#incontestable

[thithieuro]

[spirit-meets-the-b0ne]

God I love Dustin Henderson so much man, I know Will is in love with Mike because only a deeply down bad homosexual would be able to say Mike “is the heart” when Dustin is alive and in the party. Dustin is the one constantly mediating in S1 between Mike and Lucas, he’s even insecure of his own newness to the group when he conciliates. Because even though the party are all HIS best friends he is able to rationalize why they might have a hierarchy based on seniority. Mike makes it clear that isn’t the case. It’s partly why Dustin is quicker to accept Eleven and partly why he’s so open to including Max “as the new kid” because that was him once. Dustin’s iconic “she’s our friend and she’s crazy!” Dustin and Lucas having parallel deviations from their code of honor in ST2 and Dustin being (so dramatic ik) literally ready to fall on the sword for his misdoings. Dustin basically involving Steve out of necessity but then cultivating that relationship to make Steve a good friend, Steve who had the shittiest friends in high school and attention for all the wrong reasons. Steve never had a true friend in his life and then some 12 year old basically gave him a crash course. In ST3 when Dustin earnestly challenges Steve’s socially conditioned need to be seen as cool only for Steve to become bffs with a band geek. A band geek who is also a lesbian that Steve would rather be seen as a rizzless hack of a womanizer than out her to anybody, even Dustin. All of Dustin and Steve. Dustin going from calling Steve a douchebag, to Eddie saying the kid worships him and thinks he’s a total badass. Dustin who in ST4 is once again demolishing social norms of high school vs middle school because FUCK, his friend is in middle school! His friend Erica, his comrade Lady Applejack, is a black girl in junior high and he dgaf what anyone thinks about it. ALL OF DUSTIN AND ERICA. Dustin teaching Erica to embrace her inner nerd, to Erica staunchly declaring “I’ve bled with him!” When asked if she knows Dustin. Dustin who is the FIRST person that Max goes to when shit hits the fan in ST4 because god damn dude Dustin is the heart. Dustin’s unwavering support of Eddie even when the evidence is stacked against him, Dustin always believed in Eddie Munson. Dustin is the only one who truly offers Wayne condolences. He is the friend of all friends. Dustin is constantly carrying the party through crisis and discomfort, he’s dedicated, he’s unabashedly caring, and he’s the character that is able to socially move across the board in every direction. I fuckin love this little curly haired drama king because these geeks would be LOST without him!!! If Dustin isn’t the heart; he’s the Central Nervous System, he’s the nucleus, he’s fucking vital to not only the party but every other tertiary character of importance. He’s constantly inspiring and providing direction. He’s a goofball, he’s wise beyond his years, he’s a lover and he’s a fighter, he always has a plan and he always has a bad idea, he’s the voice of reason and the resounding falsetto alarm of things gone wrong, he’s never done anything wrong ever in his life, one time something ate his cat but besides that. He’s my heart of the show damn it!

[absentlyabbie]

love the way you just sit and ask yourself, lungs and heart on fire and splashed with acid, "why the fuck am i feeling this anxiety? lame, stupid, ridiculous, get over it"

as if you don't know damn well that

a) you have a fucking ANXIETY DISORDER, FOOL

b) actually and objectively you have multiple extremely strong and valid reasons to be anxious as all highest fuck right now

however, neither of these things will stop you sneering at yourself on the inside of your own head and repeating "why the fuck is my gut full of berserker mode bees, nonsense, completely sourceless, groundless, whoa everybody watch out for ~the drama queen~"

[literaryvein-reblogs]

words to use instead of ______

"Very"

Mild: clearly, decidedly, distinctly, markedly, considerably, notably, largely, recognizably, especially, indubitably Moderate: especially, surprisingly, substantially, uncommonly, chiefly, incredibly, obviously, unmistakably, considerably, awfully, wonderfully, particularly Bold: profusely, unequivocally, strikingly, astonishingly, exceedingly, absolutely, exceptionally, extremely, unquestionably, vastly, incontestably

"A Lot" (time)

Mild: often, oftentimes, sometime Moderate: frequently, usually, various, generally Bold: regularly, recurrent, persistent

"A Lot" (size)

Mild: many, much, several Moderate: numerous, bountiful, considerable Bold: multitude, profuse, vast

"Big"

Mild: sizable, ample, large, considerable, great, above average, important Moderate: ponderous, significant, crucial, vast, copious, magnificent, substantial Bold: enormous, immense, colossal, extensive, endless, paramount, boundless, prodigious, imposing, gigantic, voluminous, limitless, essential

"Small"

