#like insane levels of serve

[quillandrapier]

The actual prettiest siblings in comics [ CASE CLOSED ]

[mollysunder]

Sky and Viktor's relationship is such a horror movie to me. You've got a man who was frustrated by the limitations placed on his life that were out of his control, like his class, mobility, and general health. Despite everything, he manages to rise beyond his station and avoid being an assistant for the rest of his life.

Then you've got a woman from the same background who admires him and all that he's accomplished in spite of the similar class based prejudices they faced all the while she's his assistant. She works up the courage to take leap of faith and reach out to him with her own research to show what's possible if they worked together as equals. And then he gets her killed!

Sky's death isn't the end of it because while it affects Viktor it is in no way meaningful to Sky's life or value as a person whatsoever. Even the pendant he wears in her memory is based on the design of her notebook, but that was just her notebook's cover, she probably bought it from a store and the design itself is probably mass produced. Why not use Sky's signature that was in her letter and in the notebook, the thing part if the notebook with real value?

Then Sky's brought back in s2 and she really only exists to be Viktor's assistant again, who he kills, again! But this time it's different because this time Viktor's making a conscious decision to look Sky in the eye and kill her... to prove he's changed.

In the middle of all this, in no way has Sky's death been mourned by her family or anyone else who could have known her. Jayce wasn't affected by the reveal, he didn't think it was important to tell Heimerdinger, or anyone who knew her. Nothing about her life, death, or disappearance has spurred any emotional reaction or even curiosity about what happened to her.

Sky's new life was also extremely isolated because she became further tied to him (in some ways you could say she was defined by him). Viktor never mentioned Sky to anyone in the material plane during his commune arc, so she only exists to him and she has no way to communicate with others, she's just there for Viktor's sake.

Then in the finale we learn this all a part of a big time loop where Viktor actively set the wheels in motion to have him and Jayce create hextech together, but if everything follows as is, that means Sky is violently killed in those timelines too. That means Viktor weighed the costs and decided over and over and over again that Sky was expendable enough to let her die for his plan to work eventually. How is that not murder at this point?

What's worse is that post-finale Sky's humanity is a point of dispute amongst the fandom, the VAs, and the writers themselves. Sky's the hexcore manipulating Viktor. No, Sky's a manifestion of Viktor's guilt. No, she's actually supposed to represent his humanity/conscious made physical. And in none of these arguments do they discuss Sky as a person, she's just an object meant to serve Viktor both in the narrative sense and literal sense as his assistant.

The most absolutely maddening part is that with Viktor's new bio on the League site, not only have most traces of Viktor had been scrubbed by Piltover's archive, but Sky's life has been completely wiped. Her death was implied to have been swept under the rug, and only described as the "loss of life" consequence from his Hexcore experiment.

Viktor was afraid of dying a senseless death (created by the conditions Piltover condemned his birth to) in obscurity and then he turned it into Sky's destiny.

[quatregats]

I am kind of fascinated by the Hornblower-not-matching-his-setting, though. I think that's actually been one of the things that I've thought about the most, especially in books where it's been particularly egregious (Beat to Quarters/The Happy Return, Ship of the Line, etc.). Did Forester just happen to stumble upon a brilliant character and, not realizing what a brilliant character he was, just carry on unknowingly writing him into his Swashbuckling Adventure Stories? Did he know that Hornblower was so delightfully complex but didn't know what to do with him? Did he know what to do with him but couldn't? It's also interesting to think about in the context of canon—how much of the Hornblower we see is also distorted through the lens of being a Hero of Our Glorious British Empire? How much more cruel or ignorant does he become from other perspectives? Yes, he has moral dilemmas, but if we step outside of the moral dilemmas as the books present them, what other narratives might we see?

[aeide-thea]

thinking abt (1) that post abt how most censorship is preemptive self-censorship¹ (2) bras²

⸻ ¹ wow, tumblr search actually worked for once??? ² i do understand and respect that for many people bras serve an actual structural function wrt support/comfort! however, for many other people (hi!) they do not, at least in everyday non-sports contexts, and that's the set of concerns i'm speaking to here.

[mainfaggot]

just watched challengers at the cinema w my little sister. it was so intense wtf

[marimeeko]

FUCKING THANK YOU.

The Izuku hate lately in this fandom is astounding.

Not even surprised people are still bashing Izuku for not saving Tomura.

"Look, Spinner is---"

Stop! Spinner spent time with Tomura so he's gonna to have a different view than Izuku does.

But the fact some of you are acting as if Izuku isn't feeling anything from this is wild to me.

"He killed Shigaraki!" Okay, and Tomura killed people, too. If he was saved, he would have been locked up and you know it. What? Did you think he was going to roam free? And given this chapter and how the civilians are talking about him, you think he was going to be able to live in peace?

In this chapter, Izuku is actually hearing Spinner out about Tomura, getting his point of view about Tomura. He delivered Tomura's message to him and he didn't have to do that.

But no, he's still getting criticized.

Acting as if Izuku isn't regretting saving Tomura or doubting himself because of everything that has happened. Hell, all Izuku ever does sometimes is have doubts and regrets!!

[nkogneatho]

— 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐖, 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐊 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

—characters: gojo, toji, geto, sukuna, nanami, choso

—cw: lactation ofc, fem!reader, nicknames, aphrodisiac (the milk), intoxication, masturbation, semi-public, dry humping.

—a/n: i have officially surprised myself with how insane i can really be. ya gurl so thirsty she created her own universe where men gib milkies 🧍🏽‍♀️

introduction to the universe:

Evolution took place a little differently in this universe. A mutation caused hormonal presence that triggers monthly lactation in men for 3 to 5 days, and it usually starts in their early 20s. It is studied that it does not serve any purpose of feeding like female lactation, but might be an indicator to arousal, and even a mating call due to accurate findings of natural aphrodisiacs in the milk produced by the thin gland located in a breast. It also pains a lot and causes swelling of nipples. While scientific advancements have yet to develop a pill that might solve this problem, the most effective natural method to be proven is letting another person suck it.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

It had been quite a long day at work. You knew you were the last to arrive home when you found his boots messed on the floor.

“Toru?” You called out his name, failed to receive a response. “Toru, baby, ' m home.” The wooden door of the shoe cabinet creaked as you closed it after placing the footwear in their place.

The house smelled…sweeter, felt warmer than usual. Making your way to the bedroom, you found clothes scattered on the floor near the entrance. The door was ajar which means your eyes had quick access to what was happening.

“Fuck! Ah! Ah! Mhmm.” You watched in surprise as your boyfriend kept fisting his cock, but wait. Something was different. You moved closer and found his hands squeezing his tits, milk oozing and drenching his naked body. But his heat doesn't arrive until next week. You thought. It was not uncommon for heats to arrive irregularly. It only meant that his hormone level had increased due to sexual frustration. Your eyes scanned his position, his movements. A hand reaching down to rub the wetness forming between your legs. You couldn't take it anymore.

“Need a hand?” You asked, announcing yourself in the room to let the man know he wasn't alone.

“Oh fuck! I thought I locked the door,” he panicked, yet he didn't remove his from his cock, just another arm covering his chest.

“And deprive me of this treat? I don't think so, baby.” You walked closer until you were hovering over him, kissing softly. Heat always has Satoru acting needy and you knew it.

“Touch me, doll. Please.” You smiled at his eagerness.

“I will do more than just touch.” Slapping his wrist away that were blocking the view of his lovely tits, you pushed him until he was laying flat. Your clothed pussy grinding in his naked cock as you leaned and took one of his nipples in your mouth.

“F-fuck.” he stuttered. “Don't. I am early this month. The flow is too much—ngh—you'll get high.” As if that was going to stop you? You started sucking more aggressively. He was right. The flow really was too much because you found yourself gulping a mouthful of his sweet milk, as your other hand reached down jerked his cock.

“Baby…ah! Keep doing that. I am close.” He is so silly to think he can relieve himself on his own when it never works. “Holy fhhuuck! Gonna c—aahhh!” You watched as he arched his back, white spurts covering your hands and other white liquid wetting your jaw. You sat up, removing your top as you already felt dizzy.

“We're not done, Toru. Wan'you to fuck me nasty while I suck your milk.” And he was hard again at your words.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

You loved spring. It was your favorite season to go out. Not too cold. Not too hot. Just the perfect amount of wind and sun. Apparently, it is also a perfect season for outdoor dates. You and Toji preferred to stay in most of the time but the cherry blossoms were too precious to be enjoyed from your windows or TV screen.

“Toji, you ready?” you asked your husband, packing things in your cute pink purse.

“Uhm, princess? Think we might need to cancel the date.” His muffled voice emerged through the bedroom.

“What?” You yelled as you stomped to the bedroom. “What do you mean we might need to c—oh…" Your legs stopped, body taken aback as you stared at his shirtless body, tone muscles and triceps flexing as he squeezed his tits, squirting the milk out.

“I am over-lactating.”

“What happened to the breast cups?”

“Look at me princess. 'm leaking too much. They ain't gon' hold it. Agh fuck!” He spat angrily as you watched the milk travel down his abs, covering it in sweetness.

“Fuck the date. I have a better plan.” You winked at him.

“Shit. Calm down, ma—ugh. Y'er gonna bruise my tits." You were riding his cock, rocking your body back and forth on his crotch while sucking his swollen dark peachy nipples. Your hands struggled to hold his chest because they were bigger than it, causing your nails to dig into the skin.

“Mmh lvove yvour mwilk shwo mwuch.” Your dirty muffled comments vibrating on his skin.

“Y'er drunk, ma. Ya like to get drunk on daddy's milk, hmm?” He cooed, planting a spank on your ass.

“Lwove it.”

“Hm mhh,” he chuckled. “Nasty fucking girl. Move—ahh! Move faster. Need to cum.” You followed his orders, not looking up once to meet his eyes but busy soaking in the drug and flavor of his milk.

“Ngh—twoji, too much. Wan' a break.” You complained, but he was not going to let you stop. This was your plan after all.

“Nuh uh! Don't pull that now.” He grabbed your ass and started bouncing them up and down. You felt so insides bursting with pleasure, cheeks burning up, eyes rolling back. “Gonna cum, ma. Make sure this pussy drinks all my cum as you stuff your mouth with my milk—gahh! fhuck fhuck! fuuuuck!” He was talking as if you had a choice when one of his hand forced you down on his cock as he painted your hole in his cum, while the other hand pushed your face further against his tits. He watched as milk overflowed from the side of your lips. “Such a good girl f'me. You wan' more?”

