crazy to me that there's women in stem slander when they are literally the most interesting and captivating people on earth. I'm sorry you underachieved because you thought that's just what girls do and are insecure about it or you're an underachieving boy who can't stand a woman more successful than you, but the girl who loves sewerage infrastructure does in fact also have a fulfilling sex life.
akane banashi is crazy because these two old men couldn't get together in the old days so they just raised one girl and one boy independently of each other to be like them in spirit and philosophy so they can get rakugo married in another generation
had a friend who used to make new ones up on the spot. The only one that stuck with me was 'good golly jelly beans'. If something catastrophic happens I go for 'that's not ideal.'
guy on the subway with one ear pierced, little gold hoop. other guy on the subway very quickly and subtly googling "which one is the gay ear". it is not the gay ear. visible disappointment on his face as he puts his phone away.
Bleach Smutfest Day Four - Favourite Ship
A Dangerous Game (Grimmjow x Orihime)
I have a soft spot for this ship, so here you go!
@bleachsmutfest
In a place like Las Noches, hierarchy was everything. An arrancar who will not or cannot fight won't last long, unless it has some other defense mechanism to keep enemies at bay. They are not allies merely because they share the same species - the majority would happily eat their fellows if it was a guarantee for more power.
It was not a place for a human, especially not one like Orihime Inoue.
But perhaps that was the whole appeal. She was there, absurdly, incongruously, all because of the mysterious end goal of a Shinigami who called himself a god. Her abilities would not make her the ultimate weapon against Soul Society - but the very fact she could reconstruct matter from nothing, restore something utterly ruined back to its former glory, frightened some of the less powerful arrancar. They were, after all, creatures born of fear and pain. To see something return from being destroyed defied their very understanding.
So there she was, a girl who lacked the will to fight, but one who could reject disaster.
She was the perfect prey and hunting was a natural instinct to him. So when Ulquiorra was called away to debrief Aizen on the mission to abduct the girl, the little bird was left all alone in her cage. It was only to be expected that someone would want to play with his meal.
~
Orihime was lying on her back, staring up at that sliver of moon until her eyes watered.
She was trying to track it, to see if it actually moved, but she was so hungry and bored that she wasn't sure her eyes could be entirely trusted anymore. It was a dispiriting thought - here she was in the den of her enemies and even her own senses were playing tricks on her.
A frown settled on the girl's face. Were they really her enemies? Orihime had seen firsthand what the arrancar were like, had been attacked by several of them, but did that automatically set their status in stone? The Shinigami had also attacked her and her friends, not all that long ago. Yet now some of them were good friends of hers now - why, Rangiku-san and Hitsugaya-san had even stayed over at her house...not that she thought the same result would apply in this situation, of course. Orihime was naïve, but she wasn't stupid. The likeliness of having an arrancar guest at her breakfast table was about as likely as-
Her errant thoughts were quickly swept aside when a new beam of light fell across her face, making her squint. The door was open!
Orihime reluctantly pulled herself into a sitting position, expecting to hear the rattling of wheels or the soft, measured footsteps of Ulquiorra.
Instead, there was nothing. Just an open door, light from the hallway pouring into the room.
Curious and a little wary, Orihime rose to her feet and almost tiptoed across the room, poking her head out of the room. The corridor was conspicuously empty too, free from even those girls Orihime had seen hovering around, eyes jewel-bright with malice. Orihime had no idea why they radiated such hostility towards her (most of the arrancar viewed her like a curious oddity from the human world, others dismissed her outright), so she was glad their attention had been held elsewhere.
Feeling more and more confused, Orihime took a full step out of the room, grey eyes darting about, anticipating Ulquiorra's frigid, scolding tones to ring in the silent corridor. When nothing of the sort came, Orihime bit her lip.
"Hello?" she called, her voice echoing back to her, sounding plaintive to her own ears.
No answer.
Orihime glanced behind her, back in her spacious, dark room. She should turn back, go inside and sit down on the sofa and wait for the door to close. Then again, when did she ever get the chance to leave that room? She didn't even know how long she'd been shut up in there, since there was no way of keeping accurate track of the time. All she had was the moon, but even that was viewed from behind bars.
Mind made up, Orihime headed down the hallway, where the light was brightest.