Mild: slight, limited, trivial, minor, light, puny, superficial, undersized, dinky, negligible, faint Moderate: scant, petite, inconsiderable, microscopic, dwarf, unsubstantial, minimum, miniature, tiny Bold: insignificant, minute, meager, infinitesimal, ineffectual, undetectable, inconsequential

"Good"

Mild: acceptable, favorable, agreeable, pleasing, satisfactory, satisfying, super, able, relevant, accomplished, efficient, reliable, ample, useful, profitable, adequate, adept Moderate: great, honorable, admirable, commendable, sound, splendid, superb, valuable, wonderful, worthy, clever, proficient, qualified, apt, skillful, thorough, wholesome Bold: excellent, exceptional, gratifying, marvelous, reputable, stupendous, superior, exemplary, virtuous, expert, solid, advantageous, flawless, extensive, perfect

"Bad"

Mild: cheap, dissatisfactory, faculty, off, mean, wrong, unpleasant, unwell, low, grim, sour, regretful Moderate: careless, defective, inferior, imperfect, deficient, rough, ill-suited, inadequate, unsatisfactory, delinquent, sinful, unruly, wicked, rancid, grave, harsh, terrible, downcast Bold: awful, unacceptable, corrupt, dreadful, putrid, erroneous, detrimental, ruinous, vile, villainous, diseased, adverse, evil

more words to use instead other words to use instead even more words to use instead

[burnthelongnight]

que querés q te diga onda. posta. no se q decirte. "si me hace una diferencia la verdad el tema es que estoy con la cabeza hecha bosta"???

[firebarzzz]

Société: Agressions sexuelles - Comprendre et sensibiliser. -

Les agressions sexuelles sont des actes graves qui laissent des cicatrices profondes, tant physiques qu'émotionnelles, sur les victimes. Cette forme de violence présente une dangerosité incontestable, affectant non seulement la santé mentale des individus

[lyctorism]

i used to hate hate hateee when my dad would make arguments like "what if everyone in the world was born gay one year? then there'd be a whole grade missing from schools" what? WHAT???? AND WHAT IF THE CLOUDS WERE MADE OF COTTON CANDY.

[suzie-guru]

Despite the heavy rain in Grand Rapids, I took myself out and about and finally made it to where @hellenhighwater’s breathtaking and deeply moving work for ArtPrize, “Old Stories”, was being displayed.

It was thrilling to see all of this in person after watching their progression on @hellenhighwater’s tumblr. I kept wanting to grab others and go “Make sure to follow their tumblr! It’s a treasure trove!”

The pieces that moved me the most are incontestably the ones featuring the Minotaur - after Medusa, his story is the most tragic of the Greek Myths to me and these pieces made me ache for him even more. I fell in love with these statues through watching the progression of their creation, but seeing them in person? All I could think of is how badly he deserved to be rescued, saved from his imprisonment, his loneliness. It hit me like a gut punch.

Which is why I loved the third and final piece for his story so much. The original ending will always be told, but on the other end of the labyrinth, there’s a more hopeful, gentler ending where the walls crack and crumble, and Asterion steps out and away from his prison, gets to see the stars and feel the sun…

The piece I didn’t expect to move me so deeply was Narcissus.

As it says on the artist’s statement for the piece, in a mythos full of capricious gods, ravaging heroes, and half-human monsters, Narcissus’ only crime was being beautiful and solitary. How many girls have had to deal with the same persistence and accusations of coldness? Can’t he have the same protectiveness we give them? I never would have thought such things, but this work opened my mind. Thank you for that, @hellenhighwater.

Please, if you’re able to do so, come to Grand Rapids and see all of the works in person, especially @hellenhighwater’s! And vote for them!!!

Now, I’m off to write that story about Ariadne and Asterion being siblings that I always wanted to get around to…

[satoriberry]

j'adore comment son avis est entitulé "un vrai plus dans ma chambre" et elle a mis 4 étoiles mais elle se plaint et en plus elle finit par NE PAS RECOMMANDER LE PUTAIN D'ARTICLE??? btw cest pour une lampe hyper mimi mais finalement je pense pas que je vais l'acheter :P

[wyvernest]

hammock by the sea

pairing - miguel o'hara x wife!f!reader

warnings - fluff, established relationship, suggestive

summary - you and miguel enjoy a sunny july afternoon on your honeymoon in a hammock

translations: lo sé - i know / así me gusta - that's how i like it

part 2! part3!

The air is hot, but fresh with a salty sea breeze. The waves roll rhythmically against the white shores, echoing through the gardens of the resort you're spending your honeymoon at.

Everything is so quiet, so serene, and incontestably intimate.

The hammock hangs low between two palms, heavy with your weight added on top of his. Miguel sits cosily in the linen cocoon, arms hanging out on each side. You're seated on his lap, straddling him. Sunlight grazes his features in interrupted stripes, filtered through the sharp palm leaves. 