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

Sukuna tend to get a bit crazier when he was in heat. He fucked you with more strength, came a lot more than usual. It was hard to keep his mood balanced. You tried to suggest him some diet during those days of the month, but he refused to eat greens. A big man like him fancies flesh. Furthermore, why does he need a diet when he has the most proven effective method?

“K-kuna…agh! Too biiig." You cried. Sukuna had you on top of him, his big body splayed on the king-size bed—that surprisingly was almost the same size as him—your thighs trembling, kneecaps digging the mattress as you struggled to keep hi dick inside. Your head was telling you to get off it. Yet, your tight little cunt craved more of him.

“Hmm,” he chuckled. “Your pussy has a habit of biting more than she can swallow.” His teases were humiliating. Your hands rested on his chest, tongue reminiscing the sweet taste of his milk. Even though you were not completely dominant in this relationship—it is hard to be one when you are dating a man like sukuna—there were times when you initiated the things he would usually pester you about. Your lustful eyes gave him a look he hadn't seen before. Soon, he felt your hands tightening around his tits. Now he knew what you were up to.

“Want a taste, my woman?” All you could do was give a light nod because most of your strength was busy rolling your waist on his cock. “Go ahead. Suck my milk out.”

Without a second thought, you found your lips kissing his puffy pink nipples. You could feel the veins throbbing as you were suckling his juice out. Sukuna's milk was sweet with a hint of tanginess. Nevertheless, you loved it.

“Shhit! Calm down woman. I am not going anywhere.” His words were just background noise to you because all you could hear is squelching of your pussy and your slurps on his tiddie.

“Mmghh! Don't tell me you're planning on getting drunk.” His shoulders adjusted themselves to get a better position. “If you are—fuck. Then don't expect me to go easy tonight.” You unlatched your mouth from him for what seemed like after fifteen minutes to finally speak.

“Want you to ruin my pussy, kuna. Mmh,” you jerked your hips forward. “Want you to fill my mouth with milk as you do it.”

“Get off.” His tone shifted from somewhat sweet to serious. You followed his orders anyway. You both exchanged positions so now he was on top of you.

“My dirty human. Better stick to your words, darling. I am not planning on stopping until you're drenched in my cum and my milk”

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

You always knew Suguru's heat cycle. As the days approached closer, he used to become more and more whiny and clingy, arguing with you over petty things. His behavior did a 180° on these days.

Earlier today, you had a discourse over chores. He nagged at how you should keep things in place, or you won't find them when you need it. You understood where he was coming from, but the work had taken quite a toll on you that you barely had energy tonight. He just wouldn't let it go, and you grew more frustrated. You yanked him by his wrist, dragging his giant, muscular body to the shower. And here you were, stroking him off as you nibbled, and suckled on his tits. The continuous pour of warm water stimulating both of you.

“This is what you wanted, right, sugu?” you looked up, chin nuzzling in his cleavage. “Nagging me the whole day. You just wanted your tits sucked.” His brows scrunched together. A large hand approached your face, cupping your cheeks. He had his fingers digging the muscle on your face until they squished together.

“Behave,” his voice stern. “Just 'cause 'm in heat doesn't mean you hold the upper hand, baby.”

“Oh, but I do, Sugu—*spank* Ah! What was that for?”

“For teasing me. I know you love drinking my milk, princess. Get to it 'cause I can't take it nomo.” He pressed your face against one of his boobs, your nose pressured a little above the nipple, forcing the spurts of milk out.

“You gon' let it fall down the drain?” Your immediate action was to cup his tiddy with both of your hands—his chest was too big to use one—massaging all of the juice out. You opened your mouth and let it aim at your tongue.

“Fucking hell! This is why—mmghh easy, princess. 'Tis all sore.”

“I gotchu, sugu.” You eased out the movement of your hands, gently kneading them.

“Fhuuck, yes. Just like that.” Other hand travelled back down, grabbing his throbbing boner, squeezing the base as you squeezed his nipples. Geto planted a kiss on top of your head. “Holy shit. Still can't believe you're mine.” Your lips morphed into a smile, teeth still grasping his nipple. “Look at'cha. My milk's getting your high already.” He picked you up bridal style, your tongue still licking his puffed chest, as he kicked the bathroom door open that lead to your bedroom. “You got your treat. Time f'me to get mine, princess.”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

Working 9to5, staring all day at a computer screen is what your life had been all about. You switched companies to think you might get something new to do, but to no one's surprise, it was the same. Except, this one man you were crushing on since day one.

Nanami Kento was a gentleman they described in those fairytales. Always so respectful, kind and damn he was a big feminist. Although, with him being the perfect husband material, you were still never going to cross the line because you were co-workers. That didn't mean you weren't allowed to crush.

“And then Mr. Sasaki from HR department knocked the beer over,” your TL chattered. Nanami wasn't the one to gossip, but Sakurako-san was your team leader and older than everyone. She wasn't a bad person but oh boy did she love tea. You fake gasped to give her the reaction she wanted, as you side-eyed Kento who looked a bit uncomfortable.

“Then he had the audacity to—”

“Excuse me,” Nanami withdrew halfway from the conversation he wasn't even participating in much, walking away abruptly.

After a few minutes, you decided to look for him to make sure he was alright. Of course, as a co-worker, you should. Nothing related to the heart eyes you give him, right?

You stomped towards the corridor almost making a left until you heard loud coughs reverberating through the walls of the men's washroom. You swore it was him. Furthermore, you shouldn't have gone in. What were you thinking? It was a men's washroom, for fuck's sake. But what if something happened to him? Sure.

Pushing the door in a hurry, you entered, almost tripping. “Nanami-san—” You did not whether you should be embarrassed, shocked or horrified. Maybe all three.

“Are you okay?”

“You shouldn't be here, l/n-san.” True. But seeing him squeeze his tits, and milking himself down the drain was the sight you were blessed to see. You locked the door behind, the clicking of the latch making Nanami hold his breath, “What are you doing?”

“You're going to let all that milk go to waste, Kento?” His dick twitched. You never called him by his first name, and now you were asking inappropriate questions along with calling him Kento.

“L/N-san, this isn't right—”

“Shhh. Just wanna help you. We're colleagues, aren't we?” He nodded.

Without breaking any eye contact you hopped on the counter, hands reaching for his nipples glistening with milk under the off-white light. You pressed your palm against his chest, feeling the liquid staining it, only starting to cramming the swell more. Kento lost his composure, hands falling flat on the counter, head on your shoulders. Couple of shaky breaths, fading soft moans leaving his lips. Pushing him back for a second to only latch your tongue on the dark pink bud, you were sure you're way past the appropriate relationship of just work buddies.

“L/n—ah! Can I?” He darted his eyes down where the tent peeked out his gray formal pants. You smiled. Knowing he needed friction, you adjusted your pencil skirt, and wrapped your legs around him, boner pressed against wet patch on your panties. Nanami felt like he was in heaven. He started humping against your clothed pussy, being rough contradictory to his gentle innocent touches to you before. But it was only reasonable given the fact that he was in heat.

He never knew the feeling of being milked from both ends, but now when he came, he ruined his whole expensive suit. The edges of the mustard yellow shirt becoming translucent with his milk, with a dark spot on his pants between his legs. He let out a shaky breath, apologizing as he slowly came back to his senses.

“What are you apologizing for? I started it,” you said as you hopped off the countertop. “Let me know if you ever need more help, Nanami-san.” A wink from is what caused his cheeks to turn red. “I'll bring you spare clothes from your desk.”

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

Most lactation in men started in their early twenties. Although, it wasn't unusual for some to start late. There was nothing medically wrong with them. But you've heard things about. How much more it hurts, and how more they leak on their first heat if they do get late.

You've been dating your boyfriend Choso for almost a year now. He hadn't start lactating yet, which is why you researched enough on this topic just in case. Personally, you've never been physical with men when they're in heat. Not because it is not your thing, but your relationships were too short to actually be comfortable in experiencing it. Of course, you would never do anything with Choso at his displeasure just because you wanna try it. You love him too much. But the thought would never leave your mind. What would he act like in his heat? Well, it was your lucky day. Because you came home to a whining lactating man.

“Cho…baby, are you okay?” You rushed to him in concern. Choso was on the bed, hair down with tears in his eyes as he pressed his chest together.

“Babyyy, It hurts. I don't know what is happening.” His hold on your wrist a little too tight. “Fuck. It hurts so bad. Make it stop. Leaking too much and my cock hurts too.” You could hear—feel the desperation in his voice. His cock was on full display as his boxers dangled near his ankles. The swollen tip shining with pre-cum seducing your mouth. But your mouth was needed more elsewhere. You remembered your first sex education class, how men in heat can be relieved if you milk and suck their tits. You discarded your clothes, getting bare and settling on his lap. Your hole rubbing against the body of his shaft as you pressed your tits against his, kissing his forehead.

“Cho shhh. Baby you're fine. You're just in heat. 's gonna be alright. 'm here, okay?” He sniffled as you pampered him. “Gonna take good care of my boyfie.” You left a trail of lipstick stains as you kissed his body, slowly trailing towards the puffy nipples. You looked up at him for consent, only to continue when he whispered a “please”. With your tongue darting out, you soaked in the view before licking a stripe.

“Shit,” Choso cursed. You do it a few more times until you're finally sucking on it like a popsicle. “Fuck. Ah!” It was indeed too much because with only fifteen seconds in, your mouth was already full of his milk, leaking from the corner of your lips. It wasn't a normal amount. But given the fact that it was his first, that too at this age, you brushed it off, focusing back to sucking. You gulped the milk, each sip making you dizzy. It made you grind harder against his cock, moaning along with him. His whimpers making you wet, and his dick enjoying your slippery pussy.

“Wanna cum. Please. Wanna cum, baby.” He begged and you started fastening your pace. The sheets were wet, along with your neck and tits as he shot spurts of sweet milk in your mouth that dripped down your body. Some of it sneaking its way down between his dick and your cunt. You held on to his shoulder, giving his chest a few slaps, making him rut harder against you that the bed started creaking.

“Cumming. Fuck, I am cumming. Ah! Ah! Ah! Ngh—holy fuuuuck!” Your own orgasming cunt could feel his dick twitch as it shot a load out. His hardened nipples turning soft. He immediately cupped your cheeks, pulling you up. “I love you so much, fuck. Thank you.” He said before he kissed you, his tongue lapping against yours, tasting himself on you.

