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

lock screen and home screen

all about the private, aesthetic, soft life. her password is easy, but almost no one can guess it. she has all her apps jammed on one screen, just to make it “easier”

texts

now don’t get it twisted, genesis isn’t an off-grid girl (usually), she’s just horrible with answering calls or texts (unless you’re tish)

social media

she has instagram (which she deleted in early 2023 and just now created a new one in february 2024). she used to have a twitter account but deleted it during 2020 and she refuses to get tik tok (but she does have tumblr). no one really knows who she is and her ig is private, and it’s staying that way for now (she also definitely has a priv to her priv)

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genesiswrights happy earthstrong baba 🤍

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julianrwright JUDAH LION 🙏🏽

ziggybarrett bless up king nesta !!! legacy lives on

6 february 2024

music

genesis is big on making playlists. it’s one of her love languages. 90% of her music is reggae, it’s what she grew up on, but she’s also a big fan of the internet, syd, little simz, kehlani, being “modern artists”, but she has an old soul and heart

BUT there’s one that’s her favorite/main playlist and it’s played throughout the day DAILY, which includes: bob marley and the wailers, rita marley, almost every marley family member, peter tosh, bunny wailer, chronixx, koffee, and more. (it’s named that for a reason)

In Regard to Earthly Corporations

This was my Valentine's gift for Paaminty on the @goodomensafterdark subreddit. They asked for hurt/comfort, Top Crowley and I was more than happy to write it!

CW/TW: Mention of blood, minor blood kink

Seems they're a bit delicate.

Aziraphale finds himself a bit injured. Luckily he has a demon nearby to help make it better.

Excerpt:

Aziraphale hissed slightly with a shake of his head. “It’s nothing, my dear.” “Nothing?” Crowley moved to his feet and placed himself at Aziraphale’s side on the sofa, “Bollocks to that, ‘nothing’. You’re bleeding.” “Well, it would seem so.” The angel answered thoughtfully, “My, it smarts. I forget how discomforting pain feels.” “Oh, this is nothing.” Crowley smirked, “I lost three toes on my left foot once.” Aziraphale’s brows shot up as he looked over to Crowley while cradling his delicate wound, “I’m sorry, you what?” “Mnh, yeah.” The demon mused as he leaned back a bit, “Not too long before I ran into you in West Essex. Dropped my sword right across the top of it. I was just trying to get it out of the way, really. Slipped right out of the scabbard before I could even put on a single bit of plating. Lopped ‘em right off. Blood all over the stone floor.” “Dear me, Crowley. That sounds horribly excruciating.” “Oh yeah.” The reply came in a high-pitched acknowledgment. “Definitely not an experience I’m especially keen to relive anytime soon.” “No. I would think not.” Aziraphale agreed with a soft click of his tongue. There was a moment where he considered what it would feel like to lose toes. He had heard about the phenomenon of “phantom limb” before and wondered if that would have applied. He shook his head of the thought and breathed a light sigh before raising a hand. Crowley leaned across him, reaching to still it with his own. “Let me. I can make it better.” He shifted, placing his free hand gently onto the aching culprit.  “Tish tosh, dear boy.” The angel hissed again at the looming touch, punctuating it with a tisk, “No need to be so concerned. A small miracle will make quick work of it.” “Shut up, Angel.” He edged closer, “Just trust me.”

Continue reading on Ao3

“   of  all  the  people  in  the  world  i  could  end  up  stuck  with  …   ”

@lionheartedscout

"Tish tosh, darling. Let me think hmm~" The Lord Commander playfully pet the blondes head as he looked around the cave they were currently stuck in. By the rubble in front of them that once was their exit, it was safe to say that way had closed in on itself for good, it looked like they were going to need to find a new path.

Sleipnir didn't look that phased either when the distant cries of a goblin herd could be heard shrieking loudly from below them. "Hmm. I have an idea, but you're not gonna like it, love~"

I thought up of an AU and as you are AU extraordinaire (AKA came up with the Phantom of the Opera AU), I thought to ask you: Would it be cringe if I made a Ghosts soul animal AU? I think it would.

But I don’t care that it’s cringe. So! People have a full human form that’s used 90% of the time because it’s the most convient.

Then there’s the half form, which has the most distinguishing parts of the animal appear on a person. E.g. ears and tails on coyotes, scales and different coloured eyes/slit pupils on snakes, feathers on birds and gills on sharks.

Full form is the animal itself (not anthropomorphic). It’s only really used when competing in sport, fighting or some leisurely activities like sunbathing.