His eyes are closed, eyebrows relaxed. Your gaze lingers over his sculpted face, the shape of his eyes, his cheekbones, the line of his nose and his soft lips; then up to his dark hair, sun-kissed dark silk. 

You're startled when you feel his hand take ahold of your wrist gently, pulling you with a little force into his embrace. Eyes still closed, he's silently asking you to lay back on top of him, to let him capture you back into his arms. 

You remain straight for the single purpose of looking at him for a little longer. It's not often that you see him so relaxed, so defenceless and vulnerable. Your attention follows his jaw, adorned with the remnants of what used to be a stubble; then the line of his neck, and you hold back a primal impulse to bend down and start kissing it, just to hear him giggle lowly before groaning in need.

Your hands follow your vision, flowing down his broad shoulders, and over his strong pecs, reaching the firm muscles of his torso. You feel him tense up, flexing his abdomen under your touch and puffing out a giggled breath. 

"You don't have to do that to impress me, you know." you keep your hands on his abdomen, struggling to mask the loving and lustful awe in your eyes. 

"Lo sé. I just love to see you all red in the face." He smirks at you, pearl-white fangs peeking from the smile, opening his eyes enough just to witness the sight before him. You hadn't realised you were getting so flustered. Maybe it's the heat outside.

Or maybe it's just him, looking like a greek sculpture, completely enamoured by you and at your disposal. All sleepy, messy hair and smile teasing. 

You cave in, laying yourself on top of him, head on his chest, hiding the blush in your cheeks. His arms encompass your body, holding you against him. You feel one of his legs drop out of the hammock, slowly swaying you both into a lulling cradle. 

You snuggle into him, pressing your face closer to hear his heartbeat. With a deep sigh, you melt into him. He brings a hand to your hair, laying soft caresses over the expanse of your back.

But you don't want to fall asleep just yet. There's only so many things you could do. Getting up, you come face to face with him, starting to kiss him all over his face. He smiles, eyes still closed. You kiss him on his forehead, on his temples, all over his cheeks, and when you get close enough to the corner of his mouth, he catches you and deepens the kiss. His lips are soft and tender against yours, tongues dancing in tandem as you make out under the July sun.

His hands arrive at your sides, grasping at your waist before starting to tickle violently. You break away from the kiss, erupting in uncontrolled laughter. He doesn't stop. He keeps tickling until you're backing up on the opposite end of the hammock, seeking shelter from the attack.

He takes the chance and gets up from his place, repositioning himself so that he's laying on you, face up. The hammock swings abruptly from side to side and you nearly fall out of it. You scream and laugh but he doesn't stop until he's seated comfortably, head on your chest.

"There we go." He sighs, placing a quick peck on your breast, making you even more flustered, before once again shutting his eyes.

"You could've told me you wanted to switch." 

"Wouldn't have been as fun."

You tangle your fingers in his hair, massaging lightly.

"Ah, así me gusta" he moans and relaxes further into your embrace. 

"You're so handsome." you mumble to yourself, gazing at him with all the love you could bestow upon someone.

He opens his eyes instantly, staring at you like you just told him the craziest thing he could've heard.

"Mi vida", he pauses, weighing his words for half a second, "coming from an angel like you, it means a lot."

You smile, knowing he means it. He's not the type to throw in compliments and sweet talk just for the sake of it, and you love him for that.

Your attention is suddenly intercepted by the sight of the fruit bowl you brought with you, next to the hammock. You pick it up and start with a strawberry. He looks up at you, eyes pleading silently. Raising your eyebrows smugly, you feed him a tangerine slice. 

You analyse the picture before you, wishing you could freeze it in time. Miguel, comfortably seated on top of you, head on your soft chest, looking up at you like he's nothing less than a god and you're his paradisiacal muse, feeding him fruits. 

However, the air suddenly shifts as your eyes river down his frame, and over to the hardening outline of his bulge, curved against his shorts. Your gaze returns to his, recognizing the familiar want beneath the relaxed façade.

"Let's take care of that, love", you suggest, pointing in the direction of your room with your eyes.