@kiffenisstupid @pastelle-rabbit @lxnarphase @teddybeartoji @rizzmin @yuta-nation @evxelisy @hellkaiserinphoenix @ffsg0jo @princessoflalaland @baekinola @chuuyasboots @cathybarn @togamest @katsukichu @blkkizzat

[redbuddi]

I think we as a society need to be reminded how good the original Powerpuff Girls was. Here's some of my favorite things about it:

the fight scenes had a level of punchiness and impact that was rare for cartoons of the nineties, and fight scenes that were way better than what one would expect from a comedy

The character writing is so good that a large portion of the show's most iconic episodes consist of just showing how the girls' personalities react to different scenarios, for example in one episode the girls take turns recapping a fight that had just happened, and the tone and art style of the flashback changes depending on whose telling the story

One of the recurring extras is a talking dog that goes about it's day like a normal human

Each girl has mostly the same powers with one special ability that sets them apart. Blossom has ice breath. Bubbles can speak to squirrels and is also fluent in Spanish. Buttercup can curl her tongue.

while the majority of the show is lighthearted comedy sometimes it'll just decide to be nightmareworld for an episode and i think thats pretty cool

The show utilizes a blend of classic upa linework and sixties art deco shapism to create a visual style that is utterly timeless. If the majority of the show wasn't cell animated you would not be able to guess when it came out

The main villain's speaking patterns were directly inspired by The Super Dictionary. AKA, the same book that brought us this:

You can tell.

In the season one finale, the girls fight a giant monster using a mech suit. During the fight, there is a sequence that is literally just 20 uninterrupted seconds of an absurd amount of missiles coming out of every possible orifice of the robot. And then they miss.

There was an anime adaptation made in the 2000's and its actually pretty good, like it does take a lot of creative liberties but its clear that the people making it understood the spirit of the original show and were just adapting it to reflect japanese pop culture in the same way the og show reflected american pop culture.

The show had an insanely kickass soundtrack consisting of early techno so clean it's kind of shocking that it was made in the late nineties and not the early 2010's pre-dubstep era

satan is there and he serves cunt

[qqueenofhades]

I think its genuinely fascinating how Biden has somehow become the bad vibes sin eater for the party. I'm seeing people who were doing the whole "voting doesn't matter both old men are the same" pivot hard into voting as harm reduction. The anti voting rhetoric has COMPLETELY lost The Youths on tiktok. People suddenly remember the good things the Biden administration has done but don't associate Harris with any of the things they didn't like. In my swing state volunteers are signing up in droves. People feel ENERGIZED, the vibe shift pre and post Biden dropping from the race has just been insane

Y'know, that is a... good way of putting it. It's also why I'm quite sure that Biden has probably been planning it for a while. I don't think he was intending to step down, and didn't want to be forced out at the drop of a hat, but after he realized that the circus was never going to stop until he did, he did the honorable fall-on-his-own-sword thing and definitely, DEFINITELY spent some time choreographing this behind the scenes. Because while the roll-out has been very smooth, it could just as easily (as many of us were expecting) have been a total disaster, and that doesn't happen without SOME planning. It's also entirely possible that the campaign staff flipped from Biden to Harris are superhuman, to come up with a massive online roll-out, new branding, new signs (they had plenty of 'em in Wisconsin yesterday), new everything, but I'm guessing it's a combination of both. Biden has spent his entire political career being underestimated, and after we literally made a meme out of Dark Brandon juking the Republicans out of their shoes, we should definitely give credit where credit is due in how masterfully he pulled it off.

Because we have had eight years defined by the central question of Whether The President Is a God King Who Should Serve For Life (the MAGAts obviously think yes), the sheer idea of a president willingly giving up his power BEFORE he had to is also novel and admirable. It's sad that this is the case, but so be it. The Republicans also got a heaping helping of Be Careful What You Wish For that was undoubtedly brilliant; they've been yelling for years that Biden is old and frail and can't serve and should step down. Biden went "lol okay" and gave it to them, and now they're fucked.

Aside from that, on the most basic level, it's far, far easier to see the actual difference in the parties with Harris as the nominee, just because it shows that one party is willing to make progress and reflect the new demographic reality and social mores of America, and the other one is not. Now to be clear, Biden deserves an incredible amount of credit for coming out of retirement (he was ALREADY 77 years old when he became president and had had decades of a long and respected career in public service behind him) to fight, beat Trump, and deliver an incredibly successful presidency. He held the line against authoritarianism at home and abroad, he rescued the trashed American economy and managed a world-leading recovery from Covid, he stood up for democracy, he spent four years filling the benches with liberal judges to reverse even some of the Trump/McConnell hack job, he finally passed comprehensive infrastructure investment and the Green New Deal under the name of the Inflation Reduction Act -- and so on. Many of these priorities had been languishing for decades or were completely trashed under Trump, and he could not have done so much in just 4 years without all that age, skill, and experience. Hence why all the Ageism!!! was (aside from being a Republican/media smear job) dumb. He's able to do the job because he has had decades to study. Turns out that makes you actually pretty damn good at it.

Yes, Biden could not do as much as he wanted or originally planned, had to deal with MAGA Republicans and Joe Manchin/Kyrsten Sinema sabotaging him the whole time (lololol Manchin, possible possessor of the World's Biggest Ego and with Trump around that's saying something, popping out of obscurity to self-righteously announce he would not be willing to be Kamala's VP. YEAH ASSHOLE. LITERALLY NOBODY ASKED YOU. NOBODY WHATSOEVER. NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS AT LEAST WE WILL SOON NO LONGER HAVE MANCHIN IN THE SENATE). And yes, Biden made some serious mistakes of his own, because he IS from an older generation and a different style of doing politics/different beliefs that no longer resonate with the younger segments of the electorate. But this old white Catholic guy at the age of almost 80 still managed to be the most progressive president ever, coming in at a moment of incredible domestic and international crisis and getting us safely to the other side, and all cynicism, criticizing, and caveating aside, he deserves an incredible amount of credit for that. I mean that absolutely, and I am very grateful.

As I said, willingly relinquishing that power takes guts, and when Biden saw the writing on the wall that he had to sacrifice himself, he took his time, he didn't jump too early, and he didn't jump too late. On the most basic level, it becomes a hell of a lot easier to make the "both parties are not the same" argument when one is running a (comparatively) young brown woman and the other is still running their loathed felonious old demented orange traitor. Most Americans are not plugged into policy minutiae and details. They look at Biden-Trump, they see two old white guys. When you take one of those old white guys away (who goes in a self-sacrificially heroic manner and in sharp contrast with the coup-happy fascist) and put Kamala Harris in there instead, it generates an obvious jolt. People can see for themselves that there is a real difference that doesn't rely on closely reading news and tracking complex policy, because as noted, most Americans simply don't. The brown first-generation American daughter of brown immigrants is a quantifiably different story from "old white guy career politician," which for better or worse is how Biden was seen, especially the old part. We needed that establishment expertise to beat Trump in 2020; I still think Biden is the only one who could have done it, and as noted, we owe him a great debt for doing so.

However.... 2024 is not 2020, and it is not 2016. There has been this HUGE and unbelievable swing to Kamala because she represents the antithesis of what the last eight years of Trump-induced anger, fear, panic, chaos, and hatred has stirred up. That's why people are so ready to rally around her, just as they were (I daresay) around Obama in 2008, after the exhaustion, chaos, war, and mounting economic misery of Bush. Trump has been out of office for the last four years, but his shadow over the American political landscape has been omnipresent. Now people know that we finally have a real chance at getting rid of him forever, and just as Biden was uniquely positioned to capitalize on that in 2020, so Harris is now. Which is why, however tough it will be, she has a real shot at winning. I can guarantee the Republicans know that, and are shit scared. Because the Black Lady Army of Democracy has indeed arrived in force to Get This Shit Done and I don't know about you, but I found that incalculably comforting:

Yikes! All lined up for Kamala pic.twitter.com/Dt4OCDp7WX

— Alex Cole (@acnewsitics) July 24, 2024

This, at the most basic level, is what scares fascists the most, it's exactly what we need now, and what Harris is uniquely positioned to mobilize, along with her gangbusters appeal to young voters:

This is the energy we need. This is what Biden saw and planned for and which he launched us into, and where all that experience and age paid off. This is why people, even people otherwise disengaged, disillusioned, or checked out of the tedious and mind-numbering drudgery and depression of American politics, are responding to it. Because it's easy to understand, it offers hope, and it tells a very simple story that is nonetheless long overdue:

Thanks so much, Joe. Go absolutely waste that orange fucker, Kamala. We got your back.

[sunrizef1]

Hits Different

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol

Authors note: tired

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INSTAGRAM

ynln

liked by alexandrasaintmleux rebeccadonaldson and 1,232,144 others

ynln only thing I washed away was my dignity xoxo

load comments…

lando damn girl wtf happened at Carbone

user1 girl you good?

alexandrasaintmleux you cried in the uber and then tipped him £50…. Lets be serious

user2 this is…

pierregasly u need god and a nap

danielricciardo new matching tattoo is sick tho

rebeccadonaldson ur never on club-watch again

danielricciardo it’s a very cool tattoo…

user3 I fear that publicly posting pictures of yourself crying is a new low

user4 delete this for the sake of your ego

carmenmundt call me?

georgerussell answer carm pls she won’t stop pacing

charles_leclerc this seems fine

user5 right right right

user6 missing Lewis

this comment was deleted

redbull should we make max log in and delete this for you…

oscarpiastri i feel unsafe

——

alexandrasaintmleux added to their story

charles_leclerc replied to your story!

charles_leclerc

and why are you on the concrete next to her?

alexandrasaintmleux

girl, do NOT worry about it

charles_leclerc

Okay I won’t, god damn

——

ynln added to their story

carmenmundt replied to your story!

carmenmundt

Get out of the driveway

Dinners ready

George set the table

ynln

Alright mom damn

carmenmundt liked your message

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ynln

liked by charles_leclerc georgerussell and 2,111,071 others

ynln the sand is full of lies

load comments…

charles_leclerc are you clinically insane?

alexandrasaintmleux we take you on a new vacation and you post badly cropped pictures of an old one… what is ur deal lady

lando u used to ask me to photoshop him out but now you fully embrace just bad cropping

user7 his face is just like… fully in the last one… what are we doing here

danielricciardo i think the price of real therapy would be worth it when you compare the skill level of people with degrees to whatever the grid is doing

mercedesamg this is a red flag (and we know a lot about those)

user8 yn ln is so aesthetic until she opens her mouth

liked by author

oscarpiastri just say you miss him good god

user9 the grid is so tired

user10 me and all my gang all hear voices that aren’t there

——

ynln added to their story

alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story!

