#naysayers do not interact

[1800-fight-me]

Dark Devotion

Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E (Explicit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Once again, gothic horror romance vibes. The monster gets the girl. Fear, horror, and explicit PiV sex. Slightly non-con as Aemond compels reader, but reader definitely consents (you'll understand when you read it).

Word count: About 5.2k

Synopsis: Running from your old life somehow leads you directly into the arms of a monster, one that shows you pleasures you never could've dreamed of.

Author’s note: I know I have been completely MIA and inconsistent but tbh my life has been incredibly stresseful and I lost all motivation to write for a while. This is the first thing I've written in months that I am genuinely proud of. I even made a whole ass moodboard for it! I truly hope y'all enjoy. Happy Halloween! P.S. Comments will make my entire day and earn you a kiss on the forehead!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

There was a phrase you heard quite a few times in your village as a little girl, ‘the night is dark and full of terrors’. Your mum would always roll her eyes and mumble something about ‘religious fanatics’. You were always inclined to agree with her, that is until this night. 

This night truly was dark and full of terrors. 

Thunder cracked loud enough that your ears rang as rain poured something awful. The harsh droplets pelted at your skin and the sky split in half as a lightning bolt landed merely a stone’s throw before you. 

Your horse neighed in panic loud enough that you could hear him over the bellowing wind as he reared back on his hind legs, causing you to slip and fall off and land directly on your backside in the mud. 

You gasped in shock and did not even have time to call out before your horse bolted away, leaving you drenched and muddy on the forest floor. 

Instead of crying you merely turned your head up towards the sky, embraced the pain of the harsh rain against your cheeks, and screamed at the heavens in frustration. 

You managed to pull yourself up before the mud sucked you in below the surface of the world, adjusted the hood of your cloak once again over your head, and trudged forward. 

Your boots sloshed through the dampened forest floor and you thought that perhaps the naysayers in your village were right. Maybe the gods were punishing you for your promiscuity. 

When you laid with the soldier passing through your village and allowed him to take your maidenhood, you were convinced there would be no consequences. 

You were no one, nothing, and not having your maidenhood intact changed nothing other than the subject the gossipers in town clucked about. 

It seemed it also changed the gods’ vengeance towards you. 

This night was dark and full of terrors, that much you could sense as fear shot down your spine. 

You increased your pace, fearing the creatures that could be lurking in the woods, desperate for some sort of shelter. The feeling of eyes watching you from time to time during your journey became steady and unceasing. You felt uneasy, the hair on the back of your neck stood straight up, and you knew it had nothing to do with the cold in the air. 

Eventually you had no other choice but to ignore the feeling, having looked behind and around you dozens of times in search of your stalker to no avail.

You trudged along for what felt like hours, not once finding anything that could serve as a temporary shelter. That was, until you somehow stumbled upon a near debilitated castle. 

As it came into view, you shuddered at the feeling the crumbling building invoked in you, but any shelter was better than none at this point. 

Stone walls with vines nearly overtaking them towered over you as you rushed forward towards the large wooden doors. You looked up and thought you saw a pair of gemstone blue eyes glowing in the dark from a window at the top of the tower, but you blinked and they were gone. 

You shook your head, sure your tired eyes were playing tricks on you, and reached for the handle of the door. 

You took a shuddering breath and pulled the heavy door open. Shock filled your very being as you were overcome with warmth and light. 

While the outside of the building was shabby, the inside was magnificent. It was well kept and well lit. A home fit for a king, with a grand staircase was directly in front of you and an elderly man in a servant’s outfit was walking down it.

“Young lady! Who are you and how dare you come into this home uninvited?” the man chided as he descended the last of the steps and stood before you. 

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t know anyone lived here, I was merely searching for shelter from the awful storm,” you said, eyes wide- portraying how stunned you felt. 

The man’s stern facade crumbled and he smiled warmly at you, you let go of your held breath and managed a small smile back at him. 

“Ah, yes, I tend to forget the master’s illusion on the outside of the building. He does it to keep the unwanted away,” he said. 

“Illusion? Like magic?” you asked. 

“Well, yes, of course. Come in, let’s get you out of the cold. You must be miserable,” the man said as he ushered you inside and closed the door behind you. 

“Alfred,” you heard the voice of a man call out from another room. His voice caused a shiver to go down your spine. 

“Yes, sire,” Alfred, the man before you replied, and the man with the shiver-inducing voice came into view as he rounded the corner and came into the entryway where you stood. 

Your breath caught once again as you saw the most striking and beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life. 

He was tall, nearly impossibly so, with long silver hair that fell nearly to his waist. He moved with the grace and control of a lethal killer. His facial features were sharp, as if he was cut from marble. His skin of pale white only emphasized his most distinct feature, an eye of sapphire that covered part of a scar that cut across his forehead and cheek. His remaining true eye was also a distinct blue color, nearly matching the sapphire one perfectly.  

Ethereal was the word that arose in your mind as he strode towards you, amusement twinkling in his eye as he took you in. 

“And who might you be, lovely?” he asked. 

After entirely too long of a pause, in which his amusement appeared to only grow as his beautiful lips curved into a smirk, you managed to stutter out your name. 

He repeated it back to you, leaning closer towards you, and your heartbeat sped into a gallop. He titled his head, almost as if he could hear it. You dismissed the thought, deeming it absurd. 

“My name is Aemond. Welcome to my home. Tell me, how exactly did you manage to find your way here?” he asked curiously. 

You leaned in closer with him, not realizing that your face was merely inches from his at this point, utterly drawn in and intoxicated by his presence. 

You were filled with a desire to please him and as a result you began rambling. “I was attempting to move away from my village. Take off and find a new life, but then there was a series of unfortunate events including running for my life, becoming irretrievably lost, and then becoming something I’m certain looks similar to a drowned rat after my horse was startled by the storm and I stumbled around for hours attempting to find shelter.” 

“Oh you poor sweet thing. Let us take care of you,” he purred and rather than set you at ease, something in the words made you feel as if your misadventures were far from over. And yet, you were entranced by his gaze and could not so much as force yourself to look away or take a step back. 

His smile grew wider as you nodded meekly. 

Finally, Aemond released you from his gaze as he turned to Alfred and asked him to fetch the maid Portia to assist you in cleaning yourself up. 

Before you knew it, you were being ushered up the stairs and into a room you could only assume was a guest room by an elderly woman with a sweet round face. 

She helped you to remove your muddy sodden clothes and you groaned in relief as you slid into a warm bath. You smiled warmly at her as you scrubbed your body and she cleaned your hair, all the while chattering to you about her love for her husband Alfred and their happiness working for Master Aemond. 

“Can you tell me about him?” you asked curiously as she helped you to dress. 

The dress she helped you into was of crushed velvet, sapphire blue like the gemstone in Aemond’s eye that had so caught your attention. The dress had a corset and plunging neckline that emphasized your curves. 

Portia hummed as she led you to sit down and began working on your hair. 

“He is a bit odd, yes. Intimidating and perhaps even scary to some, but he has a good heart. And is loyal and protective to those he cares for. He has treated my husband and I very kindly,” she said with a caring smile. 

Her words put your heart more at ease, still slightly worried about the new surprising circumstances you had found yourself in. 

“Does he typically extend that same kindness to visitors?” you asked, nervousness coloring your tone a bit. 

“It depends on the intentions of the visitor. A sweet thing like you? You’ll be well taken care of,” she said. 

“Does he often have ill-intentioned visitors?” you asked curiously. 

“It does happen from time to time, those in the nearest village hold hate for him in their hearts. Old prejudices I suppose, but no matter!” she said, changing the subject and her tone as she turned you around to view yourself in the floor length mirror. 

“Take a look at yourself, my dear. You look stunning, see? All the horror of the day washed completely away,” she said soothingly as she ran her hands up and down your upper arms. 

Your breath caught in your throat as you saw yourself. She was right, you’d never seen yourself look so beautiful before. You actually looked fit to reside in such a lovely home, unlike before, unlike any other time in your life. You’d never worn such a beautiful and expensive dress. You ran your hands across the soft fabric, up your torso and thought that it was the perfect inviting dress for someone else to touch you in. 

Images flashed in your head of the soldier you allowed to touch you, never while you wore something so pretty, but pleasurable nonetheless. Romps in the hay, literally as the two of you would often meet in your father’s barn and he taught you the art of a pleasure you’d never known before. 

You were not disillusioned about it, you knew there was no love between the two of you. You knew he would one day have to move on without you, but when he left town just as others found out about your affair, you were frustrated at being left alone with the consequences of a choice the both of you made. 

The townspeople, the people you grew up with, turned on you and called you a whore. Even your own father fell victim to their hateful whispers about you and kicked you out of his home. Only your mother helped you, sneaking you out in the dead of night and gifting you her horse to aid you on your journey into another life. 

You shook your head slightly in an attempt to clear those thoughts, the memories of both pleasure and pain, and smiled at your reflection. 

“Thank you, Portia, your efforts are greatly appreciated,” you said as you turned and embraced her in a warm hug. 

She squeezed you before releasing you and leading you out of the guest room and back down the grand staircase. 

You followed her into an elegant dining room, a fireplace lit - the fire crackling and warming the spacious room. The table was large enough to seat ten people, but only two place settings were set next to one another, somehow creating an intimate dinner even in such a large room. 

Aemond sat at the end of the table, and stood as he saw you. 

“Good evening, you look magnificent,” he said, voice as velvety as your dress. 

You did your best to hide how his words flustered you as you smiled softly and curtseyed. 

“Thank you, sire. But, this is too much. I did not mean to interrupt your your evening so and I-I’ll never be able to repay you-” 

He reached a hand out and you placed your hand in his. At the brush of your skin against his, your words fell off. 

His hands were cold, and yet- the mere brush of his fingers against yours filled your body with heat. 

“There is no repayment necessary, the pleasure of your company will be more than enough if you would please dine with me,” he said. 

“Of course,” you breathed out as you allowed him to guide you to your seat. 

Your nose was filled with the aroma of a hearty stew in a bowl before you and your stomach growled in anticipation. 

You gave Aemond a sheepish look even as he chuckled. 

“Eat, of course. You must be near ravenous. I’m familiar with the feeling,” he said, and his voice dipped lower. His eyes appeared to flash at his words, causing your heartbeat to jump, but you were far too hungry to think about it and played it off as a trick of the light, a reflection of the fire in his gemstone eye. 

You tucked in and struggled to hold in your groan of satisfaction at the taste of the soup. 

Aemond poured you both glasses of red wine and you thanked him as he handed you yours. 

“Are you not going to eat?” you asked him, suddenly feeling self conscious that you were shoveling mouthfuls of stew and bread into your mouth while he merely sipped on his wine and watched you. 

“Oh I intend to. Just not right now, I had what you might call a late afternoon snack,” he said and something about his words had a chill run up your spine, despite the warmth of both the room and the soup in your belly. 

“You told me of your journey here, but tell me about yourself. I find myself fascinated by the entirety of you,” he practically purred, and you immediately forgot your apprehension at his previous words. 

“I feel the same way about you,” you replied breathily. 

He smiled, a full glorious smile that made you feel as if the storm had ended and the sun had come out. But there was a glint, a sharpness, and with a start you realized his canine teeth were elongated. 

He must have seen the fear in your eyes as he reached over and grasped your hand gently. You felt that on fire feeling in your skin once again, but also felt all the fear wash out of your body. 

“Tell me about you,” he requested again, voice soft and low, a tone that caused you to wonder if that was how he spoke to his lovers late at night. 