He doesn't waste a second before he stands up and scoops you from the hammock, hoisting you over his shoulder and giving your exposed ass a playful smack.

a/n - i'll make a part 2 if anyone is interested:)

EDIT: part 2

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Very

Very—to a high degree; exceedingly; exact, precise

Absolutely - completely or totally

Astonishingly - causing a feeling of great surprise or wonder

Astronomically - enormously or inconceivably large or great

Awfully - informal: exceedingly great

Certainly - in a manner that is certain; indisputably

Chiefly - most importantly; principally, especially

Considerably - large in extent or degree

Decidedly - free from doubt or wavering

Distinctly - presenting a clear unmistakable impression

Especially - used as an intensive

Exceedingly - to an extreme degree

Exceptionally - to an exceptional degree; more than average or usual

Extremely - to an extreme extent (i.e., existing in a very high degree)

Incontestably - not contestable; indisputable

Incredibly - in an incredible manner; extremely

Indubitably - too evident to be doubted; unquestionable

Inordinately - exceeding reasonable limits; immoderate

Largely - to a large extent; mostly, primarily

Notably - in a notable manner; to a high degree

Obviously - as is plainly evident

Particularly - to an unusual degree; in particular; specifically

Profusely - exhibiting great abundance; bountiful

Really - truly, unquestionably—used as an intensifier

Recognizably - to perceive clearly

Significantly - to a significant degree (i.e., of a noticeably or measurably large amount)

Strikingly - attracting attention or notice through unusual or conspicuous qualities

Substantially - being largely but not wholly that which is specified

Surprisingly - to a surprising degree (i.e., something unexpected or unusual)

Tremendously - to a great or tremendous extent; extremely

Uncommonly - unusual; remarkable, exceptional

Unquestionably - not questionable; indisputable

Unequivocally - in an unequivocal manner (i.e., clear, unquestionable)

Unmistakably - not capable of being mistaken or misunderstood; clear

Vastly - to a very great or vast degree or extent; exceedingly

Wonderfully - in a way or to an extent that is extremely or unusually good or pleasing

More: Word Lists

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。look my way, you’re what i crave | gojo satoru

wc: 2.6k

summary: you and gojo made a promise to yuuji.

contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns used, food trip/taste-testing, many food descriptions, a little bit of (playful) jealousy, pouty gojo, yuuji calls reader sensei, established relationship (but no label).

a/n: a small extra scene that takes place some time between col 2.5 and col 3! not a food expert nor am i japanese, so food descriptions are just based off first-hand experience and some research i’ve managed to do! there are some switches in povs (gojo-reader-gojo) but i tried to keep it as distinct as possible! this is also my birthday gift for you, niku @stellamancer!! thank you for sharing this idea with me and for loving the col couple as much as i do!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours) <- you are here -> 03. so this is what it means to be in love + (extended scene) too good to be mine

‘Losing’ isn’t a word in Gojo’s vocabulary. 

If it is, it’s usually addressed to the other party. 

He’s been a winner ever since he was born, two blue eyes and an extra four hidden, holding power that manifests itself only once every few centuries. Some argue that he was born for that reason: to win, without doubt, incontestably. 

And he supposes, most of it is true—which is why he can’t believe the loss he’s feeling right now, standing in front of the Daifuku stall across from you. 

Never in his entire life did Gojo ever anticipate himself losing to anything. But with the way you’d casually nodded off, signaled so nonchalantly that you’d follow him but clearly didn’t—it has his head turning, finding you midbite a singular, shared stick of Yakitori.

He thinks he might have just experienced his first loss. 

And the victor is none other than Itadori Yuuji. 

.

You made a promise to Yuuji. 

Back when he was still up for execution by virtue of being Sukuna’s vessel, you’d laid your confidence in Gojo. 

“Sensei, do you really think it’s possible?” he asks, voice hesitant but eyes tinged with hope. You were discussing the ways his execution could go down—if it even will go down. 

Shoko’s always pointed out that the most dangerous thing about you is hope, and how you hold onto it so deeply that you pass it onto others like a disease, spreading it to seep into skin and bones.

Gojo calls it your hidden technique, the trump card you pull out when everyone’s knocked down, spirits low. It’s what sets you apart, he thinks, how you’re able to survive in a world that serves as an antithesis to the values you hold. 

“If Satoru said to leave it up to him, he’ll find a way,” you answer immediately, like you’ve known it all this time, experienced it first-hand—a memory. Then you add, an affirmation that sounds so close to fact, it reassures him, “he always does.” 

“Let’s go to Osaka and eat all the street food when everything’s done.”  

You made a promise to Yuuji, and here you are now, with Gojo, keeping it. 

The streets of Osaka are bustling, crowded pretty much any time of the year—carts of all sorts of street food lined up with restaurants hidden in every corner. Neon banners and LED signs light up overhead, a twinkling food heaven reflected in Yuuji’s eyes. 

It must be his first time here, you surmise, because he’s looking at every food stall like he’s ready to devour. You glance at Gojo, hands tucked in his pockets with his blindfold sitting snugly on his face. His presence is bright, blending in with the light, and he turns his head to you slightly, flashing you a small smile. 

You tell yourself the warmth you feel is because of the heat radiating from all the vendors’ stoves. 