alexandrasaintmleux

face cropped out cuz u were crying

I know what you are

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ynln

liked by charles_leclerc lando and 3,887,111 others

ynln oh, my! love is a lie!

load comments…

lando alright Shakespeare

oscarpiastri that’s a big name for Elmo

charles_leclerc I was not invited. Feeling: neglected

alexandrasaintmleux I’m the one who told you that btw

charles_leclerc ???

pierregasly he will pay

estebanocon and what r u going to do

user11 I can smell this post and I don’t like it

user12 it is very pretty tho

sebastianvettel love is not a lie. You just chose poorly.

user13 shit my friends say to get me by

francocolapinto big fan of this

carlossainz no.

user14 gettin swerved by a short man who drives in circles… I’d lose my mind too

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ynln added to their story

lando replied to your story!

lando

Get it together

ynln

Boo

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ynln

📍somewhere you said we’d go together

liked by lando lewishamilton and 8,124,671 others

ynln bet I could still melt your world

load comments…

charles_leclerc ur actually unwell and it’s inspiring

alexandrasaintmleux you’re melting my world that’s for sure

lando idek what he did but he needs to keep doing it if it make you post like this

oscarpiastri serve (I think?)

user15 the sand hurts MY feelings

user16 the location lmfao I can’t do this

user17 Lewis in the likes???? Free me!!!

maxfewtrell I love your blue dress

carlossainz be decent.

rebeccadonaldson pretty girl 😍😍😍

pierre_gasly kika is drooling

franciscagomes how did heartbreak make you hotter? Unfair.

user18 this serve

carmenmundt the way this is all you packed 😍

user19 her comment section is a constant merry-go-round of f1 and the f1-adjacent who need compensation for what they’ve done

lewishamilton my argumentative antithetical dream girl

carmenmundt ?

alexandrasaintmleux hello?

charles_leclerc @/ynln

lando wtf

rebeccadonaldson ???

carlossainz where did you come from

oscarpiastri where is yn

georgerussell what does this mean

pierregasly the fuck?

lilymhe huh?

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ynln

liked by lewishamilton lando and 12,811,121 others

ynln it hits different cuz it’s you

load comments…

lando soft-launch or hostage situation

charles_leclerc girl yk we can see him too, right?

user20 wait are these pictures new or not?

alexandrasaintmleux text me back or publicly tell the internet whether or not these pictures are recent

user21 are we being gaslit?

pierregasly zoomed in so hard I saw the future

pierregasly or the past…?

oscarpiastri I’m comparing these photos to ur old posts… I need a week-day job

user22 at least the drivers are going through the same delusions as me

user23 what does this mean?

carmenmundt the group chat is begging for you to respond

georgerussell irresponsible internet use

user24 free will is a curse

user25 babe said “guess who?” And then sprinted away

user26 baby girl I can see his face

carlossainz WHORES!

rebeccadonaldson happy for you! (?)

——

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

[trinketstar]

TADC THEORY!

I'm not 100% on this one... but it would be soooo devious..

Ok so their minds can be influenced by Caine. Ragatha was inebriated by the stupid sauce, Gangle's masks actually do influence her behavior to some extent (it might have been placebo/ false confidence but I'm leaning towards it being a genuine manic episode)

edit my friend reminded me Pomni literally got possessed too?? Biggest example and I forgot.

And now not only was Jax affected by the vote but it made him SAY THINGS he didn't want to.

With that in mind, I wanna look at Kinger.

Now Kinger's mind and memories deteriorated because he's been in the circus for likely 10+ years and faced the loss of his wife. Others in the circus have abstracted over less. It's understandable. But what if that's not the entire story?

Caine has been shown to be kinda impatient and self-serving with his adventure ideas. He wants to run the show entirely, like a spoiled kid. You're gonna have FUN and you're gonna do it HIS WAY.

Now for everyone else who happened to wander in while say, scoping out the place for a real estate sale or exploring for fun.. theyd have no idea how to handle this.

And for those who are more sensitive, it'd take even less to break them.

But if Kinger was one of the game devs, as has been implied, he would know a great deal about the inner workings of this place. He'd have an upper hand above the others. He'd try to change things.

And maybe Caine didn't like that!

(That's not the queen, it's a rook piece)

What I'm saying is, what if Kinger got nerfed on purpose? If this was Caine's way of "keeping him happy with the adventures" so Kinger wouldnt attempt to change the code or exploit in a way to escape when he first arrived? (I'm reminded of Benny from IHNMAIMS, the brilliant scientist that was turned into a caveman by AM.)

When he tells Pomni about Queenie, he's very calm. You can see how deeply he's hurt, but he's clearly grieved already. He can think back on it and find comfort in their last moments together. It's a level of acceptance that I don't think he'd be able to articulate if that really was the event that irreparably broke his mind. In fact, that's the event he holds onto in order to keep his sanity. But note that he can't remember how they ended up in the fort together.

ANYWAY this could just be a stretch since frankly Kinger has enough reasons to go insane on his own but WOULDN'T THIS BE TWISTY???

[whirlybirbs]

— MOONBEAM ; SANEMI ; 実弥

summary: you & shinazugawa have a score to settle, but you never did agree on the stakes, did you? pairing: sanemi shinazugawa / f!reader ; retired hashira word count: 4.7k tags: rated t+, mutual pining, drinking games, romanticization of everything in sight, sun and moon tropes, reader is a hashira, reader is missing her arm, cool prosthetics are my shit, sanemi can be nice when he wants, sanemi has no idea how to be touched, ranging hashira appearances for comedic impact a/n: i love this eyebrow-less fuck. let him be kissed. and pegged, probably.

"Another round."

Someone is going to die tonight. 

Someone is definitely going to die tonight, and no one even seems remotely concerned aside from Tanjiro Kamado, the designated sake pourer. 

H-He shouldn't even be here! 

Wrong place, wrong time, but Mr. Shinazugawa might kill him if he said no to the barked order of fetching sake for the drinking game. 

I mean — sure, sure. You're both Hashiras. Or, well, you were a Hashira. The Light Hashira. The Light Hashira who was forcefully retired as of last year due to losing your right arm facing down an Upper Moon. 

The entire room is packed with fellow rank-and-file members, and with each downed glass of sake, there's a raucous roar of cheers. 

Sanemi Shinazugawa thought this was going to be an easy win. 

After all, you're little Miss Perfect. Delicate and polite and demure, and always so well-mannered, and oh so soft-spoken. 

You may be retired, but you still serve the Demon Slayer Corp, working to rehab injuries just like your own. Your estate is the secondary stop after the Butterfly Mansion for many members who have lost limbs — your prosthetics are state-of-the-art. The custom, mobility aids have changed the lives of men and women who thought they'd never bounce back.

It's beautiful, really.

Just like you, Sanemi laments.

Your silver kimono is faultlessly pressed; the wisteria blossoms embroidered into your obi glimmer in the lantern light of the dining hall. That wisteria hairpin keeping your hair up and out of your face makes his stomach churn. He wants to yank it out of your hair and throw it across the room. He wants to see you... undone. Any less perfect than usual.

It's driving him insane.

You're on your fifth cup of sake. You hold the bottom, tilt it back, and finish it with a slow, thankful nod directed toward Tanjiro. The ceramic prosthetic of your right arm tinkers gently against the cup. Delicate. Poised. Perfect.

Sanemi's lip snarls.

"Oh come on—"

"Another round, if you would, Mr. Kamado."

You slip Sanemi a leveled look through heavy lashes. 

The Wind Hashira is drunk. There's no denying it. You can see the hot flush creeping up his chest, peeking out from the top of his undone uniform. There are his scars, and then there is a flush. It's cute. 

He's always been cute.

More than cute, recently. Handsome. Insufferable in every single way possible, but handsome. 

Rumor has it he's quite the gentleman, too, if you believe the girls over at the Butterfly Mansion. The youngest three seem partial to him — hailing him with an unbridled sense of respect (and infatuation).

"You've gotta be kidding me," he grits out as he runs a calloused palm down his face; he's sweating. He's hot. It's hot in here. Maybe it's the sake. Whatever. Sanemi lets out an exhausted sigh, "There's no way." 

There's a little crack — a tiny, sliver of a crack in your usual placid composure. Sanemi swears he sees a smirk. It's gone before his hazy vision can memorize it. 

"Shinazugawa," you breathe as Tanjiro worriedly pours another cup of sake for you both; your voice is punctuated with repose that dares to lightly mock, "Are you saying you can't continue?"

There's an edge to your voice — a slight slur. The only indication that you have been keeping up, drink-to-drink with him. 

The room coos a goading little cheer. They egg him on. 

Sanemi's eyes narrow dangerously. His eyelashes are quite pretty, you muse. The whole of him is. Scarred and rugged and always so tough...

"Oh, please. You think I'm going to tap out?" he shirks, slamming back the freshly poured sake with reckless abandon. Best to go fast. If he slows down, it's all going to catch up to him. That's five. You're both tied, "I'm not losing to you." 

Your cup pauses, right about to meet painted lips. There's the smirk again. Then:

"Break it up! Curfew started ten minutes ago!" 

You recognize it as Obanai's voice. 

Sanemi's eyes flick to your face, then to the door beyond the gaggle of swordsmen and Kakushi. You're pouting. The interruption has brought a wave of groans and chattered disappointment. 

Sanemi grits his jaw. You mirror his expression.

He wasn't done. 

You weren't done. 

You both concede with scowls on your face. 

No one died. 

Which is great! 

Except that was before, and this is now. Tanjiro winces sharply at the escalating volume of Mr. Shinazugawa's voice across the courtyard. 

"Rematch!" he's shouting at you as you cross the courtyard; a picture of elegance and grace. You've got a large wooden box in your arms. No doubt the delivery of a new prosthetic. 

You glide across the gravel, head held high. 

Perfect. Even in this fuckin' heat. 

Sanemi's jacket is in the grass — every recruit around him is winded. Seems they've begun another training regime. The summer heat beats down your neck as you rake your eyes across his figure. You watch a bead of sweat run down his temple.

"Name the place, Shinazugawa," you throw his way flippantly; Tanjiro can see you're not afraid of Sanemi and it's confusing, "You'll have your rematch."

"Tonight. Same place. M' not loosin' this time, Lady Hashira." 

He hates your laugh. He hates how fucking pretty it is — how soft and light it is, like a bell, like a breeze against his skin. 