Did I think of this just so I could think about a half form snow leopard Captain using a half form lion Havers’s mane as a pillow? Yes. Yes I did. I’m cringe and I’m free.

Cap not being able to roar (because snow leopards can’t) could be a great metaphor about him looking the part but not being able to act the part, which is a bit of a metaphor for his entire life and career.

When he hears the higher ranks call, he feels intimidated, despite being in the same army alongside them. And so, when he hears Havers for the first time, he’s breath taken by how he doesn’t feel afraid. He feels safe. Protected.

Should I write a fic about this? I’m still on the fence.

I am very glad you have thought of me as the AU extraordinaire for my Phantom AU! Now here’s the thing.

I made the Capvers Phantom AU because I began thinking about Havers wearing the phantom mask to hide his insecurities (aka his scars) and then enter the Captain who thinks that’s just tish tosh so I drew it. It was very self indulgent and in my mind it was genius. Let me tell you, I watched the 2004 movie and then right after watched the 25th Anniversary of Phantom of the Opera in the Royal Albert Hall special and so thus began the journey of writing the Capvers Phantom AU and posting it on AO3 knowing full well I have irls on this forsaken site.

Is it cringe to write this banger AU you have come up with? Not at all. Why? Because AU’s are self indulgent to the NINES. WRITE THIS AU. DO IT I DARE YOU. IF IT MAKES YOU FIXATED AND BRAIN ROT DO IT. THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO ME WITH THIS PHANTOM AU!

I WILL ENABLE- IM AN ENABLER NOW- I WILL ENABLE YOU TO WRITE THIS AU

KTOWL Jake: have you tried drugging him?

Canon Jake: i would like you to leave now please

KTOWL Jake: oh come on! sometimes dirk just needs a firm hand! have you tried spanking

Canon Jake: *on the phone* can you please come pick me up i’m scared

KTOWL Dirk: Hey Jak-- who the fuck is that.

KTOWL Jake: Hello, clementine, this is me from another universe! H was just giving him a little romantic advice.

Canon Jake: /whimpers

KTOWL Dirk: Why are-- Wait, are you giving chloroform to that child?

KTOWL Jake: TISH TOSH. He's 21! (to jake) You're 21, right?

What?

Freemasonry is a group of good men who come together to make good men into better men. As well as collecting conspiracy theories like a white shirt attracts red sauce. They also donate enormous amounts of money to charity, and have an impeccable sense of style. I'm an FtM man in my mid-thirties who is probably finished with the medical parts of my transition, I work in the community (meaning, my full-time job, my colleagues, all of our customers and most of the contractors are all queer), and I dabble in writing and painting and fibrecraft.

For convenience, I and everyone else will be pseudonymous, so get ready to meet Brother Dude, Brother Fellow, Senior Warden Tish and Junior Warden Tosh, Worshipful Brother Ignotus, Master of this Lodge, etc, as I set my left foot forward on the way to joining the Lodge Of Anonymity.

For now, I'm Chap, hopefully soon to be Brother Chap, Entered Apprentice, and eventually many years down the line Brother Chap, Master Mason.

Why?

A little bit of a lot of things. I want to have ritual in my life, which has meaning to other people and isn't just something that I do alone. I like the idea of knowledge being paced out over months and years and decades, rather than binged when the whim takes me, and of being knowledge which is attached to people, where someone teaches me and imparts their own ideas and nuances rather than just reading from a cold book. And related to that, I would love to have some formal moral instruction, to not constantly be poking at my ethical gag reflex alone to work out where the line lies between something that is morally wrong and something that just irks me. I want community, especially with people who aren't immediately similar to me, and paradoxically with people who share more literal landmarks with me - Having more friends who go to the local pubs, walk on the local lanes, shop at the local shops, rather than all my friends being a train ride away. I am hugely enthused by the idea of a place where I CAN NOT talk about politics, and anyone bringing up politics to me will be censured for it. I want to take on a responsibility that isn't life-or-death for my community, but that still feels more grounded in other people than my gym routine. Also, the Masons make better men, and I would love to be a better man.

So where are you now?

I'm not a Mason yet. I had my first meet and chats in November and will have my interview in February, and between November and now me and another few prospective new brothers have been coming down to the Lodge every other week to start to get to know the Brothers. I've been told to expect to be Entered around St George's Day if I pass the interview. But first... The interview, and I must admit I am nervous.

But Why Blog About It?