“Sensei, what do you want to try first?” Yuuji interrupts your train of thought, but you’re sure he doesn’t mean to. He’s just excited, and his energy has always been infectious, spreading to both Gojo and you. 

Gojo isn’t too big a fan of savory things, so you know you’re going to end up having to choose. You take a look around you to survey each stall, before turning back to Yuuji with a plan on how exactly you’re going to eat and conquer. 

.

Gojo watches—the way you zig-zag across the street, following Yuuji as he walks up to each vendor. It’s both amusing and endearing seeing you being just as, if not more, enthralled at all the savory options in front of you. 

Between the two of you, he’s always had the sweet tooth, so it tickles something in him that even when you don’t, your food-tasting game plan still consists of alternating savory-sweet-savory food.

Yuuji’s first pick is of course, Okonomiyaki, an iconic must-have in Osaka. He orders one piece at first, but you insist on two, knowing that the boy is more than capable of finishing a single one on his own. On the frying sheet lie columns of the pancakes–a simple mixture of flour, eggs, and cabbage–fried and coated in flavors bursting of sweet, savory, and smoky. The lady vendor is generous with the toppings and sauce she pours over it, packing the two pancakes in separate plastic containers before handing one to you and the other to Yuuji.

You turn back to find Gojo a few steps behind you, so you beckon him closer.

“Let’s share,” you whisper, once he sidles up next to you. The plastic crinkles in your hand as you try to slice a piece, Yuuji’s muffled ‘whoah’ heard from the side. 

You blow on the slice, lips shaped into a small ‘o’; he doesn’t want to stare, not with Yuuji right there and neither of you having made anything official yet—

—but this is really tempting him to kiss you. 

He doesn’t know if you can tell—any hint of his desire concealed by his blindfold, but you shove the slice right to his lips. And while it isn’t graceful at all, with the sauce probably smeared all over his mouth, it’s a good distraction from how much he wants you instead of the food right now. 

The texture of the Okonomiyaki hits right every time, the crunchy and creamy combination providing a great contrast that complements how sweet and savory it is. The bite you take after his has your expression mirroring Yuuji’s, and he takes out his phone to capture this memory.

“Gowo-shunsheh! Tek a shulfeh!” Yuuji shouts, mouth still full as he lifts his fingers up into a peace sign. You grin, ear-to-ear, evidence of your happy tummy; he wants to pinch your cheeks. 

“Okay, copy!” he raises his phone up at an angle, fingers hovering over the volume button as he grips the edges, “ready! 1…2…3… say Okonomiyaki!” 

Only Yuuji shouts it, and when Gojo reviews the photo, you’re halfway through a fallen smile—face contorting into disbelief that he said something that cringey, in typical, loud, Gojo fashion too.

“Hey!” he points out, zooming into your face in the photo, “Again! You’re not smiling!” 

You shoot him a look. 

“We can try it with a .5 this time, the kids love it these days.” he suggests, flipping the phone and gathering you and Yuuji closer. 

He takes two photos: one with flash and one without, and the moment he counts down, you mumble right by his ear to please not say ‘Okonomiyaki’ when you have to smile—he chuckles. 

And he says it again. Both times. 

You expected no less, but at least you tried. 

“You should be our human tripod next time,” you tell him, letting Yuuji go ahead. 

The photos look good, with you tiptoeing as you balance a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, Yuuji at the back with his hands raised, holding the empty plastic that used to house his Okonomiyaki.

“Knew you were just using me,” he pouts, hand reaching behind to rest at your lower back. 

It’s been the subtleties with him this trip, tonight especially. 

“Yep,” you play along, smiling oh-so-sweetly, “I knew those freakishly long arms were good for something.” 

Before he can retort with something cheesy, along the lines of: ‘to hold you’ or ‘to hug you in your sleep’, you move away, catching up to Yuuji. 

Your pick, for Gojo, is Taiyaki. It’s not his favorite thing to eat, but it’s sweet, and is still a good, nostalgic dessert, you’d like to think. Batter is poured all over the fish molds before being filled with the red bean filling. Then, after a few minutes of waiting, it pops out perfectly, ready to be eaten by the three of you. You ask for two again, only because this time, you know Gojo can finish one whole. 

But when his eyes land on the Taiyaki you’re biting from and he realizes very quickly that it isn’t his, he feels a pinch. 

It's a good thing the crunchy outside and soft, full inside of the Taiyaki is enough to make him shrug off the feeling. For now.

As the food trip goes on, you end up in many more stalls—

—a Takoyaki one, where Yuuji’s ‘ooo’s’ and ‘aaa’s’ are heard every time the balls are flipped and formed. The cooking on it is perfect, the pieces of octopus sitting just right with enough bite as flavors of soy and Worcestershire come through in its glaze. Gojo only eats one from the set of six that you ordered, and he wishes he just waited, because now Yuuji is eating half of the last one you couldn't finish. 