Fuck.

You're so pretty. So kind — so... fuckfuckfuck. 

Tanjiro is definitely going to die. Mr. Shinazugawa has never gone this hard on them before, like, ever. This is bad. This is so bad. A wooden sword strike rattles the bones in his hands, pain echoing up his wrists, as he blocks a whirlwind of frustrated attacks.

He's going to die.

Obanai figures this is exactly how this would go.

It is Sanemi after all. The Wind Hashira is worse than himself. At least he can talk to Mitsuri without acting like it was the world's biggest inconvenience... 

Sanemi is not exactly subtle. The pent-up frustration is—

Oh. 

Oh, you're into it. 

Sanemi misses it, but Obanai is watching the rematch from the far table — he was trying his best to mind his business as he eats. The Serpent Hashira can see the way your eyes linger on the Wind Hashira whenever he might not be looking. 

Sanemi tips his head back, as he downs his cup of sake. Obanai notices your gaze.

There's something heavy about the way you take Shinazugawa in. Something... adoring. 

Well, shit.

Tanjiro Kamado's voice wavers as he throws a leg over the bench and settles to sit beside Obanai. 

"Are you sure... this is allowed?" the auburn-haired swordsman laughs nervously as he clutches the designated sake refill bottle, "I mean curfew is soon—"

"Did I say you could sit here?"

Great.

He's going to die.

And this time it's Obanai's stare that's going to do it.

Giyu is the one to enforce the curfew that night. It ends the same. Five drinks even. Sanemi almost kills the Water Hashira, and you smirk as you gather yourself up and retire for the evening. 

Giyu doesn't get it.

"Why entertain this?" he asks the next morning, juggling the large order of birch wood in his arms; you'd asked for his help, and truth be told he was always partial to you. You were kind and easy to talk to. Giyu's voice is level, "He's a brute."

You have a large box in your arms — your second piece of the week. This time, a knee-jointed leg prosthetic made from boxwood. It's for that young swordsman, Hime. 

"I don't mind him," you offer lightly.

Giyu doesn't get it. 

"He's loud," he challenges.

"He has a nice voice," you muse back, falling in step with the Water Hashira.

"He's rude."

"He cares not what others think of him."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" Giyu shirks, his lip curling a bit in distaste.

"I think so," you softly reply, slipping Giyu a sly look, "I find it charming."

"Is that what this is about, then?" he asks suddenly, almost tripping over his own feet. The gravel beneath his feet crunches, "Finding him... charming?" 

"...And what if it is?"

Giyu really doesn't fucking get it. 

The Water Hashira is quiet for a long time after that, but the silence is comfortable. You don't mind it. It's just the sounds of summer along the path and the soft footfalls of their steps. 

Then:

"He likes red bean paste mochi," Giyu mutters, "Tanjiro told me."

The parcel lands on his lap. 

He's trying to meditate. He's trying to think about anything other than you — anything other than your smile, your laugh, the way you wear your hair, or the way you say his name. 

Irritation cracks his placid expression.

His lavender eyes are still shut. 

His lips curl into a snarl. "Do you mind?" 

"A little something," comes your soft voice; you're standing before him, your hands clasped in front of you. Oh so proper, "for our next rematch."

Sanemi's eyes fly open. 

The sun is like a halo around your silhouette. Framed by blue sky, it's like staring at an angel. You're so fucking beautiful, it feels like someone's rammed his very own nichirin right through his heart. 

He swallows roughly.

"...What is this?" he grovels hoarsely. 

Skepticism softens into a fading sense of annoyance. Sanemi's eyes flick downward, eyeing the meticulously wrapped parcel on his lap. The handkerchief around the bento is... yours. It's clearly a scrap from your old Haori. He'd know the pattern anywhere. In the dark, even. In his dreams, always.

"Red bean mochi," you say slowly, tilting your head; your voice is coaxing, "Is that not your favorite...?"

You swear his eyes widen a mile. 

What a pretty sight.

Sanemi's lip twitches. He's hesitant to reach out and even touch the box. "...Who told you?"

You shrug. Your expression is light and playful. "Would it matter?"

"I need to know who I should kill," he grits out.

"If you don't want it—"

Sanemi snatches the box up. You'll have to pry it from his cold, dead hands. Handmade, fresh red bean paste mochis? From you? He'd rather die than give this up. 

You wet your lips, the gesture an attempt to hide your growing grin. You drop your gaze and idly fiddle with a sleeve. 

There's a tense moment of silence. Then, his voice rumbles out like a summer thunderstorm:

"Tonight. Rematch."

"Same time?" you ask brightly, already beginning to walk backward down the path. 

Sanemi watches, his eyes glued to your face. "I'm going to win."

"You can try, Sanemi Shinazugawa."

You might lose.

You — ha! 

You might just lose. 

You decidedly blame Mitsuri and Shinobu. They're laughing — and pouring a lot more than poor Tanjiro did. You aren't even that angry about it, because Sanemi looks so damn proud of himself and it's adorable. 

Your tongue is loose. Your posture is slipping. 

Sanemi's never seen something hotter. 

He's going to suffer for this tomorrow — he knows that. He's on his seventh cup, his smirk mingling by the edge of the sake as you drop your head and giggle at something Mitsuri says. 

Your eyes find his. You look so... beautiful. 

The other Hashira have stolen their sips from the jug. Not that either of you mind. You're both locked in your own little game. The others have drifted out to the engawa, sitting in the warm summer evening air. 

Stolen glances between you both bleed into decidedly light banter. 

"You're slipping," he chirps; his expression betrays his words. He's gone soft, "Keep up."

You lean forward onto the table, chin propped up in your hand. You lazily finish the sake in your cup while raking your eyes across his chest and neck and shoulders and face. All of him. 

Openly.

"Haven't you heard the story of the tortoise and the hare, Shinazugawa?"

"Sanemi," he corrects as gently as a man like Sanemi can, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat when your smile cracks just a little bit wider, a little bit looser.

The ceramic cup tinkers against the wooden table as you place it down.

"Sanemi," you sigh back — testing the sound of it — and he wonders if this is some sort of dream. You let your head lull to the other side as you take another sip, "Right."

He lifts his drink to his lips. He hesitates for a second; you trace the line of his jaw with your eyes. 

"Thank you," he says suddenly — and your expression clouds with momentary confusion. That's how he knows you're drunk. You're usually so sharp, so fast. Your wit is like the crack of a whip. Sanemi clarifies before downing his seventh cup, "For the mochi."

Fucking hell.

That smile.

He's never seen someone so fuckin' beautiful before. Light Hashira be damned. You're an angel. You're the sort of woman men throw themselves on their swords for. He gets it. He'd rage a thousand wars if it meant a kiss. He'd even take a slap. Maybe a punch. Anything. 

Fuck. 

Make him bleed. 

You sway a bit as he places his empty cup down sharply. 

"Were they good?"

"Best I've ever had," he admits; he's being honest. 

You feel like you're in battle again. There's an adrenaline rush beneath your skin. Seeing him so... soft. Maybe the girls had a point. Maybe he is a gentleman when he wants to be. Sanemi is being sweet. Must be the sake. 

You let that lovely realization sit in your chest for a moment longer before dragging your eyes away from the Wind Hashira. 

Shinobu is nowhere to be found. 

Mitsuri has relieved herself from her role as designated inebriatior.

She's on the engawa, enjoying the breeze, fingers inching close to Obanai's. The other Hashira — Giyu and Rengoku and Tengen included — seem more interested in the stars hanging in the warm evening air than the competition beyond the open sliding doors.

He clears his throat. You draw your attention back to him.

He's been watching you.

"Do you concede?"

"No, not yet," you admit. Your chin is perched on your hand again, "I suppose I still have another drink in me." 

You watch as he moves, then. He stands and moves across the room to fetch the jug of sake perched by the door. You follow him with your eyes, tracing the line of his figure. He moves with less grace and with more carelessness. The jug swings from his fingers by the twine handle as he returns to your side.

He settles on his knees to your left. 

Sanemi's grin is devilish. Sharp. Handsome. His ashen hair falls in his eyes as he pours himself his next round. "Now, now, Lady Hashira, only one?"

He's so close, you can feel his breath on your neck. His voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Shinazugawa leans, scarred knuckles hesitating to pour your eighth cup. His scarred brow quirks in a quiet challenge. He stills himself and waits for your reply, only to smirk when you lazily wave a porcelain hand his way. Go on. 

"Perhaps two with the way you pour," you bite, eyeing the conservative amount of sake that spills into your ceramic cup, "Trying to spare me a loss?"

"Mind your mouth," he warns, rattling the near-empty jug. He tosses his cup back easily before settling back on his haunches. He snaps the cup down on the table and exhales.

Sanemi feels exposed. Moving closer was a bold move.

It's the way you're looking at him.

He watches as a piece of hair falls from your meticulous up-do — undone by the heat and drink — and he feels his entire chest lurch with need.

You're smiling in that honeyed way as you take a slow sip of this round's cup. Your words are slow like molasses on your tongue. "...We never settled on the stakes of this bet, Shinazugawa."

Sanemi is staring at that piece of hair kissing your cheekbone. His expression is less intense than usual, but there's still a burn there. However, it is not rage nor ire. It's something else — something that you're too blind and sake-adled to name. 

"Your hairpin."

He answers it easily without pause or hesitation.

Your painted lips quirk as your eyes flash to his. He sees a question flash behind your eyes but you allow it to slip by, unasked. You watch him cross his wide arms over his chest as if to shield himself from any ill reaction.

Without a word, Sanemi watches you tug the long, silver hairpin from your hair. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He's never seen you like this before — never, not even in battle. Your hair tumbles free in mussed strands wanting to bend and bow in the humid summer air. 

Sanemi's mouth runs dry as you slip the metal pin between your fingers and offer it. Your eyes are heavy-lidded and you sway a bit as you hand it over.

"Does this mean I've won?" he croaks. His calloused fingers brush yours as he takes the pin into his hands. It's heavier than he anticipated. The intricate amythest wisteria ornaments tinker in his palm as he turns it over.

You tip the last sip of sake back down your throat. 

Then, you shake your head no. 

"Had you asked," you slip out, dotingly pouring him yet another cup; you mirror the action and fill your own, "I would have simply given it to you."

Sanemi swallows.

You watch him as you eye your ninth cup.

You're drunk. Very drunk. Drunk enough that you fail to see the slack-jawed awe sucker-punched across Sanemi's face.