As her footsteps grew fainter, Grimmjow emerged from his unseen spot in the shadows, a dark, wide grin on his face. She'd fallen for it so easily; his blood was racing to get started.
Time for a little game of cat and mouse.
~
Orihime had not been walking for long when she heard the sound - the same noise she'd been hearing since she left the room. A sort of...scraping, something sharp being dragged against stone, though she wasn't sure what. Not a sword, for there was no accompanying screech of metal. But no matter which direction Orihime turned, the sound followed and if she wasn’t mistaken, was getting closer.
A feeling of panic settled in Orihime’s guts, her footsteps beginning to falter. Ulquiorra would not chase her like this, dogging her footsteps and letting her get so far, before all too quickly catching up again, mocking the very notion she could possibly shake her pursuer.
Orihime thought back on that first terrifying encounter in the throne room, Aizen’s eyes piercing into hers, the Espada standing silently by, radiating hostile reiatsu. The traitors who had followed Aizen this wretched place were there too, Gin smiling like he always did and Tousen looking tight-lipped and grim. If anything, the former-Shinigami were the ones Orihime felt the most anger towards – especially when she thought of how their former-lieutenants must feel, and Rangiku-san, too. The Espada frightened her, but at least they were somewhat predictable in their viciousness. You knew what to expect from them.
Yet that was not much of a comfort when one of them was currently stalking after her through these blank, seemingly-identical looking corridors. How did anybody find their way around such a labyrinth?
Orihime reached a crossroads – one hallway leading to the left, one to the right and then a staircase leading downwards. But which way to go?
“Ain’t a good place for little pets like you to stop, woman.”
Orihime froze.
Walking towards her, hands stuffed in the packets of his hakama, was him. Grimmjow.
Her breath stalled in her throat.
Out of all the strangers around her, Orihime’s feelings towards Grimmjow were hands-down the most complex. Naturally, she was afraid of him. She would have been a fool not to be, especially given how he had almost defeated Ichigo, twice, and the butchering of his supposed fellow-Espada moments after her arrival in Las Noches. His man laughter echoed in her mind long after, replaying again and again in the never-ending silence of her room. Yet…something had passed between them in the moment she healed his arm that Orihime herself didn’t quite fully understand. When he asked her to heal his back (yes, asked, not barked or ordered), she did so and cemented both his fighting powers and his rank at the same time. In other words, Orihime have Grimmjow back his purpose.
And that was a considerable debt she unwittingly held over him.
Orihime recalled that as she stared at him, her heart racing as he closed the distance between them, his eyes pinioning her to the spot. She couldn’t have run away even if she thought it would do any sort of good – he’d hunt her down in minutes. She was unable to look him in the eyes – the latent danger was akin to looking down the barrel of a gun and her eyes skittered off to the side of him.
“What – what are you doing here?” she said, hating herself for stammering.
“Could ask you the same question,” he countered swiftly and she couldn't help but notice how sharp his canines were, “Even if Aizen said to keep you alive, there’s monsters here, little girl. Can’t help it they wanna take a bite.”
Orihime couldn’t help but stare at the fragment of mask on Grimmjow’s jaw as he said the word ‘bite’, imagining that row of fangs piercing her skin. Unprotected by hierro, she imagined it’d be all too easy…
An involuntary shudder ran through her. Grimmjow noticed and his eyes narrowed slightly, pleased. However, he deliberately kept any enjoyment off his face as he looked at her.
“Get back to your room,” Grimmjow ordered abruptly, indicating with a jerk of his chin. “Go on.”
Orihime blinked, a little poleaxed by that – she couldn’t have claimed to have an encyclopedic knowledge on Grimmjow Jaeguerjaquez, but his dismissal struck her as…strange. Almost too simple, like he was somehow faking her out, even though he had a point – it was only Aizen’s word that kept Orihime relatively unharmed, it made for a very precarious position.
Still, she turned to leave, loathe as she was to turn her back on an Espada, intending on retracing her steps. Though she couldn’t truthfully say she’d been watching where she was going with any focus, she surely hadn’t strayed that far.
She must have gotten about five steps when she was suddenly shoved roughly against the wall, front first, her breasts squashing up against the cool white marble. Grimmjow was right behind her, hot breath curling over her ear and she could see those sharp teeth were only a few inches from her throat. Her heart leapt into her throat.