You were filled with compliance, with a desire to please him, and so you did as you were asked, and told him everything about yourself. You told him of your childhood, your parents, your likes and interests, your dreams for a better life. 

He watched you with rapt attention, murmuring questions to prompt you to further share with him about yourself. And, oh gods, when he looked at you that way, his sapphire gaze so intense, you wanted to share yourself completely. 

“What had you so desperately searching for a new life?” he finally asked. 

So you explained, shamefully, how you laid with a man and became the village whore for merely choosing your own pleasure over mediocrity for once in your life. 

You looked down at your empty bowl, toying with the spoon, while you waited for his reaction, for his disgust and dismissal of you. 

Long cold fingers gently grasped your chin and lifted your head up to meet his gaze. 

You were enraptured by his undivided attention. 

“There’s no need to listen to the opinions of small minded individuals. Pleasure is nothing to feel guilty about. Especially when there are so, so many pleasures in life to discover,” he said and the soft lilt of his voice along with the dark tone made your toes curl. 

You wanted to experience unknown pleasures, you wanted him to teach you, to explore with you. 

You bit your lip, nodding slightly in agreement, and his hand slid up from your chin to curl around your jaw. His thumb stroked the apple of your cheek and you shivered. 

He pulled your bottom lip from between your teeth and you waited, nearly shaking with anticipation, for him to press his lips against your own, to replace the pressure with some of his own, and he smirked as if he knew what you were thinking, but pulled back. 

He sat back in his chair, far enough from you that you no longer felt intoxicated by his scent and presence, and you let out a soft breath of disappointment. 

Amusement and desire both seemed to dance in his gaze. You took a sip of wine, looking away from him to clear your head, and took a breath to steady yourself. 

“Will you tell me about yourself as well, sire?” you asked. 

“Aemond,” he corrected. “Please call me Aemond, sweet one.” 

“Aemond, I’d love to hear about you,” you requested once more. 

It seemed he had the same response to hearing his name drip from your lips as you had when he said yours, for his eyelid fluttered closed and his hand clenched into a fist, but the next breath he had composed himself once more and nodded. 

“My life… it feels as if it has been an eternity. A lonely one at that,” he said and this time you reached over and took his hand, holding it in support. 

“I was treated as if I were unwanted from the moment I was born, my eye taken hatefully when I was merely a boy, and then as a man I was deemed a monster. I was driven out of my home, my family did naught to protect me, and it took me far too long to find a place to call my own. Still, others that encounter me call me a monster and I find myself alone most of the time,” he explained and your heart hurt for him. 

“Why do others call you a monster? Your gemstone eye?” you asked as you leaned closer to him once again. 

This time you leaned in and placed your hand on his face, tracing the length of his scar with your thumb as you gently held his cheek. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed in a noncommittal sort of agreement. 

“I think it’s beautiful,” you said, your voice so soft it was practically a whisper. 

It was evident he heard you as he practically nuzzled his face into your hand. He gripped your wrist and ran his nose from the palm of your hand to the inside of your wrist, breathing in deeply. 

His actions, though gentle and loving, caused an inexplicable feeling of fear to drip down your spine, particularly when his lips pressed against your skin. You’d never realized what a vulnerable place in the body the wrist was, a bundle of veins, until Aemond pressed his perfectly curved lips against it. 

But as soon as it came, the fear was gone as Aemond looked up at you and you met his gaze once more. 

You reached out and pushed his silver hair out of his face where it had fallen and tucked it behind his ear. 

His long gorgeous hair was so soft you yearned to run your fingers through it and learn of his response, learn of the noises he would make when in pleasure. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, appearing as entranced by you as you were by him. 

You could do nothing to hide the way his words flustered you, as the weight of his attention had you pinned down and unable to move. 

He caught your hand and held it in place against his hair. 

As he leaned closer to you, his movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator trying not to spook his prey. 

Your heart began to sprint and you were certain you would never be able to slow it again. 

His sharp nose brushed against yours, and the anticipation was so strong you forgot how to breathe. 

Aemond hummed softly before he finally, finally pressed his lips to yours. 

As his lips moved against yours you felt inherently changed, different. It felt as if a shadowed hand with sharp talons dripping with blood had reached through your chest and gripped your heart and claimed it. 

You were his, his, and you were prepared to swear to him your utter devotion, your life. You didn’t quite understand what you were experiencing, but you didn’t care as he deepened the kiss. As he claimed your mouth you gasped, letting out a small whimper. This gave him the in he needed to slide his tongue against yours. 

You shuddered, gripping his hair tighter as he lifted you with an ease that should not be possible and sat you atop his lap. 

Your dress prevented you from straddling him like you wished, but you could not complain as he gripped your waist tightly. You ran your hands from his face and his hair to his shoulders, down to his arms, gripping him tightly and kissing him deeply, with everything you had, with utter devotion. 

You let out a small yelp of surprise as your tongue explored his mouth and brushed against something entirely too sharp. 

He tore his lips from yours and met your gaze. Your chest brushed against his as it heaved while you attempted to catch your breath. 

Fangs, you recognized. Those were fangs in his mouth, made for sinking his teeth in. 

You could not discern how you felt, what you thought, for the utter fire for him burned through you. 

He traced your jaw, then the line of your neck down to your collarbone, slowly, achingly slowly as you wanted nothing more than for him to kiss you again. Then, his lips followed the same journey his fingers had just taken. You shivered, your head falling back as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Tell me you are mine,” Aemond ordered, and his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck made you shiver. 

“I’m yours,” you replied breathily and you could feel his smile against your throat. 

“Tell me you want me,” he ordered. 

“I want you,” you whined, and his grip on you tightened nearly to the point of pain, but you could not focus on that. No, not when you felt those fangs graze against that most sensitive spot on your neck. 

The night is dark and full of terrors, the words rang through your head once more and your breath stopped as you realized you had fallen into this beautiful monster’s trap. Fear shot down your spine and made your body tense and freeze. 

“Hmm,” he hummed in reassurance as he pressed a kiss against your vulnerability. 

Your body responded immediately, you relaxed completely, becoming nearly ragdoll like in his arms. He lifted you, holding you as he stood, and walked into the next room, a sitting room of sorts, and laid you on a chaise. 

“Aemond,” you breathed out. 

He kneeled next to where you laid. 

“I care for you,” he said as he brushed a hand across your cheek, “I don’t wish to compel you.” 

He kissed you once more. At the feeling of his lips against yours, you were reborn. You had control over your body once again and you yanked him atop of you, deepening the kiss. 

He groaned into your mouth, and pulled back slightly, causing you to whine in protest. 

“You truly want me?” he asked, his tone sounding surprised. 

Your survival instinct had long since gone quiet as a result of you continuously ignoring its protests. 

“Yes,” you said and pulled his lips to yours again. 

“Perhaps we can make a deal then,” he said, trailing his lips down once more to his favorite spot on your neck, where your veins were most vulnerable.

“If you give me what I want, I will reward you with everything you desire and more,” he said and you again felt the sharpness of those fangs. 

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“Yes,” you agreed, all logic disappearing as desire overtook your very being. 

And you knew. You knew and he knew, that his compelling magic was gone, the desire you felt for him this entire time was real and true, not due to compelling whatsoever. There was something more, something deeper at play here, and your choice was your own as you chose him, completely. 

And with that, he groaned lowly and sank his fangs into your neck.  

Sharp indescribable pain is what you expected but instead it was like a dull buzz of pain nearly overwhelmed by pleasure. 

He ran his hands down your body, ensuring he paid special attention to your breasts and you gasped his name. 

Aemond’s hand slipped up your dress, inching up your burning hot skin, and finding the wetness between your legs that awaited him. 

You whimpered softly as he brushed your panties aside and finally touched you where you wanted him the most. 

His nimble fingers spread your slick and quickly found a rhythm circling your bundle of nerves as he continued to drink your blood. 

As the heat inside you built, he pulled his teeth from your neck and slowly dragged his tongue up your neck, licking up every last drop of blood from your skin. His fingers moved in perfect time with his tongue, and with no notice your release hit you, overwhelming you completely as you moaned loud enough to echo through the room. 

“Absolutely exquisite,” he said as he pulled back from your neck and looked deep into your eyes. 

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and you stared at him as your chest heaved, absolutely entranced. He then replaced his thumb with his bloodsoaked lips. 

He groaned as you kissed him eagerly, your blood in his mouth not causing any hesitation whatsoever. 

“I need you,” you gasped. 

“I have needed you for an eternity,” he replied as he began untying the corset of your dress. 

You moaned as the cool air hit your skin and he slowly and gently removed the beautiful dress from your body, leaving you completely bare. You turned and looked at the pile of sapphire velvet on the floor. 

He gripped your chin, turning your head to look at him once more. You helped him to remove his shirt, and then watched eagerly as he unbuckled his belt, beginning to make himself just as bare as you. 

“I must admit something to you,” he said and your mouth ran dry as the hard length of him sprung free. 

“Yes,” you asked breathlessly as you reached and wrapped your hand around him. 

He let out a sound low in his throat, something similar to a growl, as you began to move your hand up and down his length. 

“It is not happenstance that you found yourself in my home. I must confess that I have been watching you for a while now. I needed you. I needed to taste you, to make you mine. I influenced your journey here, guided you, so I could finally show you my devotion,” he said. 

“Then make me yours, completely,” you pleaded and guided his length to line up with your wet heat. 

With a groan he nodded his head and pushed himself inside you. 

He filled you, inch by glorious inch, and you could do nothing but gasp for air as you felt fuller than you’d ever felt in your life. 

You reveled in the press of your naked chest against his, as you pulled him close enough that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and where his began.

You were one with the vampire atop you, and you’d never felt more intense pleasure in your life. 

When he was certain you were ready, he kissed you, surprisingly tenderly, before he pulled out nearly all the way, and pushed back inside you, sinking to the hilt. 

His tempo was slow and deep, as he gazed deep in your eyes and told you how beautiful he found you. 

“Perfect, so perfect,” he praised as you mewled for him when he tilted your hips up and hit a spot of pleasure inside you that had never been found before. 

Aemond continued his pace, holding you tight, as your nails dug into his back. 

“Come for me, darling, I can feel how close you are,” he purred in your ear. 

He slipped his hand between your bodies and found your bundle of nerves once more, stroking it and you nearly screamed as your release wracked through you. 

You felt you had reached heaven, somehow, in the arms of your ethereally beautiful monster lover and it took you several moments to come back down. 

So lost in your pleasure, you had not even felt a sting of pain as he sunk his teeth into your wrist. He gulped your blood, moaning in pleasure, as he continued to pump himself in and out of your tight wet heat, chasing his own release. 

You tangled your other hand in his hair, and gripped tighter around his cock, urging him on, encouraging both his release and for him to continue to drink from you. 

He groaned as his release found him, sinking deep inside you, bringing ecstasy to you both. 

You shuddered a breath as his movements slowed and stopped. He pulled his teeth from your wrist, and murmured your name, like a praise- like a prayer, with utter devotion. 

As he looked at you, you reached up and wiped your blood from where it had dripped down his chin. 

He brought your wrist to his lips once more, and before you could protest that you were beginning to feel lightheaded, he surprised you by licking the wound clean instead of sinking his teeth back in, just as he had with the wound on your neck. 

You watched in fascination, as his saliva magically closed your wound, leaving only a small scar. 

He looked up and grinned at you, your blood coating his teeth, and you whimpered and pulled him into another kiss. 

He kissed you languidly, tongue moving against yours, as if he had all of eternity with you. 