"What will you ask of me, then?" he dares to utter, realizing that this game ended a long time ago — that this is no longer about winning. Maybe it was never about winning at all, Sanemi realizes rather suddenly, but he doesn't dare linger on the thought you may just enjoy his company. 

No one enjoys his company.

He is a bastard. He is a brute. He is horrible and crude and scathingly stubborn. He is not kind, well-spoken, or patient. He's none of the things he sees in you. He is ever bit your opposite — you are the light that breaks through the clouds, and he is the wind that bites.

The idea of drinking another cup of sake makes his head swim.

"...Truthfully? I had not thought that far."

Your voice is small. Sanemi watches the way your porcelain hand stills against the cup. The confession stirs those white-hot feelings in his chest again. He barks out a rough laugh that sounds more like a wheeze than anything.

Then, he pushes his cup across the table. Your eyes widen, and Sanemi is shocked to realize his pride allows him this.

He concedes.

He has his prize, after all. He tucks your hairpin into his jacket, in a pocket beside his heart, before rapping his knuckles upon the wood of the table. 

The Wind Hashira lacks his usual amount of grace as he stumbles to his feet. 

He bends like a birch in the wind, then pushes that strand of hair from your cheek.

"Think on it, then, Lady Hashira," he rasps, "You win."

Tanjiro isn't the only one who notices that Mr. Shinazugawa has been in a better mood lately. 

Training hasn't been nearly as disastrous. The Wind Hashira has even begun offering pointers rather than beaten-in instruction. The ashen-haired man has some sort of reason for being... gentler. It's almost as if his mind is elsewhere.

Obanai notices, which means Mitsuri pries it out of him, which means Shinobu is told over tea, which means Tengen hears about it from Rengoku who hears it from the three youngest Butterfly Mansion servants and proceeds to tell Tokito one evening in the onsen. 

The steam hangs heavy in the air, and Giyu's head is tipped back against the cool stone. 

Tokito, dipped low and deep to nearly his nose in the baths, listens with interest to Tengen babble on. The Sound Hashira is stumped.

"I mean, c'mon, I love him, but the guy is never in a good mood," Uzui mutters as he flicks at a drifting maple leaf atop the water, "And suddenly it's sunshine and rainbows?"

"Hardly," Tokito murmurs.

Rengoku wrinkles his nose and agrees with the Mist Hashira. "I do not believe sunshine and rainbows are within Shinazugawa's purview."

"I'm being hyperbolic," Tengen stresses.

Giyu sighs loudly.

The heads of those present turn towards him owlishly.

He doesn't even open his eyes as he speaks.

"It's her," he states plainly, "Our Lady Light Hashira."

And it is, isn't it?

It becomes painfully apparent.

Even Kagaya Ubuyashiki, whose eyes may not see as they once did, notices — he can feel the weight of something sweet in the air when he calls the Hashira together for a meeting in the early afternoon.

...It makes him smile.

A bird chirps and the sound of a breeze slips through the leaves in the courtyard. The sun is hot on the curve of your knee, beneath your kimono.

You are in the back of the room, hands folded neatly in your lap. 

Your hair hangs across your shoulders. 

Your eyes have not once left Sanemi's back.

He sits rigid and perfect, his nichirin laid before him. 

And then, as the meeting breaks, he dares turn his cheek. Lavender eyes connect with yours only for a second. Then, the room moves, but you stay there on that floor, watching him move gracefully as he sheathes his sword. His jacket parts and you spy the ornament of wisteria flash beneath his breast pocket. 

Your breath catches.

The others pretend not to see as he steps down from the engawa, turning his attention to you once more as he squints in the sun.

"Have you decided?" he asks.

"No," you reply softly, poised as usual.

Sanemi snorts through his nose like a bull; his words may be grating but his tone betrays it. "Fine then. Be indecisive."

The others pretend not to see his smile, nor the bashful way you duck your head as he retreats towards the grass where the recruits have gathered. 

But, Kagaya Ubuyashiki needs not to pretend.

He smiles.

He finds you in the garden, after dinner.

You've made a habit of walking the quiet paths in the evenings while the Ubuyashiki Mansion is quiet and calm. Here, while the sun slips away and the moon chases her kiss, you can linger among the wisteria and their weeping blooms. 

Your getas still upon the gravel.

"I've decided, I think."

Your voice is softer than the petals that drift through the air.

Sanemi, from behind the largest tree, steps into view.

His arms are crossed. He is without his nichirin. 

He ambles closer, his attention drifting to the sky seeped in reds and pinks and purples. The moon is full, and it spills out gilded light that makes your silver kimono glow. You look as if you belong here — among the beauty and calm and peace.

"Yea?" he rasps in reply, realizing you've turned on your heel to face him fully, "Go on then, Lady Hashira. I'm not a patient man. I've waited long enough."

His words lack any sort of real bite. 

(He would wait a thousand years more if it meant hearing you ask of him anything. He'd do it, too. Over and over, as many times as you ask. Anything. For you.)

You venture closer. His eyes are still turned to the sky and the wisteria petals that swirl like clouds.

You spy your hairpin.

Wordlessly, you reach for it.

His hand snatches your wrist and halts it — at first, the movement is rough. It's as if Sanemi forgets what a touch from another can be, what it's like. You exhale, and his calloused fingers loosen their hold. He sets his jaw, and his thumb ghosts along your wrist in silent apology.

Then, you smile.

And you slip your hand down and into his own. 

And, fucking shit, Sanemi doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself with you take one step closer. There's a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to fucking run, telling him to escape this fate — because he's already in too deep, isn't he? He's drowning, and now you're holding his hand. You're going to be the fucking death of him. 

"Is this," he swallows tightly, "What you decided on?"

Hand holding?

"Am I allowed to ask for more, Shinazugawa?"

"Sanemi," he corrects under his breath, his pupils bouncing from your eyes to your mouth. It isn't an answer. 

You take another step forward, and your smile is slow.

"Sanemi," you nod and rectify yourself as you look up at the Hashira, "Am I?"

He looks terrified — and then your porcelain palm touches his cheek.

"I told you," you swear his voice shakes as he turns his cheek and pulls away, "I am not a patient man—"

"A kiss."

Lavender eyes widen, and Sanemi swears he fuckin' dreamt it. 

There's a beat of apprehension — like you're both staring down the precipice. Like you're both one step from hurdling head-first into the crashing waves below. There's only one moment of it though, and it's long enough for both of your breaths to be stolen by the leap.

He knocks the wind out of you.

You suppose there's something poetic about that, him being the Wind Hashira and all.

At first, the kiss is rough. It's as if Sanemi forgets what a kiss from another can be, what it's like.

It's desperate, you realize, as Sanemi's calloused hands thread themselves to cradle your face. His teeth knock yours and his nose butts your own and you all but gasp as you stagger on your getas. It doesn't matter, because you're in his hold — and he won't let you fall. 

Not now, not ever.

One step backward, and then another. And another.

Your back meets the bark of the wisteria. 

The moon finally kisses the sun.

His chest heaves as his hand lands above your head, bracing himself over you. His other hand doesn't dare leave your cheek. It threatens to creep into your hair, to wind your further, to see you undone. 

When he pulls his eyes open, he realizes he has achieved it. 

Finally. Fucking finally. 

Your kimono has slipped further down your shoulder, your obi loosened by the act of being pinned to the tree. Your hair is mussed, your lips parted and near bruised. 

To Sanemi, you're more perfect than you've ever looked like this.

He kisses you again.

And this time, it's nearly chaste.

You sigh into the kiss, and your fingers shake as they come to settle over the patch of bare, scarred skin on his chest. 

His lips are nimble and the pad of his thumb traces the curve of your cheek. It's a gentleness you never thought possible of Sanemi Shinazugawa. You never expected it. 

He is like the wind, then.

Biting and harsh, or soft and beautiful.

You kiss him for a long time, there, beneath the wisterias in the growing dark — like teenagers, like these were moments you were never afforded. There are hardly any words shared, only breathless little laughs between bitten lips and wandering hands. 

It's when the lanterns are lit that Sanemi finally pulls himself away.

You're smiling — and you're a mess.

Soft and disheveled and twining your fingers with his.

That's when someone's voice cuts across the courtyard, calling for curfew.

[fyuyushia]

°|Capture target: You!

Jinwoo reunites with an old friend—an old crush—and unexpectedly stumbles upon an eccentric quest titled: Romance.

Masterlist for the series

I—I know I said full fledged fic but like... I have so much I want to do with it I gyatt to make it a series man.

Sing Jinwoo fails to comprehend what goes on in the system's mind(if it even has one) whenever it issues borderline insane quests to him every now and then. Though he was no stranger to the system's eccentric quests that popped up once in a while, this was by far the most baffling one yet. He doubts it would even be topped by anything else.

[Quest: Romance the capture target: [Name]

          Rewards: Weapon: Lovey dovey-kyun! [S-rank]

              Skill: Love is the greatest superpower! | Knight in shining armor

Accept?

Yes/No]

Jinwoo blinked, surprise flickering in his usual monochromatic eyes. A romantic side quest? Sung Jinwoo's brows furrowed as he scrutinized the holograph in front of him.

Written in big bold letters, were words he'd never expected to be asked for by the system. The omniscient being who somehow helped him level up, gave one of the weirdest quests yet

He deadpans, nearly visibly cringing at the cutie dovey skill names. What was that supposed to mean?

In the first place, how did he even get to this point—this specific moment where the system asks him to romance someone he's known during high school?

It all started at a highschool reunion. Under Jinah's insistence—who overheard Jinwoo getting ringed by acquaintances from his highschool inviting him for a reunion—he ended up going despite wishing to spend the day training and doing his dailies.

Jinwoo grumbled, his experiences in highschool weren't exactly pleasant. He could count the people that really made a positive difference to his life from those years on one hand. And that was saying something. In his mind, he found no reason to attend such a frivolous gathering. In the first place, he was never even invited and only got added to the group chat recently when news came out that he was Korea's 10th S-rank hunter.

The party was exhausting. Just as he expected, so many of his once upon a time classmates coddled up to him, hoping to curry over his favor now that he was of substance. How despicable.

Seeking respite from the onslaught of plasticity the gathering brought, he found shelter in a nearby balcony. He breathes in the fresh air of the night, allowing the wind to hit his skin and chill the nerves that accumulated inside him. Breathing out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slack off from its rigid posture when they had finally given him his long fought peace.

For a while, Jinwoo spends the time alone, simply admiring the night sky that shone brightly with stars.

"Mind if I occupy this space as well?"