“What are you-?” she said, in a thoroughly undignified squeak.
“Like I said, Princess,” he growled into her ear, his hands dragging up her sides, reaching around to cup her breasts. “Can’t help wanting to have a taste.”
Orihime opened her mouth, but all that came out was a shocked gasp as his hands squeezed her, his tongue licking her neck. His long, calloused fingers kneaded at her, fingertips tracing over her nipples. She could feel it even through the fabric and her face pinkened as her breasts throbbed at the attention suddenly being lavished on them, Grimmjow teasing her until her entire face was flushed and nipples standing to attention.
She hated to admit it – but he certainly knew what to do with his hands. So much so that she, for a moment, completely forgot where she was. Her shock ebbed as he touched her, his hands rough and unyielding on her flesh.
Yet, far too soon, he’d released her, stepping back and leaving her feeling uncomfortably chilly, her face burning and breasts tingling. She could have sworn she could still feel his hands on her, feel the trace of his tongue where it met where neck and jaw joined. Cautiously, Orihime turned her head. Grimmjow stood about a foot away from her, hands back in his pockets, a smirk on his face.
“Well? Go on,” he told her laconically, apparently greatly amused. “Run.”
Bewildered, she did, even though she wasn’t entirely confident about the direction she was taking and was still processing what had just happened. Questions teetered on her tongue, but Orihime wasn’t silly enough to think he’d answer them, or that out in the open was really the best place to start an interrogation.
Her feet faithfully carried her down the corridor, her heart pounding hard. Orihime knew that Grimmjow was watching her, his gaze like a physical weight on her back, but he hadn’t moved since he released her. Why not? What was he doing?
She soon found out when Orihime hit a dead end – she had been so preoccupied with puzzling over Grimmjow’s motives and whether or not he intended to follow her that she’d barely paid attention to where she was going. A crackle of reiatsu alerted her to his arrival. Her breath stalled in her throat.
“Grimmjow- “she began, before he closed the distance, penning her in, both arms braced on the wall, either side of her head.
Her eyes were level with a broad, muscular chest, the scar running down the middle doing absolutely nothing to detract from the sight whatsoever. A blush heated her face at their proximity, at the fact she was blatantly ogling. Everything about Grimmjow screamed predator, yet somehow her body was almost humming in excitement at his closeness.
And, because she desperately wanted to be touched again.
“You’re almost making this too easy,” Grimmjow observed, but it really didn’t sound like an admonishment at all.
His knee nudged between her thighs, parting them and brushing up against her crotch, teasing through the fabric of her hakama. Orihime let out a little squeak of surprise and Grimmjow leered down at her in lecherous glee at her astonished expression, hands pressed flat against the wall behind her. Grimmjow reached for her neck, hand tugging at the fastener that held the collar of the dress shut. Suddenly her formal, conservative outfit offended him horribly, from the high neck to those ridiculous poofy sleeves and the fact it hid virtually every inch of her from his hungry gaze. Orihime yelped in alarm as he tore her collar aside, impatiently, before leaning down to suck and bite at her collarbone, tongue flicking her neck. His mask fragment scraped Orihime’s skin, but she was too lost to the sensation of Grimmjow licking and sucking at her neck to really care. The pressure between her legs was steadily increasing as he moved his knee back and forth, extra slowly, just to be a bastard. The look on her face when he again backed off nearly made him break out into wild laughter, but he managed to smother it.
“You-“ Orihime started to say, breathless and kiss-bruised.
“I’ll give you a good head start this time,” Grimmjow interrupted her, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Start running.”
Orihime considered refusing, of standing defiantly and waiting to see what he would do, but they both knew it was a risk – anybody could show up. How was she supposed to explain what was happening? She could barely keep up with it herself, it was so surreal.
So she ran – really ran, this time, instead of her tentative stumbling from before. Her arms pumped and her limbs seemed to creak from lack of any proper exercise since her arrival in Las Noches. Her dress wasn’t exactly built for maneuverability, but she did the best she could. As Orihime moved, the chilly air made her exposed skin tingle, especially the spots where, moments ago, the Sexta Espada had his mouth on.
