Sunarin + Hiding Their Face In The Other's Neck 🙇‍♀️

uquiz that tells you what circle of hell you would go to

hey! there's zero esims left for the connecting gaza campaign as of today. i remember you promoting them earlier. could you give them a much needed boost?

oh dang! unfamiliar with that particular campaign, as I always donate via crips for e-sims because it's super easy to do, but regardless let's go people!

Premature Death

your TAGS i cannot afford to fall in love with another miya brother PLEASE i will die

Osamu crowds you against the worn door at the top of Onigiri Miya’s narrow back stairwell, drawing a heated palm up the curve of your side through the thick felted wool of your coat.

“Cut it out,” you giggle as he jostles your hand- key clasped tightly in your fingers- away from the rusty lock.

“Don’t wanna,” he protests, dipping his nose into the hollow of your temple. You can feel his smile against the top of your cheekbone. He still smells smoky and savoury from the teppanyaki place, with the warm flush of two- no- three glasses of red wine rising to his cheeks. He isn’t drunk, but even if he was, it wouldn’t show.

“That was the best goddamned steak I’ve ever had,” he mumbles into your hair, curling one thick forearm around your middle.

Not drunk on wine, anyway.

“Yeah, I’m…” You trail off, concentrating long enough to get the key in the lock, turning and pushing inward. You have to brace your shoulder against the door a little to shove it open, since the frame’s a little warped, and together you stumble into the entryway of the tiny apartment above Osamu’s shop.

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t get any better than that,” you finish, but he’s not interested in finishing this conversation anymore.

Osamu flips you around between his hands, bracing both palms on your hips and dipping his forehead to yours. The soft strands of his dark hair come loose and fluffy away from whatever style he’d mussed it into earlier that evening, sharing the bathroom mirror with you as you slipped on your rings and adjusted your top.

“Hmm,” he sighs, and his shoulders drop with all the bliss in the world. “I love ya.”

“You’ll say anything on a full stomach,” you purr, planting your hands on the soft plane of it. He lets out a low grunt and slips a hand into the folds of your coat, pinching the tenderest part of your waist to make you yelp.

“I love you too-mph.” You’re cut off by the courteous press of his mouth to yours, and after a heartbeat of polite fumbling, you settle into the rhythm of his kiss and let him slowly divest you of your coat.

You tilt your head to one side, gasping quietly for breath and letting him trail wine-flavoured kisses down the bared column of your throat. He’s setting your skin on fire, lifting shimmering sensations to the surface that the wine in your own system only amplifies.

“Mm-bedroom,” you sigh.

“Don’t hafta tell me twice,” he mumbles into your skin.

Once you get there, however, he tugs you into his arms, collapses backwards onto the bed, and doesn’t move. You give him five whole seconds to do something, and when he fails to, you stir in his magnetic hold.

“Baby?” Your voice comes soft and prompting.

“Mmm?” He opens one eye, peering down at you over the curve of his cheek.

“Weren’t we about to…?”

“Oh, god, no, I can’t,” he groans. “I’m so full I could die. Y’don’t want me messin’ around in there tonight, promise.”

“But…” You can hardly protest. The longer you lie there, the heavier dinner’s weight begins to settle in your gut. He’s right. Expecting sex after all-you-can-eat teppanyaki was beginning to feel like expecting snow in Mexico.

“Let’s do it in the morning,” he brushes, and that pulls a giggle from your chest. When you lift your head, the little smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips proves that he’s still having fun.

“I’ll make it up to ya real good. I swear.”

And the next morning, in sun-drenched sheets of white linen, he does.

Vetted by: 1) gazavetters verified on the list is (#89 ) 2) fiercynn verified on the list is (#22 ) 3) a-shade-of-blue Here and Here 4) 90-ghost Here 5) dlxxv-vetted-donations Here.

Dear Kind Soul,

Life has a way of testing us, and for me and my family, it’s been a test of survival. As we navigate the aftermath of a devastating war, our world has been reduced to uncertainty, cold nights, and endless struggles to find stability.

I’m Ghazi Al Amoudi, and I’m reaching out to you not for luxuries or dreams, but for the most basic human needs—safety, shelter, and hope for a better future.

Due to unforeseen issues, I had to pause my previous GoFundMe campaign and create a new one to ensure all support reaches us without any obstacles.

Here’s the previous link (now paused) And here’s the new link, where you can continue supporting us

Our goal remains €70,000. Thanks to incredible generosity, we’ve raised €3,957 so far—almost 6% of the way. But with €66,000 still needed, we have a long road ahead.

Your support, no matter how small, could mean the world to us:

A €10 donation can help provide clean water for a day.

A €20 donation could bring warmth to our freezing nights.

A simple share of our story could connect us with someone who can help.

🌟 Please join us in this journey of hope: Donate here

Each day, your compassion keeps us going. Your kindness is not just a donation—it’s a lifeline, a promise that better days are possible.