—a Kushikatsu one, deep fried beef and vegetables coated in crispy, crunchy breadcrumbs and dipped in Tonkatsu sauce. Yuuji ends up finishing three whole sticks, while you manage to eat one. It’s an animated conversation between the two of you that Gojo can’t seem to insert himself into. A part of him feels a little pathetic now, tailing you both like a dog, but he just wants a little bit more of your attention. 

—a Soba shop (not so much a stall) that serves amazing Cold Soba he definitely isn’t missing out on. Yuuji is practically buzzing, excited for anything noodles; it’s the main reason you’d suggested Osaka in the first place. He ducks in the shop last, Yuuji first with you in the middle, and when you settle in your seat right beside him, he snickers endearingly. Gojo can see everything, you’re reminded of that everyday and in moments like this especially. Right now, it's the way you sigh as soon as you release the top button of your pants immediately.

You pout at him as you’re served an order each, the dipping sauce in small ceramic as the noodles lie in bamboo boxes. It’s refreshing and light, just the right balance of sweet and savory; the buckwheat noodles have a lovely bite to them, not at all mushy. When he glances at you, halfway through your bowl, he can tell that you’re already full. 

But just as he offers to finish yours—

“Sensei, are you going to finish that?” 

—there’s Yuuji.

You shake your head, pushing your bowl towards him; Gojo feels that pinch returning. 

A few good minutes of walking find you on the way to another stall—

—a Yakitori one that Yuuji practically skips to, as if he didn’t just finish a bowl and a half of Cold Soba, three sticks of Kushikatsu, three and a half pieces of Takoyaki, a half of one Taiyaki, and a whole order of Okonomiyaki.

Gojo decides to sit this one out, eyeing the Daifuku stand across the street. He’s gone here plenty of times before, but never with you—and if there's anything he wants you to try out here, it's fresh, special mochi, all soft and delectable, delicate in the way its decorated.

He takes off his blindfold, ruffling his hair. With Yuuji having gone ahead, it’s just the two of you. 

“I’m going to buy Daifuku, there’s a special one I want you to taste,” he whispers excitedly, wiggling his eyebrows. 

The expression on your face is the last thing he was expecting. 

Your eyes are dazed, half-lidded, almost like you’re sleepy, and you blink at him twice before you’re able to fully process what he just said. You could be having a food coma right now, just standing. 

“Oh, okay,” you hum, nodding as you smile, dopey, “I’ll follow.” 

He considers just waiting for a bit, because he wants you to go with him. But you insist and shoo him away, telling him that the Daifuku might run out by the time Yuuji reaches the front of the Yakitori line.

So he goes, and maybe it’s a little petty, and immature, and stupid-silly, but he hates how this entire food trip has felt like a battle for your attention between him and Yuuji. 

Even though he’s probably the only one who feels it.

So it’s one-sided. Definitely. 

And he’s losing. Terribly. 

Each individual piece of Daifuku looks majestic, pink mochi with red bean filling, sliced in the middle to leave room for a whole syrup-glazed strawberry. He orders two boxes to bring back home and an extra two pieces, one for the two of you to share and the other for Yuuji. 

Gojo’s mouth is watering and he really wants to take a bite already, but you aren’t anywhere near him. So when he turns around and spots you, mid-chew on the last few bites your stomach can take from that shared Yakitori stick—he feels that pinch again. Because throughout this trip, all you’d done was split savory food with Yuuji, and all he wanted was a bit more attention, sharing half-bites with you. 

When you finally meet his eyes across the street, signature blue amidst bright reds and neon greens, he’s pouting, and he hopes he’s making it very obvious that he wants (needs) you to go to him. 

Your eyes widen before crossing the street, Yuuji right on your heel. 

“Whoah, Gojo Sensei! That looks good!” Yuuji’s voice booms, earning a few looks.

Gojo holds one Daifuku on each hand, the other two boxes tucked in a plastic bag hanging by his elbow. 

“It’s their special one!” He smiles at Yuuji, handing it over. 

You look at him curiously, head tilted to the side as you watch him closely—how his smile doesn’t really reach his eyes. 

Once Yuuji moves out of earshot, his series of ‘mmm’s’ blending in with the bustle of market chatter, you face Gojo and open your mouth wide, “Aaaah,” 

Gojo doesn’t move for the first few seconds, but you meet in the middle eventually, his hand inching towards feeding you while you move your head closer. He keeps his palm open under your chin, cupping it to serve as a catch tray for any filling that might spill out. 

There’s something about the look of you, half-sleepy and asking to be fed, that makes him feel warm and fuzzy—like that pinching feeling earlier never existed. Like he’d gladly do this everyday if you asked for it. 