Because there's a lot of talk online about trans people. A lot of Masons in the States insisting both that no trans man would be able to have the character to become a Mason, and would always be blackballed even if their Grand Lodge technically admits them, and that no trans woman should ever be allowed to stay a Mason, because the simple fact of transitioning is unmasonic conduct.

But, the United Grand Lodge Of England says;

A candidate for admission to Freemasonry under UGLE must be a man. Should a person who has undergone gender reassignment and has become a man apply to become a Freemason then his application must be processed in the same way as for any other male candidate.

A Freemason who after initiation ceases to be a man does not cease to be a Freemason. We expect that Freemasons will act with compassion and sensitivity towards their fellow Freemasons.

We hope that no Freemason would engage in unwanted conduct relating to another Freemason’s actual or perceived gender reassignment or gender transition.

No candidate should be subjected to questions about their gender which could make them feel uncomfortable.

The full text is here, but the gist is: Trans people of all stripes are welcome in the Grand Lodge Of England, and being hostile towards them is unmasonic. https://www.ugle.org.uk/gender-reassignment-policy

There aren't many examples of trans Masons online, and all of the ones that I've seen have been already Master Masons before transition, so I thought I might as well share my experiences as they happen, for good or ill.

Also, if you are trans and a Mason, please drop me a message, I would love to have more Brothers and maybe we can visit each other if I pass the interview and am entered.

February is Femslash month!

In honor of February Femslash the Torchwood Archive will be hosting our February Femslash Rec Fest, celebrating wlw couples.

Do you have a favorite fic with a F/F couple front and center? Send it our way! We are looking for recs that feature canon pairings (Alice Guppy/Emily Holroyd, Tosh/Mary etc) in addition to fanon pairings (Gwen/Tosh, Tish/Lois etc.).

Your recs will be posted on Valentine’s Day Wednesday 2/14

Indulge in the Best Food Finds at Tash Tish Tosh @ Marine Cove

Indulge in the Best Food Finds at Tash Tish Tosh @ Marine Cove In this video, we’re going to tell you why you should definitely make time for Tash Tish Tosh at Marine Cove – the best restaurant on the East Coast! Tash Tish Tosh is Singapore’s most famous restaurant, and we think you should make it a priority to visit while you’re in town. Not only is the food sensational, but the location is…

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Is it flirting when someone sends you a tish-tosh ,yankee photo of themselves? All dolled up ,you know.

Is that person romantically interested in me or just considers me a close friend?!

Taking my mother to the poultry centre for her birthday to choose herself some birds ended about how you’d expect

20 first lines for the 21st year of the century...

i was tagged by the lovely @violetmessages, thank you hun !!

rules ; post the first lines of your last 20 stories. If you don’t have 20 published stories, post them all or use your last 20 WIPs! Pick your favorite and tag some friends!

cursed by the love that i received ( abandoned so dont read it sdjhsjd ) ; “The familiar buzzing of the sonic came as the doctor pressed the device to Jack's vortex manipulator.” 

become a secondary character in your own motion picture ; “When Tosh first joined torchwood, she expected it to be like every other job she had taken before.”

my heart is yours, forever and always ; “The rift was temperamental, it dropped aliens in the middle of homes and crashed ships in the river.”

love songs are fleeting ( actually read this one im somewhat proud of it ) ; “Tosh woke up in a strange bed, head pounding, and smelling a sickly sweet perfume dispersed through the air.”

bottled love ; “Tosh sat at her desk, her legs crossed and a smoothie stuck in her mouth.”

intoxicating chlorine ; “The doctor wandered the halls of the master's tardis, looking for the main console room.”

i .. waited ..  ; “Merlin wandered into Arthur's room, not really paying attention to much.”

so who gets the comforter? ; ““Gwen Cooper, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato,” Rose’s eyes lingered on the last person Jack pointed out.”

we thought we’d never see the sun fade ( dont read this one either sjdskd ) ; “Tosh was a bit sad when they launched, as she waved goodbye to people who would never see it, as the days afterward dragged on.”

ill fly the stars with you ( wip ) ; “Tosh refused to believe it as it flashed across every news channel.”

kenopsia ( wip ) ; “The screams echoed around his head, "you killed her! you killed her!" drowning out any coherent thoughts he could hope to form.”

the place where time stops ( wip ) ; “Tish walked into the small tourist center front, a timid-looking girl sitting at the desk and typing at the computer.”