Of course, such peace wouldn't last long. Jinwoo barely holds in a sigh, preparing to leave. He turns around on his heel, but pauses midway.

Your name leaves his lips in a soft whisper. His eyes widen ever so slightly, a bit of shine returning once h's reunited with you.

"Hey, Jinwoo, right?"

He swallows thickly, closing his parted lips. Shifting to the side, he allows room for you to stand beside him. You quickly accepted the wordless offer, hands circling around the railing when you got close enough.

You take in a breath of fresh air, a smile curving up as you feel the wind dance around your hair. The stars hung up on the sky had made for a good view. Dozens of them were scattered about, decorating the inky black sky with its light. The moon, above all, shone down its soothing light upon the earth, illuminating the sky with the brightest light.

"It's been a long time," you say. Your eyes remained fixated to the sky. "Would you be willing to entertain a conversation? Or would you prefer the company of silence instead?"

His breath hitched. "How have you been?" His voice graced your presence, allowing his question to serve as his answer.

Your eyes crinkle, amused. "Well, I just recently got promoted so now I'm busier than ever." You sighed, thinking of the drastically increasing paperwork you had to deal with.

"That sounds great yet also exhausting." He chuckles softly, sparing a glance in your direction.

"Really, it is." You shake your head. "But I doubt it's as exhausting as your life now."

"Mine?"

"Right, yours." You tilt your head to the side to face him. "After all, not everyone reawakens and gets ranked the ever glorious S-rank status. I've seen you on the news several times, you know?"

Jinwoo again chuckles, this time more awkwardly than the previous.

"It's not that..." He trailed off, unsure of what words to use to deflect. He couldn't say it wasn't impressive, not when S-ranks were far and few in between, no.

You giggle, seemingly catching onto his intentions. "Impressive? I beg to differ."

Jinwoo clears his throat, keeping his gaze transfixed on the scenery in front of him. His heart however, grew weaker and weaker as he stood by your side. A part of him longed to gawk at your reflection, admire every change brought by the years to you.

In the end, he gave in to the small part that yearned to see you. His gaze flits to where you stood beside him.

You've grown, it was a thought that really settled on his mind. Much like how he had changed, you had also undergone different changes which resulted in the you he was seeing now. Your features matured, sharpened enough to drill in the fact that, you were, in fact, a working adult now. Though exhaustion drapes over you like a blanket around your shoulders, your smile contained the whimsicality you once adorned during your highschool years, keeping that innocence somewhat intact despite all the cards you've been dealt with.

A part of him still admitted to the fact that he found you charming. Then again, he always did, even back then. It started out as a simple puppy crush, his gaze lingered in your direction, and you allowed him to stand beside you as a friend during those years. He faintly remembers planning to confess, only to halt it when he learned that you were planning to leave the country to pursue a higher rate of education.

It's been years since then, and he would've thought he'd already moved on from you. In the end, he never did get over you or your charming laugh.

"When did you return?"

"A little over 2 years by now."

"And I wasn't informed?" He quirks up a brow, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

"I did inform you! I messaged you several times! Just on a new number since I had to get one after flying back here."

"You did?" He blinked, recalling the messages he received during that time frame. Sure enough, he remembers blocking a number who consistently pestered him, thinking it was a scammer trying to cheat him. "Ah, you did."

"I did. You even blocked me." You replied without skipping a beat, glaring at him in contempt.

"My bad, I thought it was a scammer."

You huffed, shaking your head. "Huh, figured."

Sweat drips down Jinwoo's head. He didn't mean to block you, but the constant ringing gave him the tell-tale signs of a scammer and made him misunderstand.

The conversation resumed, flowing easily from there on out. Surprisingly enough, despite having expected wanting solitude, he ended up not minding your presence at all, enjoyed it even. Topics came as easily as they went, moving on from one to another without much commitment.

Jinwoo finds himself relaxing in your presence. All the prior awkwardness he felt dissipating the longer he stayed in your presence. His demeanor gradually softened, becoming more and more open with his thoughts and emotions.

With such vulnerability came the inevitable repeat of history.

Under the starry night that laid witness to your quiet reunion, Jinwoo's heart swayed—for a bit. Only for a bit. he excused it as the lingering feelings of a school crush and nothing more, really, nothing more.

He's gotten past that phase now, erased every bit of him that existed during those happy times.

Once you've both said your piece, wished best for each other and more, a comfortable silence wrapped around you both. It wasn't one that demanded someone to speak to get rid of it, but moreover a time spent in the presence of someone close to recharge. Needlessly, without speaking, your friendship mended itself throughout the course.

Again, he finds his gaze naturally gravitating towards you once more. No, it's not that he still had lingering feelings, it's moreso out of curiosity. He still has a hard time believing that time really has flown, he reasons to nobody but himself.

He parts his lips slightly, surprised when he finds you staring back at him as well. You seemed equally in shock, cheeks warming up slightly as your brows quirked up, then furrowed at the sudden attention.

You avert your gaze, seemingly flustered. He in turn, feels his heart racing slightly faster as well. Contrary to you, his eyes remained on you despite your panicking shenanigans, not minding the fact that he was also caught right before he even got the chance to allow a glance at your visage without your knowledge.

Eventually, fortunately, you stopped panicking and slowed down to just a fiddle of your fingers. Resting them against the railings, your eyes slowly meet his once more.

Then, what happened—what nearly happened—next had his breath hitching. Perhaps it was the alcohol getting in his system(he can't get drunk, but he wants to find a reason), but he leaned ever so slightly towards your direction. You follow, lost in the very same magic he fell victim to.

Perhaps it was the night sky that accentuated your features better than anything else.

Perhaps it was his feelings just going rampant after being bottled for so long without proper closure.

He looks at your lips, taking a quick glance before shifting upwards. Ah, you're already closing your eyes.

His heart picks up the pace, beating faster and faster than the last. Ignoring the loud thrumming he pushes in on the distance. He could feel your breath fanning over his skin, could feel you tipping over to seal the distance.

Casting one last glance, he seals the dis—

[Hidden Quest unlocked!]

[Quest: Romance the capture target: [Name]

          Rewards: 10000 exp

Weapon: Lovey dovey-kyun! [S-rank]

              Skill: Love is the greatest superpower! | Knight in shining armor

Accept?

Yes/No]

He pauses. The quest had appeared directly over your face, blocking you from him entirely.

Along with the quest box, came his sense of reason. Blinking once, blinking twice, he immediately jumps away, the tips of his ears turning red. He must have gone insane, almost kissing a girl he had only seen again today.

"S-sorry," he stammers, breaking out of character. "I seem to have gotten a bit tipsy. Alcohol sure is scary." He lies through the grit of his teeth.

You snap out of it as well. Opening your eyes, you look up, look down, and then away. You take a step back away from him as well, retrieving the distance the both of you had closed without even realizing.

"Ah, yes! I think so as well." You fan yourself with your hand, an awkward chuckle escaping you. "Alcohol sure is scary."

He nods, a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. A tense silence overtakes the both of you. Unlike the comfortable one you shared with him just moments ago, this one was uncomfortable, daring you to speak just to prevent this quiet. But what? What would be a great thing to say in this situation?

"Wooh, it sure is getting hot here, isn't it?"

Jinwoo flinches, but eagerly agrees with your comment. "Indeed, climate change is starting to be really felt."

Global warming? Mana stones helped solve that problem a few years ago, dang it! No better excuse than this?

You don't notice the idiocy of his reply, nodding eagerly without a second thought just to salvage the situation.

Jinwoo clears his throat, grey hues subtly looking at you. Again, he's met with the blue screen of his system.

[Quest: Romance the capture target: [Name]

          Rewards: 10000 exp

Weapon: Lovey dovey-kyun! [S-rank]

              Skill: Love is the greatest superpower! | Knight in shining armor

Accept?

Yes/No]

He narrows his eyes. Scrutinizing the quest, he has the urge to punch it despite knowing it would simply phase through. What kind of ridiculous quest was this? In the first place, the names are so cringy, he thinks. He would rather be caught dead than caught using such lousy sounding skills. The weapon itself was questionable too, lovey dovey-kyun? Really now? That was just another level of cringe entirely!

And, really, romance? Make them fall in love with him? They can't be serious. Jinwoo saw them as a friend, nothing more, nothing less. The crush he had on them was gone, gone he insists!

What were they getting at?

He huffs, verbalizing the word no. 'No I do not want to reject this quest just yet, I'm still thinking. Do not count this as my answer'

He stopped himself midway.

On second thought, yes.

[Quest: Romance the capture target: [Name]

          Rewards: 10000 exp

Weapon: Lovey dovey-kyun! [S-rank]

              Skill: Love is the greatest superpower!

                         Knight in shining armor

Accept?

Yes]

[Loading quest]

[Quest accepted!]

[Quest: Romance the capture target: [Name]

Duration: ???

Current status: Lvl 1. Acquaintance

Affection meter: 5%

Feeling: (Locked. Reach affection lvl 3 to activate) ]

His Adam apple bobs as he gulps down the saliva that balled up in his throat. The quest was the real deal. If he looked up, he could see the status window appearing on top of your head. Written in bold letters was your name, and below was the affection meter.

No, he didn't accept it because he still likes you, no, that's not his style. He's just curious about the rewards. That's it. That's all.

"Say," he calls your name, beckoning you to look over at him. "I feel guilty about unintentionally locking you out of my life by blocking your number." He's quick to get to work, as always. If it meant for a chance to get stronger, indeed, this was definitely done to get stronger.

Drumming his fingers against the railing, he reigns in the urge to shadow step once and for all and run away. How funny, this would be the first time he ever ran away from a situation if he did.

"As apology, can I take you out for coffee one of these days? I'd like to talk more in a less louder place."

You stopped breathing, you worried your heart did too. Luckily for you, all it did was do a flip and skeap a beat. You still lived, it seems.

"Huh? Oh, ah, sure! I'm free anytime." You sputter out a reply.

"Great, please look forward to it, then."

He flashes you a small smile, he hopes you don't notice just how red his ears became. "Then, I have some other business to attend to so I have to go."

"Huh? But wait, I still haven't given you—" he falls seamlessly below his shadow and sinks into it wholely before you even finish. "My number yet..."

Your voice dies down when you find yourself all alone on the balcony, Jinwoo's presence erased without a single hint of the fact that he was here at all but your memory. Wind gushes past you as he disappears beneath the shadows, ending up in who knows where.

"Ah, he's gone." You murmur, dazed and awe-struck.

"Ah wait, his offer—wasn't that practically a—a date?!"