Thank you for being a beacon of hope in our darkest moments. Together, we can turn despair into possibility.

Almost 6% of my long-term goal Reached!

€3,957 out of €70,000

Donations are protected by GOFUNDME

boost!!

The US Copyright Office is opening a public comment period around AI

The Verge

US Copyright Office wants to hear what people think about AI and copyright

People have until October 18th to comment.

American friends! The US Copyright Office (which we know exerts huuuge influence in how these things are treated elsewhere) wants to hear opinions on copyright and AI.

"The US Copyright Office is opening a public comment period around AI and copyright issues beginning August 30th as the agency figures out how to approach the subject."

We can assume that the opposing side will definitely be using all of their lobbying power towards widespread AI use, so this is a very good chance to let them know your thoughts on AI and how art and creative content of all kinds should be protected.

trigun college!au where knives doesn't think you're good enough for vash, and hates how close the two of you seem to be getting as your friendship develops. so of course the obvious solution is to fuck you within an inch of your life on a semi-regular basis so that you don't get any ridiculous ideas about trying to date his little brother.

mood rn

WAIT I KNOW WE ALL LOVE GIRL DAD SUNA…… but imagine suna with a little boy 😞😞😞 little suna that shares everything with his dad….. from the same eyes to personality 😞😞 you come home from work one day and the two are just sprawled on the couch watching recordings of volleyball games with the same deadpan expression while suki runs around in her little tutu and tiara offering them tea LOL 😞😞 THEY HAVE THE SAME POUTY EXPRESSION WHEN THEY FIGHT FOR CUDDLES FROM YOU !!!

please suna with a little boy who looks and acts exactly like him. who was probably the quietest baby ever and is probably the opposite of his sister. who people often see napping on your shoulder during late night, post-game interviews. who, like his father, you'll come home to find watching paw patrol while wearing a spare tutu and sipping apple juice out of a teacup bcs he can't say no to his big sister's shenanigans.

and if suki is a daddy's girl, then this one is a mama's boy for sure. the one who crawls into your bed and squishes himself between the both of you in the middle of the night, stepping on rin's face in the process. who rin has definitely given the side eye for taking up all the cuddle time while suki is at school (and gets the side eye right back)

iwaizumi’s driving both of you home—

and there was a part of you that thought, just maybe, tonight would be the night that he would propose. and maybe it was all just silly, to let the thought twirl around in your little head until it fell on the floor in front of you.

maybe you would say it shattered—all over your heels and the dress you know he likes and the floor of his buick.

and maybe, because every single one of your thoughts seems to start with that right now, maybe this is all just a little bit your fault. there were so many of those nights, curled into the sheets of your bed, the taste of liquor still resting on both of your tongues, that you’d asked him if he’d ever marry you.

and back then, he said yes. he’d laugh, an arm resting above his head, the other holding your lower back—his fingers would dip beneath your clothes and leave little searing paths of what you could only call home, but it was all to hold you close. his hand kept you steady atop of him, legs twined together, your chin resting on his chest.

but you could feel the laughter bloom in his chest and tumble past his lips, an absolutely sure to follow his tongue.

but then a few weeks would pass, five years of dating, both of you just past the age of 23 now, and you’d ask again. and maybe it had started the same, the same laughter, the same reply, the same graze of fingertips against flesh. and maybe the reply had never really changed, beyond a question of didn’t you ask this last week? or why wouldn’t i want to marry you?

but maybe that did it. maybe it finally got him thinking about all the reasons he shouldn’t marry you, and those started pile up until suddenly the cost-benefit analysis of it all didn’t really seem to stack in your favor.

because tonight, when you’re both now settled in 24, you thought would be the night. and if it wasn’t tonight—well, you don’t think it’s going to happen at all. and, of course, you’re driving home. so part of you is starting to accept this as your last drive home with iwaizumi. no matter how much it hurts.

he’s been playing a bit of beach rock on the radio, those old little tunes that you’d picked up through your college years, but it’s quiet and hardly does anything to mask the silence of the car. he’s not tapping his thumb against the steering wheel—he’s hardly spoken for most of the night, and back at the restaurant and on your walk around the pier, you’d put that all down as him being nervous.

who knows what the hell to think of it now.

you take a breath and smooth out the material of your dress as you roll to a stop at a light. it’s the one that iwaizumi hates—a gross intersection with too long of a red, and no one really ever seems to understand the design of it all, so he’s always been one to avoid this light when he can—but he’s here now, and you watch him stretch his hands on the wheel and tap his fingers against it in one little rhythmic motion. it’s not to the song, and you know it’s the motion he does when he’s about to say something.

and you, desperately, want it all to stop. because you know the next words out of his mouth are going to be somewhere along the lines of maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore or i’ve been thinking about this for a while, or maybe it’ll just be your name. but you know it’s nothing good and if you let him speak, then it ruins it all. if you let iwaizumi say your name you’re sure that your soul will escape with every last breath you give to him.

if you let him say your name, you’re sure that with it, he’ll take every last memory you could muster—the air from your lungs, every whisper he’s ever laid across your skin, every murmur of affection that you savored behind those closed doors.

if you let him say your name, it’ll all be gone, and you want to stay in his stupid buick for a moment longer as his girlfriend, even if it means prolonging the inevitable.

so you scan the cars around you, you look at the crosswalk until you see someone—a middle-aged man, a neon green cap on his head and orange sneakers hitting the pavement. iwaizumi takes a breath to say something, and you know he’s always hated being interrupted but god you don’t think you can stand not doing it now.