“I have never tasted anything so divine,” he purred against your lips. 

“I have never felt so wonderful in all my life,” you said back as you pulled back enough to look upon him once again. 

“I can feel it. Can you feel it? You are to be my eternity, my everlasting, my one true mate. I give you my utter devotion. You said you wanted to start a new life. Start it with me. Let me turn you and we can be together forever. Stay with me,” he pleaded. 

And so you did. 

Yes, this night was dark and full of terrors, but this terror had wrapped himself around you, sunk deep inside you, and devoted his entire being to you, offering you pleasure and love unlike any you’d ever experienced before. 

And so, later, when Aemond fed you his blood and turned you and you opened your eyes into this new life, becoming a terror yourself, you grinned and kissed your vampire mate, prepared to spend forever by his side. 

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd

[randomnoteforfuturereference]

Just getting done from watching Elemental, and I am so happy that I decided to watch it opening day. Not just because the beautiful visuals (which the promos don't do justice over; more on that later*)... or the creative concepts about the way different elements interact with each other and their environment... or the absolutely adorable interactions between Ember and Wade. But most of all the key theme of the story.

Now it'd be easy to think that this is just another fantastical star-crossed lovers story. Or another derivation of Zootopia in regards to a racism allegory. Which... again I'll get to that later.*

But honesty, while the theme of racism (interactional and structural) was interwoven through the story and the romance was the key plot driver, what really stands about that film wasn't those factors (as still as wonderfully done as they are; especially the theme of fire and water being able to touch).

What stood out was the central theme of being the child of immigrants and the expectations that come with it. Especially when those immigrants who are the vanguard and keystone of their communities. And especially when you realize that it's a personal story from Peter Sohn and many of the folks who worked on it; the same way that Turning Red is a personal story from Domee Shi (it is notable that Pixar has been really great at platforming creator stories).

*But you wouldn't know that judging by what scant marketing there was (which doesn't exactly dissuade my suspicions that Disney seems to be doing its damndest to kneecap Pixar).

Anyways, I highly recommend it. And if you're on the fence about watching it, I suggest not getting discouraged by said shitty marketing or naysayers who haven't seen it.

#elemental #pixar #disney #pixar elemental

[myobsessionsspace]

Fanservice, Queerbaiting or ‘Something Else’

There have been endless conversations, since the days of the 1st generation idol, when it comes to ‘fanservice.’ Conversations about what it is, what’s acceptable as fanservice, what acts are of the idols own volition or what is forced upon them by their company, managers and fans.

Looking up fanservice, it seems that EVERY K-Pop idol partakes in this, it can be as innocuous as giving a fan a wave on stage or lifting their shirt to show their fans their abs. BTS being no exception.

Sometimes ‘fanservice’ can skirt across what has been mentioned above, into territories that cause confusion and cause fans and others to loose boundaries in regards to how they perceive their relationship with their idol and also how they perceive their idol’s relationships with their members.

Due to k-pop not just being limited to South Korea sometimes there may be actions of idols that cause confusion due to different cultures understandings of what should be seen as entertaining and befitting of singers.

Acts of fanservice such as pepero/poki games or using a piece of paper between two members lips to pass along a line of participants, start to toe the line from ‘fanservice’ to ‘queerbaiting’ in the eyes of different cultures.

The entertainment behind these games is to be able to have to fans visualise their idols (who are mainly of same sex groups) near kiss their members and sometimes accidentally kiss them as they play these games.

Idol have also been know in game shows to be punished into wearing dresses, skirts, long wigs and high heels. These questionable ‘punishments’ also toes the line between ‘fanservice’ and ‘queerbaiting’ depending on the level of comfort the idols display when carrying out their ‘punishments.’

Some idols take such ‘punishments’ in their stride and even embrace it with stereotypical behaviours, which lend towards the ‘queerbaiting’ element, allowing their fans to ‘question’ their idols sexuality, just because they comfortably wear and dance in heels, add ‘flamboyance’ to them wearing dresses etc.

If it was examples like this alone, there may not be as much discourse as there is when it comes to idols and ‘fanservice’.

Yes, skinship is also something, though not fanservice in terms of the above definitions, due to cultural differences skinship also adds, at times, to the ‘fanservice’/‘queerbaiting’ conversation.

Unfortunately some idols go above and beyond simple skinship, to where no other term can reasonably be used BUT ‘queerbaiting’

Some of the idols pictured have sadly been quoted as deeming queerness to be a mental illness and do not support, nor are they part of the community.

In such simple terms such idols are indeed queerbaiting.

However…

Though pretty much all idols partake in fanservice…

Though some idols toe the line between fanservice and queerbaiting…

Even when a few idols outright queerbait with no allegiance in anyway to the community…

IT DOESN’T MEAN QUEER IDOLS DO NOT EXIST.

IT DOESN’T MEAN ALL MEMBER INTERACTIONS ARE FANSERVICE.

IT DOESN’T MEAN THERE ARE NO GENUINE INTERACTIONS BETWEEN IDOLS AND THEIR FANS OR BETWEEN IDOLS AND THEIR MEMBERS.

When the term fanservice is used in regards to any sort of words or actions of affection, support and love towards another group member it does become upsetting after a while. Fanservice these days has become a negative word, to be frank it is used more as an insult towards idols these days.

Why, if it’s between members that the naysayer doesn’t want to see interact with each other, must it then be fanservice?

When the term fanservice is used, in regards to two members that spend time with each other during downtimes at work, when not in the midst of work schedules, when going for meals, activities etc. Does it have to be labelled as fanservice?

When a member shows a more involved and unique bond with one member of their group in comparison to the others, why must it be fanservice? Why has the term and definition for fanservice now become used interchangeably with queerbaiting?

When members of a group are keenly aware of their interactions with another member and how they ‘might be seen as queer’ so pull back, when they avoid intimate moments but are spotted even when trying to be subtle is that then queerbaiting? Are they providing fanservice when off in a corner of the dance studio, with family and friends, at restaurants, backstage, in foreign countries?

Being intentional with the use of queer imagery in their music videos, albums, photoshoots etc but not explicitly coming out as queer in a homophobic industry and country is not queerbaiting.

It is always hard to know idols intentions and thoughts when they don’t share them verbally. It’s easy to draw our own conclusions as to if actions are genuine, fanservice or queerbaiting.

But sometimes, just sometimes, what they show us, says all that needs to be said and maybe, just maybe we can accept that it IS just that simple.

Not fanservice, not queerbaiting, but them being them. True to their fans, true to each other and true to themselves.

🖤🤍

[helloescapist]

hi there

girl how are u doing? i'm missing your writings 😭😭 however, i hope u are doing great and not overworking yourself during this time off

anyway, i have a request and i hope u can make time to do some hc about the hashiras and how they deal with gossip. i mean, if they do like spreading them or just hear and add some more information or like start to spread misinformation without the intent. i just think it would be really funny and interesting to hear your thoughs about this topic

that's all xoxo

Hello anon!

I have greatly missed being here, and interacting with everyone. I am happy to say that I am back! I hope you are doing well, and I have to say that I am especially grateful for this ask. Leaving my classroom at the end of my course was heavy, and I really miss those kiddos, but this was such a fun ask! It was a wonderful distraction <3 Thank you!

The Hashiras Workplace Gossip

Word Count: 6700

Setting: hashiras x gn!reader [platonic, but could be romantic if you squint.]

Content Warning(s): mentions of gossip, suggestive tones, calls of chastity, rumors, he said she said, topics may be triggering for some readers. please read with caution.

Summary: just a few headcanons about how each of the Hashiras approach work place gossip, and rumors.

The Water Hashira

Gossip is not something that Tomioka is particularly fond of.

The swordsman views such idle chatter as a waste of time that serves no real purpose. It is a mere distraction from work tasks, drawing mizunoto astray with its every posed word, distracting kakushi’s duties, and results in oversight.

There has been a time or two in which he pretended to remain unresponsive and even more in which the cackling hens did not realize he had risen when retrieved from the battlefield, battered and bloodied, the drawing of his consciousness and the slips of whispered words in hushed giggles. Kakushis that spoke brazenly of relationship statuses, of advancing ranks by tasteless tactics, undermining abilities in favor of some grandiose promiscuous gestures that signified short skirts and revealing uniforms. Shameful accusations of limitless wealth for higher ranks squandered from the lower tiers, doubts of capabilities drawn due to age and flighty tendencies, and depictions of monsters born from scars.

No, he has lost count at the amount of times the rumors passed between kakushi despite his obvious state of awareness. Last known recorded number was 31.

This is not to say that Giyu has not attempted to lay such banters to rest. Many times he has tried, and rather than success of imparting enlightenment to the naysayers, it would appear that he merely added rapeseed oil to the fire.

Tomioka’s reassurance that Shinazugawa’s scars were merits of his bravery became morbid despite the self-assurance of his stride away, convinced his righteous lecture had landed.

It had not.

Passed from mizunoto to kakushi, and back again, it was only a matter of time before the night sky of his eyes met that lavender bathed in rage. The writhe of his scar wrinkled and furrowed as his brow, wreathed venom, and poised lethality at the claims that had met his ears.

The Water Hashira had misread the dip of the mizunotos’ chin that met their color bones, the crease between their eyebrows, and the exchange of glances. Oblivious that the state of his “scolded” subordinates had only reached the natural conclusion… the Water Hashira lived in fear of the Wind Scourge.

Kocho expressed that Tomioka deserved it—his face has such an effect on people. Pity.

Tomioka has high standards, and he holds himself in high regards. He is not the type to seek out gossip, and to an extent places himself above such drivel.

He’s lying.

Let’s be clear, Tomioka does not actively seek out gossip, and he certainly isn’t the sort to take part willy nilly. He does not crave the drama and meets a majority of the social aspects of drama with severe tension. I swear he has digestion issues.  Yet, despite his unwillingness to participate, there are moments in which he is just as a likely victim as others.

I mean, he’s always a victim of topic, but anyways…

Small tidbits here and there are likely to pique his interest, and he truthfully may not even be aware that such secondhand information is gossip. The small mention that Tanjiro has become smitten with the Butterfly Estate tsuguko will have him pondering how he may be of assistance to his subordinate. He can’t, but such endeavors come naturally to him. He is loyal, and despite his inability to properly socialize, he really does want to help.

And so,

Tomioka has entered the world of gossiping.

He is wandering amongst the mizunoto, inquiring of interests. Pocking around amongst the kakushi who often frequent the Butterfly Estate, picking up details of interest, favored snacks, and preferences. All for the sake of providing assistance to Tanjiro in a letter, he would never say this to his face.  

Blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil his curiosities have elicited amongst the Demon Slayer Corps. The majority of members horrified that a superior officer has taken an interest in his clear protégé’s lover, the even fewer pleased to see a bit of warmth crack his icy surface—not realizing this is not the look of a man in love, but rather a proud older brother.

Sir is genuinely confused as to why the young trio of butterfly estate attendants are in tears upon the sight of him, urgently waving him away, or the horror that afflicts Aoi’s features as she demands to know if he is in fact, stupid. The rampage of flipped sterilized medical supplies, and the casualties of kakushi who found themselves in the way, as the small woman pillages all in her path.

Only Aoi can save him from being strung up by his toes and left to freeze beneath the winter moon. 

Truthfully, the Water Hashira’s ability to either elicit rage amongst his peers, or go unnoticed is an ability to be reckoned with, and yet, he very rarely utilizes such underhanded tactics to his advantage. Like distracting from the allowance of a new member of the corps to keep a pet demon sister. Though if your name has been gathered into the gossip seis pool, Tomioka will do his best to clear his name. Completely unaware that he is about to make matters worse.