Her door was in sight, yet Orihime was on her guard – Grimmjow could catch up to her whenever he felt like it and he’d no doubt enjoy the added thrill of blindsiding her just when she thought she was safe.
However, the hallway remained ominously blank and empty, even when Orihime paused to catch her breath, there was no sign of him. If it weren’t for Orihime’s torn dress and the fact that she was returning to her room with considerably wetter underwear than when she’d left it, it was almost like none of that had happened at all.
Home base, Orihime thought distractedly as she crossed the threshold of her room, her heart still thumping rather loudly, as if she’d just narrowly avoided being hit by a car.
She wandered to the squashy green sofa in something of a daze, warring between relief and disappointment. Her hand rose to her neck, gently touching one of the bites – he’d been rough, but made sure not to break the skin. Was that simple pragmatism on his part of were his reasons a little more altruistic than that?
“’Bout time you got here, woman. Starting to think your dumb ass got lost again.”
Orihime nearly jumped out of her skin.
She whipped around, nearly toppling off the sofa as Grimmjow slammed the heavy door shut, grinning that wide Jack-o’-lantern grin.
Finally, he had her all to himself and nobody to interrupt him for a good long while. Orihime stared at Grimmjow from across the room in a fairly accurate imitation of a deer in headlights and it was all he could do not to pounce on her then and there. Toying with her had been fun, but now he wanted to sink his teeth into her.
Orihime leaned back on the sofa as Grimmjow approached, his tall, muscular form looming over her, no heed paid to the silly notion of personal space. He was unnervingly silent as he stared down at her and although Orihime was usually a talkative person, here she found she could not think of a single thing to say. She jumped on impulse as Grimmjow’s thumb and forefinger pinched her chin, tilting her face up. This time, Orihime stared back into those blue depths, a hint of a challenge in her eyes as if to say, So, you’ve caught me. Now what?
Oh, he’d show her exactly what he wanted. Before she could start asking him idiotic questions, he pushed her back onto the sofa, his hand tangling in her hair as he grasped the back of her head. Her lips parted for him easily and he growled in approval. He wanted to hear her gasp and squeal, saying his name, begging him for more. His hands wandered to her torn collar and with a dark grin, he seized the fabric and tore it with all the effort a normal person might rip paper. Orihime yelped in surprise, which Grimmjow ignored, marveling at the sight of her enormous, full breasts, rising and falling in a snug black bra.
“That’s better,” he leered at the girl, “Guess that’s why Aizen made ya wear this stupid thing – trying to hide you from the likes of me.”
Orihime blushed – she remembered the days when her large chest made her a subject of scorn and ridicule, so hearing a compliment from, of all people, seemed beyond strange. Ignorant of her body issues, Grimmjow impatiently tugged her bra out of the way and began attending to her exposed breasts…with his mouth.
His tongue dragged over her exposed skin, his eyes watching her face as he did. Orihime let out a keening sound, dragged forth from her lips with no active command on her part. Grimmjow’s weight was hot and heavy as he pinned her to the sofa, her head tilting back of the cushions. It seemed ironic that someone so vicious was completely capable of provoking such ecstasy in equal measure if he so chose. Grimmjow himself seemed determined to mark up as much of her skin as possible, nipping at her, then soothing any bitemarks with a flick of his tongue. She squirmed underneath him, utterly pinned and finding, rather unexpectedly, that she was enjoying the sensation. Well, hard not to respond favourably with Grimmjow licking and biting and sucking until she was almost dizzy from it.
Above the writhing girl, Grimmjow was pleased, but not satisfied. Not that those cute little noises and her flushed face weren’t doing it for him – the increasingly hard bulge of his hakama was testament to that, but he wanted more. It was a rare chance he’d get alone with the little princess, he sure as fuck didn’t plan on wasting it. He’d been wanting to fuck her ever since she restored his arm and he was aware that having her in such an oh-so-receptive state and Ulquiorra absent was a small window of opportunity indeed.
Luckily, Grimmjow was an opportunistic bastard by nature.