The soft, plush exterior of the mochi touches your lips, and you bite, the filling oozing out just enough for you to get a good portion of it. Flavors of red bean and strawberry hit your palate, and the filling doesn’t leak, but the syrup coating the strawberry catches onto your nose when you move away. 

At the tip of your nose is a shiny red spot, glistening under the busy lights. The expression on your face is pleased, content—your head doing that side-to-side sway whenever you like the taste of something. 

“Mmm,” you smile at him, “it’s yummy.” 

And he doesn’t know what it is, if it’s the look you’re giving him, or if it's something in the air tonight, but he feels warm and full and still very much like he wants to kiss you. 

So he decides, damn all the passersby.

He does one quick scan around him, making sure that Yuuji, at the very least, is away from the immediate vicinity. And when it’s all clear, he leans in. 

Gojo kisses you on the nose in the middle of a busy street food road, and his lips are soft, almost feather-light, swooping in quickly before anyone can notice. You’re stunned into silence, but the moment you come to, he’s already swiped the strawberry syrup off you. 

His cheeks are starting to turn pink, the sides of his neck already as red as the signs on the food stalls. And he can tell you feel it too, with the way your sleepiness seems to have faded into what now looks like surprise.

Still cute though.

(Always will be, in his eyes). 

So, ‘losing’ isn’t really a word in Gojo’s vocabulary. 

But if it is, he thinks he’d gladly lose to you. 

(Still not to Yuuji though. He maybe still has to keep an eye out for that one).

thank you notes: to niku for being there always!! from answering my questions, brainstorming together, and just all-around everything!! col wouldn't be what it is now without you!! i love u, i hope i gave your love for food justice, niku!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[neo--queen--serenity]

I’m still not over this conversation from the most recent episode. Yes, we knew that Tanjirou would be able to get through to Giyuu, due to their shared loss of family and loved ones at the hands of demons. And yes, we knew that Tanjirou still carried immense amounts of grief and sorrow when it came to these (still fairly recent) deaths.

But this is the first and only time Tanjirou has ever admitted to wishing that he had died instead of someone else. This is a huge and devastating thing for him to acknowledge about himself.

With his family, his survivor’s guilt was about not being there when Muzan attacked. Even though, realistically, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against Kibutsuji at the time, it doesn’t matter to him. This fact still constantly haunts him.

Rengoku’s death, though—this is the only time Tanjirou’s survivor’s guilt takes this shape, that his confusion and grief is so severe that he wishes that he had died instead.

Tanjirou tells himself that it’s because he believed Rengoku was capable of defeating Muzan someday. And there is some truth to this rationalization, but deep down, it’s an excuse. Rengoku didn’t survive against Akaza, a demon who—though incredibly formidable—was ultimately bound to have only a fraction of Muzan’s full strength.

Once the viewer understands this excuse for what it is, it hurts even more to understand why Rengoku’s death impacted him so heavily.

Tanjirou only knew Rengoku for a short period of time. And in that brief window, Rengoku managed to leave one of the greatest, deepest impressions on that him that few other characters were able to match.

There are many reasons why, but I think a huge part of it is because Rengoku was everything Tanjirou wanted and needed in his life at the time. He had other mentors up to this point, yes. But Rengoku was so similar to him, and his communication style was easy for Tanjirou to follow. He was affectionate, kind, morally sound, and near incontestable in a fight. Due to this, I think Tanjirou inadvertently saw Kyoujurou as the ideal demon slayer. The ideal fighter. The ideal person.

It doesn’t diminish his love for anyone else, not by a longshot. But Rengoku was, in ways Tanjirou may or may not have understood at the time, the perfect mentor for him. And that perfect person—someone he was desperate to learn from, someone he came to love so quickly and so fiercely—was snatched away from him before he could fully understand what he’d lost.

That’s why Tanjirou cried when Giyuu told him about Sabito. That’s why Tanjirou understood, without being told, that Giyuu was suffering from survival’s guilt. He heard and witnessed Giyuu’s despair firsthand, saw his loss and his struggle to live on and immediately empathized because it reminded him of how it felt to lose Rengoku.

[edgarallennope]

I absolutely cannot stop thinking about the version of Crowley we get to see from before the Fall. He smiles differently, he speaks differently. There's so much oppenness in his expression. He loves what he does! Is genuinly mournful when he learns it will be destroyed.

Compared to the Crowley we see after years of solitude, abuse and treading on eggshells around his bosses. Closed off, furious, suspicious. I do truly believe that after he was called back to Hell in the graveyard that the next time Aziraphale saw him was in 1862, when he asked, in that feeble, broken down voice, for Holy Water. He has spent so much of his existence in survival mode, is desperate to cling to the peace he's found.