i watched you break, like glass you shattered ( wip ) ; “There was a legend, a very old one, often believed to be fake”

perhaps, in the end, it is because of time that we suffer ( wip ) ; “"You know, i forgive you," Matteusz said, even though every part of his being was screaming that it was wrong.”

keep the vinyl free of dust ( and spin it soft eternally ) ( wip ) ; “Gwen woke up that day, dread seeping in her bones as she got herself dressed.”

untitled ( wip ) ; “The doctor wandered the halls, thoughts running through her mind too quickly for even her to comprehend.”

untitled ( wip ) ; “Gwen was sitting comfortably in her seat, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands and her son sleeping comfortably on her lap.”

untitled ( wip ) ; “Her eyes opened to an empty white room and a painted phrase on the wall, saying, "Welcome. Everything is great."”

untitled ( wip ) ; ““Tosh!” Rose called out, walking into her work room, “we found the coordinates to the medusa cascade, is the device ready?””

untitled ( wip ) ; “Cas appeared silently in Dean’s room, watching his sleeping form unmoving and quiet.” 

tagging ; @iantcs & anyone else i cant remember because i have brainrot 

pish posh tish tosh im so tired gosh

LMAO ITS BEAUTIFUL

and go rest if ur tired <3 even if you cant sleep rn just sit down and rest for a min :D

Season 2 AU where Jack shows up after his absence with a new recruit.

After the hell they went through in the Year That Never Was, Jack knows how hard it can be to go back to ‘normal life’, so he offers the Joneses a place in Torchwood. Letitia Jones is the only one who accepts.

For fix-it purposes, Tish can go home first, so Jack shows up alone to explain to his team what happened while Tish goes to pick up her stuff (since she’ll be moving to Cardiff). This way, when John Hart shows up, he doesn’t meet her, which means that when he comes back during Fragments/Exit Wounds, both John and Gray think Jack’s team only has four people, so neither of them are expecting to be taken down by a fifth secret team member.

Basically what I’m saying is Tish takes down Gray and saves Tosh from being shot, so they can prevent the nuclear meltdown with enough time left for Owen to leave, so everybody lives! :)

flashfic: scrap, push, pull

Dave+Dirk, DirkJake. In which Dave doesn't like violence, but his brother is dating someone who super likes it. Dave watches.

It starts out with a bruise.

It's starts raining while they're hanging out by the beach. All the salamanders come out to blub and play while Dave and Dirk find a tree to chill under.

There's droplets on Dirk's glasses; he takes them off and pulls an actual microfiber cloth out of his inventory, giving the lenses a thorough wipe down. "Want a hit of this, bro?" he says, low and sardonic as a sarcastic sunrise, offering the cloth. It has seagulls on it.

"Oh, hell yes," Dave says, taking it to clean his own.

He freezes as he spots something. There's a smudge on Dirk's face that at first seems like the play of a shadow over his skin. But it doesn't move with the rest of the shadows, and with his shades off, Dave can see its the last stage of a nasty bruise, the bloom of green following Dirk's brow bone and down the side of his eyes socket. It looks like it would have hurt like a bitch. Dave's had those before.