A feral grin on his face, he sat up and grabbed Orihime by the waist, slinging her over his shoulder with ease, planting one hand squarely on her large backside. Orihime let out a muffled grunt as her stomach pressed against a hard, muscular shoulder, arms reaching out for something to grab onto. Her head swam at suddenly being so far from the floor when she was tossed onto her bed, bouncing slightly. Orihime pushed herself up onto her hands…just in time to watch as Grimmjow gripped her hakama and yanked it off. Instantly, the girl snapped her legs shut, face reddening even further as the stiff white material slithered away, leaving her naked thighs on display. She felt very exposed suddenly, sitting there in a ripped dress and a pair of underwear. She could only imagine what a sight she made – what would her friends say if they could see her now? If they knew she’d been enjoying what Grimmjow was doing?
“Um,” she began eloquently.
“Tch, don’t get all coy on me now, woman,” Grimmjow smirked at her. “I’ve barely even gotten started on you.”
He hadn’t? That was news!
He reached out a hand and tore the tattered remains of her dress off her, and the material fluttered like petals as he threw it aside. Oh, but she made a delicious sight, her skin marked, face burning pink and only a pair of black underwear covering her. His tongue dart out of his mouth, licking his lips. She looked good enough to eat.
Still, a wariness lingered in her expressive grey eyes, so Grimmjow climbed onto the bed, claiming her mouth and slipping his tongue inside, listening to her gasp. Something in him stirred, a primal urge – he had his prey exactly where he wanted her. Now it was time for his efforts to pay off.
His hand travelled up her thigh, fingers tickling the sensitive inner flesh. When he got to her underwear, he snickered, feeling just how pleasantly damp the fabric was.
“You’re not as innocent as you look, are ya, Princess?” he growled, rubbing a finger up her slit, watching her jolt. “Lookit how wet you are. You’re fucking soaked.”
“I-I…” she stuttered, mortified, when he slipped a hand inside her underwear, his fingertip nudging against her entrance, deliberately brushing against her clit but not pressing down. Not quite yet.
“You, what?” he practically purred, feeling her soft thighs quivering. “Don’t tell me that doesn’t feel good. You want some more?”
He nudged his fingers further and she squeaked, her spine arching.
“Oh…Grimmjow,” Orihime gasped, a sensation stirring deep in her groin that is both alarming and addictive. “Pl-please…”
“That’s a good girl,” he purred in approval, before indulging her.
His fingers easily slid into her wet heat, yanking her sodden underwear out of the way with his free hand. She hardly noticed. His fingers grazed her inner walls, thumb grazing her clit as he steadily worked them in and out of her, listening to her gasps and cries as they spilled uncontrollably from her lips, those magnificent breasts rising and falling rapidly. He rubbed in lazy circles for a minute, watching her legs squirm as if hypnotised, his erection straining uncomfortably against his pants now. Grimmjow decided he liked her much better like this – sweating, flushed and panting for him, instead of standing stiff and silent, almost immobilised by paranoia. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her and she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to muffle her whimpers.
Grimmjow quirked an eyebrow. Did she think he’d allow her to remain silent for this? He wanted to hear every little squeal from her – he wouldn’t stand for anything less.
Thankfully for both parties involved, Grimmjow had plenty of tricks to use and he wasn’t talking about the battlefield. (For once.) His eyes were half-lidded and sly as he curved his fingers inside her, making a come-hither motion that had her bucking, cry out.
“Grimmjow!”
His name fell from her lips as if she moaned it all the time and his responding grin was toothy and sharp, eyes burning with both desire and victory.
“That’s better,” he said, a salacious purr that sent a tremour wracking her frame.
Grimmjow did not stop his relentless movement of his fingers until he felt her inner walls spasm, her thighs clenching around his wrist, eyes squeezing shut as she came. He savoured it, burning the look on her face into his mind’s eye. It was only when she tentatively opened them again that Grimmjow eased his fingers free and, making damn sure she was watching, licked them clean.
Orihime stared, transfixed, as Grimmjow’s tongue lapped her off his fingers like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. His eyes seemed to burn into hers and a lascivious grin worked its way across his sharp features. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach, despite herself. Orihime was about to speak – she babbled when she was nervous and the silence between them was thick and heavy with tension, when she felt Grimmjow plant his palms on her shoulders and shove.