“man, what’s that guy wearing?” you say. it sounds less half-hearted than it feels. there’s a lilt to your voice and, if you couldn’t feel the weight in your chest, you’re sure it would sound like you’re clueless. you point to the man at the crosswalk, and iwaizumi’s gaze flicks there for only a moment before settling back on you.

“babe-”

“no, really, who would’ve guessed that neon was making such a comeback,” you interrupt again, and you hate it. it sounds unnatural, like there’s a joke somewhere in there that you just can’t find yet—and you both know you won’t ever get the chance to say it.

iwaizumi tries again.

“i’ve been thinking-”

“well i guess we can really see him in the dark-”

and iwaizumi says your name.

you’ve always hated the way time catches up to you.

you stop criticizing the poor man on the crosswalk, and then look over at iwaizumi—hajime as you’ve called him for years now, as you’ve said under the quake of your breath and between lilts of ardor.

you hum in reply to him, let the embarrassment of it all melt beneath his gaze, hope that maybe this break-up won’t be as bad as you always thought it would be. that he won’t be the one that got away for the rest of your life, that you won’t say his name in moonlight, starlight, and sunlight, hoping some divine power will hear it all and bring him back to you. more deeply, you hope you won’t have to move on without him—that the life you’ve built with him, from your home, to your friends, to your damn wardrobe won’t all burn to ash.

he takes a breath, he says your name again.

“hajime, what’s wro-”

“dammit, i’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

the red of the stoplight is reflecting on his face, the car smells a little like his cologne, and iwaizumi is looking at you—hands still tapping against the wheel.

“what?”

you watch the tips of his ears turn red as they start to blend in with the light. he turns back to the road, swallows and lets his tongue poke at his cheeks as he breathes again.

“sorry, that was-” he sighs, “not how i wanted to do that.”

you want to laugh at him a little bit, to let it all shake out of you in a quick moment of relief, but there’s a stutter in your chest that you can’t quite let go. it holds you close and churns your heart and your lungs until you can’t be sure what part of you is burning the most.

so you choose to whisper.

“how did you want to do it?”

and then iwaizumi laughs.

“preferably, a year ago.” you eye him. “i didn’t want you to think i was doing it just because you kept asking.”

you look forward to the light, you beg it not to turn green with everything you have—you hope with all that it’s worth that iwaizumi can hate this intersection for just a little longer.

“and what about tonight?”

he sighs again, in his old man way that you’ve always teased him for, and then he leans back—one hand on the wheel, the other finding its way to your thigh.

“at first, when you were getting ready. and then on the way to the restaurant, and again when you picked that one piece of broccoli off my plate, and then at the end of the pier, when you pulled me to the railing.” he laughs a little bit, and then his thumb rubs into your skin. “i didn’t know what to say, i just knew i wanted to ask you to marry me.”

the light turns green, and without ever really thinking about it, you say no. 

it’s not to him, it’s to the light and the situation of all things, but as he starts to drive you watch the blood drain from his face.

“what?” he asks, and you want to crawl into something much worse than just a hole in the ground.

“no, not like- sorry it was the light- yes, yes i want to marry you.”

“the damn stoplight made you say no to my proposal?” he asks, and though there’s that bit of scolding in his tone, you can feel the laughter rising in his voice as he speaks.

“no it wasn’t like that! you dick, i-”

“yeah, yeah, whatever, i’ll just return the ring then-”

“the ring?”

you both pause, and iwaizumi keeps driving, but he takes his hand off of you and, a little awkwardly, you might add, reaches into the pocket of his slacks—desperately trying to stay the speed limit (or, a little over), the whole time. 

but he pulls out a little black box and gestures towards you, and then flips it open with his thumb.

“i wasn’t kidding,” he starts, and then glances over at you. “marry me.”

and maybe you were right before. with just your name, iwaizumi could pull your soul and everything it carries with it out of your body. and maybe, in all that he is, you give it to him if only he were to ask—memories, whispers, murmurs, you’d give it all with only the raise of his brow.

“yes,” you reply. “of course.”

iwaizumi smiles, and at the next red light (one he hates just a little less, where the wait’s a little shorter and the intersection just a little less confusing), he puts the ring on your finger. and at that red light, he kisses you until you have to tell him it’s green.