His stickler tendencies can often be suffocating, and when he does utilize common workplace gossip to distract from something major, the target is more than often easily distracted. For all of his open disdain for gossip, he has a fairly soft spot for his partner, and can turn a blind eye for a bit of venting.

Let me be clear, VENTING.

Bits of frustration slipped through your teeth as you racked your fingertips through your nails, determined to find a solution, but first to sponge the memory from your thoughts. For the most part, venting leaves him… a little displaced. Does he help, or would intruding with suggestions just… make things worse? Do you wish for him to only listen, or even tune you out so that you can take a deep breath of air, and rejuvenate from the occurrence. Everything in him wants to help, but in most cases, venting is… really intended to clear the slate so that you can start a fresh. And so, he’ll bite the inside of his cheek, allow his brow to meet as the worried pause steals his breath away; the cup warm against his fingers as he prepares your own.

Just, don’t stay in this place.

Or cute, joyful gossip. Such as the gleeful way you squeal, your cup of tea warmed to your fingertips as you share soft details of him, having just returned from a mission in which you aided the Love Hashira and the Snake Hashira. Unable to contain the kick of your feet as you recant the tender scene in which Obanai offers his hand to Kanroji beneath the moonlight, holding only the softest gaze. He had absolutely no clue that the two were intertwined, or even interested in one another, but hearing your delight at their progress. the small melancholy that fits at his chest as he listens.

The Insect Hashira

The dribble of fools.

Kocho isn’t dimwitted. She understands that the idle banter is a mere means of escape from the day-to-day horrors experienced by the Slayer Corps. It’s a means of normalcy passed from grocer to mother, spread throughout villages. She can remember briefly how her mother giggled at small snippets of daily life in her childhood. At the time, it was a slight annoyance. An obstacle at best, designated to bring her mother entertainment, and derive the young Kocho of running amuck. Far too much time spent at the grocer.

From her mother’s hem to the clutch of the tweezers between her fingers, the white of her knuckles revealing her impending rage. Her vein throbbed against her forehead as the pinches of her lips elicited pain at the clutch of her jaw. Kocho’s smile is deceptive to the untrained eye, a false sense of amusement at the celebratory of a mythical relationship coined by mizunotos desperately clutching at invisible fine lines.

Only Aoi can detect the flicker of her bottom eye lid in time to remove sharp objects from the medic’s reach.

Shinobu has been more than forth coming of her opinion of Tomioka in what world would she ever---- Gossip is nothing more than idle idiocy that blossoms from a lack of intellectual pursuits.

Truthfull, the Insect Hashira is far more than aware of the significant emotional impact that gossiping can project on the wellbeing of others, and is begrudgingly accepting of its existence as a means to ensure the continued care of the Demon Slayer Corps.

But she’s still bitter that anyone would dare into the relationship status between the Water Hashira and herself. The even rarer accusation that her affections has begun to cultivate fondness for Shinazugawa. The accusation alone to bare enough dishonor against her sister. Her blood boils to know these dimrods would dare to drag her family name through the mill for entertainment.

It would be more accurate to say that it is not so much that Kocho condones the utilization of rumors for socialization, but rather, she refuses to acknowledge the passage of whispers in the Butterfly Estate. Only turning her sharp gaze at those who utter her, or her sister’s name. For the most part, she allows it to pass. Refuses to muck herself with hearsay when there are far more productive duties to attend to. Those that would bear far more merit than determining Kanroji’s breast measurements. Clearly 32D.

Yet, there are rare… opportunities that present themselves from time to time.

Small little pieces of information gathered amongst the medical ward that align with observations she has accounted for in the past few weeks. Details that cannot help but become interlocked with little intentions on her part. Shinobu’s brain works fairly quickly, and she cannot help but notice the links between certain Kamado and the way his eyes float to her little sister.

Then, there are far more delicious attributes she picks up from time to time, and Twhile Shinobu is by no means once to actually share what information she has picked up along the way, that does not mean that the less intelligent specimens *cough Inosuke cough* are aware. As sharp as the grin that drips with her lethality, and knowing gaze. Heightened senses of pray all too aware that they have been caught in a predator’s clutch.

She has been known from time to time threaten to allow her tongue to slip details to Aoi that has Inosuke running for the mountains like a truffle pig after rare medicinal herbs.

Kocho is especially delighted by the state of duress upon his return. His boar mask shaking from side to side, unaware of the state of him as grass catches from cloth and fur, to the ends of his luscious hair. Clueless at the scratches that mare his flesh, or the likeliness he has obtained internal bleeding from plummeting from cliffs to return, frightened at the sight of her whispered against Aoi’s ear. The indignified squeal that erupts as steam furrows from his nostrils.

Oblivious that she had merely asked Aoi to clean the herbs he had retrieved.

His adverted eyes, and veins at his cheek as he dodges the trainee for the remainder of his stay in the medic ward as satisfying as any ginger sukodani.

The Flame Hashira

His gaze was as steadfast as the blade at his hip, a symbol of duty and honor. Loyal to his master, and the calling of the code, dedication etched in blood, sweat, and sacrifice. Solemn, composed and practiced at the bend of his back, the willingness to press his forehead to the ground beneath the master’s feet. Determination to duty, called upon by the flame, and etched in smoldering temperatures the epiphany of a Pillar.

 A samurai’s honor.

One would never suspect Kyojuro of passing fancies of the flesh, of the tongue, or even the ones of entertainment.

But they would all be so, so wrong.

Let’s be clear, Rengoku is after all, a man of dedication. Of devout faith to his cause, to the slaying of demons, and stoic to his own nature. This is the same man who hindered his own auditory capabilities to ensure the completion of his liege’s command--- but this is the same man who cannot help but greet everyone that he meets.

The Flame Pillar’s generosity knows no bounds, and his smile is far more forthcoming. He is not the type to shy away from casual conversation, often delights in sharing little tidbits with grocers, and is even more pleased to savor what advice they may pass on.

Because of this, Rengoku is far more in the know than the majority of the Hashira. Unlike a few of them Tomioka and Obanaij, the kakushi who tend to his needs are far more willing to engage in conversations. All too eager to bask in the warmth of the sun, and in reality, speaking with Rengoku is akin to releaxing beneath the rays on a bed of spring grass.

Thus, when the Flame breather happens upon two kakushis busied with chores, whispering amongst themselves, the small snippet of a sorted love affair amongst Hashiras spoken far louder than intended how else would he have ever heard them. Rengoku cannot help but drop to his knees, wedged between the two of them. An eager puppy to join in the kinship of work place discussion, even doing his best to fold the laundry as he makes his inquiry. The muddled state of folded linens pressed between his calloused battle fingers, and the warm smile as he regards them.

Who can blame them for sputtering it out.

Both of which are left with a searing, overwhelming pit of regret as his fingers meet the cloth at their heads. Reassuring as his warm voice echoes across the gardens, expressing with his fullest intentions, that he will see this matter properly attended to, and thanks them for sharing with him.  Both far too guilty, knowing that the Flame Hashira has absolutely no concept of differentiating hearsay from facts.

Only furthered as they hear his external monolgued, expressed he had no clue that the little Kocho sister had an affection for the Water Hashira, he must assist him immediately. No, wait, he knows nothing of women. He must consult Uzui, and then speak with Tomioka.

They will soon learn from the head of the Rengoku caretakers that such gossip must not reach the Flame Hashira’s ears, their little flame must be protected at all cost. Though, they had suspected upon his departure they had made a very, very poor decision.

To be clear, it’s not so much that I doubt Rengoku’s intelligence and his ability to eventually determine rumors from evidence. In time like a dog with a bone, Kyojuro will have realized that he has been duped. More often than not, the hard way Kocho’s grin seems to press him in a haunting fashion.

Rather, it’s that I feel like the Flame Pillar was brought up in a fairly traditional family dynamic, and gossip is not something that would have been common place amongst his parents. More so, both of his parents appear to have rather stern dispositions when it comes to their moral compases, and I just cannot imagine them being the sort to discuss the latest topics passed along the Ubuyashiki Main House.

Because of this, I imagine that this is a fairly new skill set that he is working on.

Know that Tengen has not provided as much assistance as he should in such matter. Partner in crime, I know it.

As a man on a mission, the Flame Pillar has unintentionally allowed rumors to start as mere sparks, small kindles that would be abandoned in time, and lost to the night air, a new life. Kindled, and spread across ashes, and nurtured as the woodchips that feed the tale. Rengoku is the sort, to spread gossip in all of the best intentions.

Such as his willingness to provide assistance to the Water Hashira in his blossoming youth, to the abundance of pride he expresses in his tsuguko only providing circumstantial evidence to the manner in which Kanroji has climbed the Slayer hierarchy. Never once intending to insinuate deeper meaning than the words uttered between his grin, and the beam of his praise.

He is truly, by nature, a social firefly.

When the news of an elicit rumor passes his ears, threaded together from details from one kakushi to another, or admittedly, the shamed loyal ones within his service aware that their master is the source… there is no more a devout remorse than Kyojuro.

The heavens will know of his tarnished honors, of his remorse, and self inflicted servitude to those he has unintentionally wronged.

The Sound Hashira

There are few things that entertain the former shinobi. He has lived many lives, and shed far more skins than a single man has ought to, and as such, run of the mill workplace gossip is not at the top of his concerns.

Information elicited in scandalous ways, extracted, and exploited whether the rumor bares merits, or not.

It reeks of shinobi business.

A life he has long since shed, and abandoned with little remorse to leave in his wake.

There are far more entertaining activities Uzui can pass his time with, maneuvering through the redlight district, dancing across waterfalls, encompassed in the throws of passion with his wives—there is very little that the dull conversation passed between mizunoto and kakushi can do to garnish his attention.

As such, he is very rarely entertained, let alone an active participant in gossip for the most part. It’s something he just finds bland, and boring. NOW, to be the center of the gossip shines and peaks beneath the sun. to leave a trail of rumors in your wake, and to be the topic passed amongst the subordinates.

That’s the sort of flashy business, the Sound Pillar can get into.

These little glimpse of a third person point of view are what provides him with delight. A moment beneath the sun, and small amusements. Regardless of how drastic they may be, or down right shameless, Uzui will do little more than to laugh at the concept of bloodied battles left in his wake, or to hear that he has apparently seduced a princess from her jewels. Although, the idea sounds tempting, Hina would never forgive him.

However, do not be fooled. His lack of involvement is not born of moral merit, nor is it pressed by duties or other attributes. We have seen first hand that Uzui is quite the connoisseur and far more than capable of retrieving what information suits his needs. Rather, it’s more the incentive. Other people’s lives are far more boring than his own. They are dull and lack any sort of luster, unlike the brilliance of his own existence, and as such, he is more than not—bored to tears by the concept of what is scandalous in the lives of subordinates.

A scantily clothed woman as a means to climb a hierarchy later is nothing to snub your nose at. Rather, it’s to be commended if such approaches were in Kanroji’s arsenal.

In part, it is likely his own existence that has made such rumors lack luster. His former life has given him more than enough insight into how such things can take on a life, but even more so, his intellect, it takes very little time to pick fact from fiction. Truthfully, he almost pities those who would fall for such little tidbits.

Almost.

Uzui cannot help himself when the Flame Hashira visits him in these times, engrossed in the duty to assist star crossed lovers. The sincerity, sparkliy and delighted to assist those nearest and dearest to him. Tengen cannot resist himself regardless of Mako’s warning. It is the similar delight Suma approaches him after a trip to the grocer, brimming with joy to share that the grocer has landed himself a lover. He is committed.