Squeaking, Orihime toppled backwards, the bed bouncing as she landed heavily – did he have to be so rough? – before she heard rustling and the next moment Grimmjow was on top of her. He had shed his jacket in the few seconds she lay stunned on the bed and every well-defined muscle was exposed, taut and utterly perfect. His body was so very different from her own – hers was soft and plush, his hard and rugged. If you ignored the mask fragment and the gaping hole in his abdomen, you could almost forget that he wasn’t human.
A hand sliding up her tight, one nail idly scratching it, before cupping her groin, very forcibly yanked Orihime from her moment of introspection.
“Eyes on me, woman,” he demanded roughly, settling between her thighs and using his free hand to free his now-throbbing length. He wanted no doubts in her head about who was fucking her, who was making her come, who was in charge. He was King, and he’d make sure everyone – especially the princess – knew it.
Lining himself up with her, Grimmjow sank into Orihime’s snug warmth with little trouble – she was so wet for him already that even with his girth it didn’t take much to bury himself into her. Orihime let out a gasp as he filled her, squirming as she adjusted to Grimmjow’s length, his girth rubbing against her in a way that made her automatically move her hips, trying to get more friction. She saw a flash of fang as Grimmjow leered and moved, angling his hips to penetrate her nice and deep. She squeaked, her hands flying up to grasp those broad shoulders, needing something sturdy to hang onto. Oh, she had thought of Grimmjow as dangerous before, but clearly, she had underestimated him, if he could make something so forbidden feel so good. He forcibly drove away any doubt or resistance and with each thrust he drove her closer and closer to the edge, the tingling in her crotch graduating into a full-out throbbing, almost a beat deep inside her that was growing stronger and stronger. Grimmjow snarled as he drove into her almost right to the hilt, listening to the hoarse gasps and grunts from her, triumph flooding him – bet none of her little human friends had ever heard the girl make those kinds of noises before.
“So fucking…nngh…” he grunted against her shoulder, hiking her legs higher so he could get even deeper, feeling her tighten deliciously around him, her drawn-out moans filling the air. He could’ve sworn he heard it echo.
“Oh, ah, Grimmjow, I’m-“ Orihime gasped, pleaded, but for what she didn’t know – all she wanted was for this pressure to reach its peak, for him to give her what he’d been teasing her with since he pinned her in the hallway and grabbed her breasts. “Please!”
“What was that?” he smirked at her, eyes wild with lust. “What didja say?”
“Please…”
“Huh, what?” he taunted, giving her ass a smack, enjoying the way her flesh bounced at the contact and the way she yelped - he made a mental note to do that again. “Louder, princess, I wanna hear you scream!”
“Grimmjow, please!” Orihime cried out, her eyes squeezing shut as her inner muscles clenched around him, pulsating, her back arching so much she feared for a second her spine resembled an archer’s bow. “Ohhh…”
His thumb roughly came down to rub her clit and with that, she came undone. Orihime could have sworn a something in her head burst as the pressure finally peaked, hitting her like a wave and knocking her flat on her back, tingles racing up and down her shaking limbs, lips parting in ecstasy. Above her Grimmjow growled as he felt her coming, which only set him off, giving a few more, hard thrusts before he was spent, twitching, his teeth bared in a satisfied snarl. Sweat poured down his back as he took a second to regroup, pulling out of her and flopping beside the panting girl on the mattress. A smug smirk stole over his features as he flicked his azure eyes in her direction, watching her breasts rising and falling with each desperate gulp of air.
“Just like I said, Princess,” Grimmjow smirked at her, flicking his tongue across the row of his upper teeth as he observed his thoroughly-fucked prey. “Can’t help but want a taste.”
She blushed a little, yet strangely it seemed almost like he meant it as a compliment this time.
Orihime’s hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat and her limbs felt heavy, waterlogged, but the knowledge that she was stark naked and Grimmjow’s hungry gaze was wandering up and down her soaked and thoroughly spent frame was enough to spur her into movement. Her fingers plucked the corner of the sheets and she carefully dragged it over herself, sighing blissfully at the cool fabric on her hot skin. She cast a shy glance in the blue-haired Espada’s direction, but her eyelids were already starting to droop.