Before you could panic over the fact, the sight of a humanoid knight like shadow took his place in front of you.

...

Jinwoo appears on top of a rooftop. Whose house was it? He doesn't know. Too caught up in simply wanting to get away, he didn't notice the location or which shadow he exchanged with.

'Ah, crap, he forgot to ask for your number.'

He realizes with a start. Rubbing his hair and mussing it up, he clicks a tongue in annoyance. How was he to contact you now?

He sits down, finally rid of the need to act calm and rational when he was anything but. Sighing, he rests his weight on both hands whilst he leans back.

Calling forth his status window, he curiously scans the window showcasing your information once more.

[Quest: Romance the capture target: [Name]

Duration: ???

Current status: Lvl 1. Acquaintance

Affection meter: 7%

Feeling: (Locked. Reach affection lvl 3 to activate) ]

Jinwoo quickly notices the change. Though he had only seen the status window shortly once, he knew for sure it was only 5% before. Seeing it rise to 2 percent, Jinwoo couldn't help but let out the faintest smile.

He sighs, closing off the window. What ridiculous quest, happening at such a bad time too.

If it just appeared a few seconds later, then perhaps he would've gotten the chance to—no. He doesn't see you that way, not anymore.

No, he's moved on. Really, he's really moved on.

He covers the lower half of his face with the back of his head. Brows furrowed and lips forming a small frown, he refused to acknowledge the fact that his cheeks were reddening at the thought.

"Their lips seemed soft..."

His bites his lips, his thoughts which constantly replayed the memory of you betraying his attempts at reigning in this little puppy love that came back tenfold.

This is all because of the goddamn system.

Tags: @daiyanomochi

[visenyaism]

top ten clinically depressed asoiafers

I don’t think anyone ever wrote out the Westerosi DSM but I’ll take a crack at it.

Honorable Mention- Mance Raider and Qhorin Halfhand. We don’t get enough to make a full conclusion because it’s not important to Jon’s story so this is just a vibe but I feel it strongly.

10. Rhaena the Lesbian- like one of two actually great fire and blood characters. Convalescing in Harrenhal for like a decade after her wife left her and her third husband killed all her girlfriends plus she was one dead kid and one dead mother down. Kind of epic. Should have survived long enough to be weird and bitter to Jaehaerys’ insane children.

9. Daemon Targaryen- hey speaking of killing yourself in Harrenhal. Him never being happy with what he had or knowing what he wanted beyond getting his big brother to be proud of him so he just had to constantly chase dopamine in the form of insane levels of violence grooming teenagers and getting his cop frat brother employees to like him for money. Chemical imbalance with a body count in the thousands for his last midlife crisis wife leaving teenager grooming riverlands murder suicide bender alone.

8. Rhaegar Targaryen- Hey speaking of making your clinical depression everyone else’s problem at Harrenhal leading to the death of thousands. Why do people keep letting them do this is the question. Could estrogen have saved her is the second realer question

7. Lysa Arryn. Free her.

6. Daeron the Drunken- what if you were HAUNTED by PROPHETIC DREAMS that were only BAD and spelled the death and doom of your ENTIRE FAMILY and you COULDNT ESCAPE THEM except through SUBSTANCES and you were also the HEIR and your DAD was so DISAPPOINTED IN YOU and you had to take your RUDE and disrespectful plucky BABY KING ARTHUR brother to the CIRCUS and he was TEN and BALD and picked up by the hedge knight you DREAMED OF because he is going to INSTIGATE TO THE ETERNAL MISERY OF YOUR FAMILY a little bit on accident because you are DRUNK. NO HOPE. also honorable mention to post-fratricide Maekar who just locks himself in summerhall for years and post-treason court hostage Daemon II Blackfyre. I hope he and Daeron got brunch.

5. Ned Stark- classic flavor original variant Father Depression. Things went wrong for him young that he will never explain to anyone ever and they form a veil that serves as a barrier between him and the world and everyone he loves. Poor Ned.

4. Stannis Baratheon. Never let himself enjoy anything ever. Melancholy from birth. Rude and extremely blunt with everyone. Smiles twice both at Davos. Anorexic. Bald. Who among us has not been there.

3. Alannys Harlaw Greyjoy- finding out that Theon and Asha have an alive mom who is a gothic horror attic wife who never recovered from the loss of her family to the point that she’s still asking when all her dead and missing sons are going to come home to her and then Theon comes home and does not visit her. Actually agonizing for me the reader

2. Jon Connington- I’m about to get real sincere with these last two because Dance was a really good book that hit at a pivotal time for me. Everything he is in the world to do is motivated by this deep and profound grief and repression that simultaneously makes him a worse person (hungry to commit war crimes) and his best self (dives into the river to save Tyrion contracting greyscale in the process, being as loving and supportive of a father to Young Griff as anyone really could possibly be in this series.) The fact that he is such a late-game addition but feels like a missing piece as a character because of the emotional weight he carries is really cool. I love all his chapters. Tried to grasp a star overreached and fell is so powerful.

1. Tyrion Lannister- I adore his dance with dragons chapters where after his big moment of patriarchal catharsis he is suicidal and misanthropic and an alcoholic and hurting himself and others. It is really compelling because sometimes people get worse. And yet this is interspersed with moments where he is confronted with real genuine danger or real genuine joy and he consistently chooses to be kind to others for no material gain. Like comforting Penny during the storm or tackling a Stone Man into the Rhoyne to to save Young Griff’s life. Arguably these moments do not outweigh all of the harm he is actively inflicting, but they do show that he is incorrect about his self concept that he’s a monster and is actually just a deeply hurt person who has been traumatized so profoundly and is struggling as a result of it.

[mariasont]

So I've been thinking of pre-show prosecutor!Hotch and I was wondering if you had any thoughts?

i do have thoughts. so many, in fact, that i had to exorcise them through a poorly proofed, probably terribly written blurb. i blame hotch for this. and also myself. mostly hotch. anyway, enjoy! pretend it's intentional if there's a typo

“Miss, could you repeat where you said you were standing?”

“Um.” Great start. Really strong. Definitely doesn’t sound like someone about to lie. You cough, try again, and this time manage a passable sentence. “On the — the corner of Sixth and Elm?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Oh! Telling you,” you blurt, practically elbowing your hair out of your face in a rush to clarify. You fumble with the mic, an awkward little shuffle-and-scrape as you drag it closer, before contributing a more certain, “Definitely telling you.”

You try for a smile. You think it lands.

The prosecutor, Aaron Hotchner, if memory serves you correctly, gives you a look. Not a mean one, not even really skeptical, just the level thing that knocks you clean off your axis.

His face is just… offensively handsome. Sharp, classic, serious. And he’s a lawyer, which means he’s smart. Not just good-at-crosswords smart. Real smart. The kind that studies latin and knows what the word precedent means in actual context.

You bet he went to Columbia. Or maybe Stanford. Someplace that required essays and character references and three different recommendation letters.

“Did you notice anyone else there with you at that moment?”

You like his voice, too. It sounds like it should be narrating audiobooks you fall asleep to, or whispering Supreme Court cases in your ear or —

Focus.

“There might’ve been — um, I mean — maybe?” you offer.

“Miss,” he says, closer now, “I need you to be sure.”

“Yes.” The word leaps ahead of you. You clamp your lips shut for half a beat, then add, “Sorry. You’re just — um, sorry. I’m sure.”

He raises an eyebrow then, tilts his head, just a little. That lawyerly squint, halfway between confusion and curiosity.

“You’re just very… persuasive,” you say, scrambling. “I mean — clear. I meant clear.”

You laugh nervously. He doesn’t. The mic picks up everything.

“Thank you,” he murmurs dryly, though there’s a glint in his eye now, the smallest twitch of his upper lip before it evens out again. “Did you observe the defendant exiting the building at approximately 9:15 that night?”

He turns back toward his table — his bench, you think it’s called — and you catch a full view of him from behind. The lines of his back flex beneath his suit, tapering down into a waist that is frankly slutty. Your gaze dips, entirely involuntarily, to where the fabric hugs his nicely-shaped ass. You know it’s wildly inappropriate to be noticing any of this in a courtroom, but, I mean, you’re only human. 

You think about what it would be like to feel that strength over you, not legal, but physical. Hands braced on either side of your head. Jaw clenched. Voice low.

The judge coughs. Loudly. Your eyes shoot forward. You’re ninety percent sure she knows. You’re ninety-nine percent sure everyone knows.

“Yes,” you say quickly, “Yes, I saw him leave at 9:15.”

You manage to survive the rest of questioning without further incriminating yourself, verbally or otherwise. You nod when you’re supposed to, speak when asked, and somehow resist the urge to faint.

And when he finally thanks you and releases you from the stand, you rise with all the grace of a newborn deer on a frozen lake. You practically stumble down the steps, heart pounding like you’re the one awaiting sentencing. 

You don’t meet the judge’s eyes. Or the bailiff’s. Or God’s, for that matter.

But then right before you find your seat, because you are weak and hopeless, you glance back.

The prosecutor is already looking. And for one completely insane, possibly legally compromising moment… he smiles.

[lizardkingeliot]

Armand not realizing the extent to which Louis felt Lestat's presence haunting him for years in Paris is insane to me, actually. It's almost like he's realizing for the first time that maybe this whole grand love story he believes they've had for 77 years has really been more of a 77 year rebound? 77 years of Louis trying to unknit something he had with Lestat that goes way beyond a vampire bond? There are obviously things we're not being shown. That Louis doesn't remember. That Armand doesn't know. That Louis is keeping secret because of guilt. Or shame. Or trauma. That Armand is keeping from Louis, for self-serving reasons or otherwise. Because Armand wants to protect him??? Because he loves Louis and doesn't want to risk losing him??? Their motivations are all so intentionally vague at the moment but...

IDK. I keep going back and forth on whether I think Lestat is going to make an appearance this season in the present timeline, and this scene is the first time I've felt like he has to??? Because Louis wasn't just being haunted by Lestat back in Paris. Whether he's seeing visions of him now or not, it feels like Armand is just now starting to realize that the bond between Louis and Lestat was never actually broken.

There's also something to be said here about how easily Louis said I love you to Armand and how racked with guilt he is about never being able to say it to Lestat. The way the vision of Lestat laughed when Louis said it to Armand. The way we saw Armand and Lestat say it to each other in Armand's recounting of his affair with Lestat. Something about surface level declarations of surface level love vs the depth of Louis' love for Lestat being too grand and all-consuming to ever truly speak out loud....