A willing victim of circumstance and delighted to greet an old companion. It is far too easy for the Sound God to be spirited away in such conversations. He delights in fun, and discussions over drinks, and dinner are likely to allow his tongue to slip far more than they should.

It is only when he is face to face with Kocho’s wrath, and Rnegoku’s self-castration, that Uzui is aware--- it was entirely within his capabilities to stop this.

But, that would not have been as much fun.

The Love Hashira

Like her master before her, there are small tidbits that the Love Hashira cannot help become intrigued with. For one thing, little small things such as the rumors of a little boar in love with a medic is certain to send her reeling to Obanai’s side. Kicking and squealing as she does.

Her heart is a flutter, and her hopes are high, if there is anything she can do to support Inosuke, she will find a way!

These small little snippets of love in the air, and passion a foot is sure to draw her interest, and she cannot help but watch spring fever hit the mizunotos. At times, her own intentions can get the best of her, and she allows herself to read a little more into rumors than she should permit.

It’s nothing that is malicious—the Love Hashir has simply lived up to her title and seizes every opportunity she can to assist the seeds of connection amongst the intrigued.

However, she is far more emotionally aware than her teacher. Where Rengoku has the tendencies to miss over social cues, Kanroji is far more in tuned with those around her and is quick on the uptake. While her heart pounds at the opportunity to assist in love affairs—she is also aware that not everyone is ready for that step and will never push where it is not desired.

Rather, she will simply offer her love and support on the sidelines and pray to all the gods that the relationship will work out. She is rooting for them. And keeping tabs.

Aside from will they, won’t they relationships that are running amongst the Slayer Corps, Mitsuri meets the majority of rumors with ill ease.

There is obvious discomfort that spread across her face as her knuckle meets her rouge lips. Delicate eyes that are reminiscent of the first bud of spring fall to their eyelashes as she ponders the gossips amongst the halls of her estate.

Conflicted at the matter at hand. As the Hashira of the estate, she cannot simply condone the ill placement of idle chatter.

While the Insect Pillar may be able to identify the social connectivity that workplace gossip may bring, Kanroji can only see the wounds that can be afflicted on the unwilling spoken participants. Details of private’s life spread over dinner topics, passed between the rustle of sheets, or the lining of linens upon drying racks.

Delicate threads, pulled at one by one as they gently unravel. Stranded from one another, until a single thread remains untouched. Unbound.

Alone.

The Love Hashira is no stranger to the under belly of gossip. The small chatter spoken amongst housewife to mother, to housemaids, and shared with gardeners, and is painfully aware of what repercussions such implications may cause. Such as the loss of a proposal.

No, she cannot turn a blind eye to such words whispered in her presence, and Mitsuri is not the sort to join in especially if there is harm that can come of such thoughtless words.

No, she will banter back and forth with her internal monologue. Do her best to sort out emotions, from tact. Mitsuri will commit herself to the concept of strategy, depict herself with the clearest of intent, and as soon as she is confronted with the idle chatter once more.

It’s out the window.

The Love Hashira is somewhere between embarrassment, upset, and tears that follow her outburst as she begins to scold, and reprimand. All at the expense of a wounded party.

The outburst was one for the books, and Kanroji is hiding her head in shame.

She meant what she said, she does, but oh… what she had practiced versus what came out… is the difference between grace and word vomit.

She will hide for weeks to come.

The closest that the Love Pillar will ever orbit gossip, is likely to be in the form of tears as she expunges the day’s events, the horrors in which she burst out in a fur of vomit without being able to cap the explosion. Her sobs will fall between the shed of tears as she clutches your kimono. Horrified to allow you to see this part of her, but left with little choice but to pour her heart out to you.

Kanroji is likely to be a victim of a venting session from time to time, but this is as far as she will dip her toes into the rumor mill.

The Stone Hashira

Gossip is not a common place amongst Himejima’s childhood. The torn of incense, the sanction of rites, candles, and the gentle guidance of man’s will. Brought up in a monastery, the Stone Pillar is without attachment to such concepts. Drawn from the necessities, and Buddha’s guidance, such behaviors are not befitting of his upbringing.

Though truthfully, such concepts had never truly drawn his attention. Even when he was a boy amongst the visitors of the temple, wishing to better themselves in their lives, and light. He had recognized the early whispers. Small slips of the wandering eyes of mothers that held their children close, pressed one side by side. Intent upon requesting talismans for their young, interest caught at his presence a ward of the temple.

A source of curiosity, rumors pressed between fingertips, and hummed at the taste of tender gossip.

Age has worn him, drawn his concepts of such social topics, and idle chatter. Strained his relationships, the soft giggles of kakushis tender and soft. A mundane life, and delicate. There are parts of him, that hears small slips of a forgotten life.

Scorn pressed at the twists of the passage between mizunoto and kakushi.

The Stone Pillar can only force a smile to his wide lips, allow the sorrow to settle to the pit of his stomach, dredge in the depths of his soul. Tug at mirrors of forgotten sentences, and hummed to his being. Inescapable, and unavoidable.

Only touched upon in moments such as these, with only the rueful smile Gyomei can press to his features as he swallows the knot that forms in his throat. There is no ill will in the hearts of those that surround him. No intentions lurking beneath the surface, and yet, there is a knowing to his being.

A deeper understanding of the threads that his environment desperately clutches. Connection to the earth, and to those around him. Desperate to sink roots into their circumstance. Warned by the concept of ties to this earthly realm. A concept often robbed amongst their average day to day, buried beneath the depths of the façade of peace.

It’s desperation to feel normal, to feel a part of the world. Touched to those around them, clutched to shreds of normalcy that is greatly underappreciated by the citizens in their care.

Himejima is wise, far more Intune with those around him, and the pull of the wind, the song of birds, and the hum of the soil beneath his zori. It is because of this, he is self-aware. Conscious that the distinct pulls of the whispers of a past best left forgotten is not what is intended to be called back. Rather, it is his own ability to self-reflect, that makes him aware that this is none other than his old wounds bearing their fangs, not the reflection of those around him.  

It is with this, Himejima can only smile.

Listen to the soft voices around him. To the lives that try to I’ve amongst the peak of clouds, to dare to reach for normalcy.

But, they are never conversations that the Stone Pillar will take place in. There has been one or two old  members of the corps who have pressed such conversations, dared to engage the Hashira in conversation. Though, they never made traction.

Though there is merits for others in the social banters, to Himejima, such conversations are superficial at best, and for the axe wielder, he desires more. Soil beneath his nails, warm by sunlight, and to touch the soul of another. To hear their laughter, to know their dreams.

Just because he does not speak, does not mean that he cannot hear things.

The Mist Hashira

One would think that as the youngest member of the coprs, Muichiro would be the most likely to succumb to the lure of the rumor mill. His lack of social interactions outside of his familial bonds, and emergence into the world, makes him a likely candidate, but not as likely as Rengoku.

Though his interactions are as unintentional of that of the Flame Hashira.

As a wanderer, Muichiro is flighty. Curious, and easily distracted by the winds of change. He is a drift amongst the Corp members, and often guided by his wanderlust. His presence is spotty more often than not, and while he is bound by his sense of duty, the swordsman is not prone to remaining in a conversation long enough to truly absorb the discussion.

For the most part, he doesn’t care to.

There are rare discussions that will warrant his attention, and for the most part, they are centered around those closest to him, such as Tanjiro.

The iridescent of blues that flutter and saturate into the black of night, touched upon the flutter of a butterfly’s wings that catches amongst the sunlight. Dreamy, and curious as he wanders after it. Only pulled from its lull at the mention of his comrade.

Similar to a moth to flame, the peak of his ear caught upon the familiar name, Muichiro’s attention has been pulled and tugged, snug as he draws to the end of the side. As though a siren has whispered its sweet tune, he is unable to deny its call.

He is a wrecking ball.

Forcibly interceptive between the conversation, blatant and abrasive as he announces his interception. Unpacified by the kakushi’s clear reeling. Horrified to have drawn his attention. Terrified they have been cursed by a spirit. As he roars his obscenities, called to the honor of his commrades.

Muichiro has little remorse, and gossip often brings up the worst in him.

While he often struggles with remembering certain subordinates most of them, gossipers and chatters have landed a special place on his list alongside a round of snide remarks that accompany their appearance within his sights.

The smallest slip of rumors amongst pressed lips caught by the Mist Hashira, is met with a bitter response, and has likely landed you on his bad side for years to come. Little will right this wrong.

Young, and brand new to the world, Muichiro is not the type to fold to those around him, and clings to his idealisms. Gossips are not welcome in his company, and in truth, he finds the majority of it to be a huge waste of time. He desires to connect with those around him on a deeper route, much like the Stone Hashira. Perhaps to sooth the wounds of his heart, but…. Not all gossip is bad gossip..

The open praise of growth amongst the subordinates, the pride in which some declare their pride in their comrades is likely to elicit the opposite response… Muichiro loves the opportunity to sing praises of those who have earned it. Rare, far and few between, he glows at the opportunity to glisten. He practically comes giddy and offers one of the sweetest smiles as his words flow with affection. Happy to share cute little fun facts, down to the snot bubble that the older Kamado develops when he is especially exhausted.

Growing with each word.

Tanjiro. You know I’m talking about Tanjiro.

Ironically, it is in these moments of unelicited boasting that draws the touch of placed rumors. His glowing affections, unabashedly provided to the one recruit, and Kamado alone. Muichiro has single handedly fueled the fires.

Not that he cares.

I promise Ginko has written more rumors than the entirety of the main household kakushi alone. Little prim feathers has an agenda, and it’s putting her boy at the number one. At. All. Costs.

Obanai Iguro

Gossip has little concept to Iguro.

It is so low on his radar, that he cannot even constitute it as a waste of time. Truthfully, I think only small parts of it even catch his attention from time to time.

Equipped with luminescent star-crossed eyes, mixed matched eyes that contain galaxes, and depths unexplored. The cut of his eyes is sharp, and threatening, and it is without surprise that… Kaburamaru has more of an understanding of what’s going on.

I cannot make this up.

I can imagine the little moonlight touching serpent enjoying teatime with Kanroji and Rengoku, delighting in a treat or two as they catch up over their absence.  The occasional mizunoto greeting Kaburamaru, often venting completely unaware of the depths of his comprehension. Or understanding why he flares when they complain about Obanai.

That being said, the Snake Pillar is not particularly interested in the social ongoings in the Demon Slayer Corps. The congregations of bodies pressed amoangst one another, desperate to depart useless information, he can understand why it is Kaburamaru may seek out the chatter amongst the winter, but for himself, it reeks of… contact.

The close courters, the touch of elbows against one another. The eagerness of maids to press into him, to touch his hair. Whispered appreciation of it’s luster, the wander of his eyes. Shamelessly seizing the opportunity to snuggle up to him.

No, absolutely nothing they are discussing is worth that.

For the Serpent Hashira, the only time he will meet gossip is when he slips between the corridors. Praying to remain undetected across the lavish décor, pressed against furniture. Doing the best to navigate narrow spaces, as the words of slander slip from pressed lips, a mock show of dusting a vase that only further elicits the swordsman’s rage. Master Ubuyashiki deserves respect, and… did they mention Kanroji?

Let’s be clear, Iguro has protective tendencies, as any snake with a possession worth safeguarding.  Only those who have earned his recognition, his attention will warrant his protection. Regardless of where they may be, and what way the threat has been imposed. Physical, or otherwise.