Grimmjow snorted at her, darkly amused, before surging to his feet and Orihime gratefully crawled beneath the sheets while his back was turned, retrieving his jacket from the floor. The pillows were soft and inviting and offered her a reprieve. She watched Grimmjow from beneath half-lowered lids, though she knew she no longer needed to stay vigilant – not right at this very moment, anyway.
Grimmjow glanced behind him at the girl as he yanked his arms through his jacket. Swathed in white cloth, you could still see marks on her neck, see that her lips were slightly swollen and flushed pink from where he’d been at her. He smirked.
He wasn’t going to stay. That would be stupid, and besides, he’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? So there was no reason for him to.
Still. As Grimmjow left the room, equal measures triumphant, sated and, oddly, just the littlest bit empty, he couldn’t help but think that for all the thrill of a good fight, of gutting an enemy and tasting blood… there was something to be said for her type of prey.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Grimmjow swaggered down the hallway, imagining future encounters with the princess and how to make that a possibility.
Any reading recommendations for deepening one's understanding of the global economy or that of individual nations? I'm starting from effectively no education in the topic bar osmosis from semi-regularly arguing w/both staunch capitalists and Marxists...
I'm a lightweight on those topics (and every topic) but I've found Michael Pettis and Matt Klein to be very readable and I think reliable economists, while Adam Tooze is showy and fun but I don't always have as much confidence in the breadth of his work, he seems too willing to venture out into topics he can't possibly be an expert on; I would recommend his book Crashed on the GFC though.
I feel like I will, at some point, have an essay in me about queer identity, but like not really in the conventional way. I sometimes think that "queer culture" has all of these connotations of colorfulness, joy, gaiety, and just really a permeating sense of silliness that comes with some conceptual bond that was forged between camp and homosexuality sometime in the 20th century. There might be a thread somewhere in here on how camp "ironic" bad taste created an opening for (maybe under the cultural moment of "new sincerity") the kind of cross-pollination between fandom and queerness that is most clearly articulated on this website. And I often think there are historical expressions of queerness that are, for me, more resonant in part because they don't identify themselves with faddishness or youthfulness. And I think there's some kind of like hermeneutical-injustice-flavored thing to say here about needing to construct sexual orientation or gender expression for yourself before you can understand yourself in those terms.
Queer sex and gender was always going to drift towards camp, though. It's a necessary conjunction.
It's precisely because queer identity is distinguished by the need to construct an understanding of one's own self; the opposite of "queer" is "familiar." Pretty much tautologically, we're not in a position to accept the standard narratives uncritically, or to follow the usual paths in the usual way. As such, there's a necessary creative component to any queer identity.
And the thing about creativity is, people kind of suck at it by default? Creative self-expression is a skill (or a lot of skills, maybe), and like any learning process, the early stages are awkward, inconsistent, and often quite embarrassing. And queer people tend to have very diverse origins; there's no way to cultivate an inter-generational culture that makes young queer people especially good at this.
In other words, a queer community is a place where a lot of people are awkwardly engaged in a critically important act of creative self-expression; they're building themselves in a very real way, and a lot of them are going to be doing it rather badly. These communities depend on having a script and a culture that's permissive of these mistakes, and gives young people the space to get the dumb stuff out of the way while they're learning.
Camp is a face-saving way to celebrate low-skill creative work, jumping back and forth situationally between irony and sincere appreciation. Not the only way, maybe, but probably the most obvious and the most accessible. It's a fantastic tool for making the construction of identity feel safe, accessible, and welcoming in a community that otherwise can't make too many assumptions about the background of its members.
oh I like that paragraph about permitting awkward attempts at creativity, it resonates with something I was thinking last week about how much art appreciation depends on an improv style "yes, and-" approach to critique, where you have to implicitly accept the premise of the work or what's even the point.
People with low spoons, someone just recommended this cookbook to me, so I thought I’d pass it on.
I always look at cookbooks for people who have no energy/time to do elaborate meal preparations, and roll my eyes. Like, you want me to stay on my feet for long enough to prepare 15 different ingredients from scratch, and use 5 different pots and pans, when I have chronic fatigue and no dishwasher?
These people seem to get it, though. It’s very simple in places. It’s basically the cookbook for people who think, ‘I’m really bored of those same five low-spoons meals I eat, but I can’t think of anything else to cook that won’t exhaust me’. And it’s free!
by Rachel A. Rosen and Zilla Novikov || Food you can make so you don't die.