Nina describes him as the "hard bitten one" who can't trust anyone ever again, and it sort of gobsmacked me that she could see that!!! that Neil Gaiman would have someone say that!!!!! But, of course, she is in many ways the same.

Whatever happened to Crowley after the Laudanum incident certainly wasn't a one-off. He was certainly punished again and again for deeds seen as too good. Enough so that when he is called kind, when he is called good, when he is thanked, his response is violent panic.

It's easy for us to believe that maybe he's always been like that. But no. Gaiman gave us incontestable proof that there was a time where Crowley smiled freely, where he looked with wide and joyful eyes at the parts of the world he created. The difference from that, to the numb and deeply lonely Crowley that we see with Job, the anxious, repressed and angry Crowley that we see in the present day, is one of the biggest tragedies of all.

[metamatar]

This, notwithstanding that the avowed aim of the American protest novel is to bring greater freedom to the oppressed. They are forgiven, on the strength of these good intentions, whatever violence they do to language, whatever excessive de­mands they make of credibility. It is, indeed, considered the sign of a frivolity so intense as to approach decadence to sug­gest that these books are both badly written and wildly im­probable. One is told to put first things first, the good of society coming before niceties of style or characterization. Even if this were incontestable -for what exactly is the "good" of society? - it argues an insuperable confusion, since literature and sociology are not one and the same; it is im­possible to discuss them as if they were. Our passion for categorization, life neatly fitted into pegs, has led to an unforeseen, paradoxical distress; confusion, a breakdown of meaning. Those categories which were meant to define and control the world for us have boomeranged us into chaos; in which limbo we whirl, clutching the straws of our definitions. The "protest" novel, so far from being disturbing, is an ac­cepted and comforting aspect of the American scene, ramifying that framework we believe to be so necessary. Whatever unsettling questions are raised are evanescent, titillating; re­mote, for this has nothing to do with us, it is safely ensconced in the social arena, where, indeed, it has nothing to do with anyone, so that finally we receive a very definite thrill of virtue from the fact that we are reading such a book at all. This report from the pit reassures us of its reality and its darkness and of our own salvation; and "As long as such books are being published," an American liberal once said to me, "everything will be all right." But unless one's ideal of society is a race of neatly analyzed, hard-working ciphers, one can hardly claim for the protest novels the lofty purpose they claim for themselves or share the present optimism concerning them.

Everybody's Favourite Protest Novel, James Baldwin

[honeygrahambitch]

Ok hear me out, what if- what if Will tricked Hannibal into thinking he has eaten him. Will cuts his own ear and manages to push it down Hannibal's throat(this is just a hc, im not getting unto technicalities). Then Will does a "Gone Girl" move and spills his blood on Hannibal's kitchen floor.

And honey, he doesn't do that to send Hannibal to prison, Jack doesn't even know about this. He does that only to psychologically torture him. The incontestable proof, the doubt, the everything. Will plans it in detail. He is a criminologist, he has worked in forensics for so long, he can create a pretty convincing crime scene. I won't go into detail but there are enough details.

The disadvantage here is that Hannibal is a very stable and aware person, he is very self-conscious about his every move, it's hard to make him doubt himself however the fact that this has previously happened in his life makes him doubt himself. Even if it's just 1%.

He has eaten his sister without being aware of it. What if he has done that to Will as well? Of course, Will is not aware of Hannibal's past. Maybe he wouldn't have gone this far if he had known.

One question is crucial to Hannibal: where is Will? He looks for pieces of Will everywhere in his house.

And Will took care of that too. He had implanted pieces of "someone" in his freezer, again, not enough to trick someone like Hannibal but enough to make him doubt himself.

Will is not at home. Will is not picking up his calls. The idea that maybe he has eaten someone else and not Will is slowly vanishing. His last hope is his appointment. If he doesn't show up to his appointment then it's pretty much obvious. He has done it. Again.

But he does. Will is standing in the waiting room, a discreet smirk on his lips, mischief in his eyes.

Hannibal takes in the sight in front of him.

Will expects one of these two things to happen: to be congratulated for his emotional manipulation or to just be welcomed in as if Hannibal hasn't been in distress at all. However Will is absolutely not prepared for what happens next.

Hannibal wraps his arms around him, so tight that Will freezes instantly, surprised by the sudden gesture. Will wants to make a sarcastic remark but something about the intimacy of the hug leaves him speechless.

"Never do that again." Hannibal whispers. His tone is very stern in contrast to the way his arms are grasping Will's jacket, as if he is afraid Will might vanish and he has to hold onto him.

"Okay." Will replies and understands something left unsaid. He had pressed some buttons he was not aware of.