Obanai has been known to snicker at the rumors that flow over Tomioka.

However, insults warded against Shinazugawa’s scars, or the question of Kanroji’s chastity are sure to illicit wrath, and none have been able to escape his punishments without scars.

I promise he has strung up a mizunoto or two for daring to insinuate that Mitsuri would dare entertain the idea of a relationship with the Kamado boy.

Obanai is intelligent, and in some aspects, he is likely to be able to seize the utilization of weaponizing information from time to time, but truthfully, he does not have the patience for such sorted behaviors.

Or rather, it’s that such topics that bristle him, such as the hinting that Kanroji has begun a relationship, or that the new recruits have witnessed Kanroji in the baths during their stay at the Swordsmith Village has him seething.

Quick tempered, and vengeful, he has not the time, nor the means to reel his emotions back long enough for a well thought out plan of revenge. His only objective is to devour everyone hole. Whether the rumors have merits, or if the target of such gossip is even aware.

The Snake Pillar has no forgiveness to offer.

Truly, the least likely to engage in gossip in my opinion. He’d really only listen to Kanroji’s vents/word vomits, or perhaps Shinazugawa imparting information from time to time.

The Wind Hashira

The Wind Pillar holds himself to his duties, has subjectifies himself to the life that he lives, and relents his wellbeing for the sake of others. The moment that he realized his marechi blood spelt death for those around him, Shinazugawa released what little hold he had on a normal life.

Like threads slipped through his fingers, Sanemi did not refute their loss, and refused to morn his place amongst the common folk. Rather, he accepted his duties without complaint, assured himself that to live this life in service was to ensure that his little brother would never know the pains of the night.

With such dedication, the Wind Pillar has quickly become a pillar amongst the Slayer Corps, and though often the topic of rumors that press amongst new recruits, his scars have stories that have taken lives of their own.

Yet, rare is the time in which he will intercept such conversations. Rather, he has submitted to such claims. Allowed gossip to run amuck, dedicated himself to his training, to securing lives. What he has will be proved in battle, in servitude, and protecting those around him.

What offers them, even the briefest release from their realities, Sanemi is willing to turn a blind eye to what he may say.

Perhaps because he too, misses normalcy amongst the sun.

Yet, there are rare slips in which the rumors can guide his temper. Flare his wrath, and break his façade of silence. Such as the times in which the mizunotos whispers sympathies for that Water Hashira bastard. Warmed, honey words bewitched by his pathetic sniveling, and convinced that it was none other than the Wind Pillar who bullied sympathies from the little shit’s mouth.

The mere notion that Shinazugawa had gone out of his way to threatened, not to even see the Water Pillar was enough to elicit his rage, and often times, sent him reeling. Storming through estate after estate until he had found the swordsman. Allowing his rage to guide the interaction with little remorse or thought.

For all his moral compass, like Rengoku, there is a crack in direction.

A small swivel of the compass, distracted by an attractive magnet. A small sip of conversation, the sweet whisper of curiosities, and hummed warmth. Such as the shy mumblings of a maid amongst the Main Household.

Pressed her fingers to her cheeks as an older retainer probs for details. Shamelessly engaging the conversion in the light of day, an inquiry of attraction for a particular gun wielder amongst the units.

Oh yes, small tidbits of loved ones is sure to peek the Wind Pillar’s interest. Though negative slips will react in elicited rage, Shinazugawa is fiercely protective of those who he deems worthy, and even so of those he is less than concerned for. Unwilling to allow those in his estate to act as perpetrators of others happiness.

Sweet little slips such as these, are impossible for him to ignore.

I mean, he’ll try.  He will convince himself he is above such matters, scoff openly at the shameless topic in the daylight. Despite finding the way his ears naturally turn to hear more, chastise himself once more, before uttering bitter curses as he resigns himself to the task at hand. Information gathering.

The wind breather needs details. Needs to know more about this maid, about her inquiries, about how it is she has come to know his little brother, and what it is that has drawn her interest. Metts when she shares that it was that he helped her with her fallen zori. Someone in love with his little brother can’t be all bad right.

While I cannot say Shinazugawa will intentionally take an active place in gossiping, I can see himself involving himself more than he should. Such as in the case of his little brother’s love life.

especially when the life that he dreamed of for Genya is just within reach.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #gyomei himejima x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #🍡tsuyospeaks

[anne-the-quene]

I’m curious…what is your opinion of Henry’s relationship with each of his wves?

Oh my goodness gracious, thank you for this, Anon! (This got ridiculously long so I’m putting it under a cut)

Okay I guess I’ll start with Catherine of Aragon since she never gets to go first…

Hot take (not really) but I don’t think she and Henry had this great romantic love. And, for the record, I think it was mutual. I don’t think either of them loved each other in a romantic way. However, I also don’t think that Henry married her because he was forced to…because who forced him? His father? Yeah, Henry claimed later on that he only married Catherine because it was his father’s “dying wish” (or something to that effect) but we don’t know if that’s actually true and also, Henry denounced the betrothal in 1505 and no one forced him to go through with it regardless. And, certainly, none of the naysayers were forcing him to go through with it. Catherine apologists make so much of Henry uses the “brother’s widow” excuse during the Great Matter and completely gloss over the fact that there were multiple people also citing this as a reason during the period of Catherine’s widowhood.

I think, what it came down to, was that Henry knew that Catherine had been living in wealthy poverty and was maybe not being treated very kindly by his father, and Henry was also dealing with his own poor treatment by his father, and so Henry saw himself as this knight in shining armor rescuing the damsel in distress. Of course, Henry and Catherine had also known each other for almost a decade—it’s hard to know exactly what their relationship was like during those years because I doubt they really interacted much, but if Catherine was kind to him then that would add to why Henry was so okay with ignoring the naysayers. And then, in the early years of their marriage, Henry came to admire and respect her.

Where things get complicated is the issue of their children. I remember once seeing this article Suzannah Lipscomb wrote where she speculated how their marriage would be if Henry, Duke of Cornwall had lived and Suzannah made it out to be that everything was all rainbows and sunshine and she was his beloved wife forever etc etc. That’s great, Suzy, but I really don’t think it’s, at all, realistic. Certainly, if Catherine had had a healthy son who survived, Henry wouldn’t have divorced her even after she hit menopause. But Ithink it’s very optimistic to say their marriage would’ve been perfect. Obviously, losing so many children didn’t help. But, like I said, I don’t think Henry was deeply in love with her, so I think it’s inevitable that he would’ve strayed (I guess is the right word?).

On to Anne (strap in y’all this already way too long answer is gonna get even longer).

So I mentioned how I don’t think Henry was really romantically in love with Catherine. I think that Anne was the first time (and the last time actually) that Henry genuinely, properly, fell in love with someone (sorry Bessie stans…do those exist? Probably…somewhere…I definitely feel like I’ve seen at least one person try to argue that Bessie was the great love of his life). Anyway, yeah I think Henry had all of these grand romantic ideas about himself and he believed himself to be in love with every pretty girl…and then he met Anne and his brain just short-circuited. (And, who can blame him, I mean Anne Boleyn is obviously the most perfect woman whose ever existed, I’m in love with her 😂). In all seriousness, Henry didn’t have the great passionate love with Catherine but he definitely had it with Anne. We could talk about what went wrong in that relationship, but I’ve already stated my opinion on that and almost got run off of Tumblr for it.

So moving on to Jane…

Oh dear. It amazes me how many people still believe Henry’s own propaganda. So, unfortunately, for those of you, it’s very clear to me that Henry never loved Jane at all. He treated her pretty poorly while she was alive. I think she appealed to him because she wasn’t Anne. After she died, he fell head over heels with the idea of her. But that’s about it.

Now, lucky number 4.

I feel like I don’t really need to say much about this one. Henry made his feelings about Anna pretty clear.

I guess I could talk about their post-divorce relationship. What’s sad is that I think Anna could’ve actually been good for him. She comes across as a pretty chill person, but she also enjoyed a lot of the same things that he enjoyed. I think, if Henry had just not done that stupid thing of thinking that he was still 20 years old and that Anna would magically recognize him somehow, then I think they could’ve been brilliant together.

Onto Katheryn number 2.

I feel like this one is pretty self-explanatory. Henry was getting old, he couldn’t exercise like he used to, he had mobility issues, he was becoming obese…and Katheryn made him feel young again. What’s interesting comparing Katheryn and Anne’s downfall—Anne died because she was powerful, Katheryn died because she was powerless.I mean, it’s not insignificant that Katheryn’s downfall took months while Anne’s took just a few weeks. Obviously, the suspicion of Katheryn committing adultery was embarrassing for him, but she stuck around so long under house arrest because the only real threat Katheryn posed was to Henry’s ego.

Yee-haw, it’s Kathryn Parr (any Rex Factor fans out there?)

This one I also feel like is pretty self-explanatory. By this point, Henry has alienated and killed everyone who ever cared about him so, naturally, he’s feeling pretty lonely. What I find most interesting is that Kathryn was older and more mature and, obviously learned. I think with Jane, especially, and to a lesser-extent, Katheryn, Henry was kind of over intelligent women who could stand up to him. But I get the sense that, after Katheryn’s execution, he kind of got tired of the subservient wife. I think Henry actually preferred intelligent, feisty women, but things had gone so horribly wrong with Anne that he wanted the opposite. But then he quickly got bored of the opposite. Obviously, at this point in Henry’s life he’s really not interested in anyone standing up to him or trying to impose their opinions on him, but he still wanted someone he could have a conversation with. And Kathryn, bless her, was clever enough to match him intellectually without pushing the boundaries too much.

Wow, this got so insanely long. I’ll put it under a cut so it doesn’t clog up anyone’s feed.

But, you know, when I really spell it out like this, it just emphasizes how frustrating it is when all the wives get lumped together and the last few even get largely ignored. Because, for all of them, their circumstances for becoming Henry’s wife were completely different, and all of their relationships with him are completely different. People act like him having six wves was inevitable or that his choices were completely random. On one level, I can understand why people lump them together in this neat “Six Wives” package but doing that completely ignores the fact that they were individuals, not just a part of this rotating door of arbitrarily chosen women.

#henry viii #catherine of aragon #katherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #anne of cleves #katheryn howard #katherine howard #catherine howard #kathryn parr #catherine parr #ask

[askvectorprime]

Dear vector prime, Did Swindle choose his name, or was it just oddly fitting? Why do people put trust in him when his name is literally Swindle?

Dear Nominative Naysayer,

Yes, he would have chosen that name for himself, or at least chose to assume it at someone else's suggestion. When it comes to the names we pick for ourselves, there's no set tradition; we will choose a word that expresses something about us, or adopt a name from an alien culture we've interacted with, or simply pick a combination of words which is pleasing to the audio receptor.

As I've previously discussed, we are creatures of change, who change our names much more frequently than most humans—at least, relative to our lifespans. Bots like Trailbreaker and Slag have gone through countless names over the years. At the extreme end, we have the likes of Hun-Gurrr, who changes his name multiple times a day, depending on how hungry he is feeling.

I myself am something of an exception; bots of a certain vintage are only able to change their name a limited number of times before it's set permanently. Why, there was this one marketing stunt offering free products to anyone who'd change their name to that of the store in question—my poor brother Toys"R"Us Prime has been stuck with it ever since.

As for why someone might willingly deal with a bot who's quite literally named "Swindle"… I must admit, I've wondered the same thing myself. But perhaps we had better ask: why would someone willingly join a group who call themselves "Decepticons"?