SPREAD THE WORD THIS IS FUCKING GOD TIER OH MY GOD, SOMETIMES I HAVE SPOONS SOMETIMES I DON’T BUT NO COOKBOOK OFFERS LEVELS IN THEIR RECIPES THIS ONE DOES!
Could you recommend some comics with interesting art aesthetic, please?
(Sending it again, also don't worry, manga recs were also appreciated)
im so sorry idk why my mind did that sfhsdfgdsfdhs, im again assuming artstyles that arent just "beautiful" i probably forgot some but yea western comics i'll recommend :
Prince of cats by Ronald Wimberly
Skim by Mariko tamaki and jilian tamaki
Beauty and beautiful darkness all drawn by kerascoet
valentina (its kinda exploitative french derogatory comic but....)
paper girls (my beloved)
seconds ( probably bryan lee o' malley's art at his cutest despite the subject matter fgdh)
cybersix ( the art is worth studying more in the animation i do not recommend the comic personally there's just.....so much)
moebius's books
Shade the changing girl
maybe the hellboy comics i've never read them tho
Hawkeye by matt fraction/david aja
nell brinkley's comic strips
Deadly class
i use to read the vibe webcomics and there was jesse moynihan webcomics i think forming that i read a looong time ago im not sure if it was that
i think the persepolis animation did a lot for the og comic's style but i always recomend this book
Isola by karl kerschl
the ogre gods/les orgres dieux
bone
corto maltese (features outdated stereotypes tho)
Elektra assassin (mostly for Bill Sienkiewicz's art im not too sure about elektra's characterization in general just check his stuff out)
super predictable but darwyn cooke's catwoman book is also great
iv'e never read it but chew seems to have an interesting art style
for new things there's like the many deaths of laila starr, supergirl woman of tomorrow and doctor strange fall sunrise
i really enjoyed alex alice's siegfried as well
Les Cités obscures
Esteban Maroto's work
sophie campbell's works like wetmoon,sharkbaby, ect...
Judas comic
Descender by dustin nguyen
xmen's Life death
Jake Wyatt's Necropolis webcomic (which i havent read in a long time honestly)
Malgrée tout/always never
Sergio toppi's work is also amazing stylistically (features outdated stereotypes)
The NIBI webcomic by Gyimah Gariba was also great but im not sure if it continued
idk maybe its cause im used to manga/European comics but i tend to favor things with simpler colors/thin lined artstyles where they can do more and have more fluid panel and character movement than rigid 3d textured realistic cinematic house styles that they often go to but i do think they can be great to look at as well like jaime hermandez's love and rockets will always be in my heart where it goes half realistic half cartoony
or alex ross's fantastic four full circle book
or something like Lorenzo De Felici's KROMA (pls read kroma😭)
and i appreciate jack kirby's art and stuff
uuuh yea that's who i can think of rn im not sure if its predictable cause i spam the fuck out of these comics on my blog dfgdfhdfgh there's tons of french/belgian(derogatory) comics that im forgetting and i'm yet to read blacksad
the new york times is now charging money for my favorite chocolate cake recipe so i bought a subscription and screenshotted it and canceled my subscription and now it's here for you for free
i do a mixture of red wine and fresh squeezed navel orange juice for the liquid, plus the zest of one large orange. now you make the cake
Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.
Does anyone know where to find the one with the Antichrist raised by loving mother and their family has been raising antichrists so they turn out good for generations?
Okay, the one about raising the Antichrist and a bunch more, because tumblr storytime is brilliant:
43. Raising the Antichrist
44. Hallmark Movie Bad Guys
44. the Rapture comic
45. The Stone of Possibility
46. Humans are space orcs - Jurassic Park edition
47. Messenger birds for Hades and Persephone
48. when the pots of honey showed up
49. rock paper scissors wizards
50. Drake McDougal who saved a ship
51. Alien invasion vs Earth wildlife
52. Pride Knights
53. raising a dragon on a farm
54. Unaligned Supers Job Placement Agency
55. Pirates raised a mermaid
56. Alien Invasion vs Old Gods
57. the fae who asked for a name
gummygunk
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gracieabrams
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
origamiaround
romaincrisis
areudirty