Dirk notices Dave's stillness and makes a wordless, inquiring sound. "You lose a fight with a doorknob?" Dave asks, trying to keep his tone light. "What? Oh." Dirk reaches up and presses two fingers into his bruise. "Nah, earned this one the honest way." When Dave continues to stare, he smiles faintly. "You've actually met Jake, right?" Dave's not certain what that means. He finishes cleaning his glasses and returns the cloth to Dirk, who puts it away and leans back on his hands, posture relaxed and max chill. The faded bruise is just barely visible around the edge of his glasses. = Dave learns what the fuck all that meant the next weekend, when there's a Gods And Winners Meet-Up. It's a cook out, with Roxy manning the grill with a little too much gusto, taking orders and slapping meat onto hot metal, sizzling things up. It's a warm day. Rose and Karkat have a big annoying umbrella set up, lounging underneath. It turns out Rose brought nail polish and is ready to cajole Karkat into some claw manicuring. This is how she bonds with people, just deciding out of the blue they're going to do a bonding thing together. Karkat complains a lot, but also has strong opinions on claw care that he's eager to expound on at the drop of a hat. This is how Dave winds up sipping apple juice, third wheeling as Rose and Karkat compare base coats. Whatever. He's idly looking around, watching what folks are doing just in case someone's having more fun that his sister and Karkat, someone begging for a Dave-shaped interruption. That is when Jake and Dirk have a fight. Dave doesn't see how it starts so he thinks for a moment it's a real fight. But from what he can tell, Dirk was just minding his own business talking to Jane when Jake walked up behind him very fast and swung at the back of his head. Dave sits up, a bolt of attention slamming up his spine, but Dirk heard Jake coming or something, because he falls forward, hand on the ground, pivoting and hopping up, facing Jake. The grin on Jake's face is feral. It reminds Dave strongly of Jade when she's about to figure out something ridiculous and inexplicable to everyone but her. What the fuck was up with these island kids, goddamn. "Too loud, English," Dirk says, stepping out away from Jane, moving in a slow circle around Jake. "Tish tosh, that was the point! I'm not very well going to be a sneaky dick about it, that's hardly sporting!" Jake's still grinning like a maniac. "You wanna do this here? Make a show of it?" Dirk shakes out his wrists, still circling. "I mean, if you want everyone to see you get your ass royally served up--" Jake darts forward, and Dirk springs back, words cutting off. By now, everyone is turning to watch. "Enough with the prologue, let's tango. No flash stepping malarkey, no flying." "Fine," Dirk agrees easily, rolling his left shoulder, then his right. "Best of one, no do overs, no improvised weapons. Get ready to eat shit, Jake." And they're off. With shocking ferocity, Jake tries to smash his fist into whatever part of Dirk he can get. It's not many, as Dirk plays keep-away, springing and hopping like a jackrabbit, balanced on his toes. Eventually, Jake seems to get frustrated-- or imminently aware of his own stamina hourglass. He shoulder rushes Dirk, a blunt hit that sends Dirk skidding. Dirk swings a kick, and Jake just takes it, looping an arm around Dirk and yanking him. Dirk bends his knee, tries getting in close, pushing Jake. Without a missed beat, Jake hooks one of Dirk's arms, forcing him even closer to beam in his face. Dirk headbutts him. Jake lets go, cursing. "Never a fair fight with a Strider!" His glasses are broken, but the guy just tosses them, pulling out a fucking back-up pair from one of his sixty pockets. "Want a fucking referee, Jake?" Dirk taunts. "Do you need a yellow card or are we doing this?" "Oh shut up, neither of us knows what the fuck that means," Jake snaps, and moves in again. It's a totally different fight. Punch, blocked by elbow. Haymaker, diverted upward. Knee to the gut, kick to the side. They

move like really vicious dancers. When Dave tears his eyes away for a moment he, inevitably, looks at Karkat. Karkat, who is smiling faintly, like he's watching a sappy movie and not a brawl. Blinking, Dave looks back. He's in time to see Dirk backhand Jake so hard, he goes down like a ton of bricks. And this, Dave assumes, is it. Dirk steps up and puts his foot against Jake's clavicle, leaning back to make his body a narrow line, pinning Jake down. It's time for the count. Dave's been in that position before and knows how hard it is to get out, to reach and grasps impotently for leverage. But Jake doesn't paw at Dirk's leg. He grabs Dirk's foot with both hands and twists hard. Dirk yelps in a very un-stoic way and falls like a felled tree, slamming onto his front, and Jake is on him in an instant, locking onto his back with an arm looped under each of Dirk's. It's incredible. Dirk tries to grab Jake, only for him to lean out of the way, then slam Dirk back down. So instead Dirk tries to claw forward, fingers digging into the earth and pulling. "Uncle?" Jake asks, delighted. "You giving up? I accept," Dirk says, but its strained and breathless. Jake laughs in his ear, his teeth a little red. "Alright, alright, that's enough." Roxy, still wearing her grillmaster apron, walks up. Planting her boot against Jake's shoulder, she dismounts him with one good push. He goes down laughing still, sprawled and smiling at the clouds. Dirk sits up slowly, hand pressed to his rib. "Got me in the same fucking place as last week. Ass." "Oooh, let me see!" Jake rolls onto his knees, closer to Dirk. When Dirk lifts the hem of his shirt, Jake reaches out to frame the smudge of color with his fingers. "Oh, you're going to look stunning!" "You boys are so fuckin' weird," Roxy tells them sincerely, rolling her eyes. From his side, Rose says, "Ah, the love language of shared violence." Karkat hums, sounding pleased, like watching the whole display stroked some romantic voyeurism thing in him. Which, might be his, like, domain now? "Perfect pair of complete fucking idiots." Dave looks at how Dirk looks away from Jake's fawning and feels something settle in his chest.