#ask vector prime #transformers #maccadam #cybertronian language #swindle #trailbreaker #slag #hun-gurrr #vector prime #toys“r”us prime #thirteen primes #decepticons

[stupendousfoxthing]

It's so annoying to me when I come across people who say that tkkers base their belief in taekook on edits and videos that overanalyze. Not saying that there aren't shippers like this but I know this is not the case for alot of tkkers I know and certainly not for me. I had no interest in shipping and theorising on band mates being in a secret relationship when I got into BTS. I just really loved their music and their story.

I noticed taekook while catching up on lives and binging BTS content trying to get to know the members more. I wasn't trying to ship any members, but I was picking up on things with taekook that made me side eye them ngl. The odd tension in lives, the hot and cold behaviour, being overly touchy and familiar with eachothers bodies and personal space while also sometimes acting like they don't know eachother. I tried to brush it off but the vibe they were giving off was like when you start noticing tension between two people in a friend group but nobody talks about it and it becomes the big elephant in the room, only to find out later they were secretly hooking up lol.

After awhile I felt like I had gotten a good grasp on all the friendships and dynamics within the group and yet taekook remained a big question mark to me and fandom discourse certainly didn't help at all. It's only then that I fell into the rabbit hole out of curiousity and most of what I learnt has solidified my suspicions about them. You really don't need analysis videos or shipping edits to notice them because the vibe they give off and the things they do, the way BigHit handled them, these things are enough to make you question. Remember when locals at 2020 Grammy's were asking if they were a couple? Yep, taekook give off boyfriend vibes and we all know it, even the naysayers know it deep down.😂

(Btw I love reading your thoughts, please post more 😭)

It doesn't annoy me when other people say that about Taekookers, because I know for a fact that's not what I base my belief on and I think a significant portion of people who say that are trying to convince themselves there's nothing between TK, we just really want there to be. A lot seem to believe that if they get rid of us Taekook's relationship will stop existing, whatever the nature of that relationship is. Personally I hate analysis videos. Like I said previously, when I first starting looking at Taekook those kinds of videos weren't very popular yet. The two big YouTube accounts I followed just posted compilation videos of moments with no analysis. That's all I need. There are so many moments that speak for themselves. I'll be screaming about the nape kiss until the end of time. I'm sorry but there's no way you're going to convince me there's anything platonic about that. Two recent moments I think about a lot are the Sweetheart shirts and Tae's live where we found out Jungkook always sings "To Find You" to him. Those are very loud and obvious imho. I don't need to analyze them. I've also in my own life accurately called these same "vibes" between plenty of people who ended up together. The tells aren't any different for same-sex couples, but some people will readily read romantic/sexual interest into every interaction between a man and a woman but dismiss way more sus moments between two men. I think there would be no question about Taekook for a lot of people if they were a het pair. I do remember the buzz around them at the Grammys. I was just recently thinking about reactions I saw on Twitter to the live where Tae played "Oh No Oh Yes" (where he intentionally "twin flamed" with Jungkook as an anon recently pointed out). That had some people questioning things. I remember seeing people talking back and forth in a thread about the lyrics and how they usually drag Taekookers but maybe we're onto something. 😂 I still think that some people who call us delusional just don't follow what happens between Taekook, because they were more suspicious than ever during solo era. Thank you for the message, sorry it took me a bit to get to answering ❤️

#asks #taekook

[alexiethymia]

As promised, Death on the Ice Field

Nothing I say here will be new since the themes have been tackled plenty of times in fanfic (which I am so thankful for), but it’s still fun regardless. I feel like I usually have to put the disclaimer that this is a HitsuHina blog, because I think I will always have more to say about them.

Like Death on the Ice Field for example. It frustrates me the anime didn’t show Momo’s part here, because I’ve always believed that she was as crucial to Rangiku and Granny in setting up Toshiro on the path of a shinigami and meeting Hyourinmaru.

The way I see it, Momo was the spark, the impetus, Rangiku showed the way, while Granny allowed him to go. The special chapter, in my view, was all about awakenings or an awareness of change. It was Momo leaving which reminded Toshiro about things changing. It’s an allegory of sorts about growing up. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that perhaps this chapter also showed the start of his awareness of his budding feelings towards her (I mean there will always be naysayers and live and let live, but even without the relationship chart, I don’t think you’d blush at your sister or sister-figure no matter how close she was).

Another thing is how when he says Momo and Granny were the only ones never to be afraid of him, he says next that that’s why he likes Granny, but he doesn’t say the same of Momo. I’ve always thought Kubo excelled in his use of negative space, but that also applies to the dialogue-variant in that he seriously leaves a lot of things unsaid and interactions unexplored (Isshin reuniting with Rangiku and Toshiro, Kirio with Hiyori). It leaves a lot of room for interpretation and makes things fun for fans. Personally, I always read it as him being unsure of his feelings for Momo now, again something brought to his awareness with her leaving, a characteristic tsundere response if you could say.

He measures time by the number of years she entered the academy, and while she still smiles brightly at him - the same smile she graced him with five years ago - she no longer faces back (to Toshiro, Jurinan, take your pick) when saying goodbye the way she did the first time she left. And unlike five years ago where Toshiro just scowls and says she shouldn’t bother visiting anymore, this time he no longer keeps the pretense up, he waves back, though a bit limply because Momo doesn’t even see it, only facing forward, sure in her goal. (Be careful what you wish for and all that.)

So when Grandma says at the end that Toshiro didn’t want to make her lonely, it brings to mind what she said while scolding Toshiro that he shouldn’t say what he said because doesn’t Momo leaving make him feel lonely? He doesn’t deny it either, only pretends that everything is ok and that she’ll be back soon anyway. It’s also no coincidence, I think, that Granny wanted to talk to him right after Momo visited again. In other words, he didn’t want to make Granny lonely the same way Momo leaving made him feel lonely. But that theme of loneliness also applies to Hyourinmaru. Both sword and master would always feel lonely if Toshiro never discovered his name. And if you take Bleach Track 8 as canon (which I do because I love that Drama CD), there’s something to be said about Toshiro discovering Hyourinmaru’s name out of a desire to protect Momo, and Momo being the first to discover him discovering his shikai and subsequently calling him ‘Hitsugaya-kun’ without any prompting this time. In a way, it was a mark of growing up for Toshiro. That’s why there’s plenty of underlying themes between Hyourinmaru and Hinamori in relation to Toshiro that I love to see explored, which @rays-of-fire-and-ice does wonderfully in their fic! That theme of loneliness was also present in Momo during the Soul Society arc (and truthfully for a lot of characters) when she must have felt so isolated because of everything going on around her.

Laying it all out like this, you can really see the parallels with how Toshiro wakes up to both Momo and Rangiku, and how the line “I hear a voice” gets repeated for both Momo and his Granny. I don’t know how intentional Kubo really is with references to mythology, but it’s a fun coincidence to liken the three of them to the fates - Momo as the Maiden, Rangiku as the Mother, and Grandma as the crone - all pivotal to Toshiro’s path.

#hitsugaya toshiro #hitsuhina #hinamori momo #matsumoto rangiku #bleach #ramblings about bleach #ramblings about hitsuhina #toshiro’s granny #do we still not have a name?? #I feel like someone on Klub should ask Kubo #that one moment of hyourinmaru sitting between hinamori and hitsugaya during that flower viewing party sticks with me for some reason #like why hyourinmaru? #was it a coincidence? #did he want to look after both hinamori and hitsugaya? #I can spin so many stories from that one anime moment alone #and I also cannot get over how he left his granny despite how much it broke his heart because he was harming her #but when he did the worst thing he could imagine doing to momo #he didn’t remove himself from her life #and instead reaffirmed his will to protect her #I’m sure the guilt was there and there was probably a time when he couldn’t face her #as shown when Momo says it was Rangiku and Shinji who helped her recover after FK #but if you believe they grew apart during the Aizen years and Soul Society arc #like gin and rangiku and renji and rukia #it’s nice to know that they both learned from the past #and resolved to hold on to the things dear to them #rather than letting go #to tie rather than untie #and this is why filler stuff is great for stuff like this #to know that amidst all the seriousness of war #they still do hang out and spend time together outside of work post-Aizen

[autopotion]

I was such an FFXIII naysayer after it came out, so, even though I got 30+ hours into it several years later, I don't feel like I ever gave it a fair chance. I was excited about a woman-led FF and I do like some of the characters (I love Fanille, and Lightning and Sazh are cool), but I feel like my perspective was poisoned by three things:

1. I was reading a lot of essays by FF fanboys at the time who all despised FFXIII and referred to it as "the Tube," and I respected their opinions so I parroted them eagerly (a mistake, considering that one of them hated Yuna);

2. The people I knew who loved it frequently cited the fact that they didn't care if the combat was good or bad because they only cared about the cinematic storytelling, which is a perfectly valid way to interact with games, but admittedly frustrated me, since I was like... Why make it a game if you just really want a movie? What's the point of using this medium then?;

3. I was moving out of my hardcore FF phase and experimenting with more hands-on action RPGs, and my exhaustion with turn-based and ATB bled into my feelings about FFXIII.

I feel like I had some other complaints that weren't informed by those aspects (I genuinely missed the presence of vibrant towns & NPCs, none of the villains were memorable, and I did find some of the voice acting direction grating), but I don't feel like I ever made an honest effort to meet FFXIII on its own terms. Also I can get very impatient with progression in games and button-mash my way through combat that could actually be good if I devoted time to learning the systems (see: Tales of Berseria), but that's not the game's fault.

Anyway I was reading some pro-FFXIII reddit posts about the combat and someone said you're not controlling individual people in battle, you're controlling the flow of battle and I was like. OH. Switch flipped. I wonder how much more I would enjoy the FFXIII combat if I went into it with that perspective

#this brought to you by illy's lovely ffxiii posting #which has made me like. man I really did not give this game a chance huh #i rly wanna replay it soon #ffxiii blogging

[shirleyjacksons]

i’m not overly invested one way or another wrt whether the events of yellowjackets are influenced by the supernatural or whether there’s a rational explanation for everything, but i do find it extremely funny when supernatural-naysayers are all “no obviously nothing supernatural is going on here, that would be too contrived and convenient” and then turn around to theorize that nearly everyone the yellowjackets interact with in the present day are secretly in a cult dedicated to bringing the women back to the wilderness. i’m not saying that’s not a fun possibility but i am saying it is just as contrived as any supernatural explanation, if not more so

#the yellowjackets subreddit can be a trip

[esther-dot]

One thing I realised that while jonsa was not considered canon couple by book fans it was taken seriously when S6 is out. I mean the reviewers or some neutral fans were shock to see jonsa chemistry and it's possibility. The show boost up Jonsa popularity and hence book Jonsa started making sense. Also I know there are people who don't find Jonsa having romantic undertones in show or books. But they can find non existent romance in pedoships so it really doesn't matter.

I talked about how book Jonsa predated s6 here, but I agree that the show gave it a massive boost in popularity. I have to say though, whether you thought show Jonsa would be canon or viewed it as a crack ship, no matter if you can’t with show Jonsa and only like it for the book characters, whatever version of Jonsa you are, never let anyone in the fandom at large make you feel bad.

I’m gonna rant so look away @northernladywriter 😂

The same people who spout off about Jonsas are the ones who denied Dark Dany. They were walked through the foreshadowing in the show (with book collaboration) by Dark Dany stans prior to s8 and in retaliation to spec they didn’t like they called Jonsas misogynistic, slavery defenders, claimed the theory was only about shipping, they sent rape and death threats, and then when it happened, when Dany burned KL, they argued that it was a last minute development by D&D, that there was no foreshadowing. The problem isn’t that they didn’t agree (we were all wrong about the ending in one way or another), but they maligned Jonsas, excluded them from the fandom, lied about the motivation behind and arguments for Dark Dany, and they still do it. You just can’t take such dishonest people seriously. And you definitely can’t take what they say about what is or isn’t foreshadowing to heart.

Like you, I feel that it further disqualifies naysayers when I see the same people who mock Jonsa earnestly argue that Martin wants us to read a grown man attempting to rape Sansa as somehow part of her grand romance. Never harass people, but do feel free to ignore their criticism of us/our ship/our theories!

And, I’ll say again, I’ve never minded people who didn’t read the show jonsa dynamic as romantic because I didn’t think s6 had to be romantic. It was intense, and they were more emotionally vulnerable than I’d ever seen them before, but I didn’t think it had to be interpreted in a certain way. I believed in Jonsa being canon because I thought Jon would have to choose between love (Sansa) and duty (Dany), and then, what do you know, that is the story we got in the finale. D&D kinda/sorta wanted to have it both ways and reversed the expression —duty is the death of love— but we all knew the truth, the scripts confirmed later that it was love for the Starks that won out, so I think there was a lot of last minute funny stuff trying to soften Dany’s ending further for fans, possibly at the behest of HBO who wanted their spin-offs. It was way too tidy and works too well with lots of stuff from the books for me to think that D&D came up with that callback. So post s8 I became more convinced than ever that book Jonsa would be romantic. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Anyway, I agree that the show brought a lot of people to the Jonsa fandom (many of the active Jonsas were show watchers first), and I think the characters being aged up in GoT helped as well. Book Sansa is very young which makes a lot of us uncomfortable. As for romantic chemistry, book Jonsa hasn’t interacted on page yet so there isn’t anything to speak of there, but Jon’s “Sansa…singing to herself” and Sansa’s “oh, it would be so sweet” lines make it easy to think Martin will enjoy writing their dynamic. The few moments they do think of each other are so evocative, having them actually interact has all sorts of potential!

#dot chat #< tag to filter

[fair-fae]

Your takes on mods are honestly so refreshing! Ate a left no crumbs, bestie

ty bby <3 I love mods and I really enjoy the personalization and diversity they add to what is otherwise a very limited and lackluster character creator. I have opinions about over-reliance on them and people making characters that look like they no longer belong in FFXIV or look nothing like their character model (at least for interactive stuff like RP), but ultimately that doesn't really effect anyone else so y'know, whatever, who cares? But if you're gonna bitch at someone for not adding your Mare code, you need to go touch grass lol. (Maybe the naysayer thought this was some kind of strawman or some "all modders do this" kind of argument? But no, I've literally had someone who was trying to RP with me whine about me not using Mare at the time and getting passive aggressive about how "well my character looks soooo different and you'll never know what he's supposed to look like now" yet refusing to just use their words--y'know, like we do in RP, the thing that we're doing--to describe their character or even just sending me a fucking screenshot)

#ooc

[violentviolette]

reactivated my facebook so I could post in local lost pet groups and was immediately reminded why I do not interact with ppl. sweet christ why is everyone so fucking insufferable

we've listed in every single post and poster that meows is an indoor cat. and yet still the amount of ppl being judgemental af and asking like "well is she indoor *only*" like yes bitch that's what indoor fucking means!! and when I say "yes, as stated in the post she is an indoor cat and has never been outside" and get a condescending "im just trying to help" back like no girl ur really fucking not. assuming when I say indoor cat that I somehow mean outdoor cat so u can justify being a dick about it is not infact trying to help

also the amount of people screaming that we NEED to use a humane trap and "dont listen to what naysayers say this is the ONLY WAY to get ur cat back u HAVE to use a trap" like thanks for fighting ur imaginary agenda on my post but I live in the fucking woods and ill trap 50 raccoons with no way to safely release them before I ever catch my fkn cat. and when I say that its nothing but "dont listen to other ppl u MUST use a trap. ask to be shown how to use one and set it out ASAP" with a million screenshots of Amazon listings for traps like ma'am what if I beat u to death instead

#jack.speaks #i fucking hate ppl oh my god #sometimes i think maybe im not as antisocial as i think and then i stick one toe outside my circle #and am like ah no nvm i cannot exist in polite society without devolving into madness #thank u all for being normal and kind and actually helpful

[redwinterroses]

I'm happy the hermits are actually kinda calling them out. Cause some of the stuff those trolls say is absolutely ridiculous.

YES. Call out this nonsense. Especially when it's crapping on one of their friends/coworkers/fellow hermits. And none of this "oh well, they shouldn't sic their fandom on--"

No.

If someone is in a crowded concert hall, and after the piece they stand up and say "Wow, that was really bad. Why are you all clapping? This stuff sucks," the person on stage has every right to look them dead in the eye and say "Then why are you here? Be polite."

And if everyone else in the room starts booing the naysayer, that's on them for saying these things in a public arena where anyone can respond and interact.

(that said: I'll offer the caveat of "death threats are never acceptable" [duh???] and also: if they apologize or grow past whatever they said, allow them to do so.)

#gotta cover my bases obviously but that last bit is common sense #and so is ''make a public statement - get a public response and don't be a crybaby over it'' #redwinteranswers #discourse #<-not really but just in case

[anthonybialy]

Rating Josh Allen Goes Over

There are just not enough thoughts shared about Josh Allen.  Get in a couple extra takes before kickoff.  A player who’s the focus of not just the Buffalo Bills but the league has become so ubiquitous that thorough social media searches encounter fanciful notions about the nature of his awesomeness.  Unreal play leads to unreal takes on both sides.  It’s not just the messiah-style praise offered by congregants: hearing how he’s overrated is commonplace enough to be tiresome.  Haters use each other as sources.

Imagine him at full strength.  Fans have to think all the way back to 2021, which is a challenge if you’re struggling to recall what was for dinner two nights ago.  Our most recent football mental images feature Superman with kryptonite duct-taped to his elbow.  Playing hurt is a testament to toughness on top of an invaluable skill set.

Learning what a UCL is was one of last season’s 87 million low points.  Watching a football hero cope with a restricted throwing motion is not a fun way to discover what’s going on under skin.

It’s easy to avoid failure by never pursuing anything chancy.  Get nothing done to minimize low points.  Sure, there won’t be any high ones, either, but level living bores those who need the thrill of mentions filled with justified vitriol.  As for real risk-takers, they experience the widest range of emotions by daring to wager.  The greatest successes necessarily involve exposure to hazard.  Ranking Allen below Tua doesn’t count.

The balance between dashing and foolhardy is tough to maintain during the fraction of a second it takes to determine if an attempt is worthwhile.  Allen perhaps pushed the needle a bit too much into the reckless zone last year.  Boxing judges award rounds for effective aggression.  Charging boldly into an uppercut meets only one of the two criteria.

But the downside of the wrong player fielding occasional passes is worth accepting from someone who singlehandedly changed a franchise’s fortune.  The difference between Buffalo’s seemingly endless drought and current bounty is exactly one player.  We’re already accustomed to how comfortable it is to know Allen is there.  The Bills are already past the point where they presume he’ll keep them in games and seasons.

Allen must adjust to losing not only occasional games but also privacy.  Complaining about paparazzi caring about what he's doing off the field disregards how he’s a public figure even outside of Bills Country.  Buffalo’s most prominent citizen should know the time to worry is when nobody cares what you do.

There are more productive ways to spend a monotonous offseason than constructing daft theories about superstars who aren’t.  Alternate reality enthusiasts manipulate statistics in a way that’d make Capitol staffers blush.  Delusions that should get one banished from polite football society are promoted by the similarly deluded who insist there are four feet in a yard.  Insulation from human contact while interacting with humans is one of the delights of online living.

A more accurate but similarly imbecilic scenario involves noting there may be one human better at this job.  Rankings can be harmless fun as long as there’s no implication that a silver medal is pathetic.

Measuring ourselves against others is a sure way to feel unsatisfied.  I suppose that’s what sports are.  Nevertheless, Allen is a fantastic success by his own standard.  He’s achieved a tremendous amount at age 27 even if he obviously has unfulfilled goals.  The fact that needs to be stated reflects the mute button’s value.

The only thing worse than trolling is the unintentional version.  You can get upset at Twitter crackpots explaining why Allen is ranked near the bottom of the AFC East’s quarterbacks, much less those in the entire NFL.  Or you can laugh and wait for more results to prove how far deviants strayed from truth.

Allen didn’t get to be this prominent.  Didn’t you heed naysayers?  Pretending inaccuracy’s a fundamental problem that can’t be remedied with better receivers is another example of why you should never listen to Troy Aikman under any circumstances.

A winning record only begins to reflect impact.  Tracking statistics instead of watching games isn’t merely a myopic deficiency for fantasy football zealots who only want an accumulation of numbers.  Enjoying the sport is based around observing not many people can do.  There are at most a few individuals on Earth better than Allen at his job.

The preferred hobby of the miserable is fun for everyone else when nothing they bitch about comes true.  The good news is narratives don’t affect games.  Proclaiming how life is with self-satisfaction is its own punishment when reality plods on with indifference.  The little matter of whether or not opinions conform to actuality is left out of standings.

Let the endless prattle of preposterous framing continue.  Football will drown out jibber jabber in a few days.  Hearing why Allen’s allegedly a reckless turnover machine has provided comfort during the offseason to backers of teams not blessed to have him on their rosters.

The best and worst thing about the internet is unedited content.  Not having someone offer perspective with a quick scan of a tweet or Facebook post leads to unfiltered content.  Readers assess who should be ignored just like quarterbacks calculate the appropriateness of any try to advance the football.  Allen’s success rate far exceeds those of his harshest critic.  Some opinion generators could use recalibration.  Um, that doesn’t apply to this column.  

#Buffalo Bills #Josh Allen #NFL #football

[theangryjikooker]

I'm a jkkr and while this whole thing is overwhelming, seeing people defend the video with 'but why did jungkook do this with xx if he had a girlfriend' seems like the incorrect way to go about this considering most of those shipping moments are either: old, non exclusive, or just isolated moments that can be platonic for some people. The hickey is coming up a lot, which is not platonic for everyone, but also it happened ages ago and only once (suspected hickeys don't really count to me if we don't know the story behind each one). I always knew there would be pushback from shippers like this same as when taennie happened, but i guess jkkrs only saving grace right now is that the video is horrid quality and the faces seem blurred off because everything else pretty much adds up. My only question is, if they wanted to slander jungkook, why blur the faces? Why wait until now to release a clearly old video? And why is there only that one video, when taennie had videos and images from every angle? The original poster from weibo seems to have confessed to it being fake too, but... I think I'm just gonna be skeptical of it all unless there's more undeniable development on it

100% co-signed.

But to add:

I don’t think the faces are blurred; I just think that’s the potato quality of the video.

I’ve always thought this even without this rumor, but shippers drawing upon past (3+ years) Jikook interactions to justify something incongruous in the present reeks of desperation and delusion to me.

(Not sure which Taennie photos you’re referring to, but there was way more to release because I think the understanding was that someone hacked her phone or cloud storage or something like that.)

There are a lot of naysayers coming out of the woodwork, which is expected. But like with every other rumor with some form of evidence, I don’t really pay attention to what people have to say about it; instead, I focus on the released content itself. I think it’s telling, but naturally I’m not 100% on it to the point of no return, precisely because it’s a potato.

#TAJ asks #anon submission #not jikook #jikook #